Echoes Through the Vatican: A Paranormal Mystery (The Echoes Quartet Book 2) (11 page)

It is a good policy to be wary of strangers who appear out of thin air, know things they shouldn’t, and drop words inside people’s heads. Culturally steeped in superstition, the Russian’s wariness quadrupled.

Sokolov smiled a smile that never reached his cold, dead eyes. “I start to like you, Blessing. We do business, eh?”

“Oh gosh! Can we?” Julian said and the sarcasm ran in rivulets across the Russian’s desk. “Let’s just move along, shall we? Do you have Doctor Dwyer? I only require a yes or no answer.” Julian raised his eyebrows and looked expectant.

A mocking smile appeared on Sokolov’s face and Julian had to increase his concentration to stay focused. If he allowed it, his mind would turn to speculation-fueled sickening images of Ailís. He knew if left unchecked, he would obliterate the Russian without a single thought beyond rage if anything happened to her.

Sokolov swiveled and removed a large envelope from his credenza. He emptied the contents on his desk.

Julian recognized Ailís’ purse. He bought it for her on a trip to Dublin. There was no need to open the Irish passport or to go through the wallet. They were Ailís’ and he knew it, felt it. He knew something wasn’t right too. Knowing what, would be something he would work on later. Now it was all about the man sitting across from him.

He watched Sokolov with infinite care. He followed the Russian’s eyes every time he looked away. Julian refused to let the man escape his stare until he knew everything about Sokolov’s signature.

“I’m still, waiting. Yes or no?”

“What do you think, Blessing?” Sokolov asked. “There are your woman’s things. You tell me.

“Now, I think we make deal, eh? You could have value to me. You do a few things for me and I give you back your woman. Is simple, no?” Sokolov concluded with a shrug.

Julian looked thoughtful and then smiled. “I’ll think about it. Well, this has been a pleasant chat, but it’s time for me to go.”

The Russian looked astonished. He had seen this kind of swagger before but never from someone like this. His hand moved slowly across the desk to the left.

Julian stood then turned his back on Sokolov. Without turning back he said, “Leave the weapon where it is. As I said, I will think about your offer. Right now, I don’t think much of it, but that may change.”

“You do more than think about it,” Sokolov derided. “You do some things for me or I enjoy your woman until you do. Maybe I sell her to someone later. Is simple, no?”

Julian turned and, looking at the floor, walked back to the desk. He looked up and found a spot on Sokolov’s forehead. The big Russian had seen a lot and done a lot and all of it was bad. He had looked at men who wanted to kill him and he had laughed.

He now looked at Julian Blessing and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He began to lick his lips and blink rapidly. His breathing increased and perspiration broke out on his scalp and ran down his back. He managed to press a button under his desk.

Julian smiled slightly, left the spot on the man’s head and sought out his eyes. With a terrifying intensity, Julian thought and Sokolov suffered.
“Feeling a bit warm are you? You should because I am boiling your brain right inside your head. And I am the only one who can make it stop. Keeping me alive and safe and happy had better become your second priority in life. I’ll get to your first priority in a minute. Is simple, no?

“You have made me unhappy with your whole ‘fate worse than death’ routine. Let me turn up the heat, and I’ll show you what could be worse than death,” Julian said.

Sokolov began to drool and sweat coursed down his face. Julian’s breathing was slow and his heartbeat was steady. The Jesuit Book had taught him to eliminate everything that got in the way of achieving absolute focus. He wondered how long he could keep it up. He walked around the desk and sat on the edge next to the man who had threatened Ailís. Julian knew he would keep that focus forever if he had to.

The big man’s throat began to constrict his airflow and he started to choke. His eyes began to bulge as his body started to shut down non-essential systems.

“Here.”
Julian reached into the desk drawer and took out the pistol. He placed it in the Russian’s hand.
“That is your idea of power. Your brain is on fire and you can’t even wrap your fingers around that thing. How much good is your power doing you now?

“You think there is hope, don’t you? Your men are running this way right now. Each of them would kill on your orders and most have. I’ve closed the door, but didn’t even lock it. A closed door. That’s all that is keeping them out.

“You know why all of them will stay on the other side of the door? Because they hope I kill you.”
He leaned next to Sokolov’s ear.
“For them, it’s called career advancement.

“Listen to me, you pig. It is possible you have the doctor. It is possible you only have her purse. I could tell you to release her if you have her at all, but you may have some failsafe in place that would cause her harm. Maybe you don’t.

“It is all about probabilities, possibilities and outcomes. I could ask if you had her and you would answer. You would probably tell me the truth, but there is always that tiny possibility you would not and a smaller possibility I would not detect your lie. Her life is not something I will gamble with.

“Because of that slight uncertainty, I’m not going to kill you. Right now. You had better hope I do not get the feeling something has happened to the doctor. The moment that thought comes to me, you will be dead a nanosecond later.

“Here is a little something to remind you never to threaten me. It might give your troops out there a little something to think about too.”
Blood began to run from Sokolov’s ears as the veins in his neck distended while his body tried to replace the blood it was losing.

Julian took the Russian’s pistol and threw it into a drawer. The drawer closed without Julian touching it. He left the desk and walked slowly to the office door. “Probabilities, possibilities and outcomes, Sokolov.

“If you have her, keep the doctor safe and comfortable. That is your first priority. Is simple, no?”

Before reaching the office door, Julian closed his eyes and concentrated. Two blocks away, he stepped back into normal time and began looking for the inspector and her sergeant.

***

Fr. Dominic stood respectfully at Cardinal Luciano’s office door. There was no reason to knock.

“Come in, Dominic,”
the cardinal thought and the priest, still unsettled by the fact, felt it. He entered and stood before the massive carved desk, a desk that had been in this room for over three hundred years. The cardinal looked up, his eyes cold, gray and remorseless.

“Eminence, I trust you are having a productive day.” Fr. Dominic didn’t use the words ‘good day’. In the cardinal’s residence, no one had a good day. Ever.

The cardinal brushed aside the question. “I trust you would not be here without having something for me.”

“Indeed, Eminence. The American, Blessing, has been to see Sokolov. Our contact within the Russian’s organization could not, or would not, provide details beyond two.

“He said Sokolov met with Blessing and at the conclusion of that meeting, blood was running from the Russian’s ears. The second detail was that Mr. Blessing disappeared.”

“Disappeared? The blood from the Russian’s ears was a nice touch,” the cardinal said and smiled.

“Yes, Eminence. Apparently, Mr. Blessing was in Sokolov’s office one moment and not there the next. No other information was forthcoming beyond the fact a doctor was called to the office.”

The cardinal looked at his tooled leather desk blotter and suppressed a grin. “Interesting news. Anything else?” the cardinal said.

“Yes, Eminence. Our test appears to have been successful. A new, far larger amount has been withdrawn from the IOR.” The priest used the initials of Istituto per le Opere di Religione – the Vatican Bank.

“This was planned, so it is not news,” the cardinal said.

“True, Eminence. The withdrawal comes as no news to you, however, the amount might.” The priest smiled, proud of his handiwork. He continued before he irritated his boss. “Two million, three-hundred thousand euros or,” Fr. Dominic consulted the file folder he carried. “that would be nearly three million dollars as of fifteen minutes ago.”

The cardinal sat back in his chair, looked at his assistant and said, “Nicely done, Dominic. If there isn’t anything else…?” Cardinal Luciano left the sentence unfinished. This interview was over. Fr. Dominic bowed slightly and left the office.

The priest walked to his office, deposited his folder in a safe and went for a walk. “Nearly three million dollars stolen undetected and he calls it nicely done,” Fr. Dominic smirked and shook his head.

“I should be angry with you. I should be so angry with you that I ask Enrico to give you a good beating. I will dismiss my anger if you have something useful to report,” the inspector said. “By the simple fact that you are alive, we can assume you did not see Sokolov or you pulled some more of your wizard-y shit.”

Julian considered his options. Nothing useful = beating. Something useful = no beating. Seeing very few options to consider, he moved along.

“I believe Sokolov is a bad man and that he is laundering money and he may or may not have the doctor.” Julian stood as though he expected a reward.

At the words, ‘bad man’ the inspector closed her eyes and began to rub the middle of her forehead. “Enrico,” she said softly. “Beat this man, but only until your arms get tired.”

“Oh, yeah, I nearly forgot. I got this for you,” Julian said and tried to suppress a grin. The inspector looked up to meet Julian’s cool gray eyes, alive with mischief. He reached into the pocket of his sport coat and withdrew a sheaf of documents for her.

With eyes like slits, the inspector took the papers. She didn’t expect much. She unfolded them, took a bored breath and began to examine the first document – a spreadsheet. She took a second breath and this one she held for a very long time as she scanned the column headings, headings written in Italian. She began to look at the numbers and made quick work of looking through the other papers, handing them off to her assistant as she went.

The sergeant scanned the first paper, looked up with a hard expression and stared at Julian.

The inspector looked kind when she smiled and said, “Signore Blessing, do you mind if I call you Julian? Julian, where did you get these documents?” she asked sweetly.

“I got them from Sokolov’s desk. I figured while I was there I should probably bring something back for you two,” Julian said as sweetly.

The sergeant said, “Can I beat him now?”

“Sushhh, Enrico. Can’t you see? We are talking with a foreign national, a tourist and a guest of our country. You can beat him later. I will help.”

The inspector smiled more sweetly still and said, “Julian, you went to see the Russian and he gave you these papers, yes? Is that what you would like us to believe? Or you found yourself in Sokolov’s office.”

She continued. “You saw a stack of the most damning spreadsheets and memos imaginable and that Russian pig said, ‘I’ll bet your friends Bella and Enrico would find these interesting.’ Is that what happened?”

Julian looked thoughtful. “Bella, Enrico,” Julian began. The inspector’s nostrils flared at the use of her Christian name. Her assistant put the papers under his arm and began bunching and unbunching his fists. Informality begged to be punished.

“I know something about finance. I used to be in that business. While I was doing my wizard-y shit, as you say, I saw the papers in Sokolov’s drawer. I figured you could use them in your investigation, although how you got them would probably fall into the not-admissible-in-court category.” Julian trumped the inspector’s smile.

***

“Eminence, the bank has sustained another loss. This time the amount is substantial,” a quintessentially average man in a black suit said.

Cardinal Manning drew a breath before he looked up. “You are saying the first loss of three quarters of a million was not substantial? Or the one before that? Tell me, what constitutes a catastrophic loss?”

“$2.9 million was the size of this loss, Eminence.”

The cardinal inspected the man standing in front of his desk and did so for a full minute, a minute during which the man looked through his file folder.

“Signore, our losses so far are well over four million dollars. This is starting to look like carelessness and…” Manning stopped. Something about this unremarkable man’s face had changed and not for the better.

“There is more,” the cardinal said and his tone was flat and unfriendly.

“Eminence, I cannot say. The director general is coming to see you in a few moments. He will have all the information you request. The director sent me ahead to tell you what I know. That, Eminence, is all I know.” Perspiration had erupted from the man’s scalp and coursed down his cheeks and back.

A knock on the door preceded the entrance of the Vatican Bank’s director general. The man jerked his head and the unremarkable man left the office.

“Cardinal Manning,” the director said. “I have just come from a meeting of the bank’s auditors. I must tell you the news could not be worse.” Manning’s polar stare over his half glasses had the president swallowing hard.

“Continue,” the cardinal said.

“While trying to strengthen our electronic and physical security, at my instructions, the auditors began an examination of prior transactions. Their audit continues, but they feel they have found all past and present losses.”

“Signore, you are doing yourself no favors by trying to free yourself from blame. The amount of the losses, if you please.”

“Eminence, our losses to date amount to almost half a billion dollars.”

The clock in the office pounded in the bank director’s ears. Each tick was another nail in his professional coffin.

“Do you feel our security procedures have been increased sufficiently to assure there will be no further losses?” the cardinal asked in a whisper the president strained to hear.

The man licked his lips, took in a breath that might as well be his last and said, “I can only tell you, everything that can be done to safeguard the IOR has been done.”

Another whisper passed Cardinal Manning’s lips. “Get. Out.”

The cardinal looked at the telephone on his desk. It was an instrument he would have to use very soon. The call he would make would wound his papal aspirations, but not kill them entirely.

He picked it up, touched one number on the phone and waited. “This is Manning. It is necessary for me to see His Holiness. Yes, thirty minutes will suffice.” He hung up the telephone and considered a lifetime’s scrambling, maneuvering, plotting, betraying and planning. Very careful planning.

***

“Julian, my friend, was your interview with Mr. Sokolov a pleasant one?”
Fr. Soski thought and his grin made his mood palpable.

“Marek, it is always pleasant when old friends get together, no?”

“Oh, my. Can I assume you did not use him gently?”
the priest scolded.

“I would have to say, Mr. Sokolov and I would be unable to come to an agreement on the meaning of ‘gently used,’ but he would be the first to admit he was definitely used.” Julian’s slight smile was rueful, but quickly turned solemn. I am unable to determine whether he has Ailís or not. The man is a ball of hatred and so is impossible to read except on the most visceral level.

“I can tell you, he is unhappy with me. The implications are clear. I feel the Jesuit Book would be safer in your care. I believe things are going to get dicey and I doubt, seriously, my ability to safeguard it. It is too important a work to put at risk.”

The men sat on a stone bench in the shade of a large tree. The tree and bench were in the private garden Julian rented from his hostess at the House of Joy. The men shared a lunch of crusty Italian bread, olives, a hunk of cheese and some prosciutto cotto. Fr. Soski thought as he ate.

“Julian,” the priest said. “Often the resources we need are right at hand. If you will get the door, I believe we can have our need for security and peace of mind met.”

Julian smiled just before a discreet knock was heard on the door leading to the garden. Julian walked to the door. Joselina Conaletti stood on the other side looking pinched and distinctly unhappy.

“For the love of the Madonna, wizard, don’t you know who that is, who you’ve brought into my house? Have you gone suddenly more stupid or something?” The woman’s panic was inspiring.

“That is my friend, Fr. Soski. Come out, I’ll introduce you,” Julian said.

The madam looked horror-struck. “I am supposed to go out there and meet the Ghost! Rosa, the girl on the same floor as you, she told me a customer of hers knew a man who said he knew someone who once looked the Ghost in the face and was driven instantly insane. And this you bring into my house? Do you care nothing for me and my daughters? How can you do this to us!

“I told that useless Giuseppe Sarro to throw the both of you out and do you know what that knot head said? I’ll tell you! He said he would rather dig out his eyes with a rusty spoon! That man is afraid of no one, but even he won’t screw around with the Ghost.” She made the sign of the horns so the priest wouldn’t see.

“Signorina, please come and enjoy your lovely garden with us. My friend, and I are in need of your wise counsel,”
Fr. Soski thought and Joselina staggered as if head butted by a long horned sheep.

Julian smiled his most charming smile. The hallway behind Joselina was filled with her employees. He opened the door wide and the young women suddenly had a great need to be anywhere other than where they were.

“See what you’ve done.” The woman looked at Julian and was venomous. “It is one thing to have you doing your wizard shit right on my front steps and now I have the Ghost inside my head! And, and, and now my daughters have abandoned me. Nasty whores, I will skin them all if I live through this. If I do not, I will haunt you forever wizard!” the woman hissed.

She entered the garden and, without touching it, Julian closed the door behind her. She jumped. Julian smiled.

Fr. Soski stood and turned to face her. She looked at the white hair, the opaque gray eyes and the pale skin of the tall, banister thin priest as he held out a hand to welcome her. He smiled and terror animated the soul of Joselina Conaletti when she touched the cold hand of the Ghost.

***

“You obviously have friends in very high places, Mr. Blessing. “Taking your leisure in the Vatican Gardens is not something every tourist has the opportunity to enjoy. I am impressed,” Cardinal Luciano said and was impressed not at all.

“You asked to see me,” Julian said. “I thought this would be a convenient place.”

“Oh, yes, very convenient and very public. Do you and I really need to be this cautious with each other? I am getting the impression you do not trust me.” The cardinal’s voice was musical and light with its slight Italian tinged English.

“Eminence, do I have to be this cautious with you? The answer to that is yes. Do I trust you? Of course not. Not only is this a public place, but we are being watched,” Julian said, strengthening the defenses around his thoughts.

The cardinal smiled and shook his head. “Mr. Blessing, I appreciate your candor. It is so American, so refreshingly naive. However, I cannot say your fabrications are especially original. In fact, we are not being watched. I would know, as you would know, if we were.

“Further, watched or not, you could easily fall over dead and it would appear, for all the world, that I did nothing but administer the last rights. And the world would, of course, be right. I am a man of God after all,” the cardinal chuckled.

Julian set a slow pace as they walked down a long pea gravel path leading to a small fountain. Perfectly trimmed boxwoods lined the path and the air was honeyed with the smell of jasmine.

Julian stopped and cocked his head at his opponent, “You wished to see me?”

“Indeed,” Cardinal Luciano said. “I wanted to report I have been diligent in my inquiries regarding Dr. Dwyer. Some obstacles are to be overcome, but her safety comes first, so I am sure you will be happy to assist in any way you can.” The cardinal’s smile was a smirk.

“And in what way can I assist, Eminence?” Julian asked and dreaded the answer.

“We talked of powerful people when we met at my residence, no? Well, these powerful people are in a position to find and free your doctor, if anyone can, but they need to know which side you are on,” the cardinal said.

“I am on the right side, Eminence. And you?” Julian smiled a smile he did not feel.

The cardinal let the innuendo pass. “Mr. Blessing, there is a man. He is a man of great power and international standing. He is one of a handful of such people who are doing great harm to society. He is holding mankind back from claiming its true destiny. He is clever, this man. It appears to all the world he is the very model of piety and moral rectitude.

“This man must be,” the cardinal paused, “dissuaded.” The emphasis was heavy and driven home when the cardinal arched an eyebrow.

“Much discussion has been held on this subject. It is felt you are the individual in a position to accomplish such a thing.” The cardinal went no further, but looked at Julian awaiting a response.

“I need to kill someone in order to secure the release of the doctor, is that what I’m hearing? Please, tell me I misheard.”

“Mr. Blessing, it is you who used the word kill. I merely said dissuaded. I understand how your interpretation could be seen to be correct. Early in our relationship you indicated you were not inclined to join us. We accept and respect your decision, although we are disappointed of course. That said, you need not join as an active member in order to have your doctor returned to you.

“Successfully accomplish this task for us and you and the doctor are free to resume your lives far away from Rome. You may rest easy that you have completed an important mission for the greater good by protecting the world from an immense evil. In the process, you may just save this man’s soul. Of course, we will bother you no further.” With eyebrows raised and a broad smile, the cardinal looked pleased.

While Luciano waltzed around the subject, Julian’s natural style was slam dancing. “And the target of this assassination is who, your Eminence?”

The cardinal looked at Julian in mock disapproval. Luciano held Julian’s gaze, then looked away into the distance. Julian followed the man’s eyes. Both men squinted slightly under the harsh Roman sun.

From a small door in the wall surrounding the garden, a compact group of clerics entered and stood aside. It was a small pond of black cassocks, some piped in the scarlet of cardinals, others in the purple of bishops.