Echoes Through the Vatican: A Paranormal Mystery (The Echoes Quartet Book 2) (3 page)

“And do these fools verbally assault you every day?” The woman nodded hesitantly and looked at the ground.

“It isn’t assault.  It’s a compliment,” the first man down said with heat.

“Is it a compliment if I come over there and kick the balls right off of you?  Shut up before I give you a compliment that will deny your momma any grandchildren.  As if!” Bella spat.

“You!” the inspector pointed at the largest of the four.  “Come here.”

The man scrambled to his feet.  “Sit.  Give this nice young woman your business card,” Bella said. The man looked confused.  The inspector grabbed the man’s tie and pulled.  “Business card.  Now! And write your cell number on the back.”

He reached into his coat pocket, fished out his wallet and wrote his number as instructed. Bella gave the man’s card, and one of her own, to the young woman.

“Good.  Here is the second option.  This is more complex. I know none of you are very smart, so follow along.”  She turned her attention to the young woman.  "Cara, going or coming from wherever you go or come from, you are to call this clownish sort of man.” Bella pointed so everyone understood who the players were. “He will escort you.”  The man opened his mouth, but self-preservation closed it for him.

“You,” she turned her frightening attention to the man. “You will escort this young lady.  Should she encounter any name calling, or whistling, or abuse of any sort you will beat whoever commits such sins. You must do this with vigor, capisci?”  

“If his performance is poor, call me,” the inspector said to the girl. "At that time, we will return to my favorite option.”  

Bella stood and whispered to the woman, “He isn’t bad looking and he has a nice ass, no?”  The young woman blushed and nodded.  With vigor.

The inspector returned to her partner and they continued on their way.  “Enrico, amore mio,” she said, “are you the only man worth knowing?”

The big sergeant thought a moment and said, “For you, Bella?  Most definitely, I am the only one.”

The accent on the telephone was distinctive and the phrasing one-of-a-kind. “Professor, thank you for calling. It’s good to hear your voice,” Julian said. Professor Reginald Bragonier, professor of history at Trinity College Dublin, was the British husband of Julian’s mentor, Bridget.

“Julian, old son, this is ugly business. It likes me not that our Ailís is missing. What hear you from the authorities?” the professor asked.

“Nothing has come from the police other than they are doing everything they can to find her.”

Julian continued with the sequence of events. “She finished her shift at the hospital and we were to meet for dinner as usual. I talked with the Chief of Staff at the hospital. He confirmed she was coming to meet me. It seems strange though.”

“Strange in what way, my boy?” the professor asked.

“Ailís told Dr. Stefani she had to go pick up a package. But that was all. The front desk clerk said he gave her a package delivery notice. The police will be running that down, but I plan on following up as well. She never mentioned a package to me and I talked with her on the phone this afternoon. It may have slipped her mind, but she is always so detailed,” Julian said.

“Ah, well, that is…” the professor burbled and stalled before coming out with it. “That would be my fault I’m afraid. You see, I sent you some documents by overnight express,” the professor finished in a rush.

“What express service? The clerk couldn’t remember the carrier so I’ve been checking with all of them. I have just two to go. Which carrier, professor? And documents? What kind of documents?”

“I will look through my papers for the carrier as we talk. As to the other, I ran across an obscure reference to the Roman coins you found here in Ireland. Like any historian, I went to work digging deeper. I found a gold mine. I felt some of my research findings were highly volatile politically. I don’t mean historically, but today.”

“Volatile in what way and would they be volatile enough for someone to take Ailís?” Julian demanded as his heart thundered and his focus narrowed.

“Let’s say religiously and politically explosive. Events in the Vatican, and elsewhere today, can trace their lineage directly to the documents I unearthed. The papers would be volatile from any point of view. At least, that’s where the evidence points.

“Julian, I’ve not nailed it down yet, but I’m on to something important and very likely dangerous,” the professor ruminated. “Could it have lead to this sort of thing? I have to answer, it is possible.

“Copies were sent to a colleague of mine in the antiquities department at Sapienza University there in Rome, for further study. He has access to local resources I do not,” the professor said and then continued.

“You were correct. I never doubted you by the way. The treasure you unearthed here was only half of what it should have been. The other half never left Rome.”

“Literally, ancient history, professor. I still don’t understand. How could it still be dangerous two thousand years after the fact?” Julian asked.

“Well, my young friend,” the professor said trying to lighten a darkening mood, “be careful how you use the word ancient. I’ve been called that and I’m still dangerous enough. As for the how of it, I will leave my colleague to explain.”

“I will contact him. But tell me, how is Bridget?”

“Yes, well, when confronted by one’s own ignorance of the ways of history, it is always best to change the subject,” the professor said and, moved by the force of the professor’s snort, Julian smiled in spite of himself.

“My Bridget is doing swimmingly. The woman positively blossoms when in my presence. Wait, I better not say that aloud. She nearly destroyed me the last time.”

Julian heard the professor’s chuckle and couldn’t help but smile again. The professor supplied the name of the overnight service and the waybill number, and the name of his fellow professor in Rome.

“Thank you for calling me back professor. When I know more I will let you know,” Julian said.

“Before you ring off, I have something more,” the professor said and Julian remained silent.

“We are all concerned Julian - Bridget, Moira and the rest. Concerned for our Ailís of course, but concerned for you as well. Have a care son. We live in a wicked world.”

“I’ll be careful professor,” Julian said and hung up the phone. He lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling trying to see into the past, trying to connect with Ailís.

Past viewing was a talent he had exhibited early on and his teacher, Moira Hagan, had encouraged and helped him to develop it. Julian felt he wasn’t very good at it because he couldn’t control the visions.

While others could see into the future, Julian was able to see past events as if watching reruns on television. Sometimes, he would see pieces of the very distant past while at other times, he was able to clearly watch events unfold near the present. He could not control what he saw or when.

He fell into an exhausted sleep seeing another of former Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi’s fraud trials. For Berlusconi, the past, the present and the future looked pretty much the same.

***

“Inspector Saviano, I really don’t need any help. I just want to ask a few questions,” Julian said as they hurried down Via Sasilina and closed in on the express delivery service.

“Signore Blessing, although you make a valiant attempt at speaking Italian, it is not sufficient to find out the time of day. Secondly, the businesses in Italy do not like it when foreigners burst into their offices and start demanding answers. I, however, am the police and charming so they always make an exception for me.

“Am I not charming, signore Blessing?” Her partner, Asst. Capo Enrico Marino, rolled his eyes and looked bored.

“Sorry, I was thinking. What did you say?” Julian said, his thoughts miles away.

“I see my charm is lost on you, signore,” the inspector answered with derision dripping from her lips.

Once inside, the sergeant found the district manager. They spoke for a moment and Marino returned with a slip of paper and whispered something to his inspector.

“Enrico, you are a treasure. Bring these men to me one at a time,” the inspector said and Marino disappeared into the labyrinth of cartons and package carts.

“Here, we will use this conference room. Enrico says he has the names of the men who were working when your package arrived. Enrico is very valuable. He has many cousins. In this case the manager is his third cousin. Because of this sort of thing, he and I are able to accomplish much,” the inspector said.

“I am taking your word for the importance of this package. Perhaps one of these men will have something of value to tell us. This, you may notice, makes these men far more valuable than you since you have failed to provide anything of substance about yourself or your true business in Rome,” the inspector said.

“I am a tourist,” Julian began. “I am looking for a package that was sent to me from Ireland. A package that has gone missing. The person who picked it up has gone missing also. You are being kind enough to assist me. What else is there to say?” Julian replied.

With a sigh and a shake of her head, Inspector Saviano made a face and said, “Tourists are not often thrown into the back of limousines and taken to secret meetings with one of the most powerful men in the Vatican. I speak, of course, of Cardinal Luciano. Members of the Russian mafia are also not following random tourists. So, you don’t mind if I doubt your tourist story.”

“Your sergeant is coming with some people. I can tell you, not one of these men knows anything,” Julian said.

Enrico Marino opened the door and roughly shoved a small, balding, bespectacled man into the room.

The inspector said, “Sit,” and her assistant forcefully introduced the man to a chair.

The questioning began and Julian again said, “He knows nothing,” but the inspector fixed him with a glare. Julian left to, as he said, ‘wander.’ He walked through a canyon of cartons, containers, packages, boxes of all shapes and sizes and rooms of machinery. The building seemed never-ending. Individual packages lost their shape as they formed heaps on the backs of overburdened carts.

Julian stopped, and tried to quiet his thoughts and focus his attention as his teacher had instructed. After a few moments, he felt calmer. He was back in control of himself and could better control the elements of his search, but still, he knew nothing of substance.

He rounded a corner and could feel, immediately, the signature of someone who did know things, things of substance. He was a man who kept secrets in exchange for money.

Julian returned to the conference room and attracted Enrico Marino’s attention. Together, they tracked through the facility again and eventually found the keeper of secrets. Marino recognized the man as being wanted for burglary and assault on a police officer.

The burly sergeant grabbed the man and pushed him against a nearby wall. Handcuffs were placed on wrists and the suspect was led away to the makeshift interrogation room and Inspector Saviano.

Julian knocked once then looked inside saying, “Having any luck?”

The inspector said, “Signore Blessing, you are beginning to annoy me. Do you have this effect on everyone?”

“Only those who like me,” Julian said.

“Then I must be falling in love. None of these men knows anything. This may be difficult for you to believe, but this man,” she pointed to the man sitting across the table from her, “actually knows less about anything than you say you do,” the inspector said.

She turned to the man and said in Italian, “Thank you, now go away.”

“I have someone for you to talk with who does know something,” Julian said. He felt he had made progress and his face wore an eager look.

Enrico Marino pushed a large man into the room and shoved him into a chair. Marino said two words as an introduction, “Antonio Califano.”

The inspector said in Italian, “You have been a busy burglar. I am with the finance police, so burglary does not concern me. Still, I keep up on things. You struck a policeman. That does not concern me either, but Enrico takes that sort of thing personally. The policeman was his cousin.

“My associates believe you know something. I say they are wrong. You are too stupid looking to know anything of value. Which of us is right?” She smiled pleasantly.

“I don’t talk to whores like you,” the man drawled.

Switching to English, the inspector said, “That’s it? That is as original as a clown like you gets? I am a prostitute? That’s it? Enrico, punish this man for being unoriginal.”

Her assistant stepped behind the prisoner and pushed Califano forward, bouncing his head off the table.

After thirty minutes of questioning, the inspector sat back in her chair with no more information than when she started. The air was nearly blue with profanity, most of it lost on Julian.

“Yet another man who knows nothing. I am shocked,” the inspector snarled.

“May I ask him a question?” Julian asked.

“Why not?” the inspector sneered.

“Parli inglese?” Julian asked and the man shook his head, no.

“Madonna mia! Is this what we’ve come to Enrico? What is next, signore Blessing? Are you going to ask him if he would go to the bakery with you? How much more grammar school Italian must we endure? Enrico, we bounced the wrong man’s head off the table!” the inspector cried out in frustration.

“You ask if he speaks English and he tells you no. In fact, he does; he just doesn’t speak it to you. The man is an idiot, but he speaks English. If you have something of value to add, add it now before I become unhappy with you.” She glared at all three men and said, “All of you.”

Julian smiled at her and pulled his chair closer to the table. “This will only take a moment,” he said.

Califano sat in brooding silence with his face twisted in a sneer of disgust.

Julian let his shoulders drop and his eyes became hooded as he stared into the man. The thought he sent Califano hit the man with enough force to push him back in his chair.

“I do not want to repeat myself,”
Julian thought
. “You will tell me everything you know about the package and the woman who came to collect it. You know what package and what woman so don’t bother with that excuse.”

The man could feel Julian’s words as clearly as if they had been shouted at him, but Julian sat placidly looking into the man’s face. Califano, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and hatred, spat at Julian and missed. Enrico moved up behind the man, but Julian raised his hand to stop the sergeant.

“Please, take this man’s handcuffs off.” Marino shot a questioning look to his inspector who nodded imperceptibly. With a pinched look of concentration, she watched Julian’s every move, listened to his every breath.

The man was rubbing his wrists when Julian’s next thought struck hard. “
I am having to repeat myself. Let me give you something you can remember so this doesn’t happen again.”

The man screamed as the fingers of his right hand began to twist in a paroxysm of excruciating pain. Enrico Marino moved a step and his inspector shook her head bringing her assistant to a halt. Although Califano tried to stop it, his hand twisted into a claw and the spasm began to work its way up his arm. He shrieked again and swore. Julian sat back in his chair, then released the man.

“Let’s start over again. What happened to the package and the woman? Lie to me and you will feel something far worse than a muscle spasm. Oh, and I’ll leave you that way for the rest of your life. Capisci
?” Julian thought.

The prisoner nodded once, his eyes wide with terror.

“Please, tell the inspector everything you know and do it in English,” Julian instructed.

For fifteen minutes, a frightened, confused, and angry Antonio Califano told his story.

He had been alerted to a package by a friend, a man he was in prison with. The friend wanted Califano to locate a specific package and then take it home. He was assured the reward for performing this task would be substantial.