Mad Gods - Predatory Ethics: Book I (17 page)

Too young. Too young.

“But you’re big enough to be three or four. How?” A
cold chill crept up Pewter’s spine. This could not be. This boy was too good to
be true. He was too delicious. He wanted to take this boy right here. Right
now. Who would stop him? This conflagration of desires needed to be quenched.
He needed to punish the boy for eliciting these feelings, these wants and
needs.

“It’s the devil in him, Padre. He has taken over
everything. When the boy killed his mother, he took on two people’s spirits.”
Paula stepped out from behind her husband, who tried to keep her back.

“Alright now, stop it.” Pewter fought hard to
remember what he had to do next. Cardinal Colletti wanted to see them, but he
also said that no one was to know. His mind raced to find a way to exact his
punishment. He grudgingly understood he had to go to Colletti and that he would
never have what he wanted — he could never administer the treatment the
boy deserved.

Too young. Too young, he thought, but he’s so
beautiful. He’s so big and sturdy.

“No one fear, this boy will be taken care of. The
holy church will deal with him. All is now in the hands of God.” Abruptly, he
withdrew his hand and backed away from the crowd. He motioned for Jorge to come
to him and whispered for the old pastor to take the family to the waiting
Colletti.

He did not notice a tan figure pass behind him and
wait by the nave. Cardinal Colletti did not see him either; he was too intent
on the Savourez family. He felt the sharp blade under his left armpit at the
same time as he heard the whispered voice next to his ear.

“If you do as I say, no one will get hurt.” The words
were barely more than a breath.

“Who? What do you want?” Colletti did not know who it
was and what he wanted. “ Are you here to rob the church?”

“Don’t turn around, Cardinal.” The voice was almost
too soft for Colletti to hear.

“How did you…” His question was cut short.

“Just listen carefully. Let the family and the pastor
come through, as if there’s nothing wrong. Bring them behind the church. If you
arouse suspicion, you will meet your maker, in which case, I hope your
conscience is as clear as it should be.” In an instant, the voice and the sharp
point were no longer at his side. Colletti looked left and right, trying to
find the man, but saw no one.

Nino stopped and looked straight through Colletti.
The boy’s eyes captured his and he recognized an understanding that shook his
soul. Only in ancient Christian icons of Jesus had Colletti seen this gaze
— they were the same eyes in the Shroud of Turin. He motioned for Jorge
to stop before the opening of the nave. Jorge nodded to the family to follow
their son.

“Please, don’t be afraid. I am Cardinal Colletti.” He
produced his most disarming smile and opened his arms to invite them forward.
This was what Jose and Rosanna craved — a comforting strength from the
church. They each kissed his hand and knelt before him.

“What should we do, Cardinal? Everyone hates us and
wants Nino gone. Help us, please.” Jose was now crying tears of blind hope. He
finally felt that he would be delivered from this nightmare of a life. He would
do anything Colletti asked.

“Your son does, indeed, need the Church. I will take
him and raise him to fear God.” Colletti felt that the family wouldn’t have any
opposition to this proposition.

“You’ll take him?” Jose said incredulously. Indeed,
the Church was merciful. Indeed, God was just. “Oh, thank you. Thank you. Thank
you.”

It was that easy for him to be rid of his son. The
only tears he cried were tears of gratitude and relief. Not even the barest
measure of love cowered behind his terror. This was the father whom Nino would
remember — uncaring and all too distant.

“You must never again speak of your son. This is
God’s work that we are doing.” Colletti looked sternly at both of them.

They each looked at one another and, in unison,
pronounced, “Yes, we swear, Cardinal! We swear!” They fell to the ground and
began to kiss Colletti’s feet.

“Get up now, please. Get up. Pastor, please take them
to the services that are about to start. Please get up. Go now. Go.” Colletti
extended his hand at Nino who quickly accepted it, and accompanied the
Cardinal.

Once they were outside, the Cardinal produced a
revolver from his jacket. He pointed it all around, moving it from spot to
spot, trying to locate a target. His arm extended protectively around the boy.
He pulled him closer and Nino felt warmth through his clothes. It was a nice
sensation — only warmth.

“Where are you? I’ve brought the boy. Show yourself.”
He continued to wave the gun back and forth.

“Why do you have a gun, Cardinal? You aren’t going to
do what I think you are?” The cardinal watched as the tan man purposefully
strode to a stop, not three feet from him. “You’re a Jesuit, aren’t you,
Cardinal Colletti?”

“What do you want with the boy?” the cardinal asked,
the gun’s barrel level with Kostadino’s chest. “He is to come with me. Don’t
try to stop me. I’ve come from the Vatican and have Papal dispensation.”

“Then where is your retinue, Cardinal?” He knew that
Colletti was lying. No one else knew that he was here. Kostadino wondered how
Colletti had known to be here? Slowly, the cardinal pointed the gun at Nino’s
head. The barrel felt cold and dead. A pleading tear rolled down his cheek.
“Forgive me, child.”

He did not have time to pull the trigger; his hand
was now no more than a stump. The tan man had rushed forward and cleanly
severed the threat. Colletti wanted to save the world from the Antichrist, but
was too slow. When he had spoken to Father Pewter, he believed he was the first
to know of this birth and determined to raise him to be the Messiah. He would
have been exalted above all others in the history of the church. He would’ve
been Aristotle to his Alexander. However, sadly for him, that never
materialized.

The Cardinal collapsed on the ground. Nino stared at
the hand that touched the cardinal’s and could not look away. He held up the
left hand and marveled that he still felt the cardinal’s warmth seeping away
from his skin. He continued to look beyond the hand and saw the tan figure kneel
down and pick him up. He straightened and carried him off into the distance,
and a waiting, dusty Chevy.

TIME: NOVEMBER 1ST, 1962. MEXICO CITY, MEXICO

“So.” Mossy looked at Mordecai with the glassy-eyed
vacancy of a stuffed animal.

“You can dial the number yourself,” Mordecai replied.
“I’m going to get my bags.”

“Get mine too. I’ll report into the Supreme
Tribunal.” Mossy turned around and left Mordecai, looking after him in
surprise. Was it so much to ask someone to dial a number for him? He was the
Master’s right hand — this was beneath him.

Ten minutes later, Mossy hung up the telephone in
disgust. Those international operators couldn’t tie their shoes, let alone put
through an important call. He placed his little telephone book in his jacket
pocket and looked around to find Mordecai.

Mossy looked at the floor; his eyes darted around,
focusing on nothing. A cold hand caressed his spine. There was no other
indication of his abject fear. He slowly walked to the exit, forgetting his
bags as they took a fifth turn around the carousel. He had lost him. He merely
turned his back and Mordecai had disappeared. Each of his feet seemed to weigh
hundreds of pounds and moved of their own volition.

TIME: NOVEMBER 1ST, 1962. SOMEWHERE OUTSIDE OF TAMANDUA,
BRAZIL

Kostadino drove along a back road, dust swirling
behind the car. He had to stay away from airports or bus terminals, so he kept
to the open road. Fewer people would see him, and fewer still would say
anything.

He reached forward and turned on the radio, just loud
enough to hear Bobby Vinton sing about roses being red. Pushing the dial
further, he left it on a news broadcast. The UN reported world population was
set to hit 3 billion souls by the end of the year. In the United States, blacks
were fighting for their equality. One of their leaders, Martin Luther King, who
followed the teachings of Gandhi, was put in jail, along with other protesters
in Georgia. The American president was getting tough on the upstart communist
nation in Cuba. Embargos had begun. Pope John XXIII made the empty
pronouncement of excommunicating Fidel Castro and convened the Second Vatican
Council.

This was interesting news. Cardinal Colletti would
not be taking part. At first, he believed that Cardinal Colletti acted alone in
wanting little Nino, but now he wasn’t sure. What if the Vatican Council met to
discus the birth of their enemy? Dusty halls could be filled with whispered
fears and veiled pronouncements.

There were two questions that disturbed Kosta’s calm.
One: had the errant cardinal acted alone, without anyone else’s knowledge? Two:
were the Templars involved? He stifled a chill going up his spine as he thought
about having to deal with those zealots again.

He slowly spun the steering wheel to the right and
began a long northwestern trek to the United States. Kosta knew he was well
hidden. The Vatican couldn’t know about him. The Luciferians didn’t even know
he existed. If the Vatican or the Luciferians did know they would have sent
more than the single individuals Kosta already dealt with. They did, however,
have an unparalleled target to follow.

Beside him, little Nino twisted in his sleep. Kosta
understood the Luciferians would leave no stone unturned in their search for
their messiah. He was their beacon and they would fly to him, no matter who got
in their way. He also needed to be quite careful about what the child saw. He
could not risk him growing up and attaining his destiny. The fate of the world
rested on the hope the boy would grow up and care nothing for his mantle of
power. Kosta wanted him to mature without seeing, or knowing, his birthright.

He robbed Revelation of its Beast and did not care.
He would use their prophecy for his own ends. Kosta wanted to show what he
discovered in the writings, scattered all over the globe. He wanted Nino to
know the value and power of life — the simple, precious worth of living.
He did not want to see the Luciferians replacing the Catholic Church with their
own. They only wanted to hold the reins of a power, which evolved into the most
massive of bureaucracies.

For centuries, the Vatican had existed as a nation
without borders. They held property, wealth and influence over the entire
world. They were also insightful enough to appear meek and devout. Though their
façade was one of charity and humility, they actually amassed the largest
non-taxable fortune known in modern times. At their height, they probably owned
over a third of the total property in the known world. In modern times, they
went through a constriction, but they would still put most on the Fortune 500
list to shame.

Kosta could not guess if they actually knew about the
boy. If the Templars were after him, what were their intentions? Assassination
was too simple. Even Cardinal Colletti was tempted to guide him away from his
pre-ordained path. The boy held power — that was not disputed by any of
the sides. The church did not need this, because they already had power. There
was more to it than Kosta could see.

- Routine -

TIME: DECEMBER 21ST, 1962. WHITTIER MANSION, SAN FRANCISCO,
CALIFORNIA, U.S.A

“You’re going to have to return on the next available
flight.” Balzeer was still watching the vision of two men, looking at him. He
anxiously paced in the chamber he used for summoning. All around him were the
writhing forms, powering incantations that summoned and spoke across space and
distance.

“That will be in another day or so, sir.”

“Drop everything, Mordecai. Get Mossy and get back
here now!”

“He… I don’t know where he is, sir.” Mordecai had
ditched Mossy as soon as they arrived at the Sao Paolo airport.

“Where are you? Mossy, why are you not with
Mordecai?” The Supreme Tribunal was aghast. “What have you two been doing for
the past three weeks? You knew you were to stay with him.” Balzeer now
addressed the nervous, hat-covered man on the right of the vision.

What had, earlier, seemed like two men, standing side
by side, was in actuality, two merged visions.

“Mordecai left me at the airport, sir. I continued as
best as I could from there.” He wiped his brow with a kerchief. “I don’t know
where he is.”

“You are both imbeciles! Shroud Keeper, bring them
both here, now!” His voice was now a roar and both men cringed at its ferocity.
A segmented, infant imp waved its right hand and both men materialized before
the projected vision.

“I should add both of you to my wall, along with the
rest of the wood,” Balzeer spat in contempt.

The two men glanced around, wide-eyed. No one had
ever seen this room. It was sometimes mentioned in whispers, spoken of with
dread. If a person were ever unfortunate enough to be in it, he would not be
able to speak of it to anyone else.