Sister Bravo quickly crossed the room, hand raised, ready to strike.
Samuel stood firm. She hesitated, then lowered her hand. “You can’t manipulate me,” she said. “Eat your food. I’ll pick up the tray in an hour.”
“Good, because I have a few questions,” said Samuel, forcefully.
Sister Bravo slowly sat down on the cot. “Fire away,” she sneered.
“Why am I here?”
Sister Bravo carefully pondered. “Because you’re very valuable,” she answered..
“How so…I mean, how much have you asked for?”
“This isn’t about money.”
Samuel’s face twisted. “Then what?”
“I can’t say at this time, but when instructed to do so, you’ll know right away.”
Samuel’s mind raced. This has something to do with the CIA and my dad’s work. I know it! “How soon will that be?
“In due time. Anything else?”
“Where are we, and what is this place?”
Again, Sister Bravo mulled over her answer. Samuel could almost see the wheels turning. “You’re in Torre Astura Tower, in the city of Nettuna. It’s a small castle fort, very secluded, very quiet.”
“So, we’re still close to Rome?”
Impatient, Sister Bravo stood. “Enough questions. I’ve already told you more than I should have.”
Samuel jumped to his feet, determined and angry. “I want to talk to my mother and father!”
“That’s not possible.”
“Why not? They don’t know where I am. I just want to tell them I’m okay.”
Sister Bravo bristled. “No! And don’t ask again!” Samuel rushed toward the nun, open hand held high, ready to strike.
Sister Bravo took a step back. Samuel saw a flash of fear streak across her face. He stopped short of her, and slowly lowered his hand, a strange burst of power radiated all over him. Anger mixed with strength.
“When my father gets hold of you, you all will be sorry,” he said.
Sister Bravo regained her composure. “Now that I guarantee won’t happen.” Samuel looked up at her, curious. She handed him the newspaper. “Your father’s dead.”
He unfolded the paper. Bewildered, he stared down at a photo of his mother, dressed in black, following a coffin down the familiar stairs of the Assumption of Our Lady Church. The headline read, Father of Kidnapped Boy Killed in Tragic Crash. Reality crept in. Samuel wobbled and swayed, tears burst from his eyes and dropped on the paper.
“This… is a fake,” he sniffled.
“Don’t be dismayed,” said Sister Bravo. “He’s only your earthly father. You have another who’ll take much better care of you from here on out.”
Samuel didn’t understand her words, didn’t know what she was referring to, and didn’t care. My father’s dead. He hobbled over to the bed and collapsed.
Sister Bravo walked to the door. “Sorry I had to bring you such bad news.”
Samuel looked up. Sister Bravo wore a faint smile. “I thought priests and nuns did God’s work,” he said, sniffling.
“This is God’s work,” she answered, closing the door behind her.
Samuel fell back on the bed and cried. Twenty minutes passed before he sat up, wiped his face and stared down at the picture. Seeing his mother gave him relief, but didn’t stop the ache in his stomach. He ran his fingers down the page across her face, wondering how she was holding up with the two men of the house gone. The thought of her loneliness hurt him all the more.
He went back to the window and stared out at the sea. I have to get hold of myself. I have to think. His mind raced. I have to get away. I have to escape again. He decided he wouldn’t disrupt things after all. Instead, he’d play along and act as though he’d been broken, that the news of his father’s death made him more cooperative. He’d watch, wait, and at the right time, run away, for good this time, live or die.
Samuel looked down at the paper again. Something caught his eye.
He looked closely at the faces of the pallbearers. Most of them were family and friends he recognized, but he was still confused.
“Where’s Uncle Robert and Aunt Nikki?”
30
R obert and Thorne sat quietly in the dark, waiting. Sister Isabella and Father Kong ushered them inside the room and departed, but were not far away.
Reeling from Donovan’s death, Robert managed to pull himself together during the flight to Rome. He’d lost his godson, one of his best friends, and learned that Samuel was the product of cloning, commissioned by a rouge sect inside the Roman Catholic Church that considered Samuel the Bible defined character known to the world as the Anti-Christ.
Robert drank half a bottle of Old Forrester during the flight over, and the high-octane bourbon whiskey went a long way toward calming his nerves. Now, sitting there in the dark, he suppressed his emotions, allowing only a controlled anger to fester, ready to do whatever was necessary to get his godson back.
He squinted, barely able to see Thorne sitting on the other side of the room. She loved Samuel as much as he did, and he knew she’d go to hell with him to find the boy and take him home.
He heard stirring outside the room, and trained his attention on the direction of the door. He heard a key slide into place. The door opened, and a sliver of light sliced through the darkness. Robert saw Thorne clearly, now on her feet, standing directly behind the shadow draped figure, who fumbled for the light switch.
“Excuse me, Father,” said Robert, startling the man.
“Who’s there?” called the priest, a nervous surprise in his voice. A ceiling light cast a bright white light across the room. Thorne pushed the door shut. Father Tolbert stood shaking. “Who are you? Why are you hiding in my room?” he asked.
Robert, both hands on his knees, fought back the urge to spring forward and pummel the man to death. “We’ve met before, Father Tolbert, in Chicago.”
“And that gives you the right to trespass and invade my privacy?
Who let you in?”
Thorne grabbed Father Tolbert by the shoulder. “Have a seat. We need to ask you a few questions.”
Father Tolbert winced. Thorne practically dragged him to the bed, forced him down, and took her seat on the other side of the room, facing Robert.
“My name is Robert Veil, Father. This is my partner, Nikki Thorne. I met you at Assumption of Our Lady the day Samuel Napier was kidnapped. I’m his godfather.”
A flash of recognition splashed across Father Tolbert’s face. “I see. I remember.”
Robert studied the priest closely, as did Thorne. “We’re here because Samuel’s still missing, and we have reason to believe he’s in Rome.” Father Tolbert swallowed hard and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to hear Samuel’s still missing. He’s a wonderful boy, but what makes you think I know anything about the kidnapping?” Robert felt himself tense up, but forced a smile. “It’s not that, Father, we’re just following up on every lead possible. I understand you left Chicago before anybody could talk to you.”
“That’s true. My assignment at the Vatican Library came through at the last minute.” He looked back at Thorne. “But the diocese has my information, so the authorities can contact me anytime.” Thorne remained stoic, poker faced. “Did you notice anything out of the ordinary the day Samuel was abducted?”
“No, nothing,” answered the priest, sweat beading up on his forehead. “It was a normal Sunday, nothing out of place.”
“How close were you to Samuel?” asked Robert.
Father Tolbert squirmed. “Samuel’s been an altar boy for almost a year. Before that, I put him through
