happened, he was going to see it through. With his plan in place, he relaxed and dozed off to sleep.
In his dreams, he saw Samuel, his son, along with Eduardo and Felipe. They held out their hands and bid him to come. Innocent.
Inviting. He clenched his teeth. “No,” he shouted, in his dreams, “stay away from me! Please, go back!” The three boys continued to smile and walk toward him. He screamed louder for them to stop, as his member began to tingle. “Please, stop, I don’t want to…”
“Father, Father, wake up! You’re having a bad dream,” Giovanni cried, his voice distant and hazy.
A sudden bump jolted Father Tolbert awake and he snapped up.
“Asshole!” Giovanni shouted, looking in the rearview mirror.
Giovanni begged Father Tolbert’s forgiveness. Another bump jerked them forward. Whoever was in the car behind them was honking their horn as though they wanted to pass. Father Tolbert squinted, but the dark and dust prevented him from making out the person driving. The car rammed them again.
Giovanni eased the car over. “Go on,” he shouted, waving the car by,
“pass us if it’s that important to you!” The car hit them again, harder, forcing Giovanni to wrestle with the wheel to keep them from crashing into the trees. The old man reached under his seat and pulled out a revolver. “I think he’s a bandit,” growled Giovanni, cocking back the hammer. “Get down, Father, I’m going to shoot!”
Father Tolbert crouched low, but kept his eyes on the car behind them. Giovanni pointed the gun out the window. The other driver sped up and tried to force them off the road. Giovanni dropped the gun on the floor and hit his brakes. The Fiat’s brake lights were enough to illuminate the driver chasing them. Father Sin!
“Keep going,” Father Tolbert bellowed, “I’ll get the gun!” Giovanni hit the accelerator. Father Tolbert snatched up the gun, rolled down his window, pointed and fired, sending Father Sin swerving back and forth, fishtailing off the road.
“We’ve lost him,” said Giovanni, his voice cracking.
But as soon as the words left the bearded Italian’s mouth, headlights zoomed up fast. This time, Father Sin hit them so hard, the back wheels of the Fiat lifted off the ground. Giovanni cursed. The car spun around, tossing Father Tolbert against the door. They flew off the side of the road, down a steep ravine, and crashed into a tree. Father Tolbert felt a bone numbing pain all over his body. His back felt like someone beat it with a baseball bat, and his head threatened to explode. He got his bearings and realized he was upside down.
“Giovanni,” he gasped, “are you okay?” There was no answer. The priest righted himself and opened his door.
On the ground in front of him was the revolver. He picked it up.
Father Tolbert looked back inside the car. The driver seat was empty. In the moonlight, he saw that the front windshield was bashed out, and spread out over the hood was Giovanni, his head a bloody mess; completely crushed, the white captain’s hat covered with matted gray hair and thick, dark blood.
Father Tolbert checked for Giovanni’s pulse, nothing. He said a prayer and pleaded with God for Giovanni’s soul. He’s dead because of me. He heard the crunch of leaves and brush, looked up the hill, and saw a flashlight beam, which fell on his face.
“Don’t move!” shouted Father Sin.
A sharp pain needled Father Tolbert’s legs, but he forced them to move, and ran deeper into the woods. He looked back, Father Sin was gaining and he couldn’t run any faster. He closed his fists. His right hand was wrapped around something hard. The gun!
Father Tolbert stopped, turned and fired twice. The flashlight disappeared. He hobbled out of the woods onto a main road. He turned around, Father Sin was right behind him, mouth frothing, eyes blazing.
Father Tolbert ran to the other side of the road into another wooded area.
He leaned against a tree and peered out at Father Sin, who was crouched low, zig zagging across the street. Father Tolbert couldn’t move. Father Sin drew closer. Father Tolbert grit his teeth, pointed the revolver and fired twice more, sweat burning his eyes, blurring his vision.
When his vision cleared, Father Sin lay face down on the side of the road. Father Tolbert waited, but Father Sin didn’t move. He closed his eyes and begged God for forgiveness.
Father Tolbert waited for ten minutes. When nobody else showed up, he limped down the road, toward Rome.
41
R obert looked down from the countryside villa over Castelnuovo di Porta, the medieval hilltop village, where he and Thorne were staying as guests of Il Martello di Dio, the Hammer of God.
The lush green valley with its crisp, clean morning air, and soothing surroundings, were a far cry from the pollution filled congestion of Washington D.C., where Robert and Thorne lived and worked. Sister Isabella told him that the village hadn’t changed much in a century, except for a few creature comforts like running water, electricity, and villas like theirs, with swimming pools and modern appliances.
A hawk swooped down out of the clouds and hovered over the treetops, effortless and smooth. Robert scanned the forest below, his mind on Samuel. He wondered if his godson was still safe, and if he knew that it had been his godfather signaling from the grass.
Two days had passed since Robert first saw Samuel up close. He wanted to rush in and take him back right away, but it was decided by their hosts that it was safer to keep their distance and not risk giving away their presence until a plan was in place. Robert disagreed, but outnumbered, including Thorne, agreed to abide by the decision to limit their observation to the woods, keeping a good distance from the castle where Samuel was being held captive.
It encouraged Robert to see Samuel walk the yard in front of the building the past two evenings. Both nights, Samuel edged close to grass where Robert had hidden the first night they spotted him. He wondered if his godson was looking for another sign, and what he felt when it didn’t come.
“We’ll get started in about five minutes,” said a voice behind Robert.
Sister Isabella, her rich blue eyes as bright as her smile, handed him a cup of steaming coffee with milk and sugar, just as he liked it. “We’re waiting for Bishop Ruini.”
“Thank you, Sister,” answered Robert, taking a small sip of the brew.
The nun offered to prepare Robert some breakfast, but he declined.
He hadn’t been able to eat much since spotting Samuel. Thorne had finally convinced him to eat dinner the night before, by threatening him with shotgun therapy, but this morning coffee was enough.
Robert followed Sister Isabella back to the living room. They’d been working twelve-hour shifts out in the woods, including all night the night before, and the nun worked in jeans and sweaters. Robert caught himself on more than one occasion admiring what God had given the strong, beautiful woman, but more than her beauty, it was her gentle strength that caught his attention. She always seemed to be thinking two steps ahead, a chess player ready to pounce.
But Robert snapped himself out of it. She’s a nun. Besides, he had a girlfriend back in Washington, Fiona Patrick, a Supreme Court Justice no less. Although their relationship hit a snag right before he left for Chicago, he loved her, and hadn’t even considered another woman since they became an item. He had saved her life while working another case, and in a way, she had saved his.
Bishop Ruini arrived and apologized for his lateness. On the off chance that he’d been followed, he took a long route to the villa, to make sure he wasn’t tailed.
“Cardinal Maximilian will be here soon,” the bishop told them. “He says he has important information he wants to discuss personally. I’m sure he’ll be taking the long route too. He said we should go ahead and start without him.”
Everyone gathered in the living room. Father Kong arrived from his shift at the castle. He assured Robert that he left two capable replacements in his place, to keep track of the comings and goings in and out of the castle.
Thorne sat down on the couch next to Robert, sporting black jeans and a matching long sleeve body shirt, similar to those football players wore under their equipment. The outfit left little to the imagination.
When he whispered, “Is that appropriate?” she leaned into his ear, and said, “ They’re nuns and priests, not
