The Angel of Milan (24 page)

             
I looked to the side for the path off to the garden. It wasn’t where I thought it had been. There was also a dock at the lower patio, but it didn’t look big enough to hold the Azmut yacht Alessandra had taken me on. What was going on? This is not right, but I was positive I was at the correct villa.

             
Dinard took my arm and slowly pulled me away to walk back up the driveway. Begrudgingly, I complied. Getting back up on via Torno road, we began walking back toward Milan. What we were thinking I could not tell you. It would take us two days by foot.
             

             
“Adama, do you suppose that…”

             
Just then, a tour bus pulled to the side of the road across from us. The driver opened his window and shouted out to us.

             
“Padres, did your car break down? Can we offer you a ride?”

             
“Yes, most certainly. May God bless you, my son. May your family and friends also be blessed,” Dinard shouted out.

             
I thought he over did it a bit, but I would have been willing to give a blessing also. We were now on a tour bus filled with American tourists heading away from Milan. However, the driver assured us that after he dropped them at their hotel at the other side of the lake, he would be taking the bus back to its garage in Milan. We were saved.

             
We spent the next hour and a half talking to two elderly retired couples from the U.S. My patience was stretched to the limit hearing over and over again how beautiful the churches were in Italy. Dinard made the mistake of mentioning that I was posted at the Vatican. It was now my task to suggest what they should see when they visited there two days hence, and what would be required to gain an audience with the Pope. Dinard seemed to take great pleasure in my agony. Thankfully, the ride back to Milan was quiet after we dropped them at their hotel. Americans, God those people could be obnoxious.

             
The bus let us out at the first taxi piazza. From there, it was a short trip back to St. Andrew. We arrived tired and hungry, the latter being remedied immediately in Dinard’s kitchen.

             
“Adama, I must prepare the evening meal and I am late. Will you help me?”

             
             
For me, it was a strange end to an even stranger day. From a treasure hunt to a brawl, and onto an excursion to the countryside with tourists, I was now wearing an apron, and up to my elbows in pots and pans.

             
“Adama, please peal the potatoes. There, wash them off; the peeler is in the top drawer of the counter.”

             
“Okay, Father, I’m on it,” I said, trying to sound enthusiastic.

             
I sat on the stool, a bowl of potatoes in front of me to peel, trying to mentally sift though all that had, and had not, happened.

             
Del Cielo’s villa—I was there not once, but twice, wasn’t I? There was no question that Dinard and I had gone to the right place. I had a funny feeling that if we had gained entrance, I would not have seen the same furnishings. As I have said before, I am good at picking up on a lie, and the man at the door was not lying. He did live there, and he meant every word he said. 

             
Then, there was the Opus Dei bunch. Something very strange had certainly happened to them, and my injuries were as if they had never been made. What was that hallucination of the Angel on the top of the tomb? Maybe it was not an hallucination at all. It was easy to recall the image, but it was too brief to discern any detail. The events were all a jumble.

             
I am the ultimate skeptic, but I was beginning to take Burtuchi’s assessment of Del Cielo seriously. If any of that were true, then how could I just leave for Rome and not pursue conformation of such a thing? How does one confirm the presence of the unseen? If he were Gregori, he had many millennia of practice concealing it. Then I considered the practicality of the matter. If I proved to myself that Victorio Del Cielo was in fact Gregori, so what? Who would believe me other than Burtuchi? More importantly, to what end or purpose would it be? Still, my curiosity was churning. I wished I had access to the Vatican Archive right now to assimilate all that was known about the subject. The one thing I knew for sure was that I now had possession of the Atonement Lot. I checked my pocket just the same. 

             
I stayed with Dinard after supper to help him clean up. I knew he was just as exhausted as I, maybe more. He was not used to the havoc my presence brought to the usually peaceful parish of St. Andrew.

             
“Thank you, Adama. I was glad for the help tonight.”

             
“Good night, Father Dinard, we have both had a long day, and it is time for both of us to get some rest.”

             
I climbed the stairs to my quarters as if my shoes were lead. Falling into bed, I was too tired to take the time to wash up. I expected to lie there rolling all the thoughts of the day in my mind. However, to my surprise, I fell asleep almost immediately.

             
When I awoke the next morning, I showered and went downstairs, still trying to determine what to do about Del Cielo, if anything. I didn’t want to engage in the small talk of the parish, and decided to find a light breakfast on the avenue. A street side café looked inviting with a cool, early morning breeze to complement the aroma of a cappuccino. I wasn’t particularly hungry, but ordered a cornetto, actually just a croissant, to go with it. I didn’t think the proprietor would appreciate me taking up the table just for coffee.

             
Milan’s fashion models were up bright and early, scurrying down and across streets to their first casting calls of the day. I thought about the exuberance of their youth, and their optimism seeking fame and fortune so far from home. God bless them, they will need it.

             
As I sat watching the street traffic, a limousine with darkened windows pulled to the curb, and the chauffeur got out. One of the city’s movers-and-shakers wanted his coffee for the ride to work, no doubt. The chauffeur went directly to the counter where the coffee was waiting for him, and promptly returned to the car, handing it through a half rolled down window. Just another ritual of the city coming to life each morning.

             
Having finished my breakfast, I was about to leave when a hand touched my shoulder, announcing the arrival of someone joining me at the small table. It was Victorio Del Cielo, dressed in casual clothing with a coffee in hand. The limousine was still parked at the curb. His, no doubt.

             
“Ciao, Adama. I hope this beautiful morning finds you well.”

             
His presence in a street side café was totally unexpected, and I am sure it showed on my face. Yesterday, it would have seemed that he and his villa did not want to be found, and yet here he was bidding me good morning. It took me a moment to respond to his greeting.

             
“Ciao, Victorio. I think you know how surprised I am to see you here. I tried to see you yesterday afternoon, but I got the distinct impression that you did not want to be found.”

             
“That is true. Please forgive me, but it was necessary so that you would understand that if you come looking for me in the future, you will not be successful. However, I promised you that we would meet once more to discuss the Lot, and here I am.”

             
I became on-edge knowing the Atonement Lot was right here in my pocket, merely feet away from the person I was warned would desire it above all things.

             
“Be at ease, Adama. I do not want what is in your pocket. It has served my purpose, and you have completed the service I desired of you.”

             
“How can that be? I have done nothing for you that I know of.”

             
“Hardly, you have given me exactly what I wanted—Alessandra to know without doubt that I do not desire the Atonement Lot. That being said, that little episode in Cimitero Monumentale yesterday was necessary for Alessandra’s sake. She had to see that I would not take the Seal for my own purposes. I have always known where she put it—a very clever girl—and I give you great credit for locating it yourself. 

             
“She has been very afraid for me, fearful that I would attempt to free my brothers. The truth of the matter is that Rafael would never allow it, but she was not convinced. Your intervention allowed me to demonstrate to her that I did not desire the Seal, and at the same time, protect you and Father Dinard from a rather perilous fate. They had every intention of killing you. I could not very well have allowed that to happen. After all, Alessandra has sincere feelings for you. Oh, and your liaison with her on the lake—do not wonder about that where it concerns me. I love Alessandra, and she I, but on a nonphysical level. We are companions through time, where no other would have us.”

             
“Why wouldn’t she just believe you when you told her you did not want it to free Azazel?”

             
“Let’s just say that with Alessandra, only seeing is believing,” he said, with a smile.

             
“A final word for you, personally, Adama. I like you. You have a noble heart, and I would prefer not to see that heart corrupted. You walk a narrow line for a priest. Do not step over it, and you may yet be saved by grace alone.”

             
“What of you, Victorio, what does the future hold for you?”

             
“The price of complacency is much too high. The evil of this world will always be with us, and cannot be eradicated, but I can blunt its blows. In doing so, I walk the same narrow line as you, Adama.

             
“As for the future, my fate is yet unclear. Men have a Messiah, but not angels. We are bound by an exacting angelic law, and will be judged by it at the end of days. Those days are growing closer, Adama. Be on your guard, and remain a righteous man, for you have chosen a violent path.

             
“I must be going now. You decide what to do with the Atonement Lot. Do not be concerned with Cardinal Burtuchi asking you what you have done with it. As we speak, he is having a massive coronary, not of my doing, and is departing this world momentarily.

     “Do not seek me again, priest. You will not find me.”

             
Walking back to his car, he paused a moment and turned to me.

             
“There, his heart has stopped.” And he continued to the limousine.

             
With that, he vanished into his car, and I watched it pull away, wondering just what had happened. I couldn’t believe what he had just said about Burtuchi, but that would be easily enough verified. If it were true, then the fate of the Atonement Lot was truly up to me. The Cardinals Batist, Montiforo, and Decessi would not be concerned with it. They would be too busy playing politics and protecting themselves if Burtuchi were indeed gone. I could tell them that it was at the bottom of Lake Como through some mishaps or other.

             
I returned to St. Andrew feeling at ease for the first time in many days. I think I actually had a bounce in my step. I decided to wait a few hours before calling the Vatican on some pretence to see if what Del Cielo had told me was true. All things aside, I did care for Cardinal Burtuchi. He had been a mentor, teacher, and in a strange way, the only family I had. If he were an evil man, it made no difference at this point, and I resolved not to delve into his past doings, as it would serve no purpose.