Rafael continued driving, indifferent to the insults or admiration from other drivers. Phelps shut his eyes and said no more. He crossed himself and prayed silently, Our Father, Omnipotent, free me from this black sheep, separated from the flock, and put him on a better path…
Many horns and insults later, the van came to a stop at the entrance of a Victorian building in disrepair. Rafael scrutinized the surroundings carefully on all possible sides. Phelps wanted to discover where they were, but was still too upset to speak reasonably and calmly. Besides he was from Newcastle, in the north, and not obliged to know where things were in the capital of the empire.
‘Where are we?’ he asked Rafael.
Rafael ignored the question and took out the package given to him by the two unknown men, under the cover of night.
‘What’s that?’
Rafael answered by tearing off the paper that covered something inside.
‘Good God. What do you need that for?’ Phelps asked, surprised.
Rafael checked the chamber of the Glock and took off the safety before looking at Phelps.
‘Not everything is what it seems.’ He left the van and went toward the door of the abandoned building.
34
What hurt him most was the slap, backhand, that knocked him to the floor. The physical pain was nothing compared with the empty heart and the loss of dreams of a wonderful love, beautiful, idyllic, and innocent, destroyed by harsh reality. For Simon Lloyd the idea of life as beautiful came to an end with that blow. Rage overwhelmed him, but a kick in the stomach made him rethink his priorities while the pain spread through his body. Anger could wait.
Sarah hadn’t received the same treatment because those were the orders received by Templar and his associate.
‘Herbert’s coming. He says not to touch them,’ Templar warned when James or ‘Hugh’ or whatever the son of a bitch’s name was was about to apply another round of blows.
‘He’d better get here soon,’ James protested.
Sarah and Simon Lloyd now found themselves shut in a small windowless room completely sunk in claustrophobic darkness. Simon had received more slaps from his ex-lover, who was enraged by the bottle Sarah broke over his head. And since the asshole couldn’t take the insult out on Sarah, he hastened to do so on Simon. He, Simon, was only a job, something that guaranteed a paycheck…
Sarah heard Simon snuffling or trying to disguise his crying by mumbling in a low voice. It made her feel completely discouraged. Another victim paying for something she’d done.
‘What are they going to do to us?’ Simon asked, breaking the silence.
‘To you, nothing,’ she said confidently. She’d do everything to prevent his paying for being with the wrong person. No one ought to suffer for that.
‘I was so deceived, so deceived.’ A damp sound confirmed the tears that still ran down his face unseen.
Simon meant Hugh as the target of these words, but Sarah applied them to herself, since she felt them deeply. She considered herself a disappointment for everyone, beginning with the people she loved, always in danger, pleading, wounded, dead. So she repeated, ‘They won’t do anything to you.’ She would strongly resist cooperating with this Herbert, unless he agreed to release Simon. She might be tortured, but she’d only talk when Simon was out of danger. Even if it was the last thing she did, which was possible, she intended to save Simon. The worst was if this Herbert didn’t want information from her and was only coming in order to personally carry out their killing. If that was the case, Simon would pardon her, if her lack of power wouldn’t permit heroic acts. If she found Herbert willing to negotiate, only one of them would survive. This was hard reality, not the stuff of detective novels or films. The good die before the end.
‘What’s happening? What have we done to deserve this?’ Simon lamented in the darkness of the room that blended into the mental darkness overwhelming him since he’d turned the key in the unlucky door of the house at Redcliff Gardens and summoned the unknown.
‘You haven’t done anything, Simon,’ Sarah said with shame. ‘This… only has to do with me and me alone,’ she confessed. ‘Last year a price was put on my head,’ she began to explain.
It was impossible to see anything, but Simon straightened his back against the cold wall, sharpened his ears, and waited.
‘My godfather, whom I hardly remembered, sent me a list of names belonging to a secret Italian society. It contained the names of some very important people in politics, the judiciary, religion, and all at the international level. Even my father’s name was on it. I found out later that that list was in John Paul the First’s hands the night he died… and I knew that he was murdered.’
‘What?’ Simon could barely believe what he heard.
‘Just what I said. The sect, called P2, and the CIA started to persecute me.’
‘Good God,’ Simon exclaimed. ‘Are they the ones trying to do us in?’
‘No. This is something else entirely. I still haven’t figured it out.’
Simon stopped talking in order to let Sarah spill her guts.
‘Things poured out in such a torrent that I couldn’t process all the information given to me. Even today I don’t understand how far-reaching it all is.’
‘Sarah, we’re prisoners in a basement or whatever this is. There are two armed men outside prepared to give us a passport to eternity.’
Despite all that was happening, Simon seemed more in control of himself. The power of resignation has this consequence. We accept what has happened and look for better times to come. Of course the fear was always present. A quick death was preferable to torture, though obviously the best result would be if they opened the door and let them go with apologies for what they’d done, regretting a terrible mistake in identification, accompanied by a farewell dinner in some luxury restaurant. Ah, the power of the imagination, unconquerable, even in the face of imminent death.
‘Let’s try to make a deal with everyone,’ Sarah continued.
‘What kind of a deal?’
‘We won’t turn them in, and they won’t hurt us.’
‘Maybe they’ve repented,’ Simon suggested.
‘They’d have a lot to lose. Besides it’s the Holy See that protects this agreement,’ Sarah said thoughtfully. She wanted to put the loose pieces together to see if they made some sense. ‘That is something else.’
‘One thing not missing is crazy men with power,’ Simon revealed his feelings. ‘Do you think they’re going to leave us here the rest of the night?’
‘Long enough to soften us up.’ It was Sarah’s turn to sigh. ‘They’re specialists in that.’
‘I don’t know about you, but I’m softer than a marshmallow.’
Two bursts of laughter filled the small room, completely out of place given their situation. Fear can even make a person laugh.
The sound of the lock turning put a stop to the laughing. Seconds later the light from the hallway filled the dispensary and blinded Simon and Sarah, who blocked the light with their hands.
‘It’s nice to see you feeling so good,’ James mocked them from the door, where they made out his silhouette. ‘Get up. It’s time.’
Simon swallowed saliva. His heart still went cold when he saw this cool killer who looked at him with curt indifference.
Without waiting for them to obey, James yanked Simon up brutally by his shirtfront. James had executed his job in an exemplary way. Now he wanted to make his scorn for Simon plain.
If Simon wanted to fool himself into imagining a sweeter scenario, a joke in tremendously bad taste, maybe, but still forgivable, two hard punches James had the pleasure of giving him in the face drove that fantasy out of his mind. Simon swallowed his impotent rage in silence. When all was said and done, James had the gun pointed at the head of his ex-lover.
