Twisted Linen (5 page)

In the folder is a photo of Grace LaCroix as
a very young girl, and the sight of it breaks Genovi’s heart. He
runs his finger along the picture and his eyes slowly close.

He whispers, “Forgive me, my child. Forgive
me…”

Then with new resolve Genovi snatches the
phone off his desk. “Prepare my plane immediately,” Genovi barks
into the phone as he slaps the
Twisted Linen
folder down on
the desk.

“Yes…San Sebastian, Spain…and there will be
two others flying with me.”

* * *

11

My Father

Grace scurries about their apartment,
preparing for the “backup” job. Simon sits in the car, parked tight
along the curb. He leans forward to see into their second story
window, trying to get a sense of the situation before going up.

Grace hurries by the window with a purpose.
Then she passes back-by again. She’s obviously on a mission and
Simon chuckles to himself. What else should he expect? This is
their new life now, so reminiscent of Simon’s old life, before
Genovi intervened.

About two decades earlier Genovi saved Simon
from a life of depravity, a thug’s life as a thief. He was a
proficient thief, getting better every year, getting more ruthless,
too. Simon was slowly moving out-of-the-blue and into-the-black,
and the evolution into depravity was unperceivable to him. Simon’s
“good run” as a thief would eventually come to an end, and he’d
have to pay for the consequences of his actions. Simon had one more
strike left and then the courts would lock him up for the rest of
his life.

Simon didn’t know his biological father, and
he was never close to his stepfather, a man who showed his love by
swinging a heavy-buckled leather belt. Genovi became Simon’s
surrogate father the day he grabbed his arm and yanked him from a
street corner. It wasn’t done with a fancy sermon; it was just a
simple question and statement, but it spoke to the soul, and Simon
never forgot it: “My son, what are you doing out here in the dark?
The darkness won’t provide what you’re seeking.”

Simon breaks free from his remembrance, leaps
from the car, scats up the stairs and barges through their
apartment door. Simon has an urgent question for Grace and he fears
he already knows the answer.

“Grace?”

“I'm in here,” Grace shouts from the other
room. “Listen, the meeting can't be delayed. We must leave
now.”

Simon follows her voice into the bedroom and
blurts out, “What's the religious artifact they want?”

“Well hello to you too.”

“Is it the Shroud of Turin?” Simon
demands.

“Shroud of what? I told you Simon, we'll find
out the details at the meeting. Now get changed. Your bag is
packed.”

Grace twists her hair in one hand as she
prepares a ponytail band in the other.

Simon persists, “Don't say San
Sebastian!”

As Grace pulls her hair through the band and
tightens it with a
yank
, her face acknowledges that San
Sebastian is indeed their destination. She drops her arms to her
side in an expression of bewilderment.

“Yes, how'd you…?”

“Oh-no! Not this time!” Simon declares.

“What's going on, Simon?”

“You are not coming. That’s what’s going
on.”

“Says who? My father?”

“Yes, he knows. He wants me to investigate
these maniacs you’re in communication with.”

“Maniacs?”

Simon steps back and runs his hand through
his hair, trying to gather his wits.

Grace reaches out, “We stick together, no
matter what.”

Simon turns his back to her and mumbles,
“Genovi was scared. I've never seen him like this.”

Grace grabs his arm and turns him around.

“Don't forget, I know how he operates. If Dad
knows about this meeting, he knows I'm going.”

“Maybe that's why he's scared, Grace.”

Grace now realizes there is more going on,
and it scares her. She takes Simon’s shoulders and pushes him
against the wall, kissing him.

“I love you completely,” she says, visibly
shaken. “You know that, right?”

It reminds Simon how much he cherishes this
woman and how he will do anything to protect her. He softy murmurs,
“I love you completely, too.”

Grace’s confidence builds and she confides,
“So, I'll never expose you to one of these back-stabbing elites
unless the best person in the world is watching your back. And
that’s me.”

Then with a head-nod she concludes, “Now,
I'll get the communications equipment. Have you thought about what
to wear?”

Grace offers a firm grin as she raises her
eyebrows. Simon's look is enough: he has no idea what to wear.

Grace smirks and then teases, “See what I
mean? Change into something less …‘agent’.”

She kisses him again; it’s a we're-done-here
kind of peck, and then walks into the other room leaving Simon
gazing straight ahead.

Simon hollers in response, “These aren’t the
elite. These people are really dangerous…sicko dangerous!”

Grace yells back from the other room, “Of
course they're dangerous. That's why you need me.”

Simon wags his head, but internally he can’t
help but think,
I can’t argue with that
.

Simon snatches the bag Grace packed for him
and hurries to catch up with her.

* * *

12

G650ER

Genovi slowly makes his way up the stairs of
the private Gulfstream G650ER business jet. The extended range
luxury jet was purchased a couple years earlier, right before the
United States collapsed. Genovi lobbied hard for approval to
purchase the jet and in hindsight, considering how dangerous travel
is today, it was the best purchase the Vatican ever made.

Grace and Simon will also be flying on the
jet to San Sebastian, but they have yet to arrive. Genovi’s got a
bad feeling about this meeting. He’s not sure if it’s related to
his lack of faith in Simon, or to this cult. Regardless, he feels
called to join the detail, but he must keep his distance and
conceal his involvement – even to Simon and Grace. Simon and Grace
will be more effective working alone and Genovi’s presence would
surely jeopardize their cover. That’s what Genovi keeps telling
himself, but the truth is more complicated than that. Either way,
Genovi’s got a plan that should work.

Inside the plane, Genovi opens the cockpit
door and greets the pilots, “Good evening gentlemen.”

The first pilot says, “We are just finishing
our checklist and waiting for clearance.”

“Okay, good. There are three of us flying
tonight. Mr. and Mrs. LaCroix should arrive shortly.”

“Yes, sir,” says the pilot with a nod, but
not looking up from his checklist.

“As always, I'll be in my private cabin, but
I want to make a special request this evening.”

Both pilots now turn to look at Genovi.

“Tonight, I want to tag along undisclosed.
Don't mention I’m here unless there is an emergency.
Understood?”

After a slight hesitation the pilot in charge
complies, “Understood.”

“Thank you. I’ll let you get back to
work.”

Genovi closes the door to the cockpit and
walks toward the back of the plane. On the way down the aisle, he
places his Bible on the rear seat and pauses for a moment to
scrutinize it. The sight of a Bible, alone in a seat, brings back
memories: memories from long ago, memories of how he came to know
Jesus and his journey thereafter.

“Let’s see what God will do with a lone Bible
this time,” Genovi ponders inwardly as he enters his private cabin
and locks the door from within.

Behind the locked door of his private cabin,
Genovi can finally let down his guard. He lets out a deep sigh and
drops into his leather chair. His breathing slows, but his mind
isn’t doing him any favors. When Genovi thinks of Grace and her
mother, regret always follows.

Grace was conceived out of wedlock and Genovi
never married her mother or even publically acknowledged her. He
fought hard to hide his mistake from the Church, but it was an
endless fight of deception. He made deals to keep the sinful act in
the dark, and the consequences still chase him today.

After Grace’s conception, Genovi worried that
God would bring consequences upon him for breaking his vows as a
Priest and bearing a child out of wedlock. If God would punish King
David – His beloved – certainly He would castigate a mere Cardinal.
And He did; God administered many consequences throughout Genovi’s
life.

But tonight, Genovi’s mind wanders to that
rainy day sixteen years earlier in London when he visited St.
Stephen’s School for Girls. The warm rain rapped the windshield as
he waited for the school’s grand iron gates to open. He wore
civilian clothes and felt naked without his Priestly frock. He was
too ashamed to introduce himself as her father while wearing the
collar.

As the school’s gate slowly opened, Genovi
suddenly felt the overwhelming desire to retreat. No one was
watching, and certainly no one was expecting him that rainy day.
Genovi had anonymously arranged Grace’s adoption when she was an
infant, but Grace had now turned fifteen and Genovi’s excuse to
visit was that she deserved explanations about her birth, or that’s
what he continued to repeat to himself. In reality, it was more
about Genovi’s selfish desire to speak with, or maybe hold, his
only child – if only just this one time.

Genovi took his foot off the break and the
car tires rolled toward the stately main building nestled amongst
the gardens and greens of the privileged boarding school. He prayed
many things all at once – forgiveness, strength, the courage to be
honest, but most of all, for His mercy and grace. All of Genovi’s
mental preparation evaporated when he saw this teenage vision of
beauty walking toward him. It wasn’t only his daughter; it was the
ghost of her mother. It rattled him to the core.

In amazement and wonder, Genovi rose to his
feet and extended his hand, and then without thinking, the words:
“Hello, Grace. I am Genovi, your father” escaped from his lips.
Grace remained silent, soaking in the moment with only the hint of
a smile visible as she processed the revelation.

Throughout that rainy day, father and
daughter walked the school grounds under separate umbrellas, often
just listening to the soft pitter-patter of rain. And when they
spoke their conversation was polite and free-flowing, albeit
distant. Grace appeared to be at peace with her life, and her
inward serenity was evidence that she knew her heavenly Father
intimately.

Genovi avoided the details of who he was and
painted a rosy picture of her mother and their act of passion long
ago. Grace didn’t seem to care about the details; she was content
simply walking beside her biological father. During lulls in the
conversation Genovi found himself daydreaming about the life that
might have been.

As visitation hours ended, the pair parted
with a hesitant embrace. It was strange for Genovi, a Priest, to be
touched –

even more so by his daughter. The awkwardness
grew heavy when Grace asked, “So, will you be visiting again?”

“Of course,” Genovi instinctually uttered. It
was a disingenuous claim because Genovi would not return to Grace
until Simon announced their engagement over a decade later.

Genovi leans forward and places both hands
over his face; the weight of regret crushing him. He desperately
wants the tormenting memories of his past to leave him, but as it
often is, he can’t find rest. Maybe it’s the chair he sits in.
Searching for relief elsewhere, he staggers out of the chair and
collapses onto his private bed. The whirring jet engine sound
provides little solace for what is sure to be a fitful flight to
San Sebastian.

* * *

13

The Cell

Baculo stands in a Spanish villa home,
classic but extravagant, and filled with the latest in technology.
The style of the home is a direct contrast to the pagan cult robe
Baculo is wearing. It’s a simple white robe, hooded and held closed
by a tasseled rope belt.

Baculo opens a door inside the home. It’s a
normal looking door, something you’d expect to lead to a pantry or
common room, but behind this door is an elevator. He presses a
button on the elevator panel and adjusts his robe while he waits
for it to arrive. Baculo wants his robe to be just perfect, like
he’s preparing to meet a special acquaintance.

Once inside the elevator, Baculo reaches out
and hovers a hand over the floor buttons. The labels on the control
panel read: 2, 1, Parking, and Emergency. His index finger tracks
down the buttons and comes to a stop over the Emergency button
which has a “red fire” icon on it. It’s not a button you’d ever
expect to press on purpose, but Baculo presses it and the weak fire
bell begins to ring. He quickly swipes his access key-card over the
authorization reader, and the bell goes silent. Then, the elevator
starts to move; it’s headed down, subterranean.

At the bottom, the elevator door opens to an
artificially lit hallway with cell doors along the corridor. Unlike
the upstairs, this area feels like a hospital or a mental
institution. Baculo steps out and approaches one of the cell doors
in the middle of the corridor. He pauses in front of the door and
pulls his deep hood up over his head. The hood hangs down a bit
over his face, creating a shadow over his eyes; it’s just the way
Baculo likes it. He then swipes his access card and the cell door
unlocks with a startling unlatching sound. Baculo steps through the
doorway to reveal something straight ahead, waiting for him. It’s
an adult woman, hanging by her arms and legs, spread in the form of
an “X.” Her limbs are pulled in four different directions by chains
attached to a pulley system in the far corners of the room.