The stooped, shriveled, old man turned his head. Their gazes locked. George’s jaw slackened. From across the room, Alice could see his tears welling .
“Holy Christ in a manger.” His voice was shaky.
Alice squeezed her hands together. “George.” Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat. “We have spoken many times, you and I, about that.”
“Sister...” he swallowed, the words seemed stuck in his throat. “Sister Jacobine?”
Alice stepped forward and held out her hands. He was still taller than her despite his pronounced stoop. His gnarled hands gently slid into hers, their gazes still locked together. “I cannot believe you still curse like that,” Alice whispered and kissed him on the cheek.
George’s tears flowed freely. His shaky hands slid up her arms to her shoulders, then around her back as he cradled her to his chest.
Alice closed her eyes as she and George clung to each other. She couldn’t have let go of him if she tried.
A chair scraped over the kitchen floor.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Rafferty said from the kitchen. “What happened with that video file?”
“Don’t know,” Talbot said, also from the kitchen. “They suddenly couldn’t find it. Must’ve been deleted.”
Alice and George separated, although his hands drew down her arms to clasp her hands again.
“Come, George. Let us sit and talk of old friends.” Alice guided him to the couch and took a seat right next to him, their hands held tightly together.
“There’s still coffee left, if you’d like some, George,” Geri said, her voice almost as thick as theirs.
George tugged a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his eyes and blew his nose. “If I have coffee this late, I’ll be up ‘til reveille.” He looked at Alice, held her gaze and said, “Got any Irish Whiskey?”
“Grampa George—your medication doesn’t mix with that.”
“Hush, boy,” George said. “Some things is more important.”
“Maybe just one,” Alice said and glanced at Geri. “I put a bottle of Old Bushmills in the liquor cabinet a few days ago.”
“Coming right up,” Geri said.
Rafferty peered at George’s old photo. “Which one is him?”
Talbot leaned forward and pointed. “He’s the only one left. All four of them lived extraordinarily long lives. Must have been something in the water at that field hospital.”
Rafferty glanced at Alice. “Yeah, must’ve been.”
“His son,” Talbot said, “my grandfather, wasn’t born until fifteen years after George got back from the war. If she hadn’t did what she did back then, killing those enemy soldiers, I wouldn’t be here today.”
All of them jumped when Alice’s cellphone rang. Alice leapt up from the couch and got the phone out of her bag. She looked at the screen before swiping to answer the call. “Your Holiness. How nice to hear from you.”
“My dear Alice,” Roberto said with his thick, Italian accent. “It breaks my heart to make this call.”
Alice stiffened. “What is it, Roberto?”
“Clearly there are still forces in the Church aligned against you.”
“That much is certain, Roberto.”
“Until they can be weeded out, perhaps you should...”
“Should what, Roberto?”
“Perhaps you should disappear. Just for a short time, huh?”
“Roberto?” Alice stared out the living room window, her gaze unfocused. “Was this your idea?”
“Si, si. Until things settle down in the world. For the Church, Alice. The reputation of the Church.”
“I could stay in the Vatican with you, Roberto.”
“Alice. The paparazzi would have, how you say? A field day. You take a vacation, my dear Alice. A long vacation.”
“Very well, Roberto. A long vacation. How long?”
“I will call when it is time to come home, huh? Goodbye, my dear Alice.”
With a click, the line went dead.
She stared at the screen, a knot forming in her stomach. No pope had ever asked her to disappear, to take a vacation. Not one of them in more than five hundred years.
Something was very wrong. She could feel it.
For the moment, though, Roberto had decided he would handle it. He’d call her if he needed her.
She moved her gaze from the screen to George as Geri set their drinks down on the coffee table. “No matter,” she muttered. “I shall be just fine right where I am.”
THE END
The next story in the Nun with a Gun series:
Narrow Gate, story 6 in the Nun with a Gun series, will be coming soon.
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About the Author
Mark Posey is a thriller writer born, raised and living in Edmonton, Canada with his wife, author Tracy Cooper-Posey. He is a retired professional wrestler and father of four – Terry, Matthew, Katherine, and Ashley. He likes cooking, woodworking, and watching hockey when he’s not scrolling through social media or taking an afternoon nap with his three cats – Pippin, Merry, and Strider.
Other books by Mark Posey
For reviews, excerpts, and more about each title, click here.
Thomas Billings Thrillers
Saving Grace
Fall From Grace (Coming soon!)
Coup de Grace (Coming soon!)
A Nun With A Gun
Feet of Clay
A Port in the Storm
Excommunication
Requiem Mass
Den of Lions
The Narrow Gate
Copyright Information
Published by Stories Rule Press Inc.
Edmonton, Alberta, Canada.
Registered offices:
1100-10020 101A Avenue NW
Edmonton AB T5J 3G2
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