“Certainly not, but let us be mindful that there is no hierarchy of sin.
If we toss out a priest for one thing, why not for another…theft, lies, deception? We’re all guilty, Cardinal. Sin is sin.” Cardinal Maximilian’s eyes turned red and the muscles in his jaw flexed. “Well, I guess this is a debate for another time.”
“Anytime,” Cardinal Polletto said, wanting to gloat. “It’s been a pleasure, Cardinal Maximilian, as always.”
“Not that I want to dwell on only bad news this morning, Cardinal, but have you heard anything new concerning the kidnapped boy from Father Tolbert’s parish, Samuel Napier?” Cardinal Polletto gave a deep sigh. “Yes,” he said, “young Samuel.
Unfortunately, I haven’t heard a thing. I understand the police and FBI have yet to receive any word from the kidnappers, a grave misfortune.”
“We’ll all stay in constant prayer,” said Cardinal Maximilian. “Let’s hope the family hears something soon.”
“Yes,” said Cardinal Polletto, “let’s continue to pray.”
“I do have one concern,” said Cardinal Maximilian, measuring his words. “Since young Samuel was an altar boy under Father Tolbert, I’m sure the FBI will want to question him at some point.” Cardinal Polletto sat up straight. “The thought crossed my mind,” he said. “In fact, the boy’s godfather has already made an inquiry.”
“Even so, my concern is with the authorities. We should be prepared to make Father Tolbert available if asked.”
“I understand and share your concern, Cardinal. But unless we believe Father Tolbert was somehow involved, I don’t think the Church should go out of its way. If asked, a phone conversation should suffice.” Cardinal Maximilian rocked back and forth in his chair, all the time, his penetrating eyes never moving from Cardinal Polletto. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask that you send for Father Tolbert, Cardinal Polletto. Despite your inquiry into the rumors surrounding him, and my concurrence that we should only make him available to the authorities if asked, I want to question him myself. I’ll phone the Vatican Archives and have them hold his position. That’s only fair.” Cardinal Polletto smiled and stood. “As you wish, Cardinal. I’ll see to it myself,” he said, as they said their goodbyes.
Cardinal Polletto rode up to his top floor office alone. Eyes closed, he fought to steady his nerves, leaning against the elevator’s back wall.
Cardinal Maximilian’s request that he bring back Father Tolbert was impossible if he wanted to keep his plans hidden and moving forward. If he had his way, Father Tolbert would never return to the States. The priest’s uncontrollable urge for children had been useful, but was now an inconvenience. The rumors Cardinal Maximilian spoke of were far more than true. In fact, they were the crumbs of something far more pervasive.
A well-orchestrated effort, and if Cardinal Polletto had his way, would significantly cripple and destroy the Church.
I must keep Father Tolbert in Rome. By the time the world discovers who Samuel Napier really is, it’ll be too late.
The elevator door opened. Cardinal Polletto, his anxiety now abated, was met by his assistant, Father Gerald Volken.
“I need you to get Bishop Niccolo at the Vatican Archives on the phone immediately,” he told the boyish- faced thirty-five year old.
“Yes, Cardinal, right away. I’ve placed your itinerary on your desk, including a list of people you need to call today and their phone numbers.
There’s one at the top of the list that requires your immediate attention,” said Father Volken, following the cardinal into his office.
Cardinal Polletto picked up the list of scheduled phone calls. At the top it read: Call Chicago office, FBI, Agent Baxter, and included a phone number and extension.
Cardinal Polletto looked out over Chicago through his large, pane glass window. “Get me Bishop Niccolo at the Vatican as I requested, immediately.”
12
R obert parked at the curb across the street from the Napier’s estate.
Except for two unmarked federal sedans out front, and a black SUV with dark tinted windows in the circular driveway, things looked much quieter than the day before. Gone were the black and whites, flashing lights, heavy police presence, television trucks and reporters.
Robert sat a few minutes to calm himself, then got out and walked through the gate entrance, making a beeline for the front door. He was only a few feet away from the house when the front door opened, and an FBI lumberjack, wearing a dark blue suit, emerged and blocked his path.
“May I help you, sir?” the agent asked.
Robert didn’t like the idea of having to account for his presence at Donavon’s house, but suppressed his emotions, not wanting to upset Alison further by causing a scene. He explained the reason for his visit, that he was a close friend of Donovan’s, hoping the agent would speak to his friend, not Alison.
“You’re the boy’s godfather, correct?” asked the agent, more polite than Robert anticipated. Robert nodded. The agent’s eyes softened. “One moment, Mr. Veil. Please stay here, I’ll see what I can do.” Robert said thanks, and a few minutes later, Donovan appeared at the side of the house. “Robert, follow me around back.” Robert opened his mouth to speak, but Donovan held up a hand, and motioned for him to remain quiet.
Donovan’s limp looked more pronounced. Dark circles outlined his now sunken eyes, and salt-and-pepper stubble crusted his leathery, basset hound face. Once they reached the guesthouse, Donovan went straight to the couch in the living room and collapsed into the Indian embroidery, exhausted. Robert had never seen his friend so distraught, not even when their lives were on the line out in the field when they worked for the CIA. Robert sat down, but only stared in silence, giving Donovan a chance to gather himself. After a little more than five minutes, the beaten down father sat up and wiped his eyes. Robert did the same.
“I’m sorry, but I haven’t slept much,” said Donovan. “Alison’s out cold right now, thanks to Dr. Vicodin.”
“Looks like you should swallow a few yourself,” said Robert, knowing it would take a cocked pistol to the head to get so much as an aspirin down Donovan’s throat.
Donovan stretched. “Don’t think I haven’t considered it. This is more brutal than you know.”
Robert cleared his throat. “Donovan, have they…have they called, made contact?”
“No, nothing,” he answered, rubbing his eyes. “It’s got us twisted in knots. If the bastards would just tell us what they want, anything, it doesn’t matter. Nothing would be too much.” A jarring bolt zipped down Robert’s spine, but he held fast. “The boys at Quantico have any ideas? It’s what we pay them for.”
“No,” said Donovan, struggling to his feet. “They’re as much in the dark as we are.”
Donovan walked to the front window, leaned forward until his forehead touched it, and closed his eyes, his breath morphing into a deep fog on the glass.
Robert eased up behind his friend. “Thorne and I have been trying to chase down leads of our own.” Donovan straightened up and turned around. “I know you and Alison asked us to stay out of it,” Robert continued. “But did you really think we would? He’s as much of a son to me as he is to you.”
Donovan forced a smile, which looked out of place with the swollen sacks under his eyes, and heavily wrinkled brow. “I know you mean well, but I have to ask you and Thorne to stand down.” The words took Robert aback. “Obviously there’s something going on I don’t know about. Now, you know me. You know what I can do.
Why won’t you let me help?”
Donovan’s eyes widened. He gritted his teeth, made a fist, and lightly tapped it against Robert’s chest. Catching himself, Donovan relaxed and went back to the couch. Robert sat down next to him.
“I went by Samuel’s school today,” said Robert. “I talked to several of his friends. When I asked them if there was anything going on with Samuel, anything out of place, they both broke down in tears.” Donovan furrowed his brow. “What did they say was wrong?”
“I didn’t get a chance to finish questioning them. I was escorted out before I could find out.”
