The Angel of Milan (18 page)

             
While I tried to indulge my anger and focus my thoughts on Del Cielo, I couldn’t keep my mind from drifting to the Bilderberg Group and their conspiracies. Compared to other secret societies, they were relatively new—not yet fifty years in existence—but maybe that was an illusion. The little that was known about their membership indicated that many of them were already members of other secret societies dating back hundreds of years. Even that was not a certainty, as there was speculation that these organizations stretched to antiquity in various forms and names to assimilate into the social fabric of each time period.

             
Their objectives always take the same paths. Their first goal is to cooperate with and advance their own members—the ultimate “good ’ol boys club.” The next two are intertwined, inseparable in many respects—homogenize religion by removing its absolute moral authority, and destroy social order and family, to be replaced by members of the state. Examination brings about a grim picture of their “New World Order.”

             
In their vision, there would be no war, no perceived social injustice, and most of all, no freedom. To assure the continuation of the order, there would be a single form of world government and religion to complement their brave new world. The religion would be based on the heavens, cloaked in the worship of Isis, but ultimately the hopeless veneration of angels.

             
The leaders of this new world would not have to be concerned with rebellion or international conflict, because there would be only one voice. Their utopia would be smooth sailing forever for them and their decedents. The rest of humanity would face a different sort of forever. They would be reduced to the lowest common denominator in terms of living standards. Karl Marx would have been thrilled—one level of income, healthcare, housing, and morality. Social injustice for all. It would be impossible for anyone to excel beyond the common condition. Any dissension would quickly be silenced by the paramilitary police state. The policeman on the corner would slowly be replaced by the storm trooper, complete with body armor and automatic weapons.

             
Then, a little closer to home, there was Opus Dei. I had long been suspicious of them. They are the super-secretive organization of the Catholic Church. It seemed they had strong connections into the Vatican Bank and may have access, if not control, of vast sums of money. Rumors of their evils were plentiful both outside and within the Church. They outwardly spoke of promoting the spiritual life and doing the work of God, but then why all the secrecy? I never trusted anyone who said he or she did the “Work of God.” I think He is quite capable of doing His own work, and those individuals just want someone else to blame for their actions.

             
Just who, or what, gives Opus Dei their power, I could not say. I had never heard of Burtuchi being connected to them; in fact, I recall a comment he passed once about putting them in their place sooner or later. 

             
Was there a connection between them and the Bilderbergers? Both had ties into the Masonic Lodge, or Free Masons, if you will. The more I thought about it, there was little doubt that all these secret societies shared a common thread. Someone, somewhere tugged that thread at will without any of the rank and file of these organizations ever being aware of the manipulation.

             
In a cynical way, I imagined the small businessmen and community organizers at the weekly  meetings thinking that they were just networking with their peers. They acted out some silly ritual to solidify the group in the belief that they were only reinforcing social cohesion. All the while, their money and small acts of cooperation sifted up the line, growing in strength as it rose into the movement of governments. After all this time, one would think that their objectives would have been reached. 

             
Strangely enough, something always seemed to stand in the way of their ultimate goal of a “New World Order.” Recently it had been Islam; before them, the communists and the fascists. The monarchies of Europe had not gone quietly into that good night either. Ultimately, scripture tells us that there will be a one-world government, but not now. I was sure that God had not removed his hand from the world just yet. 

             
I was just about to let my mind drift back further into history when ancient Egypt expressed similar goals, cloaked in their religion. Suddenly, the car roared to the curb in front of the rectory in the same manner it had when Alessandra picked me up. Several pedestrians actually jumped as the vehicle lurched to a stop.

             
“Adama, please do not be too judgmental of Victorio. I assure you that he means you no malice.”

             
For the first time since I reentered the car, I looked directly at her. I must admit that her beauty was still hard to ignore, even in my dark state of mind. Damn those eyes and hair, it was happening to me again. Was she doing it intentionally? I just wasn’t sure.

             
“Malice? Maybe not, but he has certainly gone out of his way to irritate me to no end. He says he is content to leave the Atonement Lot where it is for the time being. He is dangling the information in front of me.”

             
“Adama, he has his reasons.”

             
“Reasons? He only wishes to cause discontent between my superiors and I for his own purposes, whatever they are.”

             
“Did he lie to you, Adama?”

             
I took a long pause, never looking away from those eyes. I wanted to say yes, but in my heart I knew it to be otherwise. I resented the answer that came from within me.

             
“No! He did not lie, damn him.”

             
“His purpose will become known to you eventually.”
             

             
I slid from the seat and unconsciously slammed the car door. I regretted the action, knowing she was not the cause of my discontent. She showed no reaction, only turning away to lurch the car back into the traffic of the street with tires squealing until the car disappeared on the busy avenue.

9
             
             
             
             
             
             
I was up early the next morning and had just finished dressing when the phone rang. It was the house keeper.

             
“Father Adama, there is a…young woman here to see you.” Her voice reeked of disapproval, and I felt my heart leap. There was only one woman I knew that could put that kind of venom in an old woman’s mouth.

             
“She says…her name is Alessandra.” The house keeper almost spit the name through the phone. I imagined the faces the old witch might be making to convey to my guest her disapproval and loathing. 

             
“I’ll be down in a moment.” The phone slammed in my ear with a crash of finality.

             
What was I doing? I was not supposed to allow myself these feelings anymore. I had found out all there was to know about women long before my ordination. Had I not placed such anticipation behind me a very long time ago? I had always been able to appreciate the beauty of a woman without the accompanying lust, but it was different with Alessandra from the very first moment I set eyes on her. I was physically drawn to her, and I was finally admitting it to myself. I hurried downstairs like a schoolboy on his first date.      

             
The moment I saw her, it was apparent why the house keeper was put off. Alessandra was magnificent in high-heeled spikes, painted-on blue leather pants, and a white buttoned blouse tied beneath her ample breasts. The house keeper stood at the inner foyer door resembling a gargoyle forbidding further entrance. Her arms were folded and she leaned forward, looking over the crook of her nose with hooded eyes that screamed “abomination.”

             
I froze at the bottom of the stairs when I saw Alessandra.
Pull it together, Adama
, I thought.
She is probably here on some unpleasant Del Cielo business.
Try not to give away your disappointment when her calling is not what you hoped for.
However, to my inner embarrassment, and great relief, she was here for me. 

             
“Ciao, Adama, I thought I might invite you for a sightseeing ride on the lake.”

             
“I would be pleased,” the words just spilled out.

             
That was it for the house keeper—she stormed out of the reception area mumbling in a language I hadn’t heard since traveling on a Greek freighter. I was sure she would scrub the floor where Alessandra stood the moment we left.

             
Without another word, Alessandra turned out the door and down the steps to that same Mercedes Roadster. I took a deep breath before getting in, knowing we would probably break a land speed record again.

             
“Where exactly are we going?” I asked, just as she slammed on the gas pedal, knocking the wind out of me. I swear, the woman never looked as she pulled onto the avenue. 

             
“We are going to the villa. I have access to the Star.”

             
“What is that?”

             
“The craft you saw tied to the patio dock. It is the most beautiful yacht on Lake Como,” she said, pressing down even further on the gas pedal.  

             
I thought of giving myself last rights, but there was such confidence in her driving that I soon ignored our swerving between traffic.

             
“Does Victorio know you are with me?”

             
“I expect that he does.”

             
“Is that a problem between you and him?”

             
“No, Adama, certainly not, or I would not be here.”

             
An interesting response, but I wasn’t entirely sure if either statement were true. The only thing I was sure of was that she knew exactly what she was doing, and she also knew exactly what I was doing.

             
Well, all I can tell you is that celibacy is not all it is cracked up to be, particularly in the presence of this woman. I instinctively removed the black jacket and collar, throwing them behind the seat. I received a warm, gentle smile, and the touch of her hand on my cheek. There was little more to say as the car raced towards Como. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I felt my spirit and soul in unison.

             
I don’t think she touched the break once before reaching the villa. She drove to a side road off the main parking area that led directly down to the patio below. Being on the same level as the yacht, I could now appreciate the size and true beauty of the craft. She watched me admire it.

             
“It is an Azmut, manufactured in Lucca. It is a stunning design, is it not?”  

             
“I’ve seen these from a distance out on the water, but never like this. I never imagined the uncompromising beauty of such a thing.”