Texas Tango: A Flint Rock Novel (17 page)

“Your job is to prevent scandals?” asked Gina.

“Yes.
 
The so called Vatican bank is a private corporation officially titled the Institute for Works of Religion.
 
It is legally independent of the Holy See and of the College of Cardinals.
 
But it handles a lot of money and is the main Catholic Church instrument for charity throughout the world.
 
You may be aware that it has existed only since the
second world war
and it has been at the center of money laundering allegations during the 1980s.
 
More recently—in late 2010—there were new charges of questionable practices.
 
Pope Benedict appointed me only two months ago to facilitate internal communications and give him a heads up if I encounter information that he should know about.”

“Is there a private place where we can talk?” Flint asked.
 

Gina added, “we have information that you need before the meeting tonight at 8:00.”

“My office is a few minute’s walk.”

Father Ron Shannon led a stroll through St. Peter’s Courtyard with Bernini’s Arms flanking both sides.
 
He took them to the massive front doors of St. Peter’s Basilica, the world’s largest Christian church.

“I am always awe struck by the splendor of this space,” Flint observed.
 
Gina and the monsignor each made the sign of the cross as they entered the enormous church.
 
Six minutes later they were seated in Father Ron’s small, high ceilinged office paneled with opulently finished hard woods.
 
An hour and a half later, Flint and Gina had laid out everything they knew about Bahaar.
 
They included the angel trumpet society and Stevenson Karbouski.
 
Monsignor Ron had spoken by phone to Zeta and Harry.
 
Now he pushed his chair back.
 
Flint and Gina stood as well.

“I hope you will forgive my haste,” Father Ron said.
 
“In a little more than three hours, the meeting starts between Mr. Bahaar and the CEO of the bank.
 
I need to make some inquires and confer with my boss, His Holiness.
 
There are two cardinals with whom I need to speak as well.
 
I will call Gina’s cell number when it is time for further communication.”

As she and Flint walked down the steps from the basilica into the courtyard, Gina turned her cell phone back on.
 
She found a text message from Zeta:
 
“Flint’s phone GPS is on the move.”
 
The time stamp on the text was 4:52
P.M.
, Italy time, three minutes before Gina turned her phone back on.

Back at Gina’s house in Naples, Ava watched Murphy and Mary.
 
She had hypnotized each of them for deep relaxation and maximum healing.
 
The antidote had arrived and Ava had injected it into Fred. He had slept for several hours afterwards, but then he woke up from a troubling dream about the new gate guard Gina had hired.
 
He stood at a library window watching the man.

Ava’s mobile phone announced a call from Harry.
 
As Ava listened, Harry said a name—Hilary Romanski, known to Ava as Hilda Ferguson—the patient referred to Ava by a retiring colleague and by Fred.
 
She was the patient who said she couldn’t relax or go into hypnotic trance.
 
“We have discovered a connection between her and Stevenson Karbouski,” Harry reported.
 
As Ava was about to ask Harry for more details, Fred suddenly walked into the living room.

“Ava, hide in the cellar.
 
Take cook with you.”

 
“Wait a second, Harry,” Ava said as she walked to the kitchen.
  
She pointed the cook toward the basement as she picked up a small .32 semi automatic hand gun that Gina had left in case she needed it.
 

Ava closed the basement door behind her.
 
The cook was already behind a wine barrel toward the corner of the main room of the basement.
 
Ava heard a gunshot, hoped it was Fred’s gun.
 
She kneeled beside the cook.
 
They both watched light stream down the stairway as the door opened from the kitchen.
 

A man’s looming form on the stairway started noisily down toward them.
 
The cook gasped, Ava pressed the safety off the way Gina had shown her, pointed the gun and started shooting.
 
She emptied the magazine.
 
The man on the stairway fired once, hitting the cask that Ava and the cook knelt behind.
 
It exploded sending chianti everywhere.
 
The man fell down the stairs, lay still with his face in a large puddle of red wine.
 

Burnt gun powder left acrid smoke hanging in the shafts of light coming down into the basement.
 
The cook sobbed, trembled, prayed out loud.
 
Wine dripped off her face.
 
Ava could feel her own heart beating hard.
 
She knew the person at whom she had fired Gina’s little gun was dead before she verified it by checking for a pulse.

Ava took the cook upstairs, sat her in a kitchen chair, handed her a towel to wipe the wine from her face and hair.
 
Mary and Murphy were still breathing deeply.
 
The shots had not disturbed their hypnotic trances.
 
Fred was seated on the floor, conscious but dazed, his 9 mm Berretta hanging limp in his hand.
 
He had fired once as the new gate guard struck him a hard blow with a police night stick.
 
Fred’s only shot inflicted a mortal wound which caused the guard to collapse while he was descending the stairs.
 
All five of Ava’s rounds missed.
 
In her defense, it was the first time in her life that she had fired a gun.

As Ava helped Freddy to a sofa, she heard someone talking.
 
She looked at her left hand and saw that she still had her phone.
 
Harry was calling Ava by name over and over.
 

“Harry,” Ava finally said.
 
“We had a close call.
 
Gina’s new gate guard is dead.
 
Fred was knocked down and is not entirely coherent but he seems otherwise okay.”

“I’m glad you are still alive, Ava,” Harry said, “but I have some bad news.
 
Gina has been holding out.
 
She has a deposit from Jonathan Temple of half a billion U. S. dollars.
 
Jonathan Temple is from Suriname.
 
He is one of five guys Bahaar has coming to Rome.
 
I need more time to verify what is happening and what it means.
 
Meanwhile, be very careful of Gina.
 
After all, she hired the new guard who tried to kill Fred and you.”

Ava thought.
 
“Can you warn Flint?” she
 
asked.

“He has left his smartphone in a Roman restaurant so Bahaar can’t track him through its GPS.
 
Gina’s phone was off when Zeta tried to call her a few minutes ago.
 
Can you text or call Gina’s cell and ask to talk to Flint?”

“Yes.
 
I won’t mention to Gina what has just now happened here, but I will tell Flint if I can.”
 
She dialed Gina.

As Flint and Gina walked past the Egyptian obelisk in the center of St. Peter’s Courtyard, Gina’s phone announced a call.
 
Ava sounded relaxed as she asked to speak with Flint.
 
She quickly told Flint what Harry had reported.
 

“Ask her if everything is okay,” Gina said into Flint’s free ear as he was listening to Ava.

“Hey, Gina wonders if everything is okay,” Flint said into the phone.

“Tell her that everything is calm.
 
Hope you have a good poker face.”

As he handed her phone back, Flint told Gina, “everything seems to be calm at your house.”

“You know, Flint,” Gina said after a pause.
 
“Something feels wrong.
 
I didn’t even know Bahaar existed.
 
If he has paid off the angle trumpet capo, he may still be ahead of us?”

Flint made a quick decision to use the information Harry had reported about the big deposit into Gina’s account.
 
“Tell me what you think of Jonathan Temple,” he said looking straight at Gina.

She stopped walking.
 
“I don’t know anything except what Zeta sent to your cell phone.
 
He’s a handsome guy.
 
Something about the look in his eyes reminds me a lot of my mother’s youngest brother—sort of a rogue.
 
What makes you ask?”

Flint told her about the half billion dollar transfer from Temple’s account to her.

“Don’t joke with me Flint.
 
I’m too scared.
 
Something bad is about to happen.”

“Can you check your bank balance by going online?” Flint asked her.

“If I have access to a computer.”
 
She thought briefly, then said, “maybe in this nun’s regalia I can get access to one at the Orange Hotel.”

“Let’s try it,” Flint said.
 
“The habit you are wearing changes how you look so much that Bahaar or his people probably won’t recognize you even if they have studied photos of you.”
 
Ten minutes later Gina strolled to the front desk; Flint killed some time by going to the restroom.
 
When he emerged, he found Gina in the coffee shop talking on her mobile phone.
 
He sat at her table.
 
He could see from her eyes that she had found that the money was there.

“I am talking to your friend Zeta,” Gina revealed.
 
Then she resumed her phone conversation.
 
“Because of what Flint says, I trust you.
 
Do what makes sense.
 
Grazie.”
 
She hung up and turned to Flint.
 
“She says she will move it and hide it and make it have no trace in my account.
 
I must have lost my mind to let some Chinese girl I’ve never met know my banking secrets.”

Flint smiled at Gina.
 
“Think about it a second,” he said.
 
“She already knew your biggest banking secret before you learned it.
 
In fact Harry got it from her and gave it to Ava who revealed it to me and I gave it to you.
 
And anyway, the half billion isn’t yours.
 
You are better off not having it than getting killed so it can be used to discredit you.
 
Your favorite philosopher Machiavelli would caution us not to be greedy.”

Gina laughed.
 
“You are right, Flint.
 
My father was Sicilian.
 
He taught us not to trust anyone.”
 
Gina’s laugh suddenly evaporated.
 
“Hey, isn’t that Bahaar and Jonathan Temple at the front desk?”

Flint looked.
 
“Sure is,” he said.
 
“Wait here.
 
I will have a word with them.
 
As soon as I finish and walk outside, follow me.”
 
He stood and walked toward check in.
 
The unflappable Mohammed Bahaar looked surprised.

“Mr. Bahaar, Mr. Temple.
 
A word of caution for tonight’s meeting.
 
Your hosts are making inquiries.
 
Don’t be shocked if they have some pointed questions for the two of you.”
 
Flint walked out of the hotel, waited till Gina joined him.
 
“Let’s catch a fast train to Naples,” he said.
 
“We’ve done what we can here.”

Chapter 15

Jonathan Temple was in the elevator on the way to his room.
 
Mohammed Bahaar stood seething in front of the check-in desk of the Orange Hotel.
 
Bahaar’s voice asked his smart phone to dial Jafe’s number.