The Secret of Fatima (21 page)

“OK, but first let me go change into a suit for our meeting,” Kevin said as Max pulled into a parking space in one of the Vatican garages.

“Sure.”

In fifteen minutes Kevin was ready to go to Cardinal Porter's office. Both Max and Kevin had to go through the routine protocols for admittance. It went quickly. Soon they found themselves standing before Cardinal Porter.

Cardinal Marini and Cardinal Serrano were seated at a conference table. When Cardinal Serrano saw them, he raised his hand in acknowledgment, but did not smile or speak. Marini fussed with his paperwork, but didn't look up. His face, like Cardinal Porter's, was puffy, with swollen eyes.

“Sit down, gentlemen,” Porter said, motioning to the table where Cardinal Marini sat.

Kevin noticed Cardinal Porter wasn't offering coffee or refreshments. This wasn't a social visit.

Porter went to the door and peeked outside. No one should hear what he was about to say. Satisfied they were alone, he closed the door and went back to the table where the men were sitting. “As you may know, one of Cardinal Marini's portfolios is Vatican security. Cardinal Serrano supervises the papal guards. What I am about to tell you, as you will see for yourselves, is of the highest confidentiality.”

Both Kevin and Max nodded.

“Allow me to get right to the point.” Porter's breathing was heavy. “His Holiness did not die of a heart attack. He was poisoned. It happened during his meeting with staff members.”

What?
Kevin froze. Max's mouth fell open. Neither moved a muscle.

“How?” Kevin asked quietly.

“There was evidence of poison in his cup of tea.”

“Who served the tea?” Kevin asked. Max shook his head in disbelief.

“At the moment, we don't have all the details,” said Serrano. “But we will get to the bottom of this. Please remember, for now, until we know more, it's imperative we keep this quiet. This news is too shocking to release to the public.”

“Of course.” Kevin and Max nodded in unison. They were aware that the rumor mill—inside and outside the Vatican—posited Serrano and Marini as rival candidates for the next pope. Every word they said publicly, as well as internally, would be scrutinized.

Porter looked directly at Kevin. “Father Thrall, you are charged with heading the investigation of the pope's death. Monsignor Drotti will assist you.”

Kevin rose. “Thank you, Your Eminence. We'll do our best.”

“How can I help?” asked Porter.

“The first thing I'll need is a list of the staff members who were with the pope. The next thing is the toxicology report.”

“Of course. We've anticipated this request. I already have them for you.” Porter handed Kevin a folder. “Cardinal Marini is keeping Vatican security out of this for the time being. We simply don't know who to trust.”

Kevin nodded. He was beginning to think no one could be trusted. Except Max.

“When this happened, what was the purpose of the meeting?” Max asked.

“It was routine,” said Cardinal Porter. “An international assemblage of clerics from different orders. About fifteen people in all.”

“I'll do everything I can to get to the bottom of this,” Kevin said, his mouth parched. When he came to Rome, Kevin had no idea how serious or critical to the Church his trip and participation would become.
If this were a baseball game
, he thought,
they'd just switched to serious hardball
.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” said Cardinal Porter. “Now if you'll excuse me, I must prepare for the conclave. The cardinals will soon be arriving from all parts of the world.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Rome, Italy

The next morning for breakfast, Kevin ate a couple of chocolate croissants with French roast coffee. The previous evening he'd spent a long time going over the list of people who were at the last meeting with Pope Quintus II. He had some new theories. Disconcerting ones, at that. As he sipped his coffee, his cell phone rang to
Stairway to Heaven
.

“Hi, Father, it's MC.” The voice was female, young and alive.

“Who?”

“Oh sorry, it's Sister Mary Catherine. Remember, in Portugal I translated for you?”

“Sure,” he said.
The cheerleader nun
. “What can I do for you?”

“Father, I just got a call from Father Salazar, the priest we visited in Fatima. He said he had some additional details he wanted to share with you. Mind if I come over?”

“Um … sure … that's fine. Give me a couple of minutes.”

Sister Mary Catherine chuckled. “I'll be there in a half hour.”

Kevin put another pot of coffee on to brew and scurried about the room, smoothing the comforter on the bed and tidying up. He wasn't used to having female company, even a nun.

MC arrived right on time. Kevin watched her approach his door on the security monitor, which was installed after the kidnapping incident. She was wearing a navy blue blouse, and a short, black skirt that swayed as she walked. Her outfit was complemented by black knee socks. No head covering. With her short, tousled brown hair, she looked more like a schoolgirl than a nun. In fact, the only sign pointing to her religious affiliation was a gold cross around her neck.

“Hi!” she exclaimed as Kevin opened the door.

“Hey, Sister. C'mon in. Want some coffee?”

“I'd love some! Can I help?”

“Nah, already made it.”

Kevin's cell phone buzzed. It was Max. Before answering, he pointed the nun toward the kitchen. “Coffee's in there, Sister. Cups in the cupboard. I've got to take this call, OK?”

“Sure,” she said, smiling again. Was this nun really batting her eyes at him?
Youth
, he decided.
Just her youth. Undoubtedly she was used to men's attentions—even as a nun
.

“I'll be back in a minute.” Kevin went into the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Holding the cell phone to his ear, Kevin listened to Max blather on about nothing in particular. He interrupted him. “Um … Max, if this isn't urgent, I'll call you back.”

“Sure, it can wait,” Max said. “You busy?”

“I have company,” said Kevin. “I'll explain later. But stay close, okay?”

Before joining Sister Mary Catherine in the living room, Kevin grabbed the Glock from the drawer and put it in the back of his pants at the waist.

“So, what's the message from Portugal?” he asked.

“Mmmm, the coffee's soooo good,” she said, holding the cup to her lips.

“I know. My special blend. Glad you like it.”

“Love it, Kev. It's delish. I poured one for you,” MC said in a singsong twitter, pointing to the mug on the table.

Kevin hesitated a moment, seemingly distracted. “Hey, I don't like it too hot. Why don't you have a sip of it for me?” he said.

“Oh, I've got my own. Not too hot.”

“No, I insist,” Kevin persisted.

MC looked rattled. “What do you mean, Kevin?” she inquired with a pout.

With that, Kevin grabbed the pistol from his back pocket and pointed it at Sister Mary Catherine. She reacted slowly, staring at the gun, incredulous.

“What's this, Kevin? You're frightening me,” she said, her voice trembling.

“You see, Sister, I have a list of those who were in the room when Quintus died. He was poisoned. Tea, wasn't it? Coffee would work as well. You were there. Your name was on the list. So, shall we say, I decided, if anyone who'd been in that room visited me, I'd use extreme caution.”

“A man can't be too careful, I suppose,” said MC, struggling to regain her composure.

“Move into the bedroom,” Kevin said, continuing to point the gun at her. Just in case she had friends close by, he wanted her out of view of the living room picture window.

“Of course, that sounds like fun,” said MC, stepping into the bedroom and stopping by the bed. She was taking this whole thing lightly, as if it were some kind of joke.

Kevin closed the door behind them. “I saw you pouring something in my coffee. It's your turn to talk,” he said.

Mary Catherine set her coffee cup down on the nightstand, looked around the room, then back at Kevin. “You know, you're an attractive man, Kevin,” she said. “The poison in your coffee wasn't personal. We can be on the same side. We don't have to be enemies here.” She removed her sweater and started unbuttoning her blouse.

“What're you doing?”

“Oh, it's mighty hot in here.” MC fanned herself, then removed the blouse and started unbuttoning her skirt. Carefully she stepped out of it, never taking her eyes off Kevin.

“Look! I don't know what you think you're doing, but—”

“Oh, Kevin … gorgeous Kevin … don't be a fuddy-duddy.”

She stood before him in nothing but her French bra and matching barely-there thong.

Holy hell! Why didn't this ever happen before I became a priest?
Kevin wanted to smile, but quickly repressed it.

“Enough!” Kevin ordered, the gun shaking in his hand.

“Don't judge me, Kevin. You know you want to play. You're good looking, you have needs, and mmm …” MC said, “let's see, you remember who first saw the resurrected Jesus, right? Of course you do! It was Mary Magdalene. And she was a Really. Bad. Girl, Kevin.”

She started moving closer to Kevin.

“Please don't go any further, MC. This is hard enough.” Clearly his resolve was weakening, but the gun was still on her.

“Oh, I know it's hard!Are you going to shoot me, Kevin?” she asked playfully. “Will it hurt?” MC reached back and unfastened her bra. She removed it, revealing full, round breasts. She slid off her thong. “What's crossing your mind right now, Kevin?” MC moved playfully closer to him.

“Back in high school, I had fantasies about moments like this,” Kevin said.

“Well, well …” MC smiled and opened her arms wide, revealing the full shape of her naked body. “Come and get it.”

Good God!
Kevin was helpless. He couldn't physically prevent her from undressing and still keep control of the pistol.
Then again, did he really want to stop her?
He couldn't help but admire her body, her full breasts. Everything was desirable about this young woman.
Oh God, his body wanted her!It was on fire, screaming for her
. His blood pressure was rising, his breath quickening.

“I want you, Kevin,” she whispered, moving closer. “Come here … please.”

Maybe just this time …

“Aroused, Kevin?” Moving closer to him, she reached over to stroke him. The gun in his hand slipped, nearly dropping. “Let me help you with that.”

With a young naked woman in front of him, offering her body, Kevin had only seconds to decide.
Hell, he was a man, after all. But God sends tests to measure faith. And He asks: Who are you? A common man or a man of God?

Just before throwing her on the bed and taking her, reality came screeching.

As if lightning was striking, he moved back abruptly and yelled, “Good God, woman! You assassinated a pope! And now you tried to kill me. And you're wanting to fuck me?”

“Well … no … yes … I mean … I didn't kill him, Kevin. I could never have done that. I didn't even know it was going to happen. Someone else poisoned him. But yes, I was there.”

“But killing me is okay because I'm a low-ranking priest?”

“I didn't want to kill you, but like you, I'm a soldier. I follow orders. But I don't want to kill you. You can join me. We don't ever have to mention it again. We can make love, forget all about the poison.”

“Have you lost your mind?” Kevin shook his head. “Has Opus Mundi totally brainwashed you? Now, put your goddamn clothes back on. You disgust me.”

“Oh, Kev … c'mon. You know you want me.”

“No, I don't. You're delusional. Now, get your clothes on. I mean it.” He pointed his gun at her.

Sighing, MC put on her clothes. She said, “I believe in Opus Mundi and its leaders. You just don't know enough about us. We're on the angels' side of the Church. The devil has infiltrated the Vatican. Our mission is to stop him.”

“You're out of your mind,” Kevin said. He kept the pistol pointed at her while he made a call.

“Who are you calling?” she asked, buttoning up her blouse.

“Security. They'll take you away; you'll likely spend the rest of your life behind bars.”

“I'm leaving now,” she said, as she fastened the last button on her blouse.

Kevin held his arm out and motioned her to stop. “You're not going anywhere. I'll shoot if I have to.”

“Oh, I believe you, Kevin,” she said as she headed to the living room. She turned her head back and added, “I know your violent history.”

Kevin yelled, “Stop right there.”

She turned around and smiled at him again.

“Tell me about Opus Mundi,” Kevin asked. “Who runs it? What's in the secret of Fatima? What's in it that Opus Mundi's so frightened of?”

“Oh, Kevin. Silly boy. Join me—join Opus Mundi!”

“Look, tell me. I'll get your sentence lightened. Otherwise, you're gonna have a lot of time in prison to think about it.”

The distant sound of sirens whistled in the background. MC approached the table and reached for the cup of coffee she'd poured for Kevin.

“Your coffee was really good,” she said. “Time for a refill.”

“Don't!” he shouted. He lurched forward to grab the cup from her hand, but he was too late. In two quick gulps, she swallowed the coffee.

“It's really better this way, Kevin,” she whispered.

Sister Mary Catherine's face was contorting and foam was bubbling from her mouth. She collapsed in a chair, her body jerking in spasms.

Dropping the pistol, Kevin grabbed her by the shoulders. “Don't die on me! Do you hear me? Don't you dare die on me!”