Genesis

by Tom Fox

  Gabriella had to think only a second. “Yes. One of three in Venezuela.”

  Alexander sat down slowly, then leaned in toward her.

  “Piece it together,” he said. His face appeared to have grown a shade paler. “Obscure financial transactions are found in a Roman parish. They’re linked by a biblical reference code. When discovered, they’re erased—but not before we learn that they point toward this country.”

  Gabriella didn’t need to wait for the rest of his thought. “A country where a cardinal is suddenly executed.”

  Alexander’s gaze lingered in her eyes.

  “I don’t think it was by gang members.”

  Chapter 18

  The present day: 1:58 p.m.

  Who the Venezuelan cardinal’s executioner could be was something neither Alexander nor Gabriella was equipped to discover without help. And their only source for such help—the only individual who might have any immediate connection to events—was the rector of San Sebastiano: the very Father Alberto Agostini who had been prepared to meet them two days ago. The man who had missed their appointment at the church.

  Now they had to see him.

  In the hour that had passed after the news bulletin announcing Cardinal Medina’s assassination, Alexander had tried every contact he could think of in an effort to get hold of the priest. Agostini wasn’t answering either the church or his home line, and Gabriella had been unsuccessful in locating any unlisted numbers or mobile accounts filed under his name. Alexander had even gone so far as to contact his own uncle—a cardinal himself, who held a permanent position in the Vatican curia—but no attempts to contact Agostini had been successful.

  And it wasn’t just a lack of responsiveness to phone calls. Parishioners at San Sebastiano Penitente reported that their priest hadn’t shown up for daily Mass for the past two days. No notices, no explanations: just the absence of an officiant.

  Alexander’s suspicions intensified.

  “There’s something not right here,” he finally said aloud. “The man’s either in hiding or something’s happened to him.”

  “In this case I’m inclined to agree,” Gabriella answered.

  “Can you get someone looking for him?” Alexander motioned ambiguously in the air, signaling the fact that they were, after all, in the belly of the local police headquarters.

  Gabriella was already shaking her head. “Chances are almost nil, Alex. Not with D’Antonio over my head. He passed me this case as a throwaway. He’s unlikely to funnel any additional resources into it.”

  “Even with what we now know?”

  The head-shaking intensified. “You underestimate the degree of my superior’s dismissiveness.”

  Alexander sighed, then abruptly stood. “We have a local PI I use a lot at the paper. I don’t think my editor is likely to clear the expense either, but I’ve got a little discretionary account I haven’t tapped into for a while. I’m sure I can scrape together enough cash to make our man happy.”

  He started to move for the door, speaking as he walked. “I’ll call you as soon as I have any news.”

  “Alex,” Gabriella suddenly interjected. He turned back to her and she fixed him with her gaze. “Be careful.”

  He smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep my eyes open.”

  He left her office, purposeful and confident. And unafraid.

  After all, the killing had taken place a world away.

  Chapter 19

  The present day: 2:20 p.m.

  He would have to kill her. That was the only way. No other offering would do. Ideally he should kill them both—the woman and her colleague. But that seemed an unlikely possibility. Getting them together again wouldn’t be easy.

  But Agente Gabriella Fierro was the highest-value offering. Alexander Trecchio was a former priest who wrote for what amounted to a local gossip column. It might have been he who spotted the Genesis reference, but he didn’t have the tools or the power to dig deeper.

  The police officer did. That meant she posed the greatest threat, and if he could eliminate her from the scene, the Fraternity might show mercy on the tortured man’s family.

  Is it a sin to kill, to save another? he asked himself. To save four others? He knew it was, especially in these circumstances, yet somewhere inside he hoped that God might understand. After all, he was a man without options. There were no other choices, and there was no more time. Maybe the Lord would take that into account. Maybe God would forgive him.

  His stomach churned. God’s response was out of his control. The man knew what he had to do.

  The gun had been surprisingly easy to get. Certain benefits came with being a priest and confessor in Rome for so many years. He knew more Mafia by name than most investigators who spent a lifetime seeking them out.

  He’d never asked them for a favor before. Yet when he’d approached one earlier in the morning, the man hadn’t even flinched as he’d asked for a firearm. It had been in a paper bag in his hand within fifteen minutes.

  “I’m so happy I could do you this favor, Father,” the mafioso had said to the tortured man. “Perhaps one day you can do a favor for me.”

  It was a typical underworld arrangement—something Marlon Brando might have said in one of those American films. Another stereotype in a lifetime of stereotypes. Yet the tortured man felt no dread at his new-found obligation. Let the Mafia think he owed it a life debt.

  He knew he would not be alive to be called on to fulfill it.

  Chapter 20

  The present day: 8:01 p.m.

  Gabriella was in her office when the call came through. She’d been expecting to hear from Alexander—she’d been waiting to hear back from him since they’d parted ways in the early afternoon—and her brow rose when she saw UNLISTED flash on her screen instead.

  She slid her finger across the perspiration-glossed glass to answer it.

  “Is this Agente Fierro?” a male voice immediately questioned, before she’d had a chance to say hello.

  “It is,” she answered professionally. “To whom am I speaking?”

  No delay. An immediate response. “This is Father Alberto Agostini.”

  Gabriella felt her pulse quicken. She sat more stiffly in her office chair. Alexander had been trying to track this man down all day, with no success so far as she knew.

  “Father Alberto,” she finally answered, “you’ve been difficult to get hold of. I was sorry we didn’t connect in your church.”

  “Yes, I do apologize for that.” The priest’s voice was kindly, warm and, Gabriella surmised, somewhat aged. “Something came up at the last minute. I realize it must have appeared quite rude for me to miss our appointment.”

  Gabriella wondered whether she ought to point out his absence from his church since. The fact that he’d been impossible to contact by any means. That he’d all but vanished from the Eternal City. But she decided against it. Agostini had called her. Better to let him talk without the hint of accusation or suspicion.

  “I know you wanted to speak to me about an investigation into our finances,” the priest continued. “I thought I might at least be able to atone for my former misstep by following up and seeing how that investigation is going.”

  He either knows full well, Gabriella thought, the disappearance of the transactions flashing into her mind, or he’s in the dark along with us. It was, after all, possible that he was a pawn and knew nothing at all about what was going on behind the scenes in his parish’s accounts.

  She chose circumspection. “We’re making progress,” she answered. “Some curiosities have emerged. We’re looking into them as we go.”

  “Curiosities?”

  Word choice was suddenly critical. “Some off-site transactions, interaction with foreign banks. That kind of thing. We’re not quite sure what it means, only that it’s a little unusual for a church account.”

  She hoped that was suitably vague. If he was involved, she didn’t want him thinking he’d been caught. If he wasn�
��t, she wanted to offer him enough to flesh out any additional information he might have.

  The answer came quickly enough.

  “Oh, I think I can help you with that,” Agostini answered. Gabriella sat silently a moment.

  “Help me?”

  “There’s more you should know. About our financial dealings. I’m sure you’ve spotted … spotted …” His voice faded to barely more than a hesitant whisper.

  “Spotted what, Father?”

  She could hear him swallow on the far end of the line. Then, “Miss Fierro, there is more going on than you can possibly realize. Things—things I would prefer not to speak about over the phone.”

  Gabriella was rigid in her chair. The priest knew something, and he was willing to talk. It was the break she and Alexander needed.

  “Of course, I understand,” she said. “I’ll meet you anywhere, any time. Just name the spot.” She had to catch a moment with this man before he got spooked and disappeared again.

  “It has to be tonight,” Agostini answered. “Now.”

  “Now?”

  “I realize it is rather late, but time is of the essence, Miss Fierro. We talk now, or not at all.”

  A proposition that required no consideration. “Then now it is.”

  “There’s a quiet place we can meet,” the priest said. He named the spot, which Gabriella knew well.

  She was already considering how to ensure Alexander could join her at such short notice. And her cautious streak—and her training—told her that bringing some backup would be a good idea. But the priest’s next words cut off both thoughts.

  “Come by yourself, Miss Fierro. That is an absolute requirement. I’ll know if you don’t, and I won’t join you. My life is in danger, and I can only talk to you.”

  Gabriella could feel something inside her clench in unease. But Father Agostini didn’t give her a chance to reply.

  “In one hour, Miss Fierro. One hour, or I’m gone for good.”

  Thirty seconds later, Gabriella was dialing Alexander’s number. She drew the mobile to her ear. If Agostini wouldn’t allow anyone to join her, at least she could let Alexander know what was happening.

  They had a lead. Concrete. Real. The priest was scared, from the sounds of it, but willing to talk.

  The line rang.

  If they could get Agostini to pin down details of his parish’s connection to whatever had happened in Venezuela, they might be able to link a financial mismanagement case directly to a murder.

  The line rang.

  Where is he?

  She let the phone ring a dozen more times. No voicemail. Figures. Bastard. She finally ended the call and slid her phone into her pocket.

  Screw it. I’ll call him again from the car. She made the sign of the cross as she rose. Father Agostini had only given her an hour to make their meeting, and it would take almost that long to get to the spot he’d chosen.

  At least the surroundings will be peaceful, Gabriella thought.

  Santa Maria in Trastevere had always been one of her favorite churches.

  Chapter 21

  The present day: 8:06 p.m.

  Once the Voice had spoken, its word was law. No one who heard it disobeyed. They knew what would happen if they did.

  It had spoken the plan for Genesis into being, and thereby shaped their whole work. Their future. It was simple, it was old-fashioned. It was just their style. All it required was conviction, and ruthlessness in bringing that conviction to life.

  The Church had fallen too far. Modernism had made too many inroads into her ancient, sacred life. She was supposed to be the haven of divine power, where men spoke and millions obeyed. Where right and wrong were defined by those who wore the right regalia, whose words were absolute. Along with their authority.

  But the Church was a captive now—and that captivity was growing. She was captive to the modern secularist agendas of egalitarianism, transparency, tolerance, fair play and equal opportunities. Modern reformist nonsense, all of it, far worse than the sixteenth-century reformers. At least Luther and his Protestant ilk had had the decency to break away. It had taken a little forcing, but they’d gone. Off into their own darkness. The corruption in the Church today, however, insisted on existing just there—within it. To update and change what should not be changed.

  It seemed a little forcing was again necessary.

  And so—Genesis. A new beginning. The Fraternity had existed since Vatican II concluded in 1965, wholly to counter these trends. But never had they tried to influence the very future of the Church, not in direct terms. Yet a conclave was coming. If they could get the right money behind the right prelates—without their ever knowing of it, of course—and eliminate the opposition, that was all it would take. And then, one day soon, there would be an evening, and a morning. And white smoke. And a new day.

  But the Voice did not intend to stand idly by and watch Genesis come into being. It was not passive. It had spoken in the case of the Fraternity’s disappointing failure. And the man who had heard the words would have understood them as the condemnation they were.

  But to the man who had spoken them, they had become a source of worry. The Fraternity’s leader viewed Alberto Agostini as unpredictable. No one had instructed the priest to encode their transactions the way he had—he’d taken that upon himself. That was what this man’s impulses could lead to. Their project in Venezuela could have been exposed, all by that single act. And with it, the whole work of Genesis itself. To create a new beginning in the Catholic world required cunning, but it also required that one not be caught in the act. When the old man on the throne of St. Peter finally died, no one would accept a candidate endorsed by a group they knew had killed off the opposition.

  And now they’d scared Agostini. Which was fine. It was their custom. Strike the fear of God into a man when his time was come—let him brood on the inevitability of his fate. Then send the brothers after him. The inevitable would happen.

  Would Alberto save them the trouble and end his own life? That would be ideal. Keep their hands entirely clean.

  The leader turned to the other members of the Fraternity he’d gathered in his office.

  “Have we had him followed?”

  “Of course not. Why should we? It’s not protocol. The brothers will find him anywhere.”

  The leader fidgeted in his seat. Their hit men were experts. He had no doubts about their capabilities. Still …

  “Do we have any reason to suspect he might do anything … unanticipated?”

  “He doesn’t know enough to expose us, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  It wasn’t. Indeed, the leader wasn’t quite sure what had him so unnaturally concerned.

  “I imagine he’s simply cowering in fear,” another member of the brotherhood interjected. “He’s got family in Rome. Probably scared shitless we’ll go after them too.”

  The leader’s ears tingled. “Family?”

  “A younger sister and her three kids, I think. Somewhere over in the Quartiere Salario.”

  “We’ve had a trace on her phone and email for two months,” another said. “She knows nothing.”

  “That’s not the issue,” the leader snapped. He could feel himself sitting forward in the deep burgundy leather chair. “It’s not a question of her knowing something. It’s what he will do to—”

  The Voice stopped mid-sentence. The substance of his fear materialized in his mind in an instant.

  “Fuck,” was all he said. Eyes perked to attention around the dimly lit room.

  “He knows his life is over. But you’re right. He’s probably terrified we’ll go after his family. And if he is, Agostini is the kind of man who might try to dream up a plan to save them.”

  Silence. Then a timid voice. “What plan would he think would accomplish that?”

  The leader looked up at his men. “A sacrifice.” The religious imagery was lost on no one in the room. “An atonement.”

  “A life for a life,�
� another brother muttered.

  “Or in this case, a life for lives. He offers us one, he saves four.”

  “You think Agostini has the balls to off the woman? Or the reporter?”

  “If he knows his life is over and believes it could save those he loves? Yes. I think he’s capable.”

  “Why is that such a bad thing?” A new questioner. “He’d just be helping us clean up a mess.”

  The leader was now standing. “No, my brother. He would be creating a new one. A disastrous one.”

  He peered over the collected members of the Fraternity’s inner leadership.

  “The reporter is insignificant. But if a police officer is killed, there will be an investigation. We have no idea what that woman has found, or what she may have written down. We risk being exposed, right at the moment we most need to remain invisible.”

  There was silence in the room, but the leader could tell his brethren understood his point.

  “This cannot be allowed to happen. Alberto Agostini must be stopped, and he must be stopped now.”

  Chapter 22

  The present day: 8:08 p.m.

  Alexander hadn’t heard from Gabriella all afternoon, which hardly surprised him. He’d been on his phone almost constantly since he’d left her, from the taxi ride back to La Repubblica’s headquarters till now, as the sun began to set. His goal was elusive, but at last he’d made some progress.

  Father Alberto Agostini was a man who knew how to disappear. However he’d acquired the skill—there was nothing in his résumé that would suggest he should know anything about subversion—he’d put it into effect artfully. Alexander hadn’t been able to make any contact with him through the multitude of routes at his disposal. And he’d tried them all.

  But he’d made a discovery along the way. One that might turn out to be the key.

  Agostini had a sister.

  The gears moved quickly in Alexander’s mind once a tip like this set them in motion. As soon as he’d determined the existence of Pietrina Agostini, remarkably almost thirty years her brother’s junior, he’d tracked down her address and details. Then he’d made a phone call.