Chapter IV

The skies above Rome were curious and unsure, with clouds wrestling for position.

ABBOT HAD BEEN ON private jets before, but this was really first class. As he stared out the window, Ritti explained what he was probably going to see as they made their approach to the private runway that they would be landing at.

“The thing about Rome is that it’s so old, everything being ancient and cramped, that they couldn’t build another airport. Fiumicino is the closest city to Rome, so we just use our own private landing strip.” Ritti was much more animated when he was talking about his home and it came across not just in his words, but in the animated way about which he seemed to be acting.

Abbot thought that was going to make things much easier. He had to play the tourist, and pick-up his clues as they fell to him like breadcrumbs.

“You won’t see that much,” Ritti said as the plane bounced around some air turbulence on its way into Leonardo Da Vinci Airport. “We’re too far out.”

“I was going to come here, once,” Abbot said as he moved his head around the small oval window trying to see something ancient and prophetic. Instead, all

he could see were some hills and clouds obscuring tiny roads. Frustrated, he sat back and yawned.

“And why did you not visit us, Mr. Abbot,” Pasquale said as he turned his head slightly to the side, but not quite back, toward Ritti and Abbot.

Abbot shrugged, “My ex-wife didn’t want to see a bunch of old buildings.” “That’s a rather shallow view don’t you think?” Pasquale said as if he had just swallowed a cup full of vinegar.

Abbot caught Ritti smiling. “My ex, she was pretty shallow about most things. And not too religious, either. Her parents were non-denominational so I think she was stuck in the middle somewhere. I don’t know.”

Ritti nodded to himself, “Well then, that certainly explains your reluctance to accept religion into your life.”

“No, no. It wasn’t my wife’s fault that I’m not religious.” The fasten seat belt sign started to blink, and Abbot glanced down at his belt. He took a breath and then slid the two pieces together. “No, I guess I’m just stuck on stupid.”

Pasquale turned back again. “This I am most curious for you to explain.”

He repeated Abbot’s words slowly, “Stuck . . . on . . . stupid.”

Abbot leaned back and considered his words. “I am a man of science, or at least I try to be. And to be an objective observer of the world you need to be able to be stupid. To be an idiot.” He could see that Ritti and Pasquale weren’t quite following him. “Ok, it’s like . . . the first people who said that the world wasn’t flat. People probably called them stupid.”

“Worse than that,” Ritti added. “Some of them were killed as heretics and blasphemers.”

“Right, that’s what I’m talking about. A strict scientist cannot ever be married to his ideas. If at any moment my ideas about something are proven to be wrong, then I must be willing to change. Before I was stupid, but then I gained knowledge when my ideas are no longer logical. You know, the scientific method.”

The plane started to descend towards the runway. “And I wonder, Mr. Abbot,”

Pasquale asked, “What room that leaves for Faith?”

“Well, that’s an easy question,” Abbot responded. “None.”

Ritti’s eyes narrowed curiously. “A scientist cannot have faith?”

“A true scientist doesn’t need faith. The facts are placed in front of him and he makes the most educated guess that he can . . . willing to be wrong if new facts should arise. Like any other investigation.”

“Perhaps faith is something beyond investigation and facts,” Pasquale offered, now sounding like a man of the cloth for the first time since Abbot had known him. “Maybe it is something that we cannot and should not try to measure?”

“Well, as a scientist I would say that though it’s unlikely, you could be right. But until I see otherwise, I’m gonna stick with my facts.”

“To each, his own,” Pasquale said as he turned back towards the front and picked up his cellular phone.

The plane made an abrupt but clean landing. Ritti turned to Abbot, “We’re located about 24 kilometers from the coast. Rome was basically built on a hill that they figured could be defended. We are surrounded by a large river and several smaller hills and rivers. The streets are very small and confusing but the architecture is just brilliant and I think you will be amazed at what you see.”

Great, Abbot thought, now I’m stuck with a tour guide. Well, perhaps this tour guide would be able to point him in the direction of some conspiracy. Abbot didn’t even care if the FBI ever indicted anyone; he just wanted to know for himself. He knew that this was the closest he was ever going to get to see the face of God.

He was going to be given a first hand look inside the Vatican; a place with the closest connection to got in the world . . . or at least, that is how they advertised it to the rest of us. If God was going to show his face, maybe he would do it soon so that Abbot could have some faith. It was an idea that intrigued him. It would be nice to know that there was someone up there looking out for us. A light in the otherwise dreary darkness of the human existence. But as of yet, he had certainly not shown himself to Detective Shane Abbot.

The captain spoke some rapid-fire Italian over the intercom and Ritti turned and said, “He’s saying that we’ll be ready to get off the plane is about five minutes. Our gate is around the side, near the Federal Express buildings.” His cheeks puffed out as he let out a slow, deflating breath. “And that’s when the ‘real’ fun begins.”

Shane felt his phone vibrating and as he fished for it he said, “What do you mean by that?” We will be met by a small army from the Vatican. There will be all sorts of paperwork and accountability that must be done in dealing with the Archbishop’s body. It will make a nightmare for me, you know. So, I may not be so pleasant at times.” Ritti shrugged. “It is my lot in life.”

Abbot toggled through his messages and the newest one was from Carnathan.

It was short and simple:

SOMEBODY IS SELLING SOMETHING OUT OF THE VATICAN. WATCH YOUR ASS CAUSE IT’S PROBABLY SOMEBODY ON THAT GODDAMNED PLANE!

Carnathan, always the kind of guy to make you feel good when you are down.

Abbot knew that one way or another, this was all going to come back to money. The religion was all just a part of the show. He had seen enough in his life to know that at the end of the day, if you follow the money you will find your conspiracy. He was looking for a very clever scheme. He hoped that he’d find an assassin or two along the way.

If he was really lucky, he’d learn something before too many more people got killed, but he doubted that would happen. He was a realist. This whole trip was probably a waste of time unless he got lucky. And a scientist, a true man of facts and logic, doesn’t believe in luck.

Cardinal Delatorre stood beside the Limousine while the phalanx of guards moved around him preparing to take possession of the body. In addition, there were several white Land Rovers idling nearby. They would be taking the Papal Nuncio Belsito Pasquale, Ritti, and the American investigator back to the Vatican. The wind was coming off of the field near the runway and it was blowing Cardinal Delatorre’s black vestments back and forth. He squinted his eyes as the jet made its touch down, two little squelches of blue smoke quickly evaporating into the churning air.

“I want the coffin loaded and headed for the Vatican as soon as possible,” Delatorre said as the plane approached.

“Si,” Donnie replied and then passed the orders on down the line. He instructed the guard contingent that was handling the coffin to stay away from the ‘Tourist’ roads, and to stop for nothing. Donnie, along with the Cardinal, and the Papal Nuncio would be following right behind them. Ritti, and the American would be in the third vehicle. Of course, all of this was redundant, as the guardsmen had handled this particular type of task hundreds of times. Donnie, ever the pessimist, wanted to keep things clear and concise . . . every time. Not to mention that the boss was on board, and he’d want everything to run smoothly. You only get one chance to make a mistake.

The loud whistle of the jet engines roared nearer to them as the plane taxied to a stop no more than 20 meters away from them. Donnie looked over at his other men, nodding. Into his radio he gave the first orders for the ‘package team’ to start for the plane. He then looked over at the Cardinal again.

The Cardinal lifted his hand, nodded, and said, “Va.”

Donnie pressed gently on the mic button on his lapel, “Package Team, wait one. Let the Carry Team get into position.” He looked towards the other group of Swiss Guards. “Over-watch, are we clear?”

There was the his of static, and then a muffled voice answered, “All clear for two kilometers. I repeat, all clear to unload.”

“Roger that,” Donnie said, and then he nodded to his men. They quickly made two columns near the door to the jet. He clicked his mic three times and the jet’s outer door began to open. Everyone of the guards were looking in different directions, just in case somebody tried anything they had not foreseen. Each one of the guards’ hands were hovering over their weapons, a mixture of Heckler and Koch 9mm. pistols, and MP-5KPDW compact machine guns. There wouldn’t be any autographs today.

“Package team, initiate transfer of cargo.” Two screeches, and three seconds later one of the Land Rovers raced over to the back of the jet where the cargo door was being lowered.

“Package Team, loading.”

The stairway’s motors whined as the stairs were lowered into place. Two of the guards made their way up the stairs and into the plane. “All clear here. Three plane employees; the Ambassador (the Papal Nuncio); the Bear (Commandant Ritti); and one VIP (Abbot).”

“Please affect the transfer.”

“Roger that.”

Like one organism, people were loaded onto different Land Rovers, a coffin was quickly removed, covered, and hidden inside the back of another of the Land Rovers, and without mishap everyone was on their way back to the Vatican.

There was an almost palpable tension in the second vehicle. That was where the Cardinal Delatorre, Belsito Pasquale, Ritti, and Abbot sat. They were in a long, armor-plated limousine with blacked-out windows. Everyone’s eyes were darting around, yet nobody seemed to want to break the ice. Ritti looked to be tired from the trip. Pasquale was lost in his thoughts, his eyes bouncing back and forth doing figuring and refiguring. The Cardinal Delatorre was sitting on the left side of the limo, his back to the window, appraising this Detective Abbot.

“So, you are an FBI agent?” Delatorre said with mock interest in his voice. Abbot adjusted himself in the soft leather seat as it made groans and squeaks when he leaned forward. “I used to be. Now I just do Homicide work in Texas.”

Delatorre nodded as his eyes dropped downward, “I was so sad to hear that we lost some of God’s servants in America. I know you must all have been so devastated.”

“I don’t know,” Abbot said tiredly, “I’ve been going from one place to the next since all of this started. I don’t really have any idea what the ‘public’ outcry has been. I know it’s bad for civilized society any time people start getting killed, Catholic or otherwise. I’m just trying to solve a bunch of murders.”

“Of course, of course,” Delatorre replied as if he was talking to a young child. Abbot kind of enjoyed this little game. Delatorre, the big powerful Cardinal was making sure Abbot knew where he stood in the food chain. He didn’t need to know the Cardinal for more than a couple of minutes before he realized that, not only was he a prick, but that he was dirty. Keep it light, he told himself. Give this guy enough room to think he’s in control.

“Look,” Abbot said, addressing everyone in the limo, “I don’t want any of you to think that I’m trying to come in here and stick my nose where it doesn’t belong. I only want to stop a serial killer. I will admit that I am fascinated with the religious underpinnings to all of this, but it isn’t any of my business, really. I just want the killing to stop.” He raised his open hands in a sign of submission.

The Cardinal was about to respond when Pasquale said, “Mr. Abbot, we are very fortunate to have any assistance that you can provide us in drawing this mess to a close. I believe that the answer lies very near to us,” he smiled, nodding at the Cardinal, “and that no stone should be left unturned. I’m sure you will be discrete with your findings.”

“Goes without saying,” Abbot responded.

“I can always use another perspective,” Ritti chimed in.

And that was the last words that were spoken for the next 30 minutes. Quickly, the caravan made its way around the outskirts of Rome. Off to their side were miles upon miles of ancient history; its remnants strewn out for all to see like the broken and decaying pieces of a giant stone puzzle. Old statues, half destroyed. Buildings, towers, and coliseums, raped of their skins; now little more than yellowing reminders of a more passionate and violent era. A time when the rulers of the world walked among the giant structures and the people lived and died by their whims. But in that caravan, nobody cared about any of that.

Times of the past, glory, and history meant nothing to them.

Abbot’s phone buzzed again. He looked at the text message as it appeared.

Somebody is smuggling/selling relig. Docs out of Vat. PS. Try to find the angel o death. . .and question him. LMFAO-Carnathan

Great, he thought, Don had looked at whatever Singleton had given him and it was religious mumbo-jumbo. He sat back and closed his eyes as the history of the world passed him by.

“We’ll be home soon,” Ritti said quietly to Abbot.

“Home is where you hang your hat,” Abbot said without opening his eyes.

“But I don’t wear a hat.”

“Of course not,” Abbot replied. “Why would you?” It never rains in the Vatican, he thought to himself.

But storms of a different nature were quickly approaching.