The Secret of Fatima (35 page)

Then again, could he in good conscience allow someone as repugnant and perverse as Marini to get away?
One thing was certain: If Marini were allowed to live, Opus Mundi would make Kevin disappear, probably kill him.

Kevin made his decision. “No deal,” he said. He raised the pistol, pointing it at Marini.

For the first time, Marini grimaced, looking genuinely worried. “Remember the cameras, Father!” he said.

Kevin pulled out his cell phone from his pocket and punched in the Vatican emergency number.

“The only way I'll get the satisfaction of shooting you, Marini, is if you run. And let me warn you, if you do, don't expect a clean shot. You will suffer.”

“Don't be an idiot. You're throwing your life away.”

“Not after the Vatican police sees that trophy album.”

Ten minutes later, a knock on the door signaled the Vatican police's arrival. Kevin opened the door and identified himself to the commandante, a short, stubby policeman wearing a plain wrinkled suit. Accompanied by two uniformed armed Vatican detectives, the commandante was stony-faced.

“This is Cardinal Marini,” Kevin said to the group, although his identification was hardly necessary to members of the Vatican constabulary. “Place him under arrest.”

Marini looked at the policemen and smiled. “My good men, please forgive this poor misguided American priest. He doesn't know of whom he speaks. And, please, for his own safety, see him out. As you can see, he is under duress and suffering.” With his index finger Marini made an elaborate twirling gesture, pointing at his forehead. “
Pazzo
,” he whispered.
Crazy
.

Saluting Marini, the commandante turned to his men.

“Secure him,” he said calmly, pointing at Kevin.

“No!” Kevin shouted. “You've got this all wrong! Wait 'til you see what I have to show you. In the bedroom.”

Marini smiled at the commandante. “It's always something!” he chuckled to the policemen. The officers nodded in agreement, dutifully.

Marini opened the door. “Now, please go,” he said. “I am truly exhausted. I would like to retire for the evening.”

As he exited with his men and their hapless prisoner, the commandante saluted the cardinal. Kevin remained silent.
What had he been thinking?
It was futile to protest. He felt beyond stupid. Naturally, the Vatican police would take the word of a cardinal over that of an American priest.

In the police car, Kevin was grateful he was spared the handcuffs. Suddenly, he remembered the pages in his pocket. He reached into his pocket and retrieved one of the pages he'd torn from the album—two vulgar shots of young men performing sex on Cardinal Marini. He held up the pictures before the commandante's eyes. “Look at this!” Kevin said.

The commandante seized the two pictures, put on his glasses, examined them, and turned back to Kevin, alarm on his face.

“Good Lord!” the commandante said. “I am appalled. What to do?” He frowned as the wheels in his brain were spinning. The commandante nodded once, and reached for his phone to dial headquarters. He wasn't going to make this decision by himself. In rapid Italian, an agitated discussion ensued. Kevin couldn't keep up. But in the end, the energetic nodding made it clear an agreement had been reached.

The commandante turned to his men. “We've made a big mistake. We're going back upstairs.”

“Why?” asked one of the policemen.

The commandante shoved the photos in front of his face. “Here's why.”

“
Jesus, Mary and Joseph!
” said the policeman.

When they arrived at the landing, Marini, a small leather suitcase in hand, was already opening the door to exit.

“Cardinal, I'm afraid we need to detain you,” the commandante said.

“You can't arrest me!” shouted the cardinal. “I've done nothing wrong!”

The commandante held up the two pictures. “You're a sick bastard,” he said calmly.

“I'm sorry, Father, for any inconvenience. You may go,” the commandante said to Kevin. “But you'll need to give evidence, starting with how you came upon these photos and who authorized you to search in the cardinal's flat.”

Kevin nodded. He knew a highly-placed Vatican source who'd ensure he wouldn't have to explain much of anything.

Chapter Forty-Seven

Rome, Italy

When Kevin arrived back at his flat, the smell of Italian grilled cheese sandwiches permeated the air.

“That smells fantastic,” Kevin said. “Any leftovers?”

“Sure,” said Toby. “And they're still hot.”

Kevin dropped the bag of tools in the middle of the floor and went to the counter by the stove. Sandwiches were stacked on a plate. Toby was famous for his grilled cheeses, just what Kevin needed after his ordeal.

“OK,” said Toby, “spill it. What happened?”

“Well, first off … I'll be with you on the plane tomorrow to Washington,” Kevin said as he bit into his sandwich while simultaneously opening the refrigerator and grabbing a Peroni. Toby joined him, taking another beer for himself.

“You're going home tomorrow, too?” asked Toby.

“Yes.”

Toby laughed, pointing at Kevin's black garb. “It must have been quite an evening. I haven't seen an outfit like that since the last time I watched
CSI Las Vegas
.”

Kevin shrugged. “Gave me lots of street cred. And, by the way, thanks for the tools and the intel. Nice birthday gift.”

“Well, did it help?”

“Yes. Cardinal Marini's finished.”

“Finished?”

“Not only is he the head of Opus Mundi, he's an active pedophile. I found photos to prove it. He's now in custody.”

“A pedophile?” Toby said. “No way! And he's a cardinal? Good Lord! It's been quite a day for you, hasn't it?”

“Yeah, the cardinal is a truly sick bastard. The whole mess makes me sick.”

“How did the meeting with the pope go?”

“I can't say much, but I still need your help. I can tell you there wasn't any threat to national security regarding the secret. But Marini threatened Katie, and offered me a deal to let her go free.”

“But you didn't?”

“No, I didn't. I declined.”

“Shit! That means you need me to protect her from Opus Mundi.”

Kevin shook his head. “It's not Katie they're after.”

Chapter Forty-Eight

Washington, D.C.

After a nine-hour flight from Rome, the Boeing 777 skidded onto the runway at Washington's Dulles Airport. Toby and Kevin retrieved their bags, went through customs, and got in separate taxi lines. “Talk soon,” Kevin said.

“Be safe,” Toby told him. Toby would head to his home in McLean, Virginia, and Kevin to Anacostia and his small flat near the school where he'd taught.

Before leaving Rome, Kevin alerted the school's headmaster of his return, explaining he couldn't resume teaching for a while. He'd also checked in on Sister Mary Catherine, who'd continue staying in the safe house in Parioli. Given the alternatives, she didn't mind a bit. Also, he called Max Drotti. “I'm sorry to hear you're going back to the States,” Max had said. “I'll hope to see you again before long.”

The most difficult call he'd make was to Katie, which is why he saved it for last. In his mind, Kevin had rehearsed several different conversations. None of them seemed to work. His challenge was to get her to agree to what he wanted from her—purely on her faith in him, no questions asked, no explanations. It'd probably be an uphill battle. Given the urgency, he decided not to wait. He'd call her from the cab.

The line of people waiting for taxis was long, but the bright sun and cool weather made the wait tolerable. It was good to be home. In faded jeans and a pale blue sweater, rolling his beat-up two-wheeler behind him, Kevin looked like a run-of-the-mill tourist returning from abroad.

While waiting, Kevin's mind drifted back to his conversation on the plane with Toby. Kevin needed him for his mission, but didn't have much to go on yet. He knew this was frustrating Toby. In turn, Toby was limited in what he could do. For one thing, the CIA had no jurisdiction within the United States. If Toby needed to tap friends at the FBI, he'd need some real leads to be very convincing.

“But the help you want has to do with the secret, right?” Toby had said on the plane as they sipped Scotch before lunch. “And you can't tell me what the secret says?”

“Toby, I know it's asking a lot. I can't tell you what it says, but I can tell you this: I know more about its meaning than anyone, including the pope.”

Toby looked at him quizzically, putting his glass down.
A riddle?
“Kevin, do you realize what you just said?”

“Yes,” Kevin said. “I know I sound pompous, but it's true. The secret itself is startling, and the pope has to figure out how to deal with it. But I know much, much more. For now, I can't share it, not even with him, nor with you.”

“You're skating on thin ice, Kevin. I've been there before. I know what I'm talking about.”

“Yeah, well you'll have to deal with your superiors, I'll have to deal with mine. Mine just happens to be the pope.”

Finally, Kevin moved to the head of the taxi line. The agent in charge waved Kevin over to a beat-up Ford van. The taxi driver got out, taking Kevin's suitcase and putting it in the trunk. Kevin climbed in the back and gave the driver the address of his destination. Now it was time to call Katie, the dreaded call. It was Friday. She'd be at work.

“Kevin? Everything OK?” Katie's surprise was heightened by his calling her at work.

“I'm back in Washington,” he said.

“Really? That's wonderful! When will I see you?”

“Katie, I need you to listen to me, and if you've ever trusted me, I need it from you more than ever. Without asking questions.”

“Sure …” she said slowly.

Kevin swallowed hard and continued, “I want you and your son, William, to get out of town for a while. A vacation from work. Tell no one where you're going—not even Jimmy.”

Silence
.

“Kevin, I have a case next week. I can't just walk away!”

“You have to, Katie. Work remotely. Everyone does it these days. Just don't tell anyone where you are.”

“Look, I know you're serious. You're concerned about me. Just tell me why this disappearing act is necessary.”

“I can't. You'll have to trust me.”

More silence.

“Why can't I tell Jimmy?”

“Trust me. Please.”

“Are you coming with me?”

“No. I'll stay in your apartment.”

“What?”

Silence.

“You're really serious, aren't you?”

“I couldn't be more serious.”

“Well, you've got me scared as hell, Kevin. If that's what you intended, it's working.”

Kevin could hear resentment and protest simmering in the timbre of her voice. But he also knew she was sensible and trusted him.

“All right, Kevin.”

“Thank you, Katie. I have a place for you to go. I'll come over later to give you the details.”

The last part of the conversation, the part about having a place for her to stay, wasn't exactly true. But he hoped he'd have it after talking to Toby.

Kevin found his apartment the way he'd left it. His living room with its simple Crate & Barrel furniture seemed austere next to the opulence of his Vatican apartment, but he was glad to be home. He unpacked, putting his laundry in a bag, then rummaged for clean clothes in the closet, a welcome change from the outfits he'd been wearing.

Kevin took his favorite rosary beads out of a chest of drawers. Unwittingly, he'd forgotten them in his rush to pack for Rome. He held the rosary in his hand and said a silent prayer. The next few days would be crucial. He needed all of the spiritual help he could get.
Please, Lord, let me be strong
.

After his prayers, Kevin unpacked his suitcase, which he had checked in rather than carried on, due to the two pistols he'd brought from Rome. He would need more ammunition for the pistols. He decided that he'd also need a shotgun.

Before going to the garage to start his car, Kevin phoned Toby and told him what he needed.

“Listen, buddy,” Toby said, “my name's not Marriott. I can't keep coming up with safe houses with no explanation. I've got bosses, too.”

“I need to get Katie and her kid to a safe place, Toby. I'm counting on you.”

Toby grumbled, “OK, pal. I'll work it out. I guess you're expecting Opus Mundi to come calling. Will you get the D.C. police involved?”

“I can't. I have nothing to go on. I'll have to do it myself. After we get her out of town, I'm going to hole up at Katie's.”

“I'll take some leave. Keep you company.”

“Thanks, friend. I won't forget this.”

“Don't worry. I won't let you,” said Toby.

Chapter Forty-Nine

Washington, D.C.

Kevin arrived at Katie's apartment in Dupont Circle and found a parking place easily on a side street off Connecticut Avenue. After he parked, he dragged his suitcase up the three flights of stairs.

Katie greeted him with a nervous hug. She looked radiantly fresh, in spite of the stress Kevin must have caused.

“They were truly understanding at work,” she said after they settled in the living room. “But they must be wondering what I'm up to.”

Kevin noticed Katie had packed. Three suitcases were waiting in the front foyer of the apartment, along with a stroller, a diaper bag, and a few stuffed animals.

“Where's William?” Kevin asked, looking around the room.

“He's in his crib, in the baby's room.” Katie smiled. “It sounds strange—so surreal—to say that.”