car.” Robert felt the handle of his nine-millimeter press against his stomach. He relaxed, pushed past the guards, and stormed out of the building. Teeth grinding, he rumbled back down Interstate 94, blind with rage. Five miles down the highway, he abruptly snatched the wheel to the right, swerved off the freeway and skidded to a stop on the side of the road, car horns honking, and middle fingers up in his direction.
Paul and Carla wanted to tell me something. Something Samuel didn’t want anybody else to know.
Robert considered going to the Feds to get a court order, but knew his hunch wasn’t enough to get a judge to do battle with the Archdiocese, who obviously had something to hide. Besides, Robert was sure Cardinal Polletto, or whoever was pulling the strings, would see to it that neither child would be available for questioning after today. It was a long shot, but he’d run it by Thorne and Detective Reynolds anyway.
The cobalt blue numbers on the dashboard clock beamed 10:00 a.m.
A few more hours and Samuel would be gone for over forty-eight hours.
A near death sentence, unless the kidnappers made contact soon. Robert eased back onto the highway and headed for the Napier’s to have a talk with Donovan, and find out if the kidnappers had sent any word.
Head throbbing, heart pounding, Robert lowered the windows and let cool air blow through. Hold on Samuel, I’m coming.
10
C ardinal Polletto stepped out of his black Cadillac onto busy Superior Avenue, in front of the eight-story building that housed the Archdiocese of Chicago. As expected, he’d been summoned to account for the sudden reassignment of Father Tolbert, and use of the Vatican’s private jet. As Archbishop, it was well within his right to make use of church resources and transfer personnel, but even he was required to go through channels.
Cardinal Maximilian, in Chicago on special assignment from the Holy See, to evaluate and audit the diocese, asked if he would come in and explain the urgent need to usurp protocol. Justifying his decisions irritated Cardinal Polletto, unless it came directly from the Vatican. “I assure you it did,” Cardinal Maximilian had told him, smug and self-assured.
Cardinal Polletto strode through the brightly lit lobby, pious, chin high, nodding to visitors, well-wishers and staff, who bowed and greeted him as though he were the Holy Father himself. A ritual he thoroughly enjoyed.
“Good Morning, Your Eminence,” said Father Solomon Fox, Cardinal Maximilian’s assistant, appearing at the cardinal’s side, as though out of thin air.
Cardinal Polletto greeted the stone-faced New Yorker with a broad smile and a pat on the back. “I trust the Lord is treating you well this morning, Father,” he said.
“Indeed he is, sir. Thank you.” Father Fox chiseled an uncomfortable smile on his cold, rocky countenance. “Cardinal Maximilian is waiting for you on the fifth floor. He sent me to ride up with you.” Aggravated, Cardinal Polletto shot the priest a quick glare out the corner of his eye. “How thoughtful, Cardinal Maximilian is always quite the gentleman.”
The elevator door opened on the fifth floor. An instant wave of simultaneous adulation and greeting rang out in chorus. Cardinal Polletto met each salutation with a humble nod and wave.
Father Fox led him to the large conference room and opened the door. Inside, sitting at the head of a long, ebony Gabon conference table with a black Italian marble top was Cardinal James Francis Maximilian.
Cardinal Maximilian, the first African-American to ascend so high in the Roman Catholic Church, stood, draped from head to toe in blood red.
Shoulders back, head held high, he almost seemed to glide over to Cardinal Polletto, hand extended. When Cardinal Polletto took his hand, Cardinal Maximilian bowed his head in a submissive pose, a move Cardinal Polletto knew to be more show than substance.
“Thank you for coming down on such short notice,” said Cardinal Maximilian. “I know your schedule is a hectic one.”
“That it is,” answered Cardinal Polletto, taking a seat. “But one must always understand accountability.”
Cardinal Maximilian smiled. After a few minutes of feigned pleasantries and light gossip, Cardinal Maximilian cleared his throat. “I understand Father Tolbert has been reassigned.”
“Correct. He’s going to intern at the Vatican Archives, a rare opportunity with a short shelf life, as you are aware. Someone was needed immediately, and he was given an immediate clearance at my request.”
Cardinal Maximilian sat unmoved. Cardinal Polletto, prepared for the question, had his operatives at the Vatican Archives and Swiss Guard ready to confirm his cover story.
“Why Father Tolbert?” asked Cardinal Maximilian. “What basis did you use to select him?”
“Father Tolbert has shown intense interest in church history and artifacts over the years. He’s approached me several times, inquiring about a chance to serve there, and has made several applications to do so.
He has an undergraduate degree in Library Science, so I made overtures on his behalf, and praise God an opening finally became available and they called me first.” Cardinal Maximilian stroked his chin. “Certainly, you must agree that such diligence and desire to serve must be rewarded,” added Cardinal Polletto.
Cardinal Maximilian smiled. “Certainly,” he said. “It was just a bit unusual for things to move so quickly without proper notification.”
“My apologies for not calling you in the wee hours of the morning, I assumed it would be more prudent to inform you this morning.”
“Yet morning came, and not a word.”
Cardinal Polletto put his hands together as if to pray. He gave a solemn nod. “Again, my apologies.”
Cardinal Maximilian flipped open a file folder. “More disturbing than Father Tolbert’s sudden departure, is his mode of transportation.
The Vatican jet?”
Cardinal Polletto sat back. “As I’m sure you’re aware, the jet was used to transport a group of wealthy European dignitaries here to the states at the Holy Father’s request. I understand they made quite a healthy contribution to several of the Pontiff’s favorite causes.”
“And that figures into Father Tolbert using it how?” asked Cardinal Maximilian.
Cardinal Polletto smiled. “The plane was pre-scheduled to return to Rome. Why let it go to waste?”
“How convenient.”
“You know our Lord, Cardinal, ever ready to meet our needs.” Cardinal Maximilian continued to turn the pages in the folder. He stopped, picked up a page, then lifted his eyes. “I’m sure you’re aware of the complaints we’ve received about Father Tolbert.”
“Oh, complaints?” asked Cardinal Polletto.
“These are challenging times for the Church,” said Cardinal Maximilian. “The scandals concerning our children and their safety in the hands of Catholic clergy are extremely sensitive. Father Tolbert has been the focus of rumblings for the past year.”
“The molestation of children I take very seriously,” Cardinal Polletto lied. “I too have heard the rumors, and looked into them very carefully.
So far, I’ve found them to be nothing more than dead end gossip.”
“If you’ve made a formal inquiry, why haven’t you filed an official report?”
“Official reports tend to get leaked to the press, draw useless, and might I say unfair accusations to the innocent. I see no need to stir up fodder for an already voracious press, and those who hate the Church.”
“I’m mindful of your stern determination to protect the Church,” said Cardinal Maximilian. “In that, you’re not alone, but we must be careful not to seem eager to hide backsliders and transgressors, especially potential pedophiles. It’s a mistake far too many have made at a devastating price.”
“True. The world is never ready to accept our view of forgiveness and repentance.”
Cardinal Maximilian closed the folder. “It seems many of our brothers in service are more prone to forgiveness, than repenting.” Cardinal Polletto leaned forward. “Satan is ever diligent, but we mustn’t allow him to change the precepts outlined by God and the Church, must we? If so, who would we trust?”
“Even so, the violation of children cannot be tolerated, and we can no longer look the other way,” added Cardinal Maximilian, fists clinched.
