The Secret of Fatima (29 page)

After they climbed into the vehicle, Toby went over the plan one last time.

“I picked a spot on Via Turello right over here,” he said, pointing at the map. “It's the best vantage point to observe two of the three residential buildings in the designated area. The third is around the corner. Anyone going to or from there will be crossing the street here. So we've got the space covered.”

“We stay in the van, right?” Max said.

“Correct. Our parking spot is near a café. Kevin and I will get out and go inside and drink some coffee while you and MC watch the monitor. If you want a closer look, the camera has a zoom feature.”

“Okay,” Max said. “We'll be looking for anyone familiar to MC.”

“Time to go, folks,” Kevin said. He jumped into the front seat next to Toby. MC and Max got into the back of the van, where no one could see them. Toby fired up the engine and headed out of the garage.

Chapter Forty

Seville, Spain

At night, Seville is transformed into a dazzling festival of lights and winding cobblestone streets, jasmine flowers, orange trees, and serpentine alleys. The horse-drawn carriages, retired for the evening, were replaced by an idyllic quiet and gentle breeze.

Toby drove slowly, passing the Parque de Maria Luisa, a bustling public park by day, empty and lifeless by nightfall. He eased out onto a narrow street illuminated by lampposts.

“The first building is there on the right,” Toby said. “We'll park here next to the café, at a safe distance from the lamppost.” The street was semi-deserted, and many parking spots were open.

Toby reminded Max and MC that their field of vision, as detectives, included the two residential buildings on the right, and also they should keep an eye peeled for pedestrian traffic and any activities to, or from, the third building. Its entrance was around the corner, out of sight.

Once parked, Toby and Kevin got out and went into the café. They chose the table with the best view of the three-story building across the street. Lights were on in all but one of the apartments.

Kevin ordered a bowl of
samorejo
, a thick purée consisting of tomato and bread, a specialty of Andalusia in Southern Spain. Toby asked for a Caprese panini with smoked mozzarella and sparkling water. There were sandwiches in the van for MC and Max.

After three hours, the only activity whatsoever was an elderly couple exiting the first building and a young woman entering. After that, all they saw from the two buildings were lights shutting off as residents retired.

“Let's call it an evening.” Kevin sighed.

“Yeah, looks like no action tonight,” said Toby.

The men settled their bill and returned to the van. Kevin was vaguely disappointed, but he also knew it wasn't realistic to expect success the first time out.

Back at the hotel, Kevin got a call from Katie. She was furious.

“Kevin, how could you do that! You embarrassed me in front of my biggest client, pulled me off a plane because my favorite aunt was dying? All my aunts are dead!”

Kevin started to explain, but realized Katie was too angry to listen, so he made a decision.

“Hold on, Katie,” he said, covering the phone with his hand. He turned to Toby. “Please speak to her. Tell her everything.”

Kevin went back to Katie on the phone and told her he wanted her to talk to Toby, his friend who was a senior CIA operative. She agreed reluctantly.

Toby recounted what had transpired methodically and without emotion. He told her that her client, Greg Maggio, was an Opus Mundi operative, an executive with the very organization that was trying to take over the Church at any cost, including killing Kevin if they had to. Toby told her that in his judgment, they wanted her out of the country. He didn't know exactly why, perhaps to use her as a hostage in their fight with Kevin, and there was a good chance she might be in danger.

After that sobering account, he passed the phone back to Kevin.

Now Katie was in tears.

“Oh Kevin, what have I gotten into? I'm sorry I doubted you. Toby says these people are dangerous. What should I do now?”

“It's okay, Katie. Don't worry. Keep the business relationship going with Maggio. Don't let him know you're on to him. Just don't go anywhere with him. Remind him that your infant son has some physical problems that require your attention.”

“Okay. I'll do that.”

“Oh, and keep sending him those humongous bills!” Kevin added.

Katie let out a feeble chuckle. “You bet I will!”

The following day, the stakeout routine was repeated. Kevin and Toby, now regulars at the café, were greeted by a burly, amiable waiter and given the same table.

Three hours later, it was the same scenario as the previous day. Kevin and Toby ate sandwiches and soups, then paid their bill and left.

Back at the hotel, the foursome gathered for a glass of wine in the suite. No one was pleased. Everyone was doubting the plan.

Max spoke first. “I don't know if I can take much more of this. I didn't sleep well on the sofa, my neck is stiff, and tonight won't be any better.”

MC said, “Look, this plan isn't working.”

Kevin paced the floor. “Are you kidding? We can't expect action right away,” he said. “These things take time and patience.”

“What if these guys don't even live here? Or maybe they're preoccupied plotting another murder in Rome,” Max said, frustrated at the day's end, the absence of immediate gratification.

“That's possible,” Toby said. He looked at Kevin. “What do you want to do, Kev?”

Kevin too, was frustrated, but thought better of it. Patience was necessary. Patience might just get them what they needed. “Let's give it another shot. Let's start earlier tomorrow. If we don't get results in the next couple of days, we'll go back to Rome, try something else.”

Everyone agreed.

The next day they spent some time sightseeing. MC and Toby went to the Museo de Bellas Artes, one of the finest museums in Spain, located in a converted seventeenth century convent. Max went to a local church to say Mass. Kevin visited the cathedral again and marveled at the architecture, the soaring vaults, and the stained glass windows. Kneeling on a wooden kneeler in a pew, he prayed to the Lord, asked for guidance. Then he said a prayer to Mary, pouring out his heart and soul. “Blessed Mother Mary, what do you want from me? I feel your presence, but I don't know what you want. Help me, Mary, please,” he whispered. Silently, he knelt for a while, repeating his words to Mary, then rose, made the Sign of the Cross, and left.

Just before five p. m., Kevin met the others at the hotel, and the four walked to the van. Unshaven, Max in his baggy slacks and sweater looked derelict. With her tousled do, holey jeans, and leopard sneakers, MC looked like a feral cat in the wild.

They took their places in the vehicle, and Toby headed out to their lookout point. On the other side of the street, he pulled up to the curb, a different spot than last night. Better not to be noticed parking where they'd been the previous evening.

As on the other two nights, Kevin and Toby got out of the van and went to the café. Max and MC settled in for another endless sitting session.

Shortly after six p.m., two young men, dressed in slacks, dark colored shirts, and cap, walked toward building number two. “Hey MC, check this out!” Max said under his breath.

MC hurried over to the monitor and said, “Zoom in!”

Max pushed the zoom button and the screen filled. Reaching the door to the building, the men's blurry faces could be seen. “That one, I know,” MC said, pointing to one of the men on the screen.

“Okay, I'll text Kevin,” Max said.

While ladling his soup, Kevin's phone buzzed. “A text from Max,” he said.

“What's it say?” said Toby.

“MC recognized one of the guys who went into the building.”

“Let's go,” said Toby.

Dropping some cash on the table, they hurried out of the café.

Once outside, Kevin and Toby climbed in the van's front seat and turned around to face MC and Max in the back.

“Who's the man you recognized?” asked Kevin.

MC said, “His name is Roberto. He's a young priest, very gung-ho in the Opus Mundi organization.”

“Please explain gung-ho,” Toby said.

“He's a former Italian paratrooper, who became a priest. He's devoted to Opus Mundi. And, I mean very. Like he'd give his life for the cause.”

“He may get that opportunity,” Kevin said.

“What about the other one?” Toby asked.

MC shook her head. “Didn't know him.”

Kevin looked out the van window. “A light on the third floor just went on. The apartment on the right.”

Toby said, “That's the spot all right.”

Toby and Kevin watched the third floor lit window from the front seat, while MC and Max monitored the video screen.

“What's next?” asked Max.

“Let's wait a few, then go in,” Toby said.

Kevin nodded. He reached into his jacket pocket and removed the Glock. He made sure an extra cartridge was in his pocket.

Toby checked his weapon and returned it to the holster.

“What are you going to do?” Max asked.

“We'll start with small talk,” Kevin said, his jaw clenched.

“Please don't hurt them,” MC said, reaching over the front seat and touching Kevin's shoulder.

“That's up to them,” Kevin responded, turning to look at MC and Max. “Both of you, stay put in the van, and be on the lookout. This shouldn't take long. If we need you, I'll call you, Max.”

“I just hate violence,” Max intoned, in a slightly elevated trill.

“I do, too,” Kevin said.

Toby grabbed a small satchel holding two flashlights, a roll of cords, and two Tasers. Opening the van's doors, he and Max jumped out. They strutted nonchalantly to the apartment building's large double doors and went inside. There was an unlit open courtyard with a three-tier fountain, barely visible. Exterior stairways flanked both sides of the building.

The two men chose the stairway to the right, and crept up two flights. The landing gave way to two doors, each with a nameplate. The one on the right was the apartment facing the street. Kevin and Toby whispered to each other, then, facing the door, knocked gently.

No response.

After a few moments, they knocked again, this time louder and more insistently. Someone was inside. They heard movement and muffled voices. Toby looked up at the ceiling to see if there were security cameras. Looking back at the door, he noticed a pinhole peephole in the center Peeking inside, there was the distinct reflection of a tiny lens.
Shit, whoever was inside could see them!

Nodding to one another Kevin and Toby drew their weapons. Kevin rattled the door handle. Locked. Stepping back, he fired a shot into the lock. Toby leaned back and kicked the door open. In case someone inside fired back, he and Kevin jerked back to flank the doorway.

The light in the apartment went out. Now there no was light anywhere. Kevin and Toby could hear voices inside whispering in Italian. They sounded angry.

Toby peeked around the door, and with one arm extended, turned on the beam of his flashlight. Bullets whizzed by his head. He ducked.

Without hesitating, Kevin and Toby rushed into the apartment, firing their pistols, and hit one target. A man fell back against a table, screaming obscenities in Italian.

Toby flicked the flashlight around the room, spotlighting the victim lying on the floor, his arm bleeding.

“Drop your weapons. Now!” Kevin commanded in Italian.

Toby circled the flashlight all around the space and found another man, hiding behind the couch. “Last chance, shit-heads!” Toby shouted in English.

“Don't shoot.” The man stood up from behind the couch. He slid his weapon across the room.

Toby grabbed the gun and put it in his belt.

Kevin turned on a lamp on the end table by the couch. He spotted a pistol by the wounded man lying on the floor. With the agility and finesse of a seasoned soccer player, Kevin kicked it away from the victim, then picked it up.

Toby kept his gun pointed at the other man, who held his hands on his head.

“Anybody else in here?” Kevin asked.

The men didn't respond.

“Are you deaf?” Toby asked. “My partner asked you a question. You lie, you die.”

Both men shook their heads.

Aside from the small kitchenette and living area, there was an open door leading to a bedroom and bathroom. Creeping inside, Kevin found no sign of life in either. “All clear,” he yelled to Toby.

Kevin went into the bathroom and retrieved some iodine and bandages, then came back into the living area.

“This one's bleeding pretty bad,” Toby said, motioning to the guy who'd been shot.

“Let me see your arm,” Kevin said. The man was about thirty. His thin, dark eyebrows connected in the middle of his face above a large, peaked nose. His bushy hair was dark as night and as greasy as car gears.

“What's your name?” Kevin asked.

No reply.

“I'm not messing around,” Kevin said. He backhanded the man across the face. “You're going to cooperate with us … or else. Now, what's your name?”

The man's eyes widened with surprise and fear. “My name's Gianni … Who … Who are you?”

Kevin smirked. “You know who I am.”

Kevin ripped the sleeve from the man's shirt. “You're lucky, Gianni. The bullet went straight through.” Pouring iodine on the wound, he applied a bandage. Gianni winced.

“You'll be playing bocce in no time.”

“We're Italian TV salesmen,” Gianni said.

Toby laughed. “Couldn't you pick something more glamorous?”

The other man, the one not wounded, put his hands down. He was stocky, a carrot top with a ruddy complexion. “Let's not be kidding, Father Thrall. Yes, we know you. What do you want?”