The Secret of Fatima (19 page)

“Are you in Sarajevo?” Max asked.

“Yes, just finished dinner with Katie.”

“Your voice sounds terrible. What's wrong?”

“Nothing and everything. Let's not get into it. What's new there?”

“A lot. I suggest you go to your room and turn on the news. Pope Quintus II is dead.”

“My God! What happened?” The image of the robust pope flashed before his eyes. Inconceivable the man had died.

“A heart attack.”

“Good God!”

“Kevin, when're you coming back?”

“Katie is picking up the baby tomorrow morning. We'll have a baptism ceremony, then I'll rent a car to go to Medjugorje to see your friend. Depending on how long I stay there, I should be back in Rome Wednesday or at the latest, Thursday.”

“Come back Wednesday. Cardinal Porter will see you at three p.m.”

As Max hung up, Kevin stood staring at his phone. This couldn't be—
the pope. Dead?

Chapter Twenty-Four

Sarajevo, Bosnia

Kevin hardly slept that night, tossing and turning. His mind went from thoughts of Katie to news from CNN and the constant news coverage of the tragic death of the pope. His first thought was that Opus Mundi had been behind it, but official reports all spoke of a heart attack. Given the tremendous pressure the pope had been under, which Kevin knew more than almost anyone, a heart attack was within the realm of possibilities. Now he was regretting his promise to Katie to baptize her child. His mission was getting more complicated and dangerous. There was little room to veer from his mission for any personal distractions whatsoever.

He was counting the minutes of agitated sleeplessness (unicorns, sheep, cows, goats, the steps of the cathedral, the steps to heaven) until the sun was rising and it was time to get up. He would get through this somehow, but his mind kept drifting back to Katie. Being with Katie was one thing, but he dreaded the thought of meeting the man who'd replaced him.

Slowly putting on his cassock, the alb and cincture, and the green chasuble, he looked in the mirror. “FATHER Kevin Thrall, Father Kevin, Father Kevin Thrall.”

If only he could convince himself. Besides his personal neuroses, he had a mission to accomplish in Rome which was getting complicated. The death of a pope brought everything in the Vatican to a standstill. But Kevin couldn't stand still.

Meeting in the lobby, “Good morning, Father,” Katie said. She was beaming. Next to her, Jimmy was grinning, like the cat who'd swallowed a canary.

“Kevin, I'd like you to meet Jimmy Stein.” She turned to the new Mr. Katie and Kevin took a quick take, extending his hand.

He wore a gray business suit, white shirt, and a bowtie with white pin dots. Jimmy was tall and slim. The bowtie, ridiculously goofy.

“Pleased to meet you,” Kevin said.

“Likewise, Father,” Jimmy said. “I've heard a lot about you.”

“Call me Kevin, please, Jimmy.”

“Sure.” Jimmy seemed monstrously full of himself.

“I've got a car and driver outside waiting to take us to the orphanage,” Katie said. “It's twenty minutes outside of town.”

“Well, let's go,” Kevin said. “I'm eager to meet your new baby.”

They left the hotel and climbed into the black sedan. Kevin sat in the front seat with the driver. Katie and Jimmy sat in the back. As they pulled away, the driver put on some classical music. They sat together in silence looking out the window at the lush and verdant landscape of rivers, farmlands, and hills.

“A beautiful day for a baptism,” Katie commented. No one responded.

Entering the driveway to the orphanage, a young Sister ran out to open an iron gate. The driver stopped in a shaded parking area. His passengers got out and walked the gravel path to the wooden double door where an elderly nun, no doubt Mother Superior, was awaiting them. The main building was a huge stone structure with small framed windows. Nearby, a steepled roof topped the orphanage's chapel.

“Welcome, Father, and welcome Mr. Stein, Miss O'Connell,” the Mother Superior said warmly. “I am Mother Rosa in charge of this orphanage.” She had a Slavic accent and wore a dated nun's habit with a white headpiece covering her gray hair. Through it, her face was rosy and reassuring.

Without waiting for handshakes, Mother Rosa said, “Come inside.”

They entered a long vestibule and followed the nun into a parlor furnished in well preserved, turn of the century, rustic furniture. Small tables were covered with hand-embroidered white lace doilies.

“Please have a seat.” Mother Rosa gestured toward some worn chairs and a sofa. “Knowing you must be impatient to see your son, we'll complete the paperwork formalities after the ceremony. Before I introduce you to him, may I know the name you have chosen?”

“William Kevin O'Connell,” Katie said.

Kevin's heart skipped a beat. He looked pointedly at Katie, aghast.

“William was my father's name and the Kevin in the name is for Father Thrall here, a longtime family friend,” Katie said.

“Well then, let us proceed.” Mother Rosa approached a side door to the parlor and opened it. A young woman entered, cradling a tiny infant swaddled in white. A middle-aged man in a suit, with a stethoscope hanging from his neck, followed behind her.

“Father Thrall, Mr. Stein, Miss O'Connell, may I introduce you to William Kevin and his natural mother, Gileesa?” Mother Rosa turned to the man with the stethoscope. “And this is Doctor Florian Janiusz. Under our laws, the doctor must give a health report on the newborn to the adopting mother.”

Dr. Janiusz nodded and smiled.

Gileesa, the child's mother, smiled at them. She wore a floor-length sky-blue peasant skirt. Her head was covered with a white scarf. Without a word, she handed the infant to Katie. Kevin watched Katie closely. If eyes could convey love, he saw it in hers. The infant's eyes were open and alert, his little hands closed in two tiny fists.

Kevin leaned over and smiled.

“Hello, William Kevin,” Katie said as a tear ran down her cheek.

Dr. Janiusz approached Katie and patted the baby's head. “I have performed the examination. He is healthy,” he said. His voice was stern and deep, his accent pronounced, although he had a good command of English. “Breathing, blood pressure, hearing, and sight all normal,” he added. The doctor unwrapped the baby, pointed to his legs. “He has a case of
talipes equinovarus
, which in English means congenital clubfoot. His right leg turns in. When he's older, this can be corrected.”

Katie's face went pale.

“That isn't serious, Katie,” Kevin said.

“I … I … understand,” she said slowly. “And he's otherwise healthy, doctor?”

Dr. Janiusz smiled for the first time. “Yes, he's is a healthy infant boy.”

Katie covered the child and held him tighter. Kevin touched the baby's forehead and the child's mouth contorted into what seemed like a smile.

Gileesa stood by saying nothing, her expression blank. Kevin noticed that she had light brown hair and a beautiful oval face with refined features. Her wide almond-brown eyes were her most pronounced and unusual feature.

“Does she speak English?” Kevin asked.

“No,” Mother Rosa replied. “She is a farm girl. Only eighteen.”

Kevin offered his hand and she kissed it out of respect. Kevin blessed her and she bowed her head. When the blessing was over she said, “
Shukran
.”

“What did you say?” Kevin asked, startled.

The young girl looked surprised.

“What did she just say to me?” Kevin asked, upset.
Had she just thanked him in Arabic?

Mother Rosa spoke to the girl in Bosnian, and she answered.

“She said
hvala
,” Mother Rosa answered. “It means thank you in Bosnian. Was there anything wrong?”

“No, no. I'm sorry. I must have misheard her. My apologies.”

Yet Kevin was sure he hadn't. He'd heard the word
shukran
, which was “thank you” in Arabic. The last person to say the word to him was the young girl who had just been raped.
Of course, it couldn't be the same girl
, Kevin realized,
for she would be much older now
. Perhaps he'd imagined it.

Entering the chapel, they approached the baptismal font. Another priest, Father Ducek, introduced himself as the priest of the orphanage. “May I assist you, Father?” he asked.

“Of course,” Kevin replied.

Katie undressed William Kevin and put on his baptismal clothes, a white lace gown she'd purchased in Washington. When she'd finished, Kevin proceeded with the baptism ceremony.

Jimmy stood next to Katie, whose eyes were riveted on the little boy. Kevin was amazed at her instant fluency with the cooing mumbo jumbo of baby talk.
Something natural to new mothers
, he thought.

When the moment came to lower the infant into the baptismal font, little William Kevin cried briefly, then stopped as Kevin lifted him up and handed him back to Katie. Father Ducek said a prayer in Latin and looked on. Kevin wished he could share her happiness, but knew it wasn't appropriate. He didn't want his unresolved romantic feelings to muddy the joy of a baptism and a new adherent to Christ.

When it was time to leave, Katie embraced Gileesa and told her she would stay in touch. When her son departed, Gileesa showed little emotion. Everyone knew how painful the separation must have been for her. But she was strong and brave. Probably she consoled herself with the hope for a better life for her baby.

But Kevin noticed her eyes betraying the pain she was feeling. When she bid good-bye to him, once again she fell to her knees and kissed his hand. He looked into her eyes for the last time. Her eyes lingered in his, and he saw her pain.

In the car on the ride back to Sarajevo, Katie was cooing to her little boy.

Jimmy, seated by Katie and the baby, said to Kevin, who was in the front seat, “I just want you to know, I love Katie very much, and I'll take good care of her.”

Kevin nodded. “Thank you. I know you will,” he said. He had no more to say.

At the hotel, they parted. For Kevin, this awkward moment couldn't have ended soon enough. He hugged Katie. They said their good-byes.

“Thanks again, Kevin. I won't ever forget.”

“I won't, either,” he said.

“And thanks from me, too,” Jimmy said. “This meant a lot to Katie, so it meant a lot to me, too.”

Kevin rode the elevator up by himself, up to his room to change. He didn't want to indulge his troubled heart. The little boy had made a lasting impression on him, knowing indifferent times in a different life, this little creature might have been his, and he might have been a husband, dad, lover, to Katie. This was a love that wouldn't let go.

But in life, irrevocable choices have to be made, and he'd made this one, for better or worse. Now was the time to prepare for the next challenge, a test of wills and strength against an unseen foe, and a secret which might change the course of the Church. Adrenaline was rushing. It was the thrill, the rush of the chase. It was about winning and losing. Combat time.

We've been expecting you, Mr. Bond.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Medjugorje, Herzegovina Region

Kevin had promised Max he'd go to Medjugorje. With the pope dead, he also wanted to get back to Rome as soon as possible. But Medjugorje was nearby and there'd been reports of Virgin apparitions there for decades. Maybe he'd find a key to the mystery of the secret of Fatima. Kevin decided to do it, to make it a fast trip and head back to Rome.

The car Kevin rented for the trip to Medjugorje was a lemon—rickety, with a stick shift. Kevin ground through the gears.

On Max's suggestion, Kevin stopped in the village of Mostar to find a place for the night. Pulling into the Motel Sehrer, in the center of the old town, Medjugorje still was another twenty-five kilometers away.

The motel room was modest, with a bed, a desk, and a chair, also featuring a panoramic view of the parking lot. Propped on the single, creaky bed, Kevin phoned Ivan Koncik, Max's friend who was meeting him in Medjugorje.

“Yes, yes, Father,” Koncik answered cheerfully. “Massimo informed me of your visit and I'll help in any way.” Koncik spoke good English, with a thick Slavic accent.

“Many thanks, Mr. Koncik. However, my trip has been cut short, so I only have this afternoon and tomorrow morning. May I see you today?”

“Yes, of course. Please accept my deepest sympathy on the loss of His Holiness. What a tragedy.”

“Thank you.”

Kevin bought a panino sandwich with crusty country bread, salame, mortadella, tomatoes, and lettuce from the motel restaurant and, while driving to Medjugorje, ate in the car. Medjugorje is located in the Herzegovina region of western Bosnia and Herzegovina, close to the border of Croatia. By this time, Kevin had read the material carefully from Max. But it was puzzling, almost a riddle. The Virgin Mary had given the six visionaries ten secrets. Some of the secrets were personal to the visionaries; others were universal, and would impact the entire world. One secret foretold a sign over a mountain near Medjugorje, now dubbed “Apparition Mountain.”

Mirjana was the visionary whom Our Lady assigned to divulge the secrets. No specific date was given, but Our Lady had said the secrets would be known during Mirjana's lifetime. As hearsay would have it, Mirjana also had received from Our Lady a tangible physical parchment with the ten secrets written on it, along with the precise dates each event would occur.

Kevin's interest was in one particular secret—the one linked to the secret of Fatima. In this case, it'd give him the missing pieces of the Fatima secret.
But how likely was it that the visionary would reveal the secrets to him?

Koncik had suggested they meet at the Church of St. James, nestled in the heart of Medjugorje. Once Kevin entered the village, he had no trouble finding St. James, which he'd seen in the guidebook. It was built in a neo-Gothic 1960s modern style, with soaring twin towers identical in every detail, including the clocks on each tower.