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

by Gavin Reese

  “Well, which is the frying pan?”

  “Yeah. How now, brown cow?”

  “Next,” the same female employee loudly called out. Michael followed the blonde two steps closer to the I-D counter.

  “I’d rather get caught by D-T than I-D’d by the cops,” Sergio quietly explained. “If the cop thinks I’m suspicious, he’ll follow me out, maybe confront me. I can’t leave until I’m sure he’s not interested in me.”

  “Next!”

  Michael looked ahead and realized he was next in line as the blonde stepped up to the ID counter. “Hang here for a second,” he quietly offered.

  “Got nowhere else to go.”

  Michael stopped himself from smiling at his friend’s expense and apprehensively strode toward the officer. He realized the cop noticed him just after he stepped away from the ID line and kept watch as he approached. Gotta do my best impression here, should be easy given how many times I’ve seen it. “Excuse me, officer?”

  “Yeah, whaddaya need?” His voice carried no warmth or concern, but his inflection did convey the officer’s minor annoyance.

  Shit, Sergio was worried for nothing. This guy’s not in here paying attention to the customers, he’s probably hiding out from his boss or trying to pick up one of the tellers. This’ll be easy, then, if he agrees to play along. “I hoped you could help us,” Michael explained and deliberately turned back to look at the blonde, knowing the officer would likely do the same. “So, my friend over there, well, I guess, we’re more like, classmates, we just know each other from e-con, so I guess I shouldn’t really say ‘friend,’ but—”

  “Yeah, the blonde, I see her,” the cop impatiently responded. “Whaddaya need?”

  “Well, she didn’t wanna say anything, but, I saw you over here, and thought you might need to help.”

  “Spit it out.”

  This is either about to go really well, or really bad, Michael thought, but not much turning back now. “So, she mentioned while we were standing over there that she thinks she’s being followed.”

  “Why’s she think that?”

  He knows he’s gotta pay attention, but I bet he hears hundreds of unfounded complaints every year that start out just like this. “So, we walked over here from class, and there’s a guy, probably a few years older than me, even, in a blue-plaid shirt, and he’s been behind her the whole time.”

  The cop looked around the branch. “I don’t see anyone that looks like that in here.”

  “He’s not in here, he’s in the bookstore window across the walkway. He’s just standing there watching the bank doors, like he’s waiting for her to come back out, or something.”

  The cop stared at Michael for several seconds as though assessing the validity of his complaint. And, accepting that he’s gotta go talk to the guy even though it’s probably nothing. No cop worth his salt can let a guy stalk a co-ed and a bank in the same day.

  “But, here’s the thing,” Michael continued and again glanced back over his shoulder. Good, she’s still at the counter. “She didn't wanna say anything, and she’d be super-embarrassed if it turned out to be nothin’, so, can you just go talk to the guy without her knowing that I talked to you?”

  “I’ll see what I can do. No guarantees, though.” The cop lifted a pass-through in the countertop, stepped toward the branch entrance, and stopped just inside the doors. “That guy?”

  Michael saw the cop pointed to Double-Time, who arrogantly stood with his arms crossed in the same display window. “Yep, same one.” Movement to his right caught Michael’s attention. He turned that way and saw the blonde walking toward the exit with her headphones back on. Gotta sell this. With the cop on his left, Michael waved toward the woman as though they were, in fact, acquaintances but not quite friends.

  She glanced up, saw his gesture, and immediately looked uncomfortable. But, she gave him a small wave back as she strode out of the branch and disappeared into the crowds to Michael’s left.

  Thank God for social pressure, Michael thought. He looked across the walkway and saw D-T emerge from the bookstore just behind the blonde. After a moment’s consideration, he also walked to Michael’s left, undoubtedly doubling back the way he had first entered the building and unaware of the trap he’d just helped set for himself.

  “Want some free advice, pal,” the cop asked.

  “Sure.”

  “For what it’s worth, I’ll go chat with the weird guy and get him I-D’d in case your friend ever needs to report anything later, but, if I were you, I don’t think she likes you.” He stepped over and opened the door to leave. “Might wanna put your efforts somewhere else. You mind waiting here a minute, in case I need a statement?”

  “No problem. Thank you, officer.”

  The cop turned, entered the wide interior walkway, and directly approached Double-Time. “Hey, blue-plaid! Hold up a minute so we can have a chat.” The bank door pulled itself closed, so Michael could see them talking but couldn’t hear anything they said.

  Sergio stepped up to Michael’s right side, and they both watched their opponent stop in disbelief. The cop stepped in front of him and blocked his direct path to the nearest exit.

  “We gotta go.” Sergio’s nervous sense of urgency was clear despite his low volume.

  “Yeah, soon as D-T turns away from us.”

  “Sir?”

  Michael looked right and saw the woman behind the ID counter was again addressing him.

  “Do you still need help?”

  “No, ma’am,” he apologized, “sorry, I was in the wrong line. Thank you, though.” He nonchalantly glanced back, saw that Double-Time now faced away from them and was engaged in a slightly heated conversation with the cop. Michael gently pushed the door open, calmly stepped into the hallway, and stepped to his right to leave the immediate area.

  “We should-a talked first, about the I-D counter excuse,” Sergio explained at a normal volume given the dense population around them. “I told her the same thing!”

  “HEY! STOP!”

  Michael and Sergio both stopped and turned back toward the cop’s shouts. To his immediate relief, Double-Time was crashing forward through the walkway, away from them with the cop closely pursuing him.

  “ADAM-31, GOT ONE RUNNIN’ FROM ME!”

  Michael felt himself grimace as he watched the unintended consequence of his actions. “Now, we really gotta get outta here.”

  “Shit, man,” Sergio happily objected, “this just became an easy win! The cops are gonna be looking for white dudes in plaid shirts for the next week, so I bet they end up chasing all the Op-For off here, except for Jane. She might get a pass.”

  “Yeah, ‘cept for her. The bad news, though, is they’re also gonna be lookin’ for me and the blonde. If they catch D-T, they’ll damned sure want our statements and I-Ds, even if they don't need it for the criminal charges. That cop’s gonna rely on everything I said as his legal basis to stop him.”

  “Well, let's hope D-T stretched out before he came to work today, cause now he’s gotta outrun a Motorola.” Sergio looked around the upper walls and ceiling of their immediate area. “No cameras in the hall here. They’ll definitely have some in the bookstore, but, maybe I can get in the other door and get you a new shirt and hat.”

  “Where’s the other entrance?”

  “Back the way I came, just down around the next corner. Got cash?”

  “Yeah,” Michael replied. “Can’t end up on camera buying shit with a debit card when we’re trying to stay anonymous.”

  “Alright,” Sergio surmised as they stepped off together. “Let’s go get us a win.”

  “And, maybe, D-T’ll get arrested and dismissed in the process.”

  “Hell, I’ll be happy if we can just keep you from the same fate, mijo!”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Training Day 58, 1300 hours.

  Rural Compound. Niobrara County, Wyoming.

  Michael had just returned to his detested plastic chair when John stro
de in through the back door to begin their afternoon class. His eyes briefly stopped on the void where Bartholomew had sat in the front row. They yanked his chair outta here the same night he quit like he was never here. Nothing John does is a coincidence, and I don’t think that is, either. Kinda funny, though, that no one’s spread their chairs out to take up the empty space. He was pompous and narrow-minded, but I don’t think he’s infectious.

  “Afternoon, sorry I couldn’t be here this morning to watch your physical labor and struggles, but I had other shit to do. How’d y’all like the run and parkour races this morning?”

  “Good, John,” Sergio quickly responded for the group, “I think they’re starting to catch up to me. Gonna hafta work on my afterburners.”

  “Even Matthew and Thomas?”

  “Yep, even them,” Sergio offered.

  “Well, shit, that is good news,” John offered, “starting to get worried the Molasses Brigade was here to stay.”

  “Molasses Brigade,” Z asked.

  “Yeah, they’re thick, and, slow.” John’s dry response made several of the faster runners chuckle.

  “We’re working on it, John,” Thomas defensively interjected.

  “Y’all are gonna qualify for the Parkour World Finals by the time you leave here,” John surmised. “There is no greater asset to a man in the field than being able to move swiftly and efficiently over terrain that lesser men cannot. The simple ability to easily scale a six-foot-wall can getcha away from most people on earth, but, being able to get yourself up the side of a two-story building and into an apartment window on the opposing wall, unseen and without using the interior stairs or elevator, that will do more for you than you can understand right now. How about the ground fighting and Krav, that go okay?”

  “Yeah, John,” Michael answered, “seems like everyone’s getting more proficient.”

  “Anybody get choked out?”

  Phillip reluctantly raised his hand.

  “Somebody’s always gotta learn the hard way about tappin’ out, Phillip, but I bet you don’t let that shit happen again.”

  “No, I don’t think I will.”

  Michael thought about how Double-Time had insisted on repeatedly partnering with him several times during the Brazilian Ju-Jitsu and Krav Maga workouts. No way I was gonna let that guy get a choke on me. He’s rough, but at least he didn’t do anything dirty today. Maybe he was more interested in sizing me up. Still not sure how he got away from the U-W cops without getting arrested or I-D’d, but, apparently, God wants him here for some reason. I must need a thorn in my side.

  “This afternoon, we’re working on an introduction to lock picking. Gonna start with the components, mechanics, and vocabulary. Explain why you shouldn’t even bother tryin’ to pick a Medeco lock. Safecracking starts later next week after y’all have a chance to work your way through a generic deadbolt.”

  Michael heard the door open behind him, and he turned to see Jane standing in the doorway.

  “Sorry, John, can I borrow one?”

  “And,” John explained to the group, “each-a y’alls gonna get called out to meet with the shrink. Who’s he want first,” he asked Jane.

  “Andrew.”

  “Go to it, son, but you oughta make it back without missin’ too much. I told him you’re makin’ progress, and ain’t cried yourself to sleep at all this week.”

  “Thank you for your help,” Michael sarcastically responded. He rose and walked with Jane over to the main house. Despite having been at the compound for almost two months, he’d had surprisingly little interaction with her. Not sure if she’s only around part-time, or if John keeps her tucked away in the background. She’s the only trainer here that’s not been a lead instructor on at least one topic. “What do you normally teach, Jane?”

  She paused when they reached the main house and held the door for him. “Masculine humility.” Her smirk conveyed an absolute confidence that Michael felt compelled to respect.

  “Fair enough.” He walked into the house and headed straight back to the usual room. Michael tapped lightly on the open door as he saw Father Harry already inside.

  “Come in, Andrew,” the grandfatherly monsignor and psychologist offered. “Care for anything to drink? Water, coffee, tea?”

  “Yes, sir, tea would be great.”

  “Jane, my dear,” he called out and looked over his reading glasses, “would you mind?”

  Michael saw her expression briefly revealed her inner angst, but she quickly composed herself. “Nope, not at all.” She turned to Michael and curtly smiled at him. “Tea, you said? Chamomile, I imagine?”

  “That sounds delightful,” Father Harry obliviously interjected on their behalf. “Make it two, please.”

  “Two chamomile teas, comin’ right up,” Jane unhappily replied and pulled the door shut behind her.

  And with a healthy dose of spit, Michael thought.

  “So, Andrew,” Father Harry began, “it’s been a few weeks since I’ve checked in with you and your classmates. Even though we regularly see one another at mass, I’m busy wearing a very different hat and caring for a very different part of your being. The psyche and the soul being separate and distinct from one another, of course.”

  “Just as Saint Thomas Aquinas suggested,” Michael replied as he sat in his normal chair close to his evaluator. “So, where do you wanna start today?” I’m gonna work to keep you in the dark just like I always have, Father Not-Harry.

  “First, how are you getting along here, Andrew?”

  “I love it here.”

  “Love it here?” He wrote that down with a deliberate and obvious flair.

  Don’t think he bought that one, Michael thought. “Yep,” he replied. “I firmly believe this is where I’m supposed to be right now, and I’m looking forward to seeing how all the training and effort here is gonna allow me to better and more precisely serve God and His people. In fact, I’m thinkin’, if John were to allow it, that I’d come back one day to be an instructor.”

  “You want to be an instructor? Here? For John?”

  “Yes, Father, but, if possible, I know I have to leave, at least for a little while. So, I’d like to go out, maybe for a single mission that no one expects me to complete, except for John, of course, and I do such a great job that I get immediately pulled back into here to train everyone else to do it just like I did that one awesome mission. Whatever it is. Maybe something with planes.”

  “I see,” Harry replied and scribbled something on his paper. “Well, I wouldn’t go getting my hopes up too high, well, on any of that, but, it is John’s program and I suppose that anything’s possible.”

  “What else you wanna cover, Father?”

  “Well, I do have some questions from John, actually, since you brought him up. Do you mind if we go ahead and move on to those?”

  “That’d be great, whatever you need to do.”

  “John told me about everything he knew about the mobile surveillance field exercise at the University of Wyoming. He expressed some genuine surprise and concern that the cops chased one of his instructors from the area and stopped almost all the others. And, he believed, closely related to that, was the surprising success that the students enjoyed. Apparently, you and Jude both managed to win by identifying all the cameras and avoiding instructor contact. Another five students identified the majority of the cameras, and all but one actually made it into the building.”

  “Yessir, it was a good day for the home team, and we’re gonna work with Matthias to make sure he shows some substantial improvement on the next one.”

  The monsignor-psychologist ignored Michael’s attempted sidestep and watched him as though awaiting a genuine response. I’ve played this game before, Father, and someone should’ve told you I know how it works. The first one to break the silence always loses.

  “I don’t think anyone has ever won that exercise before,” Harry finally continued, “and there’s never been a class with that degree of success. I�
��ll certainly give you that the local campus police officers believing they had reason to target the instructors absolutely worked to the benefit of every student still in the game at that point, but it does certainly seem odd that they would have been alerted to question the activity of a trained intelligence professional as ‘suspicious.’”

  Father Harry again watched in silence, so Michael gave him nothing but a blank expression. The guilty and nervous are gonna fill the silence, so, without evidence to the contrary, I’m gonna stay mum until I have no other choice. Michael watched the monsignor-shrink watch him and considered his old police union rep’s facetious advice. Deny everything. Make counter-accusations. Demand to see their evidence. Ask for my attorney. He stifled a smile. Kinda doubt John’s program offers much in the way of due process. Part of the reason he’s out here in the sticks and I’m talking to ‘Father Harry.’

  “So, John had decided to cast it all aside as coincidence and write off the whole incident for all involved. Then, apparently, my understanding is that some new evidence came to light and John’s asked me to specifically inquire on his behalf.” He lifted the first page of his notebook and seemed to read from the page hidden behind it. “John asks, at least, well, this is with his expletives removed, of course, but, he wants to know what, exactly, did you, Andrew, have to do with his instructor’s altercation with law enforcement at U-W two weeks ago?”

  Michael worked to maintain a blank expression despite the pit that immediately formed in his stomach. Focus on the specific words he used and give him an honest answer. I didn’t see an altercation, a fight, between them. “I didn’t know one of his instructors was in an altercation with the police.”

  “There’s something else here, scribbled down below the question that I can’t quite make out, but it seems like a few of the words are ‘video surveillance footage.’” The elderly man looked up at Michael with an inquisitive expression. “Does that mean anything to you, son?”

  TWENTY-NINE

  Training Day 70. 0715 hours.