by Gavin Reese
THUD
The door slammed into the wall behind it and cast Michael down to the lavish wood floor inside his room. Despite all his efforts to avoid drawing attention to himself, Michael now cared less about an audience than he did about surviving. Get up! Hafta get to the kits!
Michael summoned all his fear, anger, and defiance to push himself up off the floor. The earth spun under him as he staggered forward. Can’t, stop! He collapsed back to the floor and crawled toward his rolling carry-on bag across the room. If I can see it, I can get there! Nausea overcame him, maybe from the drugs directly, maybe from the world around him spinning like an accelerating teacup ride.
Michael willed himself to push through his worsening symptoms, but his body didn’t respond to his demands. The fog again closed in on his mind and his strength evaporated. Michael’s head slowly dropped to the floor and he laid motionless, unable to save himself. God, if you see fit, I could use an angel right now. Otherwise, it’s starting to look like I'll be home pretty soon.
Pietro Isadore's face flashed before Michael’s eyes, followed by his memory of König yelling his refusal to reconcile himself with God. What if I’m wrong? What if, it’s all wrong, and I’m just, another, murderous…zealot…
Michael’s eyes widened with terror, just as the positive pressure inside his lungs balanced itself with the atmosphere around him. I might, go to Hell, after all...
Michael commanded himself to breathe, but--
February 19, 5:40PM
Hotel Sacher. Vienna, Austria.
The world snapped back into sharp focus and Michael shot upright. An attractive woman with sandy blonde hair in a classic black pencil dress sat on the ground in front of him. She bristled at his reaction, backed away, and put her hands up in front of her shoulders. A long-handled cotton swab fell from her hand, and Michael felt a cold wetness deep inside his nose and sinuses. Why do I know her? Although muffled by the hotel’s construction, police sirens echoed through the street outside his window.
Confused by everything around him, Michael tried to stand to defend himself, but his knees gave way and he fell back. He grabbed onto the heavy chair he’d used for surveilling König’s office for the past few days to stay upright. A quick nudge with his right elbow confirmed his concealed tranquilizer gun remained in place. Not that I can easily get to it…
“Es ist okay,” the woman explained, “du bist in Sicherheit.”
Michael’s mental faculties returned. Who is she? “English, please.”
She nodded and lowered her hands. “It’s alright, you’re okay. You’re safe, and the door is locked.”
He scanned his hotel room. Where’s the Latino?
“He’s not here,” she cautiously offered.
“Who?” Michael cocked his head and looked at her. Did I say that out loud?
“The Mexican following you off the street. He’s not in here. I arrived before he did.”
“How do you, who are, I mean...” Michael exhaled in frustration. One curiosity at a time.
Before he formed his next question, the woman stood and extended her right hand, but had turned it palm-down like she was royalty. “I’m Stefanie Schatz-König, and I believe you’re trying to help me.”
Michael backed away and avoided her feminine handshake. Her identity created more questions than it answered. “I’m sorry, I’m contaminated. How did you, I mean--” He quit stammering and leaned down on the chair.
“There’s time for explanations later, Father. You have to get out of those clothes and into the shower. We only have a few minutes before you’ll be due for another dose.”
Michael understood her logic but struggled to put all this together. “You should go, I, I have to-”
“Father, this is no time for delay,” she protested and strode into the bathroom. The shower turned on as she spoke. “You might not remember me. I have been in hiding for the past week or so with the help of my monsignor. I initially sought sanctuary from the Church, but that proved more complicated than I expected. I decided I couldn’t run from Alfred for the rest of my life, so I wanted to confront him.”
The woman reappeared and waved at Michael to usher him into the shower. “Quickly now, we have to do many things at once. I promise not to look, but I am going to keep talking. I’ll find a plastic bag for your cassock while you wash.”
Despite the vulnerability of being naked, wet, and cornered in a small room, Michael knew he had to comply. He stepped into the bathroom and glanced in the mirror as he passed by. I look like I got my ass kicked, and it’ll be a helluva lot worse tomorrow. When he saw her turn away from him, Michael left the door open and undressed. He took the dart gun into the shower with him, both for his own peace of mind and to decon it. Probably the first priest to find himself in this exact position. As soon as he closed the shower doors, Stefanie continued speaking over the falling water.
“I came to the Sacher tonight to meet Alfred in his suite, but my keycard no longer works. Instead, I waited in the lobby for him to pass by. I wanted to see him before he saw me, so I had taken a seat off to the side from the main entrance, where I knew he would eventually enter.”
Her voice faded somewhat as she moved about the hotel room, but Michael could still hear her. He scrubbed himself to wash off any remaining fentanyl.
“I heard all the sirens just before you came in. Even through your injuries, I recognized you from my church, Saint Francis Seraphicus, where you met with Father Dietrich. I was sitting in the north side chapel when you came in. I suspected then that you had been called to help me in some way, and, when I saw you walk into the Sacher tonight looking like you do with police sirens behind you, I knew I was right.”
Michael turned off the water and stepped from the shower, grateful she wasn’t in sight. I don’t wanna confirm Stefanie’s suspicions, no matter how accurate they are. He grabbed a plush towel from a nearby rack and dried off. His mass garbs were already bagged and gone. Wrapping himself in another towel, he hid the dart gun at his right hip under the towels and strode out into the room to get fresh clothes. Stefanie stood near his roller bag, and she handed him a complete, folded outfit. Michael accepted her help and retreated to the bathroom to dress. “How did you know about the man off the street?”
“I recognized him, as well,” she explained. “Alfred and I vacationed in Mexico last year, well, I was told it was a vacation, but I now understand it was all part of his international drug trafficking efforts. That’s how all this started, actually. We stayed in a resort with the man who followed you, his wife, and another couple, a man and a woman. Last week, I saw the other man’s picture on the news after Mexican authorities shot and killed him. The article identified him as Jorge Gutierrez, and said he was the head of one of the country’s most dangerous and prolific cartels. The man who followed you in from the street, his name is Rogelio, but I can’t recall his surname. I'll never forget him, because he looked at me like an object that whole week, like a thing to be bought, sold, or borrowed as he demanded. I remember him better than the man from the paper. Alfred introduced both of them as his business partners, I just had no idea what business he had gone into.”
Glad to have his dart gun accessible in a front pocket again, Michael emerged from the bathroom in black trousers, a dark blue dress shirt, and black socks. He wiped at a sudden wetness inside his nose.
Stefanie reached over to the nightstand and passed him a tissue. “I’m sorry, I tried to be polite with the overdose kit, if that’s even possible.”
Michael wiped his nose and immediately regretted having removed some of the antidote. “How did you know what I needed? Hell, how did you get in here?”
"Well, it started this morning. I had to leave the church today.” She glanced out the window for a moment. “It turned out that my online fame was causing too many problems for the few bishops willing to consider taking me in. Father Dietrich and my monsignor wanted to take me to a police station to tell them what I knew about Alfred, but
I had to see for myself if it was true. After I could no longer access his suite, I went downstairs, as I mentioned.
“I heard the sirens first but didn’t think much of it until you entered the hotel and walked by me. You’ve had a very rough day, Father, and I know it has to do with Alfred. When I saw Rogelio enter the lobby, I thought you might need help, so I followed you into the stairs. I didn’t look back to see if he followed us.
“I heard you exit on this floor, so I walked out and saw one room had its door ajar. I knocked first, but no one answered and I pushed it open. You were on the floor, and I thought you were trying to get to that luggage bag. I expected that Alfred’s drugs had harmed you, so I rummaged through your bag until I found the kits. A quick little swab in your nose, and you rejoined us back on Earth. Pretty good investigative work, yes?”
“I can’t thank you enough.” Michael walked to the window and again looked out across Operngasse.
“I saw that his office window is broken out,” Stefanie continued and modestly perched herself on the far corner of the bed. “I was first afraid that he jumped, but that would not be Alfred’s style. He’s too much of a narcissist to leave an ugly corpse. He might do something to get thrown from a window, but he’d never consider jumping.”
Michael didn’t respond. His mind turned to work out his next moves to escape Vienna and get himself out to the airfield. The crew’s supposed to land at eleven-pm, and they’ll only stay on the ground for an hour before they leave without me. I have time to get there, but I also have to figure out how I’m gonna get enough Naloxone to survive that long.
“Father, is Alfred dead?”
Michael kept his focus on the emergency response across the street. I can’t admit anything to her, I’m already way the hell outside my op-sec parameters!
“It’s alright,” Stefanie offered. “You don’t have to say anything. I understand. I didn’t know what I started when I asked Father Dietrich for help, but I think God did. I think He knew there was no other way to stop all this, all the death and misery that Alfred was importing and profiting from. Now, I can get my life back on track without him in it.”
“I, uh, sorry, Stefanie. Thank you. You’ve done enough, and I still have a lot of problems to work out.” Michael rummaged through his open roller bag, which confirmed that he had only eleven overdose swabs left. If I’m unlucky, that’ll only keep me alive for another hour. He looked back at the expanding crime scene. The cops might start shutting down exits from the city, and they’ll put extra patrols out. I’ve gotta conceal my appearance, too many people are gonna remember that priest who looked like he took a beating. Once the cops find all the cash, drugs, guns, and murder in König’s office, there’s no way they don’t run a full-court press to find me. “You literally just saved my life,” he offered, “but you should go.”
Stefanie joined him at the window, looked out for a moment, and then stepped away and turned her back on her past life. “Don’t be silly. You need help, and I’m an independent woman with significant resources.” She looked up at his face. They made eye contact, and her focus turned to his injuries. “Not the least of which is my tremendous skill with makeup. Ironically, we can both thank Alfred for my ability to conceal bruises on my face.
“Then, I can arrange for more antidote for you,” Stefanie continued. “I see no reason for you to have saved my life if it kills you in the end. Now, we don’t have much time to change both our appearances. It’s more than fair to say the police are looking for you and the hotel staff know me, so we must get to work. It won’t be long before they’re trying to find both of us, hopefully for different reasons.” Stefanie gave him a coy smile. Before he could object, she stepped farther into the room and placed a call on her cell phone.
Michael didn’t understand her conversation but felt compelled to trust his intuition. Not that I have much choice. If I try to go this alone, I might not even survive the train ride out of town. Slow is smooth, smooth is fast. Gotta make tracks while I still can.
February 19, 11:07PM
Stockerau Airfield. Stockerau, Austria.
Still wearing his dress clothes and a black Armani overcoat, Michael sat in the backseat of Stefanie’s Audi A5. He looked out the limo-tinted windows as she navigated them onto the grounds of the uncontrolled airfield an hour outside Vienna. A glance up at the IV bag suspended from the clothes hanger above him confirmed it remained secure. Still three-quarters full. A slow, steady Naloxone drip fell into an IV tube and fed Michael’s bloodstream through a butterfly needle inserted into the back of his left hand. He glanced at his reflection on the window to his immediate right. He still saw some of his injuries through Stefanie’s makeup efforts. Twenty-four hours ago, I snuck into König’s storage room and didn’t realize I’d just opened the door to Pandora’s Box. What a difference a day makes…
The luxury car bounced over a bit of rough pavement, and Michael grabbed the IV bag to keep it upright and suspended.
“Sorry,” Stefanie offered from the driver’s seat. “I think that was the worst of it.”
“I’m okay, thank you, for everything.”
“No, it is I who must thank you. I have my life back, and I got to be a nurse and a spy, all in the same night! That’s all so much more exciting than designing purses, Father!”
Michael smiled in the darkness. What are the odds that she would have studied nursing before she met Alfred, and still volunteered at local Red Cross blood drives? I prayed for an angel, and God sent the exact one I needed. Guess He’s not ready to call me home after all.
Stefanie pulled up alongside the Learjet 36A that awaited Michael’s arrival and turned off the car’s headlights. She looked back at him in the rearview mirror as the plane’s automated hatch opened. “I suppose this is goodbye, Father. I cannot thank you for all I think you’ve done for me.”
“I think we’re even,” Michael facetiously replied. “Thank you.”
“The pleasure’s been all mine. Now, we should both leave while we still can. I have at least six messages from a restricted phone number that likely belongs to the police inspectors’ office. I still have to drive out to our country house in Rappottenstein before I can return the calls. I would expect they are most anxious to determine where I’ve been tonight.”
“What will you tell them?”
“I’ve been walking my forest outside our castle and didn’t take my mobile.”
“Your forest?”
“Yes, well, the two-thousand acres around the castle. They were deeded to Alfred’s family when they acquired the fortress in 1735. They cannot prove otherwise, my phone and sedan are untraceable, even for highway cameras. Alfred is a paranoid man. Well, was paranoid, I expect.”
Michael nodded and accepted the necessity of their distant departure. He unhooked the suspended IV bag and stepped out of the black sedan, careful not to yank the butterfly needle from his hand. Closing the door, he stepped behind the car and Stefanie drove away as soon as he did so. The pilot stood at the top of the stairs and called out to him.
“Father Andrew?”
“Yes?”
"“Sorry to bother you, Father, but I’m told there’s been a change of plans in your destination this evening.”
Michael had forgotten that he'd have to provide the security phrase before the flight crew would let him board. He blanked on the response and wondered how far they’d go to keep him out of the aircraft. Probably all the way. “That’s rather inconvenient, at, at this late hour,” he stammered.
“Then whom shall I send?” The challenge question rolled naturally from the man’s tongue.
“Here I am,” Michael replied, well aware of the irony of his present condition. “Send me.”
“Welcome aboard, Father. It looks like you might need some help.”
Michael recognized the pilot. He flew me to Rome four months ago. Gotta happen eventually, small pool of Vatican flight crews. He ascended the short flight of stairs and took the first seat he found in
side the aircraft’s spartan interior. Glancing around at the unusual accommodations, Michael suspected something else was afoot.
“Sorry for the condition of the cabin,” the pilot explained when he saw Michael’s reaction. He hurried to close and secure the hatch. “This runway is very short. I have a half-mile to get us airborne, so we had to bring in our lightest aircraft. That’s why I had to ask that you bring no luggage with you. Luxury and convenience, it turns out, weigh quite a lot. I would normally have twice the runway, which allows us to abort a take-off. We have no such ability tonight, so I have but one chance to get lift before we crash into the forest on the other side of the asphalt. I hope you understand.”
“I couldn’t be happier, until we’re airborne, that is.” Michael had no more luggage to bring aboard, anyway. Everything was either contaminated or could tie him to the crime scene, so he and Stefanie had discarded or destroyed all of it en route to the airfield.
The pilot opened an overhead compartment to Michael’s left, which exposed a series of metal hooks and carabiner-style clips. “These are designed for medical use. If you’ll allow me?”
Michael passed him the Naloxone IV bag and the pilot attached it above his left shoulder.
Satisfied the bag was secure, the pilot continued with his primary duties. “If you’re agreeable, we’d like to leave immediately.”
“Please do so. Thank you.”
“I understand this is Naloxone?”
Michael sheepishly nodded, as his operational security further eroded beyond his control.
“As requested, we have another such bag in the cockpit. When is this one scheduled to run out?”
“I’m told about three-am.”
