The Absolver: Rome (Saint Michael Thriller Series Book 1)

by Gavin Reese

  Michael again felt that nervous pit in his stomach. His objective at the police academy had been to fly under the radar as long as possible. It wasn’t hard to hide among fifty-six trainees, no way I can do the same among eleven.

  John stopped directly in front of Michael and stared straight into his eyes. “Let’s start with you.” He reached into the hat, reshuffled the papers, and withdrew one. “You’re Andrew. Hope you like it, doesn’t matter if you don’t.” Moving along the line, John granted each of them a pseudonym and stepped to the next man while drawing his new name. “You’re ‘Simon The Zealot,’ and I’d give serious consideration to a nickname other than ‘Zealot.’

  “You’re ‘James The Greater,’” he announced to the smallest man among them. “A-K-A ‘James Zebedee.’ I’d consider ‘Zeb’ in your shoes.” John stepped on to the next man.

  “Matthias.

  “John the Baptist, that’s a great name, but I’d think about ‘The Baptist’ just so you’re sure that your classmates are cussin’ me and not you.

  “Phillip.

  “Bartholomew.

  “Matthew,” he named the Asian male.

  “Thomas.

  “’James The Lesser,’” he announced to the lone black student. “A-K-A ‘James Alpheus,’ good luck with that one.

  “And,” John now finally stood in front of Sergio, “by mere process of elimination, you’re ‘Jude.’ Lucky for you, they wouldn’t let me name one of you ‘Judas,’ even though I’m damned sure there’s a Judas somewhere in this group. There always is.” John turned slightly to address them as a whole, as though to ensure everyone understood he wasn’t only speaking to Sergio.

  “I know there’s a Judas among us, and you should expect that, as well! One of you, as you stand here on my porch, in the hospitality of my company and breathe in my fine, unpolluted air, is gonna work real goddamned hard to betray us! I told ‘em, when they asked me to look after you worthless fucks, I warned ‘em! I knew they were gonna send me at least one Judas, and I’ll have the proof soon enough! One of you assholes thinks you’re smarter than me, better than me, and I can assure you that you’re not gonna get away with it. I don’t know who you are yet, but you sure as hell do! You know the darkness in your soul, the larceny and betrayal in your own heart. When I find it, boy howdy, you’re gonna wish you’d made better decisions by the time I’m done with you! The Vatican won’t even have a chance to intervene on your behalf! If you’re smart, you’d accept your fate, make your presence known, and let us help you get on with your resignation and atonement. The longer you wait, and the more shit that you leave behind for me to clean up, the worse it’s gonna get for you. Anyone wanna admit they already know what they’re capable of? Anyone? Nobody, eh? Okay. We’ve got a program for that.

  “In the meantime,” John continued, “you rest assured you’re not the first, and you definitely won’t be the last. You think the time-value of money is a powerful thing? Try the time value of betrayal, Judas, whoever you are. I will definitely, fuck, you, up when I find you.”

  The unexpected tirade surprised Michael, and he noticed a bit of unknown fear creeping into his conscience. Where the hell did the Church get this guy??

  John exhaled and shook out his arms, as though momentarily relieving his own stress. “Now that you’ve got your new names, get used to ‘em. They may as well be your real ones, because they’re all that you’ll ever use here. We’re gonna cover a boatload more on operational security later, but, for now, know this: you will not share any true personal information about yourself with anyone here, including me and my associates. No names, no past schools, no education, no former jobs, no former postings at chapels, churches, cathedrals, catacombs, or convents. You will not divulge any detail, no matter how small, that anyone here could potentially use as a puzzle piece to identify, locate, and manipulate you or your family. The best way to trust everyone is to trust no one.

  “Additionally, you will not tolerate, hide, conceal, abet, or allow anyone else to remain in my presence who’s shared such information, even if by accident. I’ve gone to great lengths to assure my associates and superiors of the security and confidence of this program, and I will not have one of you compromising it. I’ll give you all fair warning that there’s a real good chance one of you’s a mole. Someone working against us, maybe against you, maybe against me, maybe against the Church itself. Hell, could be one-a my other instructors I dropped in the group to see how y’all handle your business when you think none of us ’re lookin.’ Because of that, you should expect that this individual will test the rules, the boundaries, and see how many of you assholes’ll go along with ‘em. For that reason, you will not harbor, under any circumstance, anyone who breaks my rules. Do I make myself clear?”

  John looked among the group, none of whom responded to the rhetorical question. “Looks to me like you’re all gettin’ comfortable and makin’ yourselves quite at home on my porch, so we need to change that. There’s a trail that starts about fifty yards north of the house here and winds a few miles through the hills. It’s nice and wide, clear as daylight, and pretty well hard-packed from constant traffic. We like to call it Mother Mary and I’ll do you the favor-a lettin’ you know she’s five miles long. Once you find her, do not deviate from that route. It doesn’t intersect any of the other trails out here, so you’d really have to fuck up hard to get lost. Trail runs here are just that, trail runs. You can’t miss it, least not by accident. Drop all your shit before you go, and empty your pockets. My associates and I will go through all your bags and property while you’re gone, just to make sure there’s nothing unwelcome here. This program is not a team sport, gentlemen, and it doesn’t matter who comes in second. Get off my porch and don’t come back until that trail brings you home. Anyone that comes in last or breaks my rules will immediately regret it. As some of my best friends have long said, ‘it pays to be a winner.’”

  Just like the rest of the group, Michael wore a light winter coat, slacks, dress shoes, and a button-down shirt. Several of the men wore neckties. Michael briefly considered asking if they could change into workout clothes but assumed John hadn’t missed this fact. He must wanna make this indoctrination process a little more uncomfortable for all of us. At least I’m not wearing jeans.

  John impatiently looked around at the group for several seconds. “Now, go, get the hell outta here!”

  Michael and Sergio were among the first men off the wooden porch and headed out to the trail, so Michael slowed his pace and let his friend pull away from him a bit. Can’t risk John finding out I’m already breaking the rules here. Most of the other pseudonym’ed “apostles” soon passed him by, which told Michael only a few of them had any military or law enforcement experience. No way they’re gonna keep that run pace for five miles. I’ll be back in front of most of ‘em before the midpoint. He looked ahead through the pack and saw that Sergio had settled into a similar pace and many of their colleagues now rolled past him. I can understand not wanting us to make close ties with the other recruits, but what the hell would we ever do for the Church that demands that level of op-sec? Isn’t every paramilitary operation a team sport? Unless they’re training us to be spies, nobody else spends much time alone and out in the cold. Not gonna learn anything else until I get back to the house. Michael picked up his pace just slightly, motivated both by the idea that more information awaited him beyond the finish line and that the next hilltop offered a semi-private chance to unburden his bladder.

  FOURTEEN

  Training Day 1, 0742 hours.

  Rural Compound. Niobrara County, Wyoming.

  Michael returned to the porch just over forty minutes after his departure. He’d managed to both keep up with Sergio and maintain enough distance between them to prevent any contact or communication with his friend. Seems pretty clear that we both wanna stay and neither of us wants to risk sending the other home. It’ll be good to have a teammate here, even if we have to keep up this charade. As he stepp
ed back up onto the wood planks behind only three other candidates, Michael saw all the luggage had been emptied and their belongings carelessly tossed into one large pile. The assholes couldn’t even try to keep our gear separated for us. Gonna be a heavy and constant dose of psychological games for a while. Alright, at least I know what I’m dealing with.

  John looked down at his watch, apparently unsatisfied with their initial effort. “Get your shit, figure it out, get it done, and hustle inside. Gotta show you to your room.”

  Michael joined the first three runners and began sorting through the pile. They each moved with a purpose even though the bulk of the group remained scattered along the five-mile trail. Michael, however, deliberately worked slower than Sergio in gathering his possessions. After five minutes, Michael had collected everything he could identify as his, but at least one book appeared lost or appropriated. Not so worried about theft, but I bet even a compass is contraband here. I’ll find out later if the instructors grabbed it.

  As Michael started to follow the first three into the house, a pale, husky runner strode up onto the porch behind him. “Hey,” he gasped out at Michael in a thick Carolina accent, “what’s, going on?”

  Michael thought he was supposed to call the man “Simon,” but couldn’t confidently remember his pseudonym. “Sort through the pile, recover your gear, and come inside.”

  “Thanks,” he wheezed between coughs and moved to the pile.

  The guy’s got heart to put in that much effort. Sincerely hope he makes it. Michael stepped into the house and joined John and the others at the top of a stairwell that descended into the basement.

  “Andrew, thanks for makin’ time for us, asshole.” John shook his head and hadn’t yet removed his sunglasses. “I’ve already told you once today that this isn’t a team sport. If that slowpoke out there isn’t fast enough to get back here in time to get his instructions, that’s his goddamned problem, and it’s not up to you to fix him. We clear?”

  “Yessir.” Michael couldn’t avoid ending up next to Sergio, so he treated the man like a stranger.

  “Y’all are gonna stay down in the basement. Lets me keep an eye on you, and it makes my job a damned sight easier to motivate, harass, and engage with you. I’m sure you’ve all played ‘musical chairs’ at some point while you’re growing up. This is gonna be a lot like that. Sleep and rest are vital to you. They’re your best and most valuable friends here, and you have to guard them selfishly. For that reason, there’s not enough beds for all of you. One of you gets an old Army cot, and the other gets the floor. The bottom two performers at the end of each day will have those lesser accommodations. It pays to be a winner, and my associates and I will do everything possible to ensure you have to fight your way oughta last place once you get there. You four go pick the bunk you wanna start with, but rest assured that you’re very unlikely to stay there once we get going. All you weasels did today was prove you can outrun a wheelchair, so congratulations. Get your gear stowed. We’re all gonna meet back out on the porch for the second training evolution once all the stragglers wander back in.” John stepped out toward the porch, and Michael turned to follow the group downstairs.

  “Get goin’, fat ass!” All four of them paused and turned toward the front door when they heard one of John’s associates yell out on the porch. “You wanna tell me that’s the best you got?! My dead grandma’s faster than you! Move it, get up here!”

  Michael followed the other three downstairs into the basement. The room was unfinished and had no windows or insulation. The place looks like a military barracks. Twelve, evenly-spaced single beds and matching footlockers stood atop a tan, vinyl tile floor. The walls showed the home’s exposed two-by-four framing, and the ceiling had been painted dark brown. One exposed toilet and wash basin stood at each end of the room, which would force them to face the rest of the group while defecating. An open, tiled bay with six showerheads stood just beyond the far toilet.

  Michael saw the Army cot and the open floor space were next to the showers. Probably just to make sure the two worst performers are as uncomfortable as possible. No privacy here, either. Hell, I’d rather look at ‘em while I pee. Wiping ass is one of the most private and personal things I do. Michael gravitated toward a bed near the middle of the room, figuring he could best avoid eye contact and direct line of sight with anyone pooping. And, I won’t have to sleep next to the toilet. Glancing back to the cot and open floor space, Michael expected they were virtually all assured to spend time there. Perform or don’t, I’d put cash money on the fact that John and his ‘associates’ will make sure we all get a turn in the barrel. All I can do is work to make ‘em find a real creative or real chicken-shit reason to put me there.

  Michael turned when he heard steps overhead, followed immediately by heavy clamoring down the stairs. The fifth runner, with whom he’d spoken out on the porch, had finally made it into the house. Most of his belongings spilled from two open duffel bags, which both looked like he’d packed them on his way out of a burning house. Michael figured the man stood at about 5’10” and weighed in somewhere north of 200. Sweat still ran down his face and disheveled light grey dress shirt, and his dark brown hair was a soaked mop despite the external temps. His focused gaze presented an imposing message that countered the rest of his appearance; he conveyed an internal calm, a determination and drive that made Michael want to immediately befriend the man.

  “What’re we doing down here,” he asked while glancing around the room.

  Michael expected no one else would respond, given how swiftly John had rebuked him for giving the man direction out on the porch. Realizing the new arrival hadn’t heard John’s brief tirade, Michael saw an opportunity to quietly make a friend and teammate. “We’re calling dibs on the bunks, at least for now.” He stepped next to his bed, not to claim it as territory, but, rather, in hopes his colleague would choose to grab an adjacent one. Michael noticed everyone else in the room had turned their back, including Sergio, as though to distance themselves from his actions. “Whichever two of us are in the barrel get the cot and floor on the end by the toilet and shower, but I expect we’ll all get a cycle through there.”

  “Why’s everyone skittish all of a sudden?”

  “I got yelled at for getting you up to speed out on the porch,” Michael explained, “so I’m sure they’re just keeping their distance from whatever’s about to happen to me. You’re Simon, right?” Michael extended his right hand, and the man heartily took it.

  “Yeah, ‘Simon the Zealot.’ I’mma just go by ‘Z,’ though, if they don’t kick my teeth in for it.” He released Michael’s grip and tossed his sloppy duffel bags up on the adjacent bed. “Thanks for puttin’ yourself out for me,” he quietly offered. “Wasn’t expectin’ this kinda training, and I hate the fact that I’m not keepin’ up yet. Gimme a week, maybe ten days, and none of y’all are gonna catch me.”

  “No worries,” Michael offered loudly enough to be heard by everyone in the room, but not so loud as to draw attention from upstairs. “Team sport or not, we’re all still brothers here.” Guessing he’s from North Carolina, probably did some time in the military, or maybe just played high-level sports. He pushed himself hard this morning and isn’t happy with the result. If he knows his body well enough to know he only needs about a week to be at the front, he’s been tested more than once.

  “Couldn’t agree more,” Sergio cautiously replied from across the room and looked over at Michael and Z. His brief nod reassured Michael they could count on each other for whatever lay ahead.

  Muffled shouts from the porch upstairs reached them, just before more trampling and, apparently, a barely controlled descent into the basement. The sixth man had finally joined them. He wore his duffel bag like an oversized, comedy-prop hat and clutched all his possessions to his sweat-covered dress shirt and loosened necktie. The other men allowed him only a second of lost scanning before stepping in.

  “Hey, Hat-man,” Sergio harshly whispered and wa
ved to get his attention. “Bring your shit over here and drop it on the bunk next to me. Get you up to speed.” Sergio again briefly nodded at Michael as the newest arrival followed the directions without another thought or hesitation.

  At the police academy, they expected us to figure out on our own that we needed to work together and do everything as a team. Not sure what the motivation is to make us deliberately isolate ourselves, op-sec concerns or not.

  Even though they’d been told to choose their beds, Michael refrained from unpacking his gear. Seems like they’re gonna come down here and go ape-shit on us for having the audacity to get comfortable before anyone gives us permission to do so. He did, however, take the liberty of sitting on the footboard of his chosen bunk.

  “Y’all think they’ll get in our shit if we change outta these dress clothes,” Z asked the group.

  No one responded immediately, and most just looked around at each other.

  “I’d wait until they tell us to,” Sergio offered.

  Another fifteen uncomfortable minutes passed while all the remaining candidates made their way down to the basement and their chosen or mandated bunks. The last two men down, Matthias and The Baptist, had only just dropped their belongings on the cot and floor when John yelled downstairs.

  Anxiety returned to Michael’s chest now that the group had returned to full-strength.

  “On me,” John shouted down the stairs at them. “Get the hell up here, right now!”

  FIFTEEN

  Training Day 1, 0807 hours.