The Guardian

by ROBBIE CHEUVRONT

  Jonathan leaned in close and whispered something to the fat man. Instantly the fat man’s eyes widened and he stepped back a step. The fat man looked horror-stricken. He moved out of the way and didn’t say another word. Jonathan got into the cab and waited for the driver to pull away.

  “What did you say to him?” The driver asked.

  “I asked him if he believed in the devil.”

  “What did he say?” The driver asked.

  “He said yes. I told him I was the devil.” Jonathan laughed. He no more believed in the devil than he did in Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, or God Himself. He only believed in here and now. He would take what was here and enjoy it now. Money talked with Jonathan. That was his deity.

  He didn’t care about any scroll. All he cared about was getting paid. And the cardinal did just that. Handsomely, too. Maybe this would be his last job. He had enough to go away and live like a king for the rest of his days. All he had to do was find this stupid scroll and he would be doubling that amount. Yes, he thought, this might just be the last job.

  “You should not make light of el diablo, señor.” The driver looked hesitantly at Jonathan through the rearview mirror. “The devil, he is very powerful.”

  “Well, then it’s a good thing I don’t believe in him. Huh?” Jonathan mumbled back at the driver.

  “Sorry? What you say?” The driver asked.

  “Nothing, chief. Why don’t you just drive me to where you dropped my partner off. Okay?”

  The driver did as he was told and didn’t say another word the rest of the short drive into town. He pulled around the side of the hotel and waited for his passenger to get out. “Here you go.”

  The alley was deserted. Jonathan looked behind him to see if there were any passersby. No one. He leaned his head out the back window and moved his head around in a circle. Nobody looking out of the windows. No one out on any balconies. Very good!

  “You know, chief, my partner wasn’t entirely truthful to you.” Jonathan pulled his head back inside the cab.

  “He wasn’t?” The cab driver looked confused. “How do you mean?”

  “Well, I know he promised you another two thousand for bringing me here. But I’m afraid this is all I have for you.” Jonathan brought his arm up to rest on the back of the driver’s seat. He leveled his silenced 9mm pistol and fired off two rounds into the back of the driver’s head.

  CHAPTER 11

  St. Anna Cathedral

  Father Ruiz.” Father Vin extended his hand. “I am Father Vincent Marcella. This is Anna Riley.”

  Anna shook the priest’s hand. She was a little taken aback at being in the private chambers of the priest. There were a lot of robes and Catholic artifacts hanging on the walls. It all seemed kind of spooky to her.

  Father Ruiz greeted his guests. “It’s nice to meet you, Anna, Father Vincent. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  “We are just visiting your lovely country.” Father Vin smiled. “We thought we would take in a Mass. Your sanctuary is amazing.”

  “Thank you,” Father Ruiz humbly bowed. “It is very old. A lot of history in this place.” The priest scrunched his eyebrows and turned his attention to Anna. “Riley … I seem to recall a Riley. I think I met a Thomas Riley once.”

  “That was my grandfather,” Anna said. “He’s passed away.”

  “I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t know.” Father Ruiz seemed genuinely saddened.

  “That’s actually what we came to talk to you about, Father,” Father Vin explained. “I must be honest with you. While we really look forward to seeing Mass in your native setting, we are anxious to talk to you about Anna’s grandfather.”

  “Yes, I see.” Father Ruiz studied his visitors now. He looked at them skeptically. “Well, perhaps I’ll have a few minutes after our service. I’m afraid, though, I must get ready right now. Mass starts in three minutes.” He studied them intently as if he wanted to say something. It seemed he’d changed his mind. “Father Marcella—”

  “Please, call me Father Vin. Everyone else does.”

  The priest smiled. “Would you like to assist me with our Mass this morning? It would please me greatly to worship side by side with you.”

  “I would be honored,” Father Vin bowed his head and accepted the invitation. “I’m afraid, though, my Spanish is pretty rusty. You’ll have to forgive me.”

  As the two priests prepared for the start of Mass, Father Vin leaned in to speak to his colleague. “You’re still trying to figure out what to do with us, aren’t you?”

  Father Ruiz smiled wryly. “I have forty-eight minutes, my friend.”

  And with that, Mass began.

  CHAPTER 12

  The Vatican

  Cardinal Joseph McCoy had dreamed of becoming pope ever since he had become a priest. He would lie in his bed each night planning, thinking about all of the things he needed to do. He had studied every papal election for the last one hundred years. He knew what it took. And he knew how to get it. And he would be pope. Why? Because he was the best con man the Vatican had ever seen.

  If they only knew half of his past, what he was before he became a priest, they would probably hang him in St. Peter’s Basilica. Forget his life before being a priest. If they knew what he’d done as a priest, they’d probably just bury him under the jail.

  Cardinal Joseph McCoy wasn’t as saintly as most people thought him to be. He had secrets. A previous life. His real name wasn’t even Joseph McCoy. He changed it to fit the profile he had created for his application to the seminary.

  When Joseph Sikeston—his real name—was young, he got into a lot of trouble. It was always about power with him. He needed to feel the power of being in charge. His need eventually got him thrown into a juvenile center for boys. That’s where he met Father Ryan.

  Father Ryan would tell him, “Joseph, if you don’t watch out, you’re gonna be the devil’s own personal instrument!” Joseph would just ignore the pompous old man, until one day he heard Father Ryan talk about a man called the pope.

  The pope. Now there was a man of power. An entire body of people, an entire religion, at the beck and call of one man. And Joseph decided then and there that he wanted to be the pope. He didn’t care about all of the religious stuff. He just wanted that power. He started planning that day. With Father Ryan’s help, he was on his way.

  Now, some forty years later, Joseph Sikeston was Cardinal Joseph McCoy. He set down his drink and checked his watch. Eleven forty. It was time to go. He was expected for a meeting. He would be early, of course. He always was. Punctuality was one of his strongest characteristics.

  He walked out of the outdoor café and headed for his car. He could already taste the bitterness of the next hour. He wasn’t looking forward to his appointment. Really and truthfully, he thought it was a waste of time. All they ever did at these meetings was talk. He had yet to see any kind of action. A bunch of tired, old windbags, he thought.

  Rome, Just Outside the City

  Cardinal Wickham sat alone in a high-backed mahogany chair. He sat at the head of an eight-foot-long, antique table. The room in which he sat was in the back of a historic, old country house. Technically, he owned the house, though one would have to do a major investigation to find any trace of a document with his name on it. Not that there was anything wrong with owning a property like this, but the kinds of activities that took place here on a somewhat regular basis were not the kinds of things that a prominent cardinal should be associated with.

  The house was used for regular get-togethers. Many of the rich, prominent, definitely not Catholic community of Rome found themselves here on most weekends drinking and partying. It was more or less an extremely upper-crust, high-end, invitation-only nightclub. Cardinal Wickham found that he could make a substantial amount of money leasing out his place to these people who would rather have anonymity than be associated with the everyday nightclub scene. These people, different ones from time to time, would rent the house for two, sometimes t
hree days a week. The usual going rate was five thousand dollars. That also included a cleanup fee.

  Today was one of those days. A “client” had just left. There would be a get-together tonight. The arrangements had been made over the phone several weeks ago. Today was payday. The client, an attractive brunette in her late fifties, showed up, paid the bill, got the keys, and left just as quickly as she came. She extended an invitation to him and promised him more fun than he had probably ever had in his entire life. He politely declined, although a night of old-fashioned, worldly fun sounded good to him right now. He thanked the woman and showed her out. He apologized for the hurry, but he was expecting more guests any minute.

  The first of his guests had just walked through the archway that led into the dining room where he now sat. The younger, gray-haired man said nothing as he entered. He simply walked into the room and took a seat, the same one he usually took at these meetings.

  “Good day, Joseph,” said Cardinal Wickham.

  “Hello, Louis,” Cardinal Joseph McCoy answered. “Who was the hottie in the Porsche that I passed on the way in here? One of your extracurricular activities, I assume?”

  Cardinal Wickham dismissed this with a wave of the hand. “Not that it’s any of your business who I visit or spend my time with, but no. Not this one.”

  “Too bad,” said Joseph. “She was pretty easy to look at.”

  “So, Joseph, how are things in the archives?” Cardinal Wickham smiled as he said this.

  “Enchanting.” He scowled. “Where is everyone else? I have other things to do today.”

  “Books to shelve? Manuscripts to catalog?” It was nasty to tease the younger man like this, but it was so entertaining to see the red flush of anger darken his face.

  Joseph was a very prominent, highly respected cardinal at the Vatican and had spent the last three years of his life stuck in the Vatican library. He was by no means a historian. Nor did he have a love for books or the Dewey decimal system, for that matter. He simply was the newest man in the order, and that’s where Wickham had stuck him.

  Joseph glowered at his superior but didn’t respond. Wickham flicked his fingers in the direction of the door. It was no fun if they didn’t take the bait. “They’ll be here. Don’t worry.” He checked his watch. It was only twelve thirty, six thirty in the United States. Jonathan should be taking care of some business right about now. “Besides, Joseph, once again you are early. You’re always early. I don’t particularly have a problem with that. But you really must stop complaining about no one else being here when you show up thirty minutes before you’re even supposed to be here.”

  “Why don’t you like me?”

  “I’m sorry, Joseph, I don’t know what you mean.”

  “It’s not a hard question. Why don’t you like me?”

  It was like talking to a petulant schoolgirl. “Joseph, my brother, it’s not that I don’t like you. I do. If I didn’t, you wouldn’t be here. It’s just that … well … you whine a lot.”

  “Whine? What do you mean, I whine?”

  “There! That’s exactly what I’m talking about. You’re whining. Right now.”

  “I hardly see how asking a question or two is whining.”

  “Call it whatever you want. The fact of the matter is we need you in the archives. Information is power. I know it’s not glamorous. I know it’s boring. Long before I was headmaster of this brotherhood, I was in the archives myself. Believe it or not, there is a ton of good that can be done from there. You just have to assert yourself. Be creative. Look for things that aren’t there. That is precisely how I got to where I am today. I spent several years in those archives. Don’t you realize that if the scroll isn’t found before my time, someone else will have to head up this task? You, being in a place where all the information is, are the prime candidate. I didn’t just sign you on to this order. I recruited you, not Harold, or Ibrahim, or any of the others. I just sent them after you.”

  Joseph stared at Cardinal Wickham, speechless.

  “You see, Joseph. I know more about you than you could ever imagine.” Wickham placed his elbows on the table and rested his chin in his hands. “For instance, I know that your real name isn’t McCoy.” He watched as Joseph shifted in his seat. “I know that you aren’t from Ireland. You’re from Canada. I also know that one night when you were sixteen years old you got drunk with some of your friends and decided to rob a liquor store.” He watched now as Joseph’s face turned pale. “I also know that it was your gun that went off. Oh, I’m sure it was an accident like you told the police.

  Still, a woman and her little girl lost their lives that night. Didn’t they, Joseph?”

  Cardinal Joseph McCoy sat silent, suspicious. Wickham could almost imagine what must be going through the man’s mind. What was the angle? Was he in trouble? What did Wickham want?

  It wasn’t so much a matter of what he wanted, but what he knew Joseph wanted. And that would make all the difference. “You desire the papacy.”

  Joseph shifted in his seat again and started to speak. Wickham gave a sharp shake of his head. He’d heard a noise. Someone else was here. The rest of the Brotherhood had arrived. This would have to wait.

  “Don’t worry, my friend.” Cardinal Wickham smiled. “Your secrets are safe with me. And like I said before, information is the key to power.”

  CHAPTER 13

  St. Anna Cathedral

  “… And so My brothers and sisters, let us not neglect the poor and needy, but rather sacrifice ourselves to help them, just as our Lord and Savior, Jesus, did. My peace I give you. Go in peace. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

  Father Ruiz made the sign of the cross and finished Mass as he waited for the procession that began making its way out of the sanctuary. The altar boys led the way down the center of the cathedral. Father Ruiz and Father Vin followed behind.

  Father Vin motioned his head toward the back door to her as he passed. She waited until the other parishioners began to leave and then stood.

  Her knees were stiff from kneeling during the service. Being a soccer player definitely was not conducive to Catholic worship.

  She thought about what she’d just witnessed. It was her first Mass. It was beautiful. Most of the Mass was spoken in Spanish. Some, however, had been in English. Father Ruiz explained to the congregation that they had some American visitors and he did it for them. No one seemed to mind. Most of them spoke English anyway.

  Given the few times she’d been to church in her life, Anna never experienced anything like a Catholic Mass. She didn’t know really what to think. It was night and day different from the Baptist church where she and her parents went on the occasional Easter or Christmas. Still, it was beautiful.

  Fathers Vin and Ruiz were waiting for her at the back of the church. She stood off to the side until the last little old lady made her way up to the priests. She gave Father Ruiz a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Then, she turned to Father Vin and said, “It was a pleasure having you to worship with us Father Marcella.”

  “My pleasure, miss …”

  “Ruiz. Isabella Ruiz. I am Manuel’s mother.” She nodded to Father Ruiz.

  “Ah yes, Mrs. Ruiz. So very nice to meet you.” Father Vin stooped down to give the lady a peck on the cheek.

  “Mamma, I am afraid I have some business to attend to with Father Vin. Please excuse us. I will be home for our brunch in a little while.” Father Ruiz helped his mother down the front stairs of the cathedral and said good-bye. Once she was on her way, he turned his attention back to his mysterious guests. “We can go back to my chambers if you wish.”

  Father Vin nodded his appreciation. “That would be best, I think.”

  Father Ruiz led Anna and Father Vin back down the hallway they came from and into the rear of the church. They entered the private chambers where Father Ruiz offered them some pastries and coffee. Though neither was very hungry, they both accepted. Once they were all seated, Father Ruiz beg
an.

  “Father Vin, I must say I am impressed with your adapting to the Spanish so quickly.”

  “Well, I must admit I did take several years of it in school, and in seminary. It’s just been awhile. I thought it would come back to me quickly. At least I hoped!” Father Vin chuckled.

  “You did well! I enjoyed ministering with you.” Silence hung in the air for several seconds before Father Ruiz spoke again. “This other matter you mentioned earlier …”

  “Well,” Father Vin began, “I know Thomas spent several days down here. I was a very special friend of his. You might even say that I was his protector. Right before he came here, we got separated. Unfortunately, I was unable to meet him here. I don’t know how much you and Thomas talked, but I do know that right before he passed away, he gave me this.” Father Vin reached inside his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper that had one line scribbled on it:

  Father Manuel Ruiz, St. Anna Cathedral, Caracas, Venezuela

  “I don’t know why he would have us contact you, but I do know what it’s about. I assume you do, too.”

  Father Ruiz studied the face of the man sitting across from him. He looked over at Anna. “How do I know for sure you are who you say you are?”

  Anna quickly reached for her purse to pull out identification but stopped suddenly, remembering she no longer had any. “Please, Father Ruiz, if you have any information for us …”

  “You do understand,” Father Ruiz continued, “Thomas was in fear for his life. He only confided in me as a priest. We talked. I counseled him with his spiritual walk. Nothing more. I am afraid he made no mention of the two of you.”

  “Are you sure?” Anna asked. “He didn’t say anything to you about a scr—”

  “Anna—” Father Vin quickly cut her off.

  “Father, I’m sorry we’ve wasted your time. Anna and I will be going.” He stood to leave.