A Pius Man: A Holy Thriller (The Pius Trilogy Book 1)

by Declan Finn

  Before she moved, she hesitated a moment, feeling a presence behind her. She looked over her shoulder to confirm that Maureen McGrail was there. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

  McGrail smiled slightly. “He’s better at sucking the air out of the room. Besides, you try getting him to shut up.”

  Shushurin almost smiled. “You’re not the one he’s aiming at.”

  Sean waved the weapon in an attempt to bring the conversation back to focus. “Hi, cranky guy with gun would like to continue the conversation.”

  McGrail laughed. “Now Sean, isn’t it a rare thing that someone actually notes me?”

  Sean paused a moment, and gave her a slight nod. “True. Now that we’re done with that, what the hell is going on here?”

  “My name’s Manana.”

  “Hi, I’m Scott.”

  “Can you put the gun down before a tourist walks by and sees you?” Shushurin asked.

  Sean lowered the weapon to his thigh. Murphy was in a relatively relaxed pose, comfortable with trying to talk his way out of the situation. Shushurin still looked slightly tense.

  She is almost definitely a field officer with a military background. “I’m guessing you both came here because of Ramzi Yousef’s brother?”

  Murphy nodded. “You could say that. Why, do you know anything?”

  Sean arched his brows, amused. “Do I look like a Wiki page? You can get your own damn information, although I’m sure that you’ve bugged the hell out of everything and everybody.”

  McGrail smiled. “Sean, don’t you bug the hell out of people, before they even know you?”

  “You know what I mean.” He looked back to the spies, thinking over the day, using hindsight to fill in the blanks. He glanced and stared hard at Shushurin. “There were gunshots at the Spanish Steps before the rooftops opened up. I caught a bit of blonde hair on a woman — a wig, I presume. You made the shooters prematurely fire. But to do that, you would need to know where we were going… you bugged the car, didn’t you?”

  Sean smiled at Murphy. “You planted the bug, right? I thought you looked familiar. You were there when they almost ran me over; must have put it on the car while they stopped.” He took their silence for agreement. “So, do you two know who the shooters are?”

  Shushurin shook her head. “Not a clue. There are too many options so far.”

  “I’m certain,” Sean grumbled. He tucked away his gun. “Well, I’ll do you both a favor — I’m not going to do anything to you. I’m going to let you stay on the periphery.”

  Murphy raised an eyebrow. “I sense a catch.”

  Sean’s eyes narrowed as he smiled broadly. “I think it’s a great idea to move everyone indoors. For their own safety, of course. Good luck bugging the Vatican.”

  “Aye,” McGrail added. “Wouldn’t you have to do something drastic to get information? Like ask? And isn’t information a two way street?”

  Shushurin and Murphy exchanged a glance. Murphy would be forced to make contact with Wilhelmina Goldberg. Shushurin and Murphy would be forced to exchange information with her, and thus their information would end up in the hands of Figlia and Abasi as well.

  The two spies glared at Sean Ryan, who smiled. “Yes, I am a son of a bitch, but I wouldn’t tell my mother that if I were you.”

  * * *

  Giovanni Figlia leaned back in his chair, reaching for the telephone. “As much as this conversation interests me, I need to clear things up with—”

  The office door exploded inward, and Cardinal Cannella swept into the room like a Mafia knee-breaker dressed as Santa Claus. “What is this I hear about one of your men shooting up the Spanish Steps?”

  Figlia rolled his eyes. I need to get a new lock for my door. “Oh, now what?”

  Cannella panted from yelling after running inside. “One of your bastards destroyed a national monument.”

  Figlia slowly leaned back in the chair, his eyes narrowing. “To start with,” he said slowly, “the ‘bastard’ in question was not one of mine. He was brought in by the Pope—”

  “I’ll bring that stupidity up with him later!” the Cardinal barked “Training priests and nuns to kill people, I—”

  “Cardinal Cannella, currently of the Vatican Archives,” Figlia interrupted, “I hope you remember Joshua Kutjok, your boss the Pope.” He nodded behind him, and the Cardinal for the first time acknowledged the large Pontiff’s presence.

  The Pope rose, glaring at Cannella. “Can I help you?”

  Abasi looked at Goldberg. “I think it’s time for us to leave, don’t you?”

  “You mean you don’t want to stay for the fun?”

  “I’d rather go through the Vatican Archives’ visitor log…”

  The Pope almost growled as his large hand clamped down on the cardinal’s shoulder. “Hey, Markist, you’re looking at me, the Jesuit Pope.”

  Goldberg’s eyebrows rose, wondering if violent tendencies were supposed to be prevalent in any Pope. She glanced to the Egyptian. “You know what, Abasi? I think you’re right. Besides, I’d like to get to my own frigging hotel room and—”

  “No,” Figlia snapped, standing. “You’re both staying on the grounds tonight. I don’t want either of you getting shot at. In fact, I should have told Ryan and McGrail to do the—”

  His desk phone rang, and he answered. “Figlia.”

  “Johnny boy, it’s Ryan,” came the voice of the former American stuntman. “I just had a thought, I’m bringing McGrail back to the residence.” Figlia smiled. “You read my mind.”

  “By the way,” Sean added, “I wouldn’t go home if I were you. You’re married to that forensics lady, aren’t you?”

  Figlia blinked. He hadn’t thought of that. “Your point is taken.” Figlia bent over to make a note on a memo pad, and when he looked up, he found that all eyes were upon him.

  The Pontiff looked at his security chief with raised eyebrows. “Something wrong?”

  “Hold on a moment, Sean.” Figlia covered the receiver. “Sean wants me to move myself and my family into the Vatican for the evening, at least until we can secure all involved with investigating the …” He glanced at Cardinal Cannella, “… recent incidents.”

  “Good idea,” the Pope replied. “I will have them start making arrangements for you and your children immediately, Gianni, and it shouldn’t be too hard to do the same for everyone else, right? I think I can arrange something.” With that, he swept out of the office, Cannella following in his wake like a puppy trying to get attention.

  Goldberg smiled. “Well, that was interesting.”

  Abasi nodded. “Most interesting. But what happens if the Cardinal returns?”

  Figlia waved it away. “Cannella will probably do as he usually does, and follow the Pope around for hours. Excuse me, Sean,” Figlia said into the phone, “I’ll get back to you.”

  The Commandatore hung up. “Why does everyone treat my office like a train terminal?” He leaned forward, elbows on his desk, rubbing his temples. At the moment, he wanted nothing more than to get back to his wife and his children, and hide from the number of idiocies he had to tend to. “No offense, Agent Goldberg, but I am quickly starting to have my fill of Americans today.”

  * * *

  The German and Mossad intelligence officers sighed. Scott Murphy slid down the column until his butt hit the stone ground, sitting next to the German spy. “I think I’m going to kill that bastard stuntman.”

  Shushurin tucked her legs under her and shrugged. “I wouldn’t try if I were you. You’re not trained for that.”

  Murphy hmmed. “That is so putting it mildly. When other guys go to the range, I have to pretend to shoot so I don’t wind up hitting myself in the foot. How about you? Did the BND teach you how to be Secret Agent girl, kill people fifty ways with a weinerschnizel?”

  The smile fell from her face. “Not the BND.” She leaned her head against the back of the pillar and closed her eyes. “My father was part of the East German Stas
i, the foreign division. I even think they made a comic book character based on my father. I know I have an older brother named Nikita. He’s fifteen years older than I am. I know he was Robert Hansen’s last handler.”

  Murphy blinked, thinking briefly back to the FBI mole for the Russians. “Ah… I guess your father was more Russian than German?”

  “That is putting it mildly. He worked very closely with the KGB. So closely that I think he was KGB. When the wall fell, he had to leave Germany. I can’t say that I minded.” She paused for a moment.

  “They wanted to train me to be one of those teenage spies you read about in novels. Had the Wall not fallen when it did, I would have been fully trained in seduction techniques. As it is, I am very good at martial arts.”

  Murphy nodded. “So that’s why the BND sent you here, among other reasons, I’m certain. But why, may I ask, did they hire you considering the family background?”

  Shushurin shrugged. “I put myself down as a bastard, fatherless.” She smiled. “I think that’s the only reason they let me in, I fit in so well with the other bastards… and I graduated college early with minors in political science and philosophy and a major in history… real history, which I never got in the USSR. Then the BND recruited me.”

  “As an analyst,” he prodded. “But you’re too good with a gun; lie, cheat, steal, etc.”

  Her star-lit eyes twinkled. “You should see me on poker night.”

  Murphy smiled. “I see. Been anywhere interesting?”

  “No,” she admitted. “I’ve gone after a few neo-Nazis, some Leftists, occasionally gotten to the UK, and to America, where I can… get information out of anyone on the Senate Intelligence Committee, mostly Democrats from Massachusetts… no offense to Boston.”

  Murphy grinned around his pipe. “If you’re talking about the guy I’m thinking about, then he is the offense.” He inhaled slightly. “You sound like you have a nice life, and certainly get better missions than I do, except, well, where’s the rest of your life? I know that I don’t have one.”

  “Officially, I live with my mother. Unofficially - when not in a foreign country - in my office, on a couch.”

  “Ugh. That doesn’t sound good.” Murphy puffed on the pipe. “I guess that explains why you don’t have a social life. I at least have the excuse that I look Palestinian in Israel. You don’t even have a house to take… someone to.”

  Shushurin gave a half-frown. “Most men I date want to sleep with me on the first date, and I need to turn them down or break their arms.”

  Murphy leaned closer to her. “Why? Or should I take a guess?”

  She raised a brow. “What do you want to guess?”

  “The Soviets were very paranoid. How much of your training has stuck?”

  Shushurin gave him a sad smile. “A good deal. I functioned fine before I entered the BND, but once I went in…”

  “The old training kicked in.”

  She nodded. “So no matter how hard I try to break the paranoia, I can’t… seem to let myself… get attached to anyone outside the office. Unless I had already met them before BND.”

  He pursed his lips. “Wow… That’s… bordering on the tragic. You’re lovely, attractive, and that’s just your personality. You’re not bad to look at either. While I’m single, there’s not much to look at, and I’m only as paranoid as I have to be. You were trained and drilled as a kid in what I’m certain the Soviets did to more children than just you.”

  Murphy reached a tentative arm around her shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze. “Well, if nothing else, I’d be happy to ask you out when this is all over.”

  She smiled. “You’re sweet. But why wait?”

  Murphy blinked, not really anticipating that response. “We’re on a job. And we need to contact Goldberg in a way that looks innocent, and… we’re on a job.”

  She shook her head, an amused smile telling him what she thought of his reaction. “And we have a one-bedroom hotel room all to ourselves. We can at least talk in bed, right?”

  He gave her a lopsided smile. “But I’m Catholic; I should probably take the chair.”

  Shushurin reached over, touching her fingers to the back of his head, making his skin tingle. She then leaned over and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek. “We’ll think of something.”

  Murphy looked deep into her star-lit eyes, and saw motion reflected there. “Someone’s coming.”

  Chapter XIII: Cardinal Sins

  Goldberg was about to say something consoling to Giovanni Figlia — maybe something along the lines of Americans not really being that bad — when Sean Ryan and Maureen McGrail walked into the room.

  So much for that idea, she thought. Maybe it is time to get his mind off of the crap to come. “So, who was the idiot?”

  “Cardinal Cannella,” Sean answered, flowing into a chair. “Last year, Boston authorities unmasked a drug-smuggling ring.” Sean looked around, spotting a newspaper. He picked it up and thumbed through it. “The news only just printed that the ring had made numerous donations to the Boston Diocese, specifically the Markist Brothers. At the moment, the only real connection is that the drug runners used coffins to smuggle in the drugs. The Markists supplied the coffins and said the funerals. But that doesn’t say much. Why bother bribing a Cardinal when you can get the same, probably cheaper, results with a rectory desk clerk? The donations have come out and the indictments just came down, and Cannella ran just ahead of the fallout. He was put in charge of the reconstruction of the Vatican Archives — possibly to give the construction workers someone to feel superior to.” He shrugged at Goldberg. “As for the donations… A payoff? Keeping up a front? Supporting a pedophile-filled ‘lavender seminary’?”

  Figlia chuckled. “At least you are a Catholic.”

  Sean laughed. “After a fashion. I’m from L.A. The other choice is pagan or cult-like mega-churches.”

  Figlia slowly shook his head with a smile. “Funny, I thought that was America.”

  Hashim Abasi looked at the Vatican security man. “That’s supposed to be my line.”

  Figlia shook his head. “You never heard my boss really go after the American Catholic Church. Trust me, you don’t want to, you’d be here all day.”

  Goldberg raised her eyebrows. “What’s a lavender seminary?”

  Sean groaned. He did not want to explain this. “Places taken over by ‘liberal’ clergymen, priests who had no intent of following through with their vows of celibacy, and instructed seminarians to cruise gay bars and porn. Plenty of pederasts resided in or controlled them, and that’s why most of the pederasts caught lately have been from the 1970s, when most of those priests were at the height of their power, endorsing ‘sexual liberation’ for 8-year-olds. However, when the Man-Boy Love Association talks about the same thing, the ACLU runs to the rescue.”

  Hashim Abasi shook his head. “And you wonder why my Muslim brethren call you barbarians.” He scoffed.

  “I am surprised that no one has considered there may be something more to the ‘donations’?”

  Figlia thought a moment. “If there were, His Holiness might lay hands on Cannella himself.”

  Abasi grinned. “Understood.”

  Wilhelmina Goldberg smiled. “The pope would make a wonderful cop.” She rose to her feet and stretched slightly, having been in the chair for far too long. “Now, I’m going to take a look at those blasted archives before I fall asleep.”

  “Before you do, Villie,” Sean pointed out, “you might want to be on the lookout for someone from Mossad.”

  The Egyptian looked up as though someone had slapped him. “What?”

  Sean nodded. “I ran across a Mossad and a BND agent right outside. Since Johnny boy is moving everyone inside, they’re going to try tapping you for information, Agent Goldberg. I see no reason not to play nice with them until we can drag them into our little circle. And before you ask, they were looking into Yousef’s murder. Now I think they’re also on the Pius murders.”

>   Figlia said, “Okay, let’s try it this way — since I don’t want anyone walking around here alone, take someone with you. I don’t care who it is, as long as it isn’t me. I’ve tried to call the damn police several times so far, and every time I do, something happens.”

  Goldberg nodded. “Okay, I’ll head in, take a look at the archive logs to see who looked up what, and split off just long enough to give the Mossad guy some time to make contact.” She blinked and turned her hazel eyes to Sean. “It is a guy, right?”

  Sean smiled. “The Mossad agent is a guy — blond hair, blue eyes, thin, kinda pale. The BND agent is a taller-than-average brunette who is… way too pretty for undercover work. She’s someone out of James Bond central casting. Trust me. You’ll know her when you see her.”

  * * *

  Wilhelmina Goldberg paused at the door to the Vatican Archives... the dimly lit room in the practically vacant building. She smiled at Hashim Abasi. “You first?”

  He smiled. “If you insist. But I don’t have a gun.”

  Goldberg pulled out her Sig Sauer P229. “You can handle a .357 magnum load?”

  Abasi raised his brow. “You fire one of those? The kick is usually enough to knock me backwards.”

  She smiled. “You just need to know how to fire it.”

  He held out his hand and she handed it over. He slid it into an inner jacket pocket in the hope that he wouldn’t need it, and opened the door.

  The vault that was the Vatican Archives was locked and secure.

  However, the gatekeeper of the archives was dead on the ground, both knees bent the wrong way, and his head at an odd angle.

  Abasi had the pistol out immediately, scanning the area. “I hope you know Figlia’s number. We’re going to need him.”

  Goldberg grabbed her cell phone, looking behind her to check the hall; she only caught a passing glimpse of a shadow with silver hair, moving fast and away quickly. She blinked and stepped back, into the office, and closed the door behind her, almost running into Abasi.