by T. K. Walls
He shook his head no.
“Just watch me make one and then you can make one. The trick is getting out of the snow without ruining the angel.”
Rachel dropped down onto the snow, raised and lowered her arms, and moved her legs across the snow to make the wings and the gown of the angel. When she was satisfied with her art, she carefully got up and climbed out of the angel shape. He was still admiring her work when she said, “Your turn,” and gently pushed him toward the snow-covered yard.
Laughing, he fell on the snow-covered grass. “OK, OK. I’m gonna do it, just lookin’ for the right spot.”
He hurriedly made his snow angel and jumped out instead of carefully getting up. The bottom of the angel looked a little ragged. Although it was dark, it was also bright enough outside to see the snow falling. The air was crisp and clean. It wasn’t too cold, and there was no wind. The night was quiet, and all he remembered years later was hearing the snow falling onto the ground.
“Well, that’s an awfully nice snow angel for being your first,” Rachel said. She laughed and threw her arms around his shoulders. Together they stood there admiring their snow angels as the snow continued to fall. He would always remember that night as the happiest night of his childhood.
TWENTY-THREE
SITTING IN HIS CAR, LOOKING UP THE HILL TO WHERE RACHEL AND HER CHILDREN WERE BURIED, SETH FELT AN INTENSE SADNESS AND LOSS AS HE REMEMBERED THE FIRST DAY HE MET RACHEL. That evening, sitting on the porch eating bologna sandwiches and drinking sweet tea, was the beginning of a lifelong friendship he treasured. He missed her terribly. And now that Stephanie was gone, there was nothing left of Rachel.
Pushing the ignition button and picking up his cell, he called Brad while still looking up at the graves. After several rings, Brad answered. He could hear the irritation in his voice as he muttered hello.
He had never met Brad before the funeral. Rachel had known early on that if Brad was aware of Seth, he would have forced Rachel to give up his friendship. He was one, if not the only, secret Rachel had kept from Brad. Seth knew Brad wasn’t always the wonderful, loving husband Rachel had made him out to be, but she never knew that, even though Seth kept his agreement to keep his and Rachel’s friendship in the shadows, he also kept careful watch on the doctor. He knew more about Brad than anyone, including Rachel, could ever imagine.
“Brad, I was thinking we should get together and talk. I think it’s time you get to know me.”
Brad took a few seconds to reply before realizing who the caller was. “Look, I have no idea who you are or how you got my personal number. I have no idea what you want, nor do I care. Don’t call me again. If you do, you won’t like the outcome.” He hung up without saying goodbye or waiting for a response.
Seth slowly moved the cell away from his ear and placed it in the cup holder in the center console of his car. He knew what he was going to do, what he had to do. The anticipation and preparation were just part of the game. But carrying out the plan—that was where the excitement was, and he couldn’t wait to feel that rush when the shine went out of the eyes of his kills. He was grateful he had kept his promise to Rachel. There would be no connection between himself and the good doctor. But with this kill, unlike all the others before, he would make certain his victim knew exactly why he was about to die.
TWENTY-FOUR
IMMEDIATELY FOLLOWING THE FUNERALS, BRAD DROVE STRAIGHT TO KRANNERT. Given that it was a Sunday, the hangars would be empty, with the possible exception of weekend private pilots who only flew recreationally. He parked and quickly walked into his office. The calls from whoever that guy was had unnerved him. He said he didn’t know his wife. Was he lying, did he know Beverly? Brad knew all of Beverly’s friends and close family. He even knew of her past boyfriends. Before they married, he had ordered a background check on her. There wasn’t anything about her he didn’t know. So who was this guy, why did he show up at the funerals, and what did he know, if anything?
He needed to touch base with Eric and Tedesco. He had an idea who the guy at the cemetery was, but he wasn’t certain. He would need to have Eric look into it, and if Eric wasn’t able to help, then he would hire someone to find out who he was and what he wanted. Brad knew Tedesco was watching, and he wondered if this guy was one of his men. Maybe this guy thought he knew something and was going to try to blackmail him.
Brad set about calling Eric first. He answered on the first ring.
“Hey, we need to discuss Tedesco. I have a few messages from him. There has to be a charter in the next few weeks. You have to clear your schedule.”
“Really, Brad? Given the circumstances, I am the only one who can fly for him. You took care of that without consulting me. So, you do what I say, and this time you will listen to me.”
Eric was livid; he didn’t like to be told what to do. He and Brad were equal partners, and Brad knew Eric couldn’t just change his schedule. If he had court appearances, he would either need to get opposing counsel to agree to a continuance, or he would have to file for one and attend a hearing and wait for the judge to decide. “You call him, and you call him now. Find out when he wants the next charter. And, Brad, you better hope to God I can make the date.” Eric hung up on him. Deep down he knew they would make the charter, and he also knew he would get past his anger.
Brad’s next call was to the monsignor. “Monsignor Tedesco, are you available to talk?”
“Dr. Rivers, I was expecting a call from you. May I offer my condolences?” The sarcasm in the monsignor’s voice did not go unnoticed.
“Yes, thank you, Monsignor,” Brad said stiffly. “I called to discuss the next charter. Eric told me you needed to arrange a charter in the next few weeks. I am not able to fly, but I will be there with Eric to help with the shipment.”
Over the past several years, Brad and Eric had supplemented their incomes by providing a discreet charter service to the monsignor and his associates. Fortunately, the charter service was only needed once or twice a year, and they were able to make quick stops in and out of Italy. The three men had formed a unique business arrangement. Whenever the monsignor needed a private flight, they assisted. In fact, this side business had kept Krannert afloat in the early days of the airstrip. Of course, the money was kept in offshore accounts and occasionally transferred in small amounts to a Bank of America branch. Then, several months later, the money would be deposited as a business investment to Krannert’s Airport to be used for improvements, salaries, and bonuses. Both Eric and Brad were very careful to only transfer funds every few months, and only in amounts less than ten thousand dollars. Occasionally, one of them would make a vacation trip to the Caymans to withdraw cash. Brad had his funds transferred to not only himself but his wife’s account as well. Neither Rachel nor Beverly knew about the accounts. Even after Rachel died, Brad kept her account open, and he fully intended to keep Beverly’s open too.
“Dr. Rivers, yes, we will be requiring your service in the coming weeks. This charter will most likely be the last one of this type. I hope we can get this arranged and completed in the next few weeks. I will be in touch.”
Sighing, Tedesco leaned back in his leather chair and placed the phone in its receiver on his desk. He had first met Brad purely by accident when he and his first wife, Rachel, visited Vatican City. He had once thought they were what God would have wanted a married couple to be. Brad was attentive and caring; he seemed to strive to make Rachel happy. Rachel genuinely appeared to have loved her husband. The trip was a surprise gift for her birthday. He couldn’t remember how old she was turning, just that the trip was one of a lifetime. She had always dreamed of seeing the Vatican and of attending a Mass said by the pope. For this gift to his wife, Brad hadn’t left anything to chance and had contacted a local travel agency in Italy. It was through this travel agency that Tedesco had learned about Brad and his charter service.
After learning of Brad’s request to take his wife to the Vatican, Tedesco had made the arrangements himself for Brad a
nd Rachel to stay inside Vatican City, which was almost impossible for a noncitizen. Tedesco also offered his own home for their use.
A knock on his office door brought Tedesco back to the present. “It’s open,” he called out.
“Monsignor, I was instructed by the secretary to the cardinals to give you this invitation and to wait for your response,” said the papacy courier.
Tedesco took the invitation and opened it gently. The envelope was the traditional scarlet red with gold embossed letters. The calligraphy on the envelope was a work of art. The invitation and RSVP card were also handwritten in the same style. The invite was more of a polite demand for his participation in an audit meeting rather than an invite. He filled out the RSVP and handed it back to the courier. “Please take this back to the secretary and tell him that I will, of course, attend.”
TWENTY-FIVE
FOUNDED IN THE MID-1900S, THE INSTITUTE FOR THE HISTORICAL SAFEKEEPING OF CHRISTIANITY—OFTEN REFERRED TO AS THE INSTITUTE—WAS A PRIVATE FINANCIAL INSTITUTION LOCATED INSIDE VATICAN CITY. The Vatican used the Institute to safeguard artwork and cultural pieces during times of conflict. Once the conflict was over, the works of art, money, and other items that had been collected were returned to the owners. Over the years, the Institute grew into a fully operational bank capable of maintaining and managing the Vatican’s wealth. The bank’s vaults contained countless works of art given to it for safekeeping during the German occupation, as well as rumored millions in Nazi gold, and its own separate funds. Only Church officials and members of the Vatican and their families were allowed to make deposits into the bank. The bank’s deposits, investments, and expenses, as well as the guardianship of properties, were overseen by five cardinals who reported directly to the Vatican’s secretary of state, who, in turn, reported solely to the pope. But the pope was not involved in the day-to-day activities of the bank; that was left to the five cardinals. The cardinals appointed the president, whose term was a lifetime appointment. Every president since the inception of the bank had been either a cardinal or a monsignor of the Vatican. The five cardinals also appointed the bank’s accountant, and his appointment was also a lifetime appointment. By keeping the bank’s employees and administrators members of the Vatican, the bank was able to maintain its secrecy and much-needed protection for the various treasures it held.
Monsignor Tedesco was appointed as the bank’s accountant almost two decades ago. He had been well into his thirties when he was called to the priesthood. Prior to becoming a priest he had been the chief accountant for the National Bank of Italy, and was well known for his precision and expertise. He had already amassed a sizable wealth when he was called to join the priesthood. With his background, after completing seminary and being ordained, the Vatican quickly placed him as an accountant for the Vatican Bank. Over the years, he advanced from overseeing routine deposits to auditing and maintaining accurate records of the rumored Nazi gold and other protected property being safeguarded by the bank.
Tedesco couldn’t have found a better position within the Vatican at which to work. He reported only to the president of the bank. He was also responsible for performing annual audits and maintaining the inventory of the protected art, gold, and property. With his position he had access to the archives and libraries of the Vatican. Along with having a talent with numbers, he was fluent in ancient Italian and Latin. The records in the vaults were written mostly in Italian, but some were in Latin. Within the Latin documents, there was information that contained the location of a vault the Vatican had forgotten. It was this vault that eventually created the need for Krannert’s Charter Service.
Tedesco didn’t realize at first that the vault had been forgotten. It wasn’t until he completed a long-overdue audit that he discovered this vault hadn’t been listed in previous years as an asset or a location of protected artifacts. He found the information purely by accident when he compared his current audit with an audit completed in the late 1940s. At first he dismissed it as a mistake or a vault that had once existed but did not any longer. It wasn’t until he had been sent to Denmark for a conference almost fifteen years ago that he decided to check out whether the vault still existed.
* * *
Nykøbing Mors, Denmark, was an old city once used as a shipyard. According to the Vatican archives, the vault Tedesco was looking for was inside one of its old churches. The church was built in the late 1600s of orange-red brick with a slate roof. The windows were narrow but contained beautiful stained glass. The tops of the windows were arched. The church rested on a hilltop, and the grounds were surrounded by wrought-iron fences. Over the years, the church had been renovated and modernized, and to this day it was still fully functional. It had two basements. The elevator only went to the first-level basement. According to the archives, the vault, if it remained, was hidden inside the second-level basement, which was only accessible by a hidden staircase behind a wall-to-wall German schrank. The only document Tedesco had been able to find was an old postcard with a picture of the church on one side and the address on the other.
He arrived at the church late in the day. It was autumn, and the trees were brilliant shades of red, yellow, and orange. He pulled up to the gate, leaned out the window, and pushed the buzzer. Immediately a female voice asked, “Hej, kan jeg hjaelpe dig?”
Tedesco replied, “Taler du Engelsk?”
The voice laughed. “Monsignor Tedesco, drive slowly, the gate will open.”
The iron gate swung open, and he entered the grounds of the church. It was still just as majestic as it had been in its prime. The war missed this one, he said to himself.
An older woman dressed in a traditional nun’s habit met him at the door and eagerly led him into the foyer. As he entered, he stopped and dipped his index finger into the font of the holy water, making the sign of the cross before stepping into the body of the church. He looked around the church, admiring the stained-glass windows, the heavy wooden benches, and the raised altar. He had always found the older churches to be the most beautiful. Bowing slightly to the nun, he asked, “May I have the honor of knowing your name?”
Her accent was light, and he wasn’t sure if she was Danish.
“You can call me Sister Maria, Monsignor. Let me show you the church, and then we can go to Father Joseph’s office.”
Sister Maria gave him a quick tour of the church before leading him to the office of the priest. She gently knocked on the door, and not waiting for a response, she opened it. Father Joseph was an elderly priest with snow-white hair and round glasses. He was standing by a bookcase that Tedesco imagined was the entrance to the basement. The elder priest walked up to Tedesco and embraced him, kissing him on each cheek.
“So, you are here to see the basement. I won’t be going down with you. My knees have seen better days, and no one at my age needs a broken hip.”
Father Joseph walked back toward his desk, waving his hand at the bookcases. “I haven’t been in that basement for the better part of twenty years, Tedesco. Never had a reason to go down there. I think looters over the years took whatever of value was once there. The Vatican stopped taking inventory decades ago. I know I am getting up there in years, but I don’t recall ever seeing anything down there except dirt.”
“Father Joseph, that’s OK. As head of accounting for the Vatican, I do have an obligation to check all the secured locations of valuables that we have recorded. This church is listed as one of those locations. If there is nothing in the basement, then I will close this and no one will need to come back. If there is property, I will inventory it, ensure it is properly preserved, and the Vatican will continue to safeguard it.” Tedesco turned toward the bookcase as if waiting for the mystery door to open.
Father Joseph chuckled “Ah, Monsignor, the door isn’t in the bookcase. Everyone knows to look for a hidden door in a bookcase.”
The wall behind the bookcase was constructed of irregularly shaped stones. The old priest ran his hand along the wall next to the bookcase.
The secret door was not what he expected. The door was part of the stone wall. It wasn’t smooth or even; it was just as irregular in shape as the stones it was recessed in.
“It isn’t what you expected, Monsignor,” said the elder priest. Taking a deep breath, the older priest continued to speak. “You know, back in the war, there were secret rooms everywhere. Rooms to hide people, rooms to hide things. Secret doors couldn’t be in places one would immediately find. The church is built on what appears to be two sections of the same basement. To some it would appear to be two separate basements, but in reality there is only one basement with two entrances. The wall separating the two parts of the basement is very thick. I no longer remember how thick it is or how to open the second door. I do know that the part where the church kept the art and property is under what is now the parking lot. It wouldn’t have taken the Nazis long to find a fake bookcase that led to a room or a basement. The church was very careful. Not only did we protect the property of the people, we hid the people too. And when the people left, their property left. I think you have wasted your time.”
The priest looked worn; he took a couple of steps back to his chair and gingerly sat down. Watching Tedesco, he continued, “When you get into the basement and look around, you may find something, and then again, you may find nothing.”
Tedesco walked to the doorway of the staircase. There was no light to see the stairs. “Father Joseph, do you have a light?” The elderly priest gestured toward the bookcase without speaking. Tedesco followed his gesture and saw a flashlight sitting on a shelf. He reached over to pick up the flashlight and was surprised when it actually worked. He looked again at the priest; Joseph was either snoozing or simply had his eyes closed. Softly, he said, “Thank you, Father.”
