Father Tolbert’s eyes widened. “What? How?”
“It’s simple really,” the cardinal continued. “The nucleus from your body cells were put into eggs from which the nucleus had been removed.
The resulting entity developed into an embryo, and was placed in a woman’s uterus and brought to term. How surprised we were when the embryo spilt, and not only was one child reproduced, but five. Two died at birth, three lived. Your exact genetic duplicates, clones.” Father Tolbert’s face twisted with anger. “You fucking bastard. Why me?”
“You were healthy. Fit for such an operation. I wanted to be the host myself, but my past health history with cancer made it impossible.”
“Who’s the mother?” Father Tolbert eked out, beginning to cry.
Cardinal Polletto smiled. “Someone equally healthy and strong,” he answered. He told Father Tolbert the mother’s name.
“Arrrrrrrh,” cried the priest. “You’ve used me all along! You fucking asshole! You’ve used me!”
“Calm down,” the cardinal snapped. “Without me, you would’ve gone to jail, or worst, been killed a long time ago. I saved you, protected you, as should a blood relative.”
“I don’t believe you! You’re lying!”
Cardinal Polletto slapped the priest hard. “You’re my nephew! Born of my sister here in Rome! Accept it!”
Father Tolbert sprang to his feet and lunged for Cardinal Polletto’s neck.
“Get the sedative!” screamed the cardinal. “Sedate him!” Father Ortega rushed to the nightstand and grabbed a needle, already full of Midazolam, a powerful sedative, and rushed over to the struggling men.
“Hold him steady!” yelled Father Ortega.
Cardinal Polletto couldn’t answer. Every bit of strength he could muster was being used to keep the priest from choking him to death.
Father Ortega pulled up Father Tolbert’s sleeve and aimed.
Father Tolbert let go of Cardinal Polletto and smashed Father Ortega in the face, sending blood flying from his nose. Father Ortega fell back and dropped the needle. Father Tolbert grabbed it and stabbed Cardinal Polletto in the neck.
The cardinal crashed against the nightstand, knocking over a water pitcher, then hit the floor. His vision blurred. Can’t let him get away, he’ll ruin everything. Cardinal Polletto struggled to stand. The room swayed back and forth. He dropped to his knees.
“Cardinal Polletto, are you alright?” he heard a distant voice ask.
“Don’t let him escape,” he managed to mumble.
The cardinal felt his body lighten. His breathing fell shallow. The twelve Caesars stood before him, their disapproval obvious. Then Cardinal Polletto blacked out.
40
F ather Tolbert bolted from the room and stumbled down a long, dark hallway, bumping into walls and furniture, knocking down paintings, legs aching, nearly out of breath, his heart a sledgehammer banging against the inside of his chest. He tumbled down the circular stairway and rolled to the floor, startling Bishop Giordano. Father Tolbert jumped to his feet and ran for the door.
“Stop him! Don’t let him escape!” barked Father Ortega, running down the stairs, slipping down a few himself.
Bishop Giordano sprinted after Father Tolbert, caught him just outside the door, and wrapped him up with both arms from behind. The priest, possessed, anger overflowing, broke the bear hug and punched the bishop in the face, knocking him on his ass, as two men trailing Bishop Giordano dove for him and missed. Father Ortega hit the doorway.
The muscles in Father Tolbert’s legs tensed. He willed them to run and sprinted down the walkway, the pounding of Father Ortega’s size thirteen’s stomping right behind him.
The immediate area around the castle, illuminated by floodlights, offered no place to hide. Father Tolbert headed for the woods just off the lake, down a steep hill of stones. He jumped off the rocky cliff into the darkness, barely avoiding Father Ortega’s grasp.
Father Tolbert crashed to the ground below, chest first, knocking the wind out of his lungs. He laid there clawing the dirt, gasping for air road-blocked from his lungs. Good, maybe this is death calling. He relaxed and encouraged death to take him, but the barrier released, and oxygen stampeded into his lungs. His head pulsated and pounded. Water pooled up in his eyes as he gasped and sucked in buckets of air.
Lights beamed down from the top of the cliff, creating a kaleidoscope through the salty pools flooding his pupils. The tears fell away. Flashlight beams crisscrossed the area, then finally settled on him.
“There he is, I see him!” screamed an unfamiliar voice in Italian.
The lights started down the hill toward him. Father Tolbert inhaled deeply. A surge of crisp air helped clear his head. He forced himself to his feet and bolted for the dense woods behind him. Branches and brush slapped his face, scratched his arms, and ripped at his clothing. Twenty minutes later, he stopped, sweat searing his eyes, and listened. Except for his heartbeat, and the wheeze of air from his lungs, all was quiet.
He bent over to throw up, but only dry heaved. A stabbing pain pierced his chest, his stomach knotted up and cramped. He gathered himself, stood, and leaned against a tree. He listened intently. The sound of twigs breaking crackled off in the distance. He quickly and quietly made his way toward the lake, where he could move faster along the shore.
When he reached the water, a full moon shimmered off it as though it were a sheet of mirrored glass. Father Tolbert spotted Bracciano Castle, now a half mile away. Trevigano, on the other side of the lake, stood sentry against the hills in back of the village, scattered lights visible in the hillside.
The crunching of brush and flickering flashlight beams moved closer. Father Tolbert ran along the shore, quickly putting distance between him and his pursuers, something he knew wouldn’t last long. As soon as they picked up his trail, they’d close in fast.
Just as the thought streaked through his mind, Father Tolbert heard faint voices, looked back and saw two roving lights stopped on the shore.
He increased his speed, pumping his arms and sore legs as hard as he could. The lights behind him quickly bounced in his direction.
“There he is!” one of the men shouted.
Father Tolbert tried to move faster, but couldn’t. The lights closed in, and he could make out the forms of two shadowed bodies running hard after him. Panicked, he bumped into something hard and hit the ground, his face plowing into a mud puddle. The priest jumped to his feet and looked down. A boat!
Father Tolbert took a few steps back, sprinted forward, and pushed the rowboat out into the water. The two men chasing him were in full view, both lean and athletic. He jumped into the boat. They spotted him and dove into the water, splashing wildly, swimming after him.
Father Tolbert grabbed the oars and rowed, his arms straining, struggling at the unfamiliar effort. He spotted the flashlights, still in the swimmers’ hands, bouncing up and down like fireflies, getting closer by the stroke, an eerie sight in the darkness.
Father Tolbert found a rhythm and pulled away. The flashlights disappeared and the boat rocked back and forth. One of the men pulled himself up on the side of the boat, with a knife in his teeth. He rolled over into the boat and snatched the blade from his mouth.
“Bastardo!” he bellowed. “Stop rowing or I’ll cut your throat!” Father Tolbert stopped. The man took a step forward. His partner swam up to the other side of the boat.
“Turn around,” the man with the knife ordered. “I’m going to tie you up.”
The priest turned, grabbed one of the oars and swung it back at the knife wielding Italian, knocking him over the side, his partner going down with him. Both men tried to pull themselves up.
Father Tolbert, his eyes glazed over with fury, beat them over the head again and again, until both bodies floated out of sight, and disappeared into the night.
Distraught, Father Tolbert collapsed, completely drained. He sprawled out in the middle of the boat, breathing hard, staring at the stars; loa
thing what he’d become. A menace to children, and now a murderer.
The tiny dinghy drifted aimlessly in the darkness for nearly an hour before the priest mustered enough strength to raise himself up. The lights of Trevigano were few, but still visible from the middle of the lake. He grabbed the oars, one now blood soaked and severely cracked, and rowed toward Trevigano, the effort to reach shore twice as difficult as before.
But the fear that once consumed him, was now replaced with a new determination to confess what he knew.
The longer he rowed, the greater his anger grew. I’ll put a stop to Cardinal Polletto.
Father Tolbert considered going straight to the Vatican hierarchy, but squashed the notion quickly. There was no way for him to know who at the Vatican worked for Cardinal Polletto and The Order. The cardinal’s people would be looking for him everywhere; at the Church and in Rome. Who can I tell and not get caught?
Less than a hundred yards from shore, he slowed down. There is one person. I…I must contact Samuel’s godfather, Robert Veil.
The boat reached land. Father Tolbert jumped into the water and pulled it all the way on shore, then looked out over the water. Quiet and still, Bracciano Lake was a blanket of serenity. No movement or sound except for the animal inhabitants in the woods, who chirped, hooted, and howled. A stranger is in our midst.
Feet as heavy as cinder blocks, Father Tolbert lumbered into the forest, dreading his decision to contact Robert Veil, knowing he’d have to confess his sins against Samuel, knowing it might cost him his life. It doesn’t matter, I’m ready to die.
The trees separating Trevignano from the lake were not nearly as dense as those on the other side, and Father Tolbert, cold and shivering, quickly found himself on a pitch-black road lined with empty bars and restaurants, closed for the night.
Trevignano, small and picturesque, almost hidden on the northern shores of Lake Bracciano, lay on a cliff at the end of a small bay; the secondary crater of an ancient volcano. The priest headed south and stayed close to the trees, where he could hide quickly if needed. He knew he was about thirty to forty kilometers from Rome, a walk that would take him deep into the following evening, less if he kept a steady pace.
He passed the last home in the small village, a large villa imbedded in the cliff. There was nobody in sight. He crossed to the opposite side of the street, where the brush offered better cover. Bracciano castle drew closer as he walked. Nervous, he kept a close eye out for any sign of Cardinal Polletto’s men. He was sure they wouldn’t expect him to come back by the castle, but erred on the side of caution, and stayed poised for the unexpected.
Father Tolbert heard the low rumble of an automobile coming his way, from Trevignano. He looked back and spotted two bright eyes steaming down the road he was traveling, quickly rolling in his direction.
He sprinted to the trees just off the lake. If it’s them, I’ll swim for it. I’ll have a better chance in the water. The beams from the headlights caught him as he stepped in the woods. He stopped, hid behind a tree and stooped low. The car slowed to a near stop. Father Tolbert eased toward the water.
“Father,” a voice called from the car, “do you need a ride?” Father Tolbert’s heart raced. He eased out of the brush toward the car. Inside was a man nearly sixty, with a full gray beard, wearing round spectacles, and a white yachting cap.
Father Tolbert leaned inside and smiled. “Hello, I’m Father Tolbert,” he said, extending his hand. “How far are you going?”
“I’m Giovanni Telfair, and I’m on my way to Rome,” the old man said.
“Giovanni, a gift from God. Well, you’re just in time. I need a ride to Rome.”
Giovanni unlocked the door to the old, red Fiat. Father Tolbert eased inside. The car sputtered, picked up speed and they sped off down the road, drawing closer to Bracciano Castle.
“So, what has you out in the middle of the night, Father, if I may ask?” asked Giovanni.
Father Tolbert froze, then recovered. “My car broke down back in Trevignano, so I left it there and decided to travel by foot at night until I could get a ride, and here you are.”
“God does answer prayers,” Giovanni laughed, then barked a smoker’s cough and spat out the window.
The road they traveled curved and wound it’s way so close to Bracciano Castle, Father Tolbert saw people moving about inside and out.
“She’s still beautiful after all these years,” said Giovanni, gazing at the castle, as if it were his lover. “I look at her and my heart still flutters.”
Father Tolbert tensed up as the car hooked a curve a hundred feet from the castle. “I know what you mean,” he answered, his brow wet. He bit his bottom lip as the fortress disappeared behind them.
Ten minutes later, with the castle hidden by the distance and darkness, Father Tolbert relaxed and eased his seat back.
“Go ahead and rest, Father, I’ll wake you when we’re almost in Rome.”
Father Tolbert thanked his host, let his seat fall back further, shut his eyes, and turned his thoughts toward finding Robert Veil. A difficult task with a platoon of The Order’s faithful sure to be searching for him in every quarter in Rome. I can’t walk around in these clothes. That’s the first thing I’ll change, along with my hair. I’ll dye it another color, maybe blond. The more he planned, his confidence increased. I can make this work if I can just find Samuel’s godfather.
His thoughts bounced around in his mind, keeping pace with the Fiat as it navigated the rough, rocky road. He considered going to the American Embassy, or maybe checking every hotel in Rome. He dismissed the Embassy, which left the hotels. There were so many, Father Tolbert didn’t know where he’d start, but it was his best bet. He’d begin with the American hotels, then work his way around, changing his disguise every few days to make sure he wasn’t discovered.
Father Tolbert smiled. For the first time in his life, he knew he was doing the right thing, and no matter what happened, he was going to see it through. With his plan in place, he relaxed and dozed off to sleep.
In his dreams, he saw Samuel, his son, along with Eduardo and Felipe. They held out their hands and bid him to come. Innocent.
Inviting. He clenched his teeth. “No,” he shouted, in his dreams, “stay away from me! Please, go back!” The three boys continued to smile and walk toward him. He screamed louder for them to stop, as his member began to tingle. “Please, stop, I don’t want to…”
“Father, Father, wake up! You’re having a bad dream,” Giovanni cried, his voice distant and hazy.
A sudden bump jolted Father Tolbert awake and he snapped up.
“Asshole!” Giovanni shouted, looking in the rearview mirror.
Giovanni begged Father Tolbert’s forgiveness. Another bump jerked them forward. Whoever was in the car behind them was honking their horn as though they wanted to pass. Father Tolbert squinted, but the dark and dust prevented him from making out the person driving. The car rammed them again.
Giovanni eased the car over. “Go on,” he shouted, waving the car by,
“pass us if it’s that important to you!” The car hit them again, harder, forcing Giovanni to wrestle with the wheel to keep them from crashing into the trees. The old man reached under his seat and pulled out a revolver. “I think he’s a bandit,” growled Giovanni, cocking back the hammer. “Get down, Father, I’m going to shoot!”
Father Tolbert crouched low, but kept his eyes on the car behind them. Giovanni pointed the gun out the window. The other driver sped up and tried to force them off the road. Giovanni dropped the gun on the floor and hit his brakes. The Fiat’s brake lights were enough to illuminate the driver chasing them. Father Sin!
“Keep going,” Father Tolbert bellowed, “I’ll get the gun!” Giovanni hit the accelerator. Father Tolbert snatched up the gun, rolled down his window, pointed and fired, sending Father Sin swerving back and forth, fishtailing off the road.
“We’ve lost him,” said Giovanni, his voice cracking.
Bu
t as soon as the words left the bearded Italian’s mouth, headlights zoomed up fast. This time, Father Sin hit them so hard, the back wheels of the Fiat lifted off the ground. Giovanni cursed. The car spun around, tossing Father Tolbert against the door. They flew off the side of the road, down a steep ravine, and crashed into a tree. Father Tolbert felt a bone numbing pain all over his body. His back felt like someone beat it with a baseball bat, and his head threatened to explode. He got his bearings and realized he was upside down.
“Giovanni,” he gasped, “are you okay?” There was no answer. The priest righted himself and opened his door.
On the ground in front of him was the revolver. He picked it up.
Father Tolbert looked back inside the car. The driver seat was empty. In the moonlight, he saw that the front windshield was bashed out, and spread out over the hood was Giovanni, his head a bloody mess; completely crushed, the white captain’s hat covered with matted gray hair and thick, dark blood.
Father Tolbert checked for Giovanni’s pulse, nothing. He said a prayer and pleaded with God for Giovanni’s soul. He’s dead because of me. He heard the crunch of leaves and brush, looked up the hill, and saw a flashlight beam, which fell on his face.
“Don’t move!” shouted Father Sin.
A sharp pain needled Father Tolbert’s legs, but he forced them to move, and ran deeper into the woods. He looked back, Father Sin was gaining and he couldn’t run any faster. He closed his fists. His right hand was wrapped around something hard. The gun!
Father Tolbert stopped, turned and fired twice. The flashlight disappeared. He hobbled out of the woods onto a main road. He turned around, Father Sin was right behind him, mouth frothing, eyes blazing.
Father Tolbert ran to the other side of the road into another wooded area.
He leaned against a tree and peered out at Father Sin, who was crouched low, zig zagging across the street. Father Tolbert couldn’t move. Father Sin drew closer. Father Tolbert grit his teeth, pointed the revolver and fired twice more, sweat burning his eyes, blurring his vision.
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