The Pope's Suicide

by Steve Richer

  He could clearly see the chain of events that would follow. He would be arrested and by morning it would be in all the Roman newspapers. By noon the entire world would know.

  He would be accused of spying, put on trial. When it was discovered just how sensitive the information he had revealed was, he would be sentenced to several years in an Italian prison.

  Cardinal Blanchet and his people would do their best to paint him in a negative light. It wouldn’t matter that Colm was doing the right thing, that he was divulging secrets that exposed a Vatican conspiracy. He would be the bad guy.

  “Apri la porta!” the policeman ordered, kicking at the door now.

  The only hope Colm had was to find the proverbial smoking gun.

  It had been one thing to find the San Marino letter, but that only proved motive, not who had commanded the Pope’s assassination. He had to link it to someone. That was why he was still searching through the computer.

  He was in Blanchet’s email now, in the deleted items folder. It was a mess. The cardinal wasn’t computer savvy and as such didn’t know how to clean up his files properly.

  Then he found it. Yes!

  A week after Blanchet had received the San Marino letter, he had emailed the document to someone. That in itself was a violation of protocol for such sensitive material. He had sent it to a man called John Moses. There was a note from Blanchet:

  Read this letter. It would be a catastrophe for you at Quasney Olympus Financial as well as the Church. I am looking forward to listening to your ideas to keep these measures from being implemented. I will support your decision.

  A fragment of the door came flying in.

  “Police!”

  It barely registered with Colm. He was dumbfounded by the implications of this email. Cardinal Blanchet had practically given his blessing to a coup d’état.

  The door was kicked in once more and this time it gave.

  “Police, do not move!”

  As one man in a blue uniform leveled a pistol at him, Colm pulled out his phone and took pictures of the laptop screen, making sure to get everything: the header, the text, and the attachment.

  “On the ground now!”

  Two other policemen ran to him.

  “I surrender!” Colm said, raising his hands. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  As he spoke, he discreetly emailed the pictures to Sister Emma. If there was anyone who could do something with this information, it was her.

  “You are under arrest, Father.”

  He could gather as much as he was thrown onto the rug. His phone was removed and he was swiftly searched and handcuffed.

  “What have you done, boy?”

  Colm looked up and found Cardinal Blanchet standing just outside the office. He was wearing pajamas and a silk robe, looking exactly like Hugh Hefner.

  “What have you done?” he asked again, this time with sheer horror which made the young priest smile.

  “The right thing, Your Eminence. I did the right thing.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Donnie’s eyes were glued to Wallenberg’s weapon. The finger was squeezing the trigger.

  More…

  More…

  “Don’t do it, man. My people are half a block away. You won’t make it down the street.”

  This had no effect. Wallenberg braced, taking aim on him.

  “No!” Emma screamed.

  As she said that, she pushed Donnie away and moved in front of him. At the very same time, Wallenberg fired at last.

  Donnie stumbled, but the shot got Emma right in the abdomen. She collapsed against him and they both fell to the ground.

  “Shit, no!”

  Years of police training caught up to Donnie and he reached for his Smith & Wesson. But by the time he managed to get it out of the holster, free his arm from under Emma, and raise the gun, Wallenberg was already running away.

  The man was a pro as well, he knew that sticking around was useless at the moment. His time was better served escaping.

  For his part, Donnie wanted nothing more than to go after him, but there was something much more troubling happening. Emma was dying.

  Her entire chest was covered in blood. It was too dark to know where she had been hit, but one thing was certain, she needed medical attention without delay.

  He rolled her off carefully until she was lying on her back and he knelt by her. Her eyes fluttered until they closed. She gasped, fighting for air.

  “Stay with me, Emma.”

  Jesus Christ, why had she done this? She had saved his life, sacrificing hers. Goddamn it!

  She lifted her hand, reaching for his.

  “What? What is it, Sister?”

  She thrust her phone into his hand. Then he understood. She wanted him to have the evidence. She was thinking about justice instead of thinking about herself. He had never met anyone like her before, he thought as he took the device and pocketed it.

  That’s when her eyes shut completely and she went limp.

  “No! It’s not gonna happen, Emma!”

  He intertwined his fingers, took position, and began doing chest compressions. And one and two and three and four and five!

  “Why couldn’t you wear a vest like a regular cop, uh?”

  And one and two and three and four and five!

  Shit, she needed so much more than CPR. It would only work if what she had was something like a punctured lung. Anything else and it was useless.

  He looked up as he continued the compressions and noticed the bum from before. He was still there, staring at him.

  “Hey, you! Come here please! It’s an emergency!”

  Surprisingly, he came over. He was unsteady on his feet, but not as drunk as he’d originally thought. When he was close enough, Donnie tossed him his phone.

  “Call 911. Tell them there’s an officer down.”

  The man did as he was told, and fast too. Donnie continued CPR.

  “Look, man…” the homeless guy began. “I was… I was in the Corps. Three tours. Somebody gets tore up like that, they’re gone. She’s already dead, man.”

  “You shut the fuck up. You don’t know her. She’s a fighter.”

  She had saved his life, she had taken a bullet for him. There was no way in hell he was going to give up on her.

  He wasn’t sure if that was a sign, but he heard an ambulance siren. It was getting closer. Within five seconds, the flashing lights were illuminating all three of them. Help was on the way!

  “Hey buddy… Once a Marine always a Marine, right?”

  The homeless man stood up straighter with pride. “Semper Fi.”

  “Awesome. Still remember CPR? Come down here and step in for me.”

  Since it sounded like an order, the man dropped to his knees, locked his fingers together and took over the chest compressions. He was doing so perfectly.

  Donnie was filled with adrenaline as he stood up again with his sidearm. The paramedics would be here and he still had a chance to catch up to Wallenberg. That bastard had to pay for what he’d done.

  He took off running, dodging construction materials and equipment. Soon he was on the street and saw a figure running in the distance. It had to be him.

  Going faster, he still hazarded a glance over his shoulder. Two paramedics were working on Emma now. That’s when the homeless man raised his hands in victory.

  He screamed, “She has a pulse!”

  Donnie hadn’t felt this sort of joy in years. All he had to do now was catch up to Wallenberg.

  And get revenge.

  Chapter 52

  Driving off the Queensboro Bridge, the car hit a bump and cocaine fell off the back of Zhirov’s hand. He didn’t even notice and snorted what was left.

  “How far are we?” he asked Boomer.

  His colleague took a break from loading shells into a shotgun and glanced at his phone. Fuzzball had come through and had easily located Ridge’s phone.

  “That GPS says next to Newtown Creek. We’re almo
st there, boss.”

  “That’s awesome,” Zhirov said. “Very awesome. If the phone had been at the police station, it would’ve been tricky. But now we can get to these bitches. They’re probably hiding out somewhere.”

  “They’ll never see us coming,” Boomer added with glee, craving revenge for his face.

  That shotgun loaded, he turned his attention to the silver-plated pistol the Russian liked to use and reloaded it to make sure it would be ready.

  Zhirov licked what powder remained on his hand and smacked his lips. He couldn’t wait for this to happen. In just a few minutes, he would get rid of Sierra and her mother – and anyone who got in his way.

  He would in the process totally assert his dominance on the New York crime world and establish himself as a force to be reckoned with.

  He would become a fucking legend!

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Donnie had flashbacks of running through the Crime Lab yesterday. The situation was disturbingly similar. A friend had been shot, it was Wallenberg he was running after again. The difference was that unlike Victor Bray, Emma was still alive, for now.

  And he had a chance to actually stop him this time.

  His legs hurt, but he had more energy than he’d had in a long time. He had to catch Wallenberg no matter what.

  He knew he was gaining ground when the Secret Service agent turned around, aimed his weapon, and fired two shots.

  The pavement exploded at Donnie’s feet, but that didn’t hinder him. He focused his strength on running faster. Shooting had slowed Wallenberg so Donnie could catch up to him.

  In fact, the assassin crossed the street and stopped by a car that was parked on the curb. It had to be his as he seemed to be fumbling for his keys.

  This gave Donnie an idea. He lifted his pistol and shot at the car which was still twenty yards away. He shot at the tires, the windows, the engine. He emptied his magazine into it until it was riddled with bullets and became clearly un-drivable.

  “No!” Wallenberg groaned, his getaway option gone.

  He resorted to running down the street and Donnie was close on his heels.

  The killer made a right and was by the water again, walking onto another construction site. He scaled up the chain-link fence and hurled himself over it.

  Donnie thought about putting a stop to this and simply killing him. After all, the suspect was armed. He had already been shot at. Nobody would give him grief for it. But Donnie realized he would have to pause to insert a fresh magazine since he was out of ammunition. It would only make him waste precious time.

  Time he didn’t have.

  He couldn’t take that chance and accelerated. He sprung up, grabbed the fence, and climbed over it. He landed stiffly on the other side. He was definitely too old for this shit.

  The silver lining was that Wallenberg was a few years older than he was and he wasn’t much faster.

  “Stop or I’ll shoot!” he shouted, getting back to his feet and changing magazines.

  But Wallenberg had no intention of stopping. There was more scaffolding along the new condo tower and he proceeded to climb it. He was probably going to try to use this maze to confuse the people in pursuit, disappearing on the other side.

  Donnie had no intention of letting this happen. Ignoring the pain in his legs as well as his fatigue, he took off once more after him. Wallenberg was ten feet up and was feeling the pressure.

  “Drop dead, asshole!”

  While he said that, he turned back, wanting to shoot at the detective. Only his movement was rushed and he lost his balance. He was able to grab the metal post in time, but he lost his pistol in the process.

  Donnie had to duck to avoid getting hit on the head with it. But it was an exquisite development. No longer afraid of getting shot, he went up faster, especially when he realized that Wallenberg had reached the first platform and was no longer in sight.

  He climbed up and he reached the landing, grateful for a quiet moment to catch his breath. He was still on his guard though and tightened his grip on his Smith & Wesson. He turned gradually, scanning the area. Where could he be? All he saw was darkness.

  The kick landed squarely in his stomach!

  Air rushed out of his lungs instantly and he lost control of his gun which dropped to the makeshift floor before tumbling all the way to the ground fifteen feet below.

  “Take this…”

  Before Donnie could react, he was being punched in the face and fell to his knees. He spat out blood, but this time he’d been ready for it.

  That meant he could go on the offensive.

  Donnie braced for the next jab and when it came he parried Wallenberg’s arm away. He used the opportunity to get back up and punch Wallenberg in the stomach.

  “Shit,” he mumbled as he realized he had struck the man’s bulletproof vest, hurting his hand.

  Wallenberg turned around and went to the ladder, climbing up to the second platform.

  Running after him, Donnie managed to grab his ankle and he yanked him back down.

  “Ugh!”

  From there it was only a matter of getting on top of the assassin and choking him into submission, or at the very least until he was depleted enough to cuff him.

  But Wallenberg had been expecting this because he swept the cop’s feet away, making him fall. They both crashed against the wooden planks. They traded blows, half trying to fight effectively and half trying to simply get back on their feet.

  Something of a smile appeared on Wallenberg’s lips once they were both upright again.

  “What is it?” Donnie asked.

  By way of answering, Wallenberg charged forward. He hit Donnie in the chest and at the same time grabbed the metal post of the ladder to keep himself stable.

  Oh fuck, Donnie thought. He was losing his balance.

  He tipped back, he was going to plummet all the way to the cold hard ground and get killed.

  Chapter 53

  By sheer instinct, Donnie reached forward and clutched the assassin’s lapel.

  Within a second, he was falling off the landing, but by now he was holding onto Wallenberg with both hands.

  For his part, Wallenberg couldn’t hold on with only one hand and he tripped forward, finding himself in a prone position on the platform.

  “Let go of me…”

  Donnie couldn’t reply. He couldn’t justify the energy expense. He was gritting his teeth, his knuckles white with how firmly he was holding onto Wallenberg’s jacket. His feet were dangling in the void. He kicked left and then right, trying to find purchase, but there was nothing underneath him.

  “Why won’t you die already?” the killer growled.

  What would happen next was plain as day to Donnie. If he fell, Wallenberg would have won. He’d be in a position either to run away, disappearing forever, or come down to finish him.

  He thought about Sierra. His heart was light as he remembered that last hug she’d given him at the hotel. She hadn’t done that to him in years. And then there was Nicole. The way they had last talked with each other had given him hope that maybe there was a spark left between them.

  He was done not giving a crap about his family. This situation had to end now and he only saw one solution.

  Mustering all the energy he had left, Donnie jerked on the assassin’s jacket and swung back. They both plunged off the scaffolding.

  “Aaaahh!”

  Donnie landed on his side. The drop had been only about ten feet and the dirt wasn’t packed too hard after all. It hurt like a son of a bitch, but he didn’t think anything was broken.

  Unfortunately, it was the same for Wallenberg.

  They both struggled to stand as they searched the ground for their weapons. Where was it? Where the hell was it?! Yes, it was right there next to the bulky generator!

  Donnie started to scamper toward his Smith & Wesson.

  “Don’t move!”

  He wouldn’t have complied except that he heard a gun getting cocked. The murderer had him
dead to rights. Sluggishly, he turned and witnessed Wallenberg pointing his pistol at him.

  “In fifteen years of doing this, no one’s ever been close to catching me. What ever made you think that you could be the one to do it, Beecher?”

  “Oh I don’t know, because of my good looks?”

  “You’re going to be a good-looking corpse.”

  Wallenberg took a step closer, steadying his arm. He was about to kill him.

  “Wait, wait! Just tell me the truth,” Donnie said.

  “About what?”

  “About the Pope. It doesn’t matter, right? You’re gonna kill me and then disappear. Just do me this favor, tell me who hired you.”

  The Secret Service agent shrugged. “I don’t know, some Wall Street banker apparently. Good night now.”

  Right then, a car burst through the chain-link fence and at once two jumpy guys came out. The shorter one was built like a weightlifter and was toting a shotgun while the other one was more stylish, taller, and waved a silver-plated pistol around.

  “Where are the bitches? Where’s Sierra and her mom?”

  Donnie understood who these guys were: Boomer and Zhirov. They were high and evidently disappointed to be stumbling upon him instead.

  “It’s time for street justice, motherfucker!” the shorter one bellowed.

  Wallenberg was startled and confused by all this and turned toward the intruders. What happened next was pure chaos.

  The assassin raised his weapon and Boomer felt threatened, lifting the shotgun. But Wallenberg wasn’t drugged out of his mind so he had no trouble firing two shots into Boomer, killing him on the spot.

  As this was going on, Donnie leapt to his right and recovered his Smith & Wesson. He threw himself to the ground, tucking and rolling, and aimed forward.

  His next actions were dictated by physics. Since his body still had left-to-right momentum, he shot the first figure he encountered. It was Zhirov. He put two bullets in his chest, sending him flying back as blood spouted out.

  Wallenberg saw an opportunity and spun back toward the detective, his gun making a perfect arc. Just as he settled his sights on the cop, Donnie pulled the trigger three times, sending the bullet directly into Wallenberg’s head.