‘His employment,’ the words echoed in Hannah’s mind. She knew that Harrison conducted special assignments for the President of the United States. ‘Similar to the Secret Service’ he had said. It was not the danger inherent in Harrison’s assignments that permeated her thoughts at the moment, but the fact that the President of the United States was Elizabeth Ashton, the first woman President in the history of America— and her husband-to-be conducted ‘special’ assignments for madam President. Has jealousy reared its ugly head so early in their relationship? Hannah dismissed the thought with a confident, quiet laugh.
Hannah’s thoughts returned to the attractiveness of the man. She certainly was not the only woman who buckled under the spell of the suave Harrison Rossetti. Elizabeth Ashton was no slouch even for a bureaucrat. Harrison, the man, certainly did not escape the eye of madam President. ‘Hmm?’ Hannah thought rhetorically. She shook her head as if the act itself would magically jar the thought from her mind.
The lives of Hannah and Harrison intersected near St. Peter’s Basilica about four months ago. Hannah was on her way to Vatican City for a news briefing on the health of Pope Joseph Josetta. Harrison was leaving the Vatican after visiting his holy confidant. He was somewhat dejected and out of sorts as he leaned against the wall. Neither Harrison’s attractiveness nor his demeanor escaped Hannah’s observant eye. Her heart raced as she approached the disconcerted man and asked with genuine concern, “Are you all right?” There came no immediate response as Harrison was immersed in his own deep thoughts, oblivious to the sights and sounds that surrounded him. Hannah repeated her question; however, this time she tapped the preoccupied man on his shoulder. Harrison gazed up for the first time and the once indifferent surroundings sharpened into focus. He was aware of a woman’s presence, but not what was asked of him. Harrison said uncertainly, “Excuse me?” Hannah repeated for a third time, “Are you OK?”
Harrison managed a terse smile. He looked deeply into the eyes of the questioner noticing for the first time the beauty of the woman before him. “Yes, yes I am” he managed to interject. Hannah smiled and seemed relieved that she did not have to begin emergency procedures. Harrison’s disposition brightened as he gazed beyond Hannah’s eyes. She was indeed a stunning woman. She was tall and slender with pleasing features and a most endearing smile. “Steady Harrison,” he said barely aloud. “I’m sorry?” returned Hannah. Harrison gathered himself and extended his hand as he introduced himself, “I’m Harrison Rossetti …and you are?” “Hannah, Hannah Littleton” she offered and shook his hand firmly.
“You seemed troubled,” said Hannah. ‘Troubled, always’ Harrison mused to himself. “My friend,” he paused, aware of some swelling in his eyes, “Pope Josetta is quite ill.” “You know personally the Holy Father?” asked Hannah. “Yes, I have known him for a long time” Harrison managed to reply. “I am very sorry,” replied Hannah. He looked at the beautiful woman and nodded gratefully in response. The pause grew into an uncomfortable silence that shrouded the two strangers.
The stillness was broken by the bells of St. Peter’s Basilica chiming out their noonday hymn. “Angelic, aren’t they?” commented Hannah. Harrison nodded affirmatively and listened to the harmonic chiming that permeated the square. Hannah and Harrison found themselves drifting with the bells. They chimed a peaceful song that slowly melted away one’s troubles even if for a fleeting moment.
The melodic chimes ended their serene song as Harrison’s and Hannah’s eyes met once again. Harrison broke the silence and asked, “Are you visiting Rome?” “Actually I’m working,” Hannah replied. “I’m a journalist for the Washington Sun. I was sent to Rome on special assignment to cover the Pope’s…” Hannah stopped suddenly and chose to modify her response in hopes of showing some sensitivity to the holy man’s friend. “I’m writing a documentary about Josetta’s papal reign and his impact on Roman Catholics, Catholicism and Christians around the world. I started the assignment about six months ago before the Pope became ill. You said you just visited the Pontiff? How is he?” “Off the record?” retorted Harrison. “Off the record,” Hannah echoed. “Not well, I’m afraid” said Harrison. He continued, “But he is a strong man, a man who has weathered many crises throughout the years I’ve known him—even before he was elected to the Holy See. He won’t die until he is ready for death.”
Hannah nodded as if underscoring Harrison’s comment. She asked, “Are you in Rome to visit an old friend or does something else bring you to Italy?” Harrison was cautious in his reply: “I’m on assignment just like you.” ‘Just like you’ he thought to himself. Harrison could hardly believe what he was saying. “I work for the U.S. government,” he stated and decided not to convey his special duties for the President of the United States. After all, he did not trust Hannah; for that matter, he seldom trusted anybody except those he has known over the years and who were part of his inner circle. Harrison concluded that not confiding in others was the primary reason why he was still living today. Beautiful or not, he was not about to go against his training and judgment.
Hannah interrupted his inner thoughts and asked, “What do you do for the government?” “I’m a negotiator, sort of a troubleshooter if you will,” replied Harrison with somewhat of a grim look on his face. He hoped that she would let it go at that to avoid covering up for national security issues and what not. Untrue to journalistic prying, Hannah accepted the response and did not force the issue. She simply said, “Interesting.” Perhaps Hannah already surmised the situation and was being prudent. ‘Perhaps,’ Harrison thought to himself.
Yet, her lack of interest interested him. He asked, “Would you care to join me for lunch?” “Yes, very much, thank you,” replied Hannah without substantial thought.
“I know a small place that is within walking distance from here,” said Harrison. “Casa di Pasta,” he offered while putting his hand out to motion her down the steps. Casa di Pasta was one of Harrison’s favorite dining establishments, one that he visited often in his many taps to romantic Roma. It was conveniently close to the Vatican and featured a variety of Italian cuisine.
Chapter 3
The Holy Man and the Man of the Gun
Hannah and Harrison began walking the short distance to the restaurant. There was a brief silence interrupted by Harrison, “Have you worked long for the Washington Sun?” Before Hannah could respond, what sounded like gunshots rang out in their direction. Harrison instinctively cradled Hannah and crouched for cover in the doorway of a nearby building as a car sped by them with its wheels squealing. Puffs of white smoke were left in the wake of the car as evidence that the tires temporarily raced faster than the vehicle itself. Harrison stood cautiously and attempted a glimpse at the speeding vehicle, but was unable to determine the license plate number. Even without such identification, he had a very good idea of the origin of the gunfire.
Hannah cried out, “What’s going on, Harrison?” Harrison helped Hannah from the ground. He pushed her there rather roughly as demanded by the urgency of the situation. “Are you all right?” asked Harrison. “Just a scraped knee, I think” replied Hannah. She continued, “What was that all about? Was that…was that a gunshot?” Harrison thought momentarily of diffusing the situation with some half-truths, but he has grown increasingly weary of building relationships on hidden and twisted facts.
“Yes, they were Hannah” stated Harrison as calmly as he could. “But why?” asked Hannah in such a way as to imply, ‘Why you?’ knowing full well that she has no known enemies in Italy—at least not of the ilk that would hunt her down and kill her. Harrison took a deep breath and said calmly once again, “Sometimes my assignments for the President attract, shall we say, some undesirable, seedy characters. They would like nothing other than to see the President’s negotiating efforts fail if not at least interrupted. I’m sorry that you got involved in my little war. Perhaps we’d better take a rain check for lunch under the circumstances.” “Nonsense” replied Hannah in her best journalistic
firm and assertive tone. “You invited me to lunch and you’re not going to get out of it that easy,” Hannah smiled. Harrison smiled back and approved of her moxie. He liked risk-taking in a woman, an appealing woman at that. Harrison asked mockingly, “So, you’re not afraid?” “Of course I’m afraid,” Hannah retorted. “I don’t usually get shot at when I’m in the company of a man, even a handsome man.”
Harrison accepted the compliment without a remark and countered, “It’s your life.” He swung out his right hand and motioned Hannah to finish their short walk to the Casa di Pasta. However, this time, Harrison was hyper-vigilant as he took in a panoramic view of their surroundings. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary although he knew that appearances could be deceiving. Harrison and Hannah continued walking ahead more cautiously than before. Harrison observed that even Hannah was looking around much more than before the brief barrage of bullets.
The couple, strangers to each other, arrived at Casa di Pasta without further incident and entered the cozy, dimly lit restaurant. It was busy as always, but Paolo Peddu, the owner of Casa di Pasta, recognized Harrison immediately. Paolo moved sharply through the gathering hungry crowd. He stepped lively toward the newly met couple and said excitedly, “Ciao, Mr. Rossetti. How wonderful to see you again!” “Ciao,” Harrison returned. “I would like you to meet Miss Littleton.” Paolo smiled as he turned toward Hannah and politely said, “Ciao.” He turned back toward Harrison, “Your usual table, Mr. Rossetti.” “Si, grazie” replied Harrison. Paolo motioned Harrison and his guest to a discreet table in the corner of the restaurant. He gave his special guests two menus and left momentarily.
There was a short silence between the strangers broken by Hannah. “What do you recommend?” she inquired looking up and down her menu. “The pasta is all good here because of their special sauce. It was a family recipe that Paolo received from his great grandmother—subtle and not too spicy. So, just order your favorite pasta and I promise you won’t be disappointed.” With that, Hannah and Harrison returned to their review of their menus and the mouth-watering entrees before them.
Paolo returned with the house salad and several loaves of hot Italian bread. ‘What a handsome couple,’ he said to himself and asked, “Are you ready to order, madam?” “Yes, I think I will have the cannelloni” Paolo smiled, “Si” and turned to Harrison. “Your usual sir?” “Si, grazie” replied Harrison. Paolo took their menus and left their table.
“Your usual?” Hannah smiled with some irony in her voice. “Is that another secret or can you tell me ‘your usual’?” “Meat ravioli,” came Harrison’s ‘what else’ kind of reply. Harrison’s thoughts drifted away from their conversation even with the striking distraction before him. He had a really good idea who was behind the spray of bullets. Harrison’s digression did not go unnoticed by Hannah. “Spia?” she said coyly. Harrison’s hair literally stood on end as he was shocked back to the reality of the present. He looked at Hannah and for one of the very few times in his life he was at a loss for words. The couple silently gazed at each other as Harrison’s shocked expression did not wane. A flash of Josetta’s image past by in memory as the name Spia was uttered so blatantly.
“I’ll ask you not to refer to me in that manner again,” Harrison said defensively and with ire. His facial expression betrayed the feelings he had not intended to expose to Hannah. Harrison was dismayed at himself for failing to control his emotions upon hearing the term of endearment coming from anybody except from his holy friend, Josetta. Yet, he was uncertain as to why it disturbed him so. He made no immediate sense of his reaction, which in itself told him he was analyzing the events too superficially. Perhaps that was it— thinking and analyzing—odd problem solving tools for trying to illuminate an emotional response. Harrison was only vaguely aware of Hannah’s distress in crossing a line that she had not known was drawn. She wanted to say something, perhaps that she was sorry; however, she dared not to at the moment given the consternation displayed by the complex man sitting across the table from her. Harrison continued his inner review of his…his what? His embarrassment of hearing Spia spoken out of the context of his relationship with Josetta…his anger because indeed that characterized much of what he was…his sadness due to memories of his holy friend flooded his mind…his secrecy for that which was always a part of him…his what? ‘Damn it,’ thought Harrison. Josetta again passed in his memory ensued by a quiet smile. Harrison’s egocentric thoughts were consuming him. He glanced upward and observed what appeared to be concern and hurt on Hannah’s face. “I’m sorry,” Harrison said as he shook his head not knowing further what to say. How could he tell Hannah why Spia upset him so when he was confused himself over the hold that it had on him…or was he simply ignoring the obvious?
Harrison again looked at Hannah. There appeared to be more concern than hurt in her expression now. She reached out her hand and gently placed it on Harrison’s arm. The gentle touch was reassuring to him and he nodded his thankfulness to her. “We don’t need to talk about that now,” said Hannah in a tender voice. Again, Harrison was at a loss for words and nodded. He thought to himself that there was no sense in trying to explain to this charming, sensitive woman who had moxie what he did not understand himself.
They quietly finished their salad aware of each other yet not violating each other’s personal and emotional space. Hannah knew that what she had said had struck a nerve, a deep nerve. It was not important to her now why that was. She sensed that she would find out some day what lay below the surface of this intricate man.
Paolo returned to the table with their main course. Hannah politely complimented the owner on the taste of his house salad. ‘A fine blend of seasonings’ she thought. Harrison reinforced the sentiment and said, “As always, Paolo.” “Grazie,” uttered the proud man before leaving the table. Hannah and Harrison began eating their main course. “This is wonderful,” Hannah said excitedly after consuming several mouthfuls. Harrison agreed and commented, “You know, for all the times that I’ve been here, the rich taste of the sauce never changes.”
“How long have you known Paolo?” Hannah asked. “Almost as long as I’ve known the Pontiff,” was Harrison’s reply. He continued, “Actually, Josetta introduced me to Paolo and the Casa di Pasta about—well, I guess it would be about twelve years ago. Josetta was a priest from one of Italy’s local regions at St. Maria Goretti parish. I was on special assignment at the time and much younger. Communism was a more severe threat back then than it is now. The covert operation in which I participated took an unsuspecting turn. We were betrayed and my colleague was killed. I was severely wounded. I wasn’t sure where I was going or who to trust when I came upon this small church. “St. Maria Goretti?” Hannah interjected. “Yes,” replied Harrison. “And the man that helped you was Joseph Josetta?” surmised Hannah. “Yes, except that was not his name at the time. His birth name was Josepha Modesta…Father Josepha Modesta. He was, and still is, a fearless man of God. Josetta helped me and he was well aware that he put his own life very much at risk. He sheltered me in his church and sent one of his parishioners to find the local doctor. Meanwhile, Josetta did what he could to clean my wounds and stem the tide of infection. He told me that this was nothing new for him as he often observed his father provide similar acts of benevolence in war-torn Italy during World War II.”
“I bet the Pontiff has helped you out of trouble many times since then,” smiled Hannah. “Trouble, always” mused Harrison thinking of his holy friend. “Well, obviously you pulled through since you are here,” noted Hannah. “I pulled through only because Josetta risked his life for mine—a stranger to him. The one who betrayed our operation got word that the local doctor was summoned to the church to treat ‘gun wounds.’ He had a very good hunch that I was the wounded man.”
“This Judas came to the church?” asked Hannah realizing that she played on the identified betrayer of Jesus. “Not only did he come to the church, he came even before the doctor arrived. Josetta was treating me
in the small vestibule of the church. What struck me at the time was Josetta’s street smartness. You’d think a man in his line of work would be ‘brain smart’ and ‘street stupid.’ Josetta knew that I was still in danger and the fact that I escaped was a mistake that would not be overlooked. Once he dressed my wounds as best as he could, he took me through a hidden stairway under one of the pews. The crude stairs led downward under the church to burial vaults for the local priests and nuns. This burial place was not public knowledge. Josetta believed I would be safest there. He asked me to remain quiet and that he would return once the doctor had arrived. Josetta feared the worse and indicated he’d do his best to wash away the blood stains on the church floor and on himself.”
Hannah’s interest intensified as she peered deeper into Harrison’s eyes. He continued his story: “I could hear muzzled sounds coming from above and echoing in the silent vacuum. In the solitude, the cold dampness of the burial grounds began permeating my aching body. The pain of my wounds surfaced as my adrenalin slowed following the care provided by Josetta. He patched me up the best he could, but the tide of blood continued oozing from my wounds.”
Harrison stopped momentarily and winced as if he again was feeling the pain of long ago as it occurred then. Hannah leaned forward and gently stroked his hand. Harrison sighed at the touch of the beautiful woman. He continued, “I did not realize everything that was unfolding above me or how grave was the situation. What I tell you now was what emerged based on what Josetta told me and what I experienced.” Harrison’s attention was drawn briefly to the tender stimulation at the hands of Hannah. He regained his focus and continued, “Josetta had just completed washing away the bloodstains on himself and the church floor when two strangers entered the sanctuary. They did not approach the padre at first, but they began walking up and down the aisle glancing between the rustic pews. The bulges in their jackets did not go unnoticed by Josetta. He knew that they did not come to his church to pray, but rather they came looking for their prey.”
Mirror, Mirror at 1600 D.C. Page 2
