“You ate enough for two on the plane,” said Father Sin, not looking at him, scanning the area.
“I know, but I’m still hungry.”
Father Murphy and the driver laughed. Father Sin continued to ignore him. Samuel looked down at the door handle again, certain that it was locked. He wanted to check it to make sure, but couldn’t find an opening. He looked around the street then leaned back and closed his eyes. If Father Sin or one of the others looked down at him, he wanted to appear still under their control. Samuel opened his eyes. Father Sin looked over momentarily then turned his attention back to the crowded street. Samuel peeked at the lock again, slid his hand to it, and fingered the handle.
Another black Mercedes swooped in front of them and parked.
“It’s Sister Bravo,” said Father Sin, now looking at Samuel. “Slide over to the middle and make room.”
Samuel braced himself and leaned toward the middle of the seat. The driver hit the locks. Samuel grabbed the handle and slammed his shoulder hard against the door. It crashed open and he fell to the ground.
A car screeched to a halt a foot from his head.
“Get him! Get him!” Father Sin screamed.
Samuel jumped to his feet and ran into the crowd on the opposite side of the street. He heard Father Sin’s voice fade the farther he ran. The crowd parted, making a way for him, some cursing in Italian, others in broken English. Samuel didn’t care, he was free.
16
D ead asleep, Father Tolbert lay caught up in a dream he’d have to confess as soon as he reached the Vatican. A boy, close to Samuel’s age, sat on his knee staring up at him, sad and confused. The boy looked oddly familiar, but the priest couldn’t place him.
“Who are you?” Father Tolbert asked the boy, who was now close to tears.
“I’m you,” the boy stammered.
“Me, what nonsense is this? What’s your name?”
“What’s your name?”
“I won’t ask you again! What is your name?”
“Charles,” cried the boy. “Charles Tolbert!” Father Tolbert knocked the boy off his leg and jumped back, horrified. The longer he stared at the child, the more frightened he became. The boy just stared at him, an evil scowl on his face.
“You can’t have me, you know. You’ll never have me,” said young Charles. Then he slowly turned, walked into a heavy bank of fog, and disappeared. Father Tolbert stood there shaking.
A firm hand rattled his shoulder, and Father Tolbert opened his eyes, gasping for air, face drenched with sweat. Sister Bravo.
“Sorry to startle you, Father, but we’ve arrived,” she said.
The fog lifted. Father Tolbert nodded, and on second thought, banished any notion of confessing to anyone but Cardinal Polletto.
Sister Bravo removed the wrinkled blanket covering him and began gathering his things. Father Tolbert stretched, folded his seat forward and stood.
“Thank you, Sister. How soon will the car get here?”
“Fifteen minutes at the most.”
The priest grunted. He wanted to get settled in quickly, anxious to set his demise in motion, to end his life and pain. He looked out the window and saw a black Mercedes pull away.
“A car just left,” he said, irritated.
“Yes,” said Sister Bravo. “The car had mechanical problems.
They’re sending another one right away.” Father Tolbert thought he saw passengers in the back seat of the Benz, but the tinted windows and distance made him think his eyes were playing tricks on him. Why would there be anybody in the car anyhow?
Sister Bravo soon had all of his things gathered and another Mercedes, an exact duplicate of the previous car, met them next to the plane. The driver quickly loaded their luggage and drove them past the private terminal for VIP passengers, to the overcrowded customs area in the main terminal.
“Why are we going to the main terminal?” asked Father Tolbert.
“I was informed that the private terminal is closed until further notice,” said Sister Bravo. “But they promised to process us through as quickly as possible.”
Father Tolbert, antagonized and anxious, stared out at the planes landing and taxiing to a stop. He wrung his hands, sweat still beading up on his brow, and took several deep breaths.
Inside, the main terminal looked like a cattle ranch, with travelers packed in long lines at every station. Clouds of cigarette smoke hung in the air like lost spirits, barely masking the mustiness set in the clothes of travelers who’d suffered through long flights crowded in coach.
“I’ll check and see where we’re supposed to be, Father. Stay in this line. I’ll be right back,” said Sister Bravo.
She disappeared into the crowd, leaving Father Tolbert in dismay.
This is not like her. She’s usually on top of these details. Father Tolbert shrugged it off, chalking the out of ordinary delay up to divine providence. Twenty minutes later, the priest stood only a few people from the front of the line, and Sister Bravo, extremely apologetic, reappeared.
“Please, Father, come with me. They’ve just now made room for us in a private office,” she said.
Father Tolbert looked ahead. Only one person, an elderly woman, was in front of him. “We’re almost at the front. Let’s wait here.”
“But, Father, they’ve made arrangements.” The customs agent waved the elderly woman to the counter.
“I’m waiting right here,” said Father Tolbert. “Get your passport out and let’s be done with it.”
Sister Bravo pushed her bags forward after the old woman finished, showed the clerk her passport then rolled the luggage to the inspection station, with Father Tolbert right behind her. The nun lifted her suitcase to put it on the table. The latch popped open, and the entire contents spilled out all over the tiled floor.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Father, I’m so sorry,” cried Sister Bravo, blushing as she quickly gathered up her things.
Exasperated, he reluctantly bent down to help her. “Don’t worry, Sister, it was an accident. It seems it’s just not our day.” Father Tolbert and Sister Bravo scooped up her belongings, and spent ten minutes having customs look through their suitcases, before finally loading up and heading down Via Appia Antica Road, toward Rome. Sister Bravo used the car cell phone to let the Vatican know they were running late. Father Tolbert, satisfied that they would finally arrive soon, leaned back and rested his eyes. He heard the nun hang up the phone.
“Cardinal Polletto left a message, asking me to run a special errand for him. There’s a car waiting for me downtown.” Father Tolbert continued to relax. “We must do what we must do.”
“You’ve not been to Rome lately?” asked Sister Bravo, after a few minutes silence.
“Not in a long while,” said Father Tolbert, his eyes still closed. “But I plan to make the most of my time here.”
“You’re fortunate that Cardinal Polletto could get you such an assignment on such short notice. To work in the Vatican Archives is a real honor.”
Yes, if you consider hiding out an honor. “Thank you, Sister, that it is.”
The car slid into downtown Rome. Father Tolbert sat up and looked out at the hustling, busy streets, taking in the unique flavor of one of the world’s oldest cities. He marveled at the sight of ancient ruins and marble columns, standing beside office complexes, luxurious villas, and modern apartment buildings on noisy boulevards. Father Tolbert pressed his face against the glass. The duality between the past and present left him astounded.
The driver navigated the downtown streets with an ease of the familiar. They traveled down the narrow and busy Via del Corso and went north from the Piazza Venezia, past the Piazza Colonna to the heart of the city.
“The other car is just up ahead,” said the driver, swerving in front of a parked Benz, identical to their
