Veil - 02 - The Hammer of God (36 page)

Father Kong stood in silence. “I can’t answer that, but I do know I believe it’s only right that we get to talk with all of the boys together, before you take Samuel away. It’s only right for all of us, including Sister Isabella.”

Robert felt a stab. He didn’t believe what Father Kong was saying, but couldn’t deny the commitment and sacrifice.
Why would they give so
much if they didn’t believe it was true?

“Okay,” Robert finally said, “you can talk with the boy, but he’s going home with us regardless of what you think.” Father Kong bowed his head in ascent.

“So, how do we get this party started?” asked Thorne.

“I’m sure Cardinal Polletto knows about Rinaldo by now, and he’ll be prepared,” said Father Kong.

“Fine, but we’re taking my people along with us,” said Robert.

“I’ll send out a scout team to survey Bracciano,” said Father Kong.

“Get an idea of what we’re up against.”

Robert laid out his guns on the dining room table. “Good, when they call back, I’ll determine how many men we need.”

“We should keep it small,” said Thorne. “A large group will give us away.”

“Agreed,” added Father Kong. “We have God and the element of surprise on our side.”

“I feel ya, Padre, but I want fully automatic weapons for everybody who wants one, just in case,” said Robert. Father Kong just stared.

“Look, Father, I know how you feel, but it’s necessary.”

“It’s not that,” said the priest. “I just thank God for you and Miss Thorne, and Cardinal Maximilian wanted you to know that you have his blessings, and that he’ll be praying.”

Robert smiled. “Amen. Now let’s get it together. I want us ready to go in twenty-four hours.”

There was a knock at the door. One of Father Kong’s people opened it, and in walked another member of the Hammer of God, followed by a welcome surprise, Detective Nelson Reynolds.

“I understand there are a few asses that need my attention,” the detective said, smiling at Thorne, who walked over and gave him a big hug and kiss, then introduced him to everyone in the room.

“I thought we could use a little extra help,” said Thorne. “So I called Detective Reynolds a week ago and asked him to take a little vacation.” The detective smiled. “Hey, I can use the rest.” Father Kong walked over and shook the detective’s hand. “Welcome to Rome. We’re happy to have your assistance. If these two are vouching for you, then we’re happy to extend our trust.” Detective Reynolds bowed his head in respect and thanked the priest for his kindness.

Robert stepped forward and stuck out his hand. “Good to see you, big boy. I feel better already,” he said. Detective Reynolds shook Robert’s hand then pulled him in for a hug.

Thorne grabbed the detective’s bags. “Your room’s here in the back.

I’ll bring you up to date on the details.” The detective and Thorne disappeared to the back. Robert went back to cleaning his guns.
Just a little while longer, Samuel. We’re going to
win.

B
lindfolded, his hands tied behind his back, Father Tolbert lay on his side, motionless and calm. He heard the door unlock and someone enter, which he presumed was Father Ortega from the mix of sweat and cheap cologne, an unforgettable signature of the unholy henchman, not easy to forget. Father Ortega put a cup up to Father Tolbert’s mouth, and he swallowed the ice-cold water in several thankful gulps. During the whole time, Father Ortega said nothing, even after Father Tolbert thanked him. The priest gently laid him back down on the hard, cold, stone floor, and relocked the door on his way out, leaving Father Tolbert alone with his nightmares.

Father Tolbert rolled over on his back and brought his heels up to his buttocks. His mind took him back to a childhood devoid and empty, the impetus of a sickness that had transformed him into a monster he couldn’t control. A beast that feasted on the childhoods of those he envied and coveted.

He thought joining the priesthood would help drive away the ferocious cravings for young boys, but it didn’t. Instead, the monster grew, nurtured by unfettered access to lambs ripe for slaughter, handed over to him by those who were supposed to shepherd the flock, not leave them abandoned and vulnerable.

The names and faces of countless children pushed their way into Father Tolbert’s head, jumping, playing, wallowing in innocence that he, as a priest, should have protected and fought for.
Edwin, Anthony, Paul,
Charles!
Each child, some round-faced, some slim with black hair, some blond with green eyes, brown and blue, all stood before him in the shadows of his mind, all wanting to understand, all wanting to know why.

“I’m sorry,” Father Tolbert moaned. “Please forgive me, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Each boy waded in the shallow river of Father Tolbert’s remembrance, heads down, eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry!

I’m sorry! Please, help me Lord, I’m sorry!” he screamed.

The boys in his head kept walking, the river rising until each child disappeared and drowned, their bodies floating on a surface of liquid black.

Father Tolbert rolled over, threw up, and cried in his vomit.
It’s right
that I suffer! Right that I die! Please, oh Lord, take away the pain with
death!

Finally, a lone boy stood before him.
Samuel
.

When the gargoyle inside him turned its sights to Samuel Napier, a child full of life, and eager to fulfill it, Father Tolbert tried to do away with his demons, and confessed his sins to Cardinal Polletto. Counseling was suggested and attended, to no avail. In fact, the monster seemed to gain strength. Soon, Father Tolbert could only watch the demonic animal inside him hunt, kill and destroy.

Samuel stood on the bank of the black river, watching Father Tolbert with empty, sad eyes, then he looked over at the children floating dead in the water.

“Samuel, please forgive me! I love you! I didn’t mean to hurt you!” said Father Tolbert.

Samuel turned and walked down into the river, parting the sea of lifeless children floating on the blackness, until he too disappeared.

Moments later, he walked out of the water on the other side of the shore, but was different, more mature and powerful.

Father Tolbert flailed about, kicking and writhing in pain. Samuel smiled. Felipe and Eduardo walked out of the water, and the three of them disappeared into the woods.

“What does it mean? Lord, what have I done?” asked Father Tolbert.

“Tell me what you saw,” a familiar voice asked from somewhere in the room.

“Who’s there?” Father Tolbert cried. “Who are you?”

“Tell me what you dreamed,” the voice asked again.

“Cardinal Polletto?” Father Tolbert’s body shook. “I won’t tell you! I won’t!”

“Your time is short,” said Cardinal Polletto.“Soon, I’ll give you what you’ve longed for, death. But first, tell me your dream.” Father Tolbert struggled to break free. “I won’t let you hurt him! I won’t let you hurt Samuel!”

“Samuel can’t be hurt, not by me, or anybody else.”

“Liar, you filthy liar! I won’t tell you anything!” Father Tolbert struggled to his feet. “I should have protected Samuel, but you made me hurt him.”

“Don’t fool yourself. You’ve always been weak for the taste of the young. I protected you, for this day, and allowed you to have what you loved.”

“I’m a monster! A monster you helped feed!”

“You’re not alone,” Cardinal Polletto told him. “Your depravity, like the others, has gone a long way to help us.”

“Help you?”

“Yes, help The Order get a step closer to destroying what should have been killed off centuries ago.”

“The Church? You’ve used me to destroy God’s kingdom?” Father Tolbert heard Cardinal Polletto stir and honed in on that direction.

“On the contrary,” said Cardinal Polletto. “The true kingdom is ours.

A kingdom you helped bring about with your seed. You gave us three, and will be remembered for all eternity.”

“Arrrrh!” Father Tolbert screamed, rushing toward Cardinal Polletto’s voice.

A granite-like blow smashed into the priest’s face. Father Tolbert fell backwards, his entire body floating through the air and crashing down to the floor.

“Thank you, Father Sin,” he heard Cardinal Polletto say.

Unable to move, Father Tolbert watched in his mind as more children, each face familiar, file into the black river of his mind. He wanted to tell them he was sorry, but knew it was useless. He heard Cardinal Polletto and Father Sin leave the room.

Father Tolbert lingered on the edge of consciousness, then cried into the night.

F
orehead sweaty, shoulders tense, Cardinal Polletto paced the cold, candlelit bedroom, unable to control his breathing or the pounding in his chest. He had asked not to be disturbed for the next few hours, while he readied himself for the ritual. As he stumbled about the room, catching his balance several times by grabbing hold of one of the antique oak bedposts. For the last twenty-four hours, anxiety had tortured his being, kneading him unmercifully, castigating his spirit.

The cardinal slid down to the floor, leaned back against the bed and closed his eyes, as much from the sweat burning his pupils, as from the blanket of nervous uncertainty drowning him.
Get up you fool! This is
what you wanted, what you’ve been waiting for! Victory is at hand!

He pulled himself up on the side of the bed, stumbled over to the dresser, lowered his aged frame down to the cushioned chair, and stared at the man in the mirror. He barely recognized the feeble-faced, gray-headed imp leering back at him, eyes red and bleary, purple veins branching out of his hawk-like beak. Looks that belied the image of strength and grace he had carefully nurtured since stepping into the realm of Vatican politics. Others boasted elegant good looks, playing on their God given handsome exteriors, but none matched the cunning charm, charisma and hallmark ability to persuade and manipulate that Cardinal Polletto used to construct a reputation of excellence, and build an international network of loyal supporters, from the Kremlin to the White House.

The cardinal looked over at the antique grandfather clock to check the time.
Less than four hours. I better get ready.
He picked up a washcloth off the dresser, soaked it in a basin of warm water and covered his face, the strength in his legs slowly returning, the warmth therapeutic and welcome. Cardinal Polletto walked over to the bed, where his rich purple and red vestment and gold lion’s head scepter lay waiting to drape him in the power and glory he’d thirsted for most of his life. The sight of the vestment and glistening scepter conjured up the spirit inside him, reminding him of who he was, and who he would soon become.

He ran his bony fingers across the satin robe and thought of the majesty and influence he’d wield as Pope. Access to untold wealth and the power to use it would allow him to build alliances, wage war, or initiate peace as he saw fit. The cardinal straightened his back, raised his chin, and slipped the clothing over his head, playing the ritual over in his mind, as debilitating jitters turned into unwavering confidence. Near full strength, the cardinal went back to the dresser, and sat back down in front of the mirror. This time, the man staring back at him wore fierce fiery eyes, a strong, firm jaw line, and a countenance of royalty.
It’s my
time!

Cardinal Polletto’s thoughts turned to Samuel and his brothers. There was no doubt in his mind that Samuel was the one he and the others awaited.
Their
lord, the one who would lead them and rule the world, the first-born of the three.

He knelt down to pray to his god, Lucifer, sweat beading up on his brow. The face of the Black Pope pushed its way into his mind, sending a cold shiver down his spine.
Don’t fail!

Fueled with the renewed vigor that only prayer can bring, the cardinal grabbed the scepter; it’s weight straining the muscles still active in his arms. Arrogance now his guide, Cardinal Polletto examined the flawless, hand-etched carvings on the three-foot alabaster shaft, images of their master’s conquests over the centuries, and a jewel encrusted circle beneath a sold gold lion’s head, which symbolized their master’s true nature.

Cardinal Polletto took a few deep breaths then headed for the door.

He stopped and took stock of himself one last time. When he returned, his life and the world would be very different. He opened the door, and Father Sin and Sister Bravo stood waiting.

“Get the others,” the cardinal said softly, “it’s almost time,” he said, heading down to the Hall of Caesars, where the procession would assemble, head held high, his spirit renewed.

S
amuel, Felipe and Eduardo sat on the floor, staring down at a makeshift layout of the area around the castle. A small plate stood in for the castle, a candle symbolized the woods to the south, and Samuel’s shoe was the shore across the water to the north.

“Our best chance is to make it to the woods,” said Samuel, his voice low, pointing to the candle. “I’m sure they’ll have guards there, but the darkness will work to our advantage.”

He used hand gestures and spoke slowly so his brothers could keep up. They had established a routine that enabled them to communicate well with one another. Samuel would point, and Felipe and Eduardo would confirm with nods, answering in French or Italian. Samuel would repeat the word in English, then Felipe and Eduardo would repeat the word again, this time in English. Remembering his school lessons back in Chicago, Samuel had given them a quick phonics lesson, which both boys picked up quickly.

What Samuel couldn’t explain, not to his brothers or himself, was their ability to understand each other without speech, as though they could read each other’s minds. Sometimes when Samuel spoke, his brothers answered and nodded, as if they fully understood. Other times he would think of something, and Felipe and Eduardo would nod as if they heard him say it out loud. And when they spoke to him in French or Italian, Samuel somehow knew exactly what they meant.