The Secret of Fatima (26 page)

Max and Kevin both nodded.

“We can identify the cell tower the calls came from. That should get you pretty close.”

“Could you be more specific?” Max asked.

“Cell phone signals are transmitted from towers on buildings or poles. You've seen a ton of them. I can locate the towers where the calls went. It'll put you in an area of maybe a block or two from where the calls originated.”

“A block or two?” Max asked.

Kevin looked at him. “I'll settle for that, Max,” he said. “Gives us a manageable area to search.”

“Really? Like who and for what?” Max raised his eyebrows.

“I've got an idea, Max. Tell you later.” Kevin looked at Toby. “Do we have a deal?”

Toby extended his hand. “When do I get to meet the good Sister?”

Chapter Thirty-Five

Rome, Italy

Kevin was keenly aware of the pressure of the moment: The time to proceed was now. The three pulled it together faster than a speeding bullet. Max would make arrangements for the trip to Seville, Toby would call Langley right away to fine-tune the cell locations from Spain, and Kevin would take Toby to the infirmary to talk to the nun.

The men left the apartment, heading out on their respective missions. The air was crisp and the whispers and murmurs about the election of a new pope could be heard far and wide, from St. Peter's Square all the way to the far reaches of the Vatican's hilly paths.

Kevin and Toby entered the hospital without a problem. The guard recognized Father Thrall and waved him—and the man with him—in.

Once inside, Kevin picked up on the agitation in MC's room. The air was thick. Police officials jabbered loudly with doctors and nurses, while staffers huddled together sheepishly.

Kevin tapped a nurse who looked familiar. “What's going on here?”

“Oh, Father, you don't know? Your patient, Sister Mary Catherine, is gone.”

“Gone? How's that possible?”

“She walked out. Found her habit and just walked out. As a rule, nuns aren't stopped coming in and out of here.”

“Good God!” Then Kevin realized that he must have MC's cell number stored in his phone. She'd called several times. Scrolling through his contact list, he found her and pressed
CALL
.

Voicemail. “Hello, this is Sister Mary Catherine. Please leave a message at the sound of the beep.”

He left a terse, cryptic message. “MC, it's Kevin. I don't know what you think you're doing, but you'd better stop. Call me back. Now! It's important. Call me!”

Toby looked disheartened. “Now what?”

“I honestly don't know.” Kevin was unsure of his take on MC's actions.
What was she thinking, doing something this stupid?

“Why'd she walk out on you?” asked Toby.

“I don't know,” he said. “Women are always women, even if they're nuns.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning they're inscrutable, unpredictable, and flighty, that's what.” Kevin was exasperated. He'd hoped he could trust MC. Either she was ditzy enough not to get that her life was endangered, or she was playing him.

The men left the hospital and walked to the little-used north end of the Vatican, away from the crowds in the square. They sat down in an unpretentious country café with red-checked paper tablecloths, and ordered sandwiches and beer.

In just moments, the server came with large, frothy mugs of cold beer and
Poplette e Panini
sandwiches. Kevin hadn't realized how hungry he was and wasted no time starting in.

“Stress getting to you, ole buddy?” Toby said, guzzling the beer.

Kevin looked up at him. “I'm up to here,” he said, motioning to his forehead. “We've got a new American pope whom I've long admired. If it turns out he's part of Opus Mundi, I'll be crazy. Plus, I've a solid lead on the missing pages to the secret of Fatima, and I've got a missing nun who may or may not be playing me, whose runaway life is endangered.”

“Mmm, I see,” said Toby, chomping on his sandwich.

“And, thanks to you,” added Kevin, “I got news that Katie, about whom I care deeply, may be unknowingly involved in this big mess.”

“You talkin' about the Stein guy?” Toby asked.

“Yeah. What's worse, Katie loves him.” It hurt to say, but it was the raw naked truth. “And now this shit about their joint client, Maggio.”

“Remember what they used to teach us at the farm?”

“Prioritize.”

“Correct,” Toby said. “Can't solve all your problems at once. So prioritize. What's the most important? Girlfriend? Secret papers? Missing nun? The pope?”

“You're a big help,” Kevin said. But Toby was right. “The pope's out. We won't get to see Porter for some time, given the roster of his new responsibilities. But I'm sure I can get an audience in due course. I don't know what to do about Katie and this guy—at least not yet. And Sister MC has fled. There's nothing to be done. She'll call me.”

They ordered another round of beers.

Kevin had an idea. “Toby, you ever been to Spain?”

Toby smiled. “I know what you're thinking, but I'm not sure I can justify it.”

“I can help. You're concerned about a war in the Middle East. The guys stoking it are guided by what's on the missing pages of the secret of Fatima Secret. That's what I'm after. MC gave me the Seville clue. And with your info, it's narrowed down to a few blocks.”

“What would I do in Spain?”

“This is a rough crowd. As ruthless as any thugs or gangs in the U.S. Monsignor Drotti doesn't have our training, so if it gets rough, he's no help. Might even be a hindrance. There's no double-edged sword with him. He's a priest and only a priest. I need a partner. I need you.”

Toby mulled this over, came to a quick decision. “Alrighteee, then,” he said. “Get me the info. I'll book the flight with my Visa, courtesy of the government.”

“Thanks, Toby. You're a fabulous guy.” Kevin said. He patted his friend on the arm.

Kevin's phone buzzed. A text from Katie.

Kevin, I talked to Jimmy. He knows of nothing bad about Greg Maggio. He's been a good client of his for a while and that's why he recommended me. He's hurt that you're suspicious of him. Also, I can't keep putting off my trip to the Caymans with Maggio. He needs to set up his offshore company and he needs me to do it for him. We plan to leave next Tuesday.

“Just what I need,” Kevin mumbled.

This time his phone rang. The number told him it was MC.
Thank God
.

“Hi, MC. I'm glad to hear from you.”

“I'm sorry, Kevin. I had to leave. I'm really frightened. They're going to kill me, I know—”

“It's OK, MC. Calm down. Let's talk it through. I'm here. I'm on your side,” he said, lowering his voice to maximize the paternalistic affect.

“I believe you, Kevin, but I don't know if anyone can help me now.”

“Where are you?”

“Here in Rome. I'm in a hotel. I used my passport. They don't know my real name. I'm safe for now.”

“I'll come get you. Where are you?”

She didn't answer.

“MC, listen. The only way I can help is—”

“There's somebody at the door!” While lowering her voice to a whisper, she began sobbing.

“Don't answer the door! Where are you?”

“Hotel Saturnia. It's—”

“I know where it is. Listen to me. Do not open the door. Keep the bolt locked. I'll be right over. What's the room number?”

“403. Please hurry. I'm scared.”

He could hear the loud knocking on her door.

“Listen carefully, MC. Talk to them through the door. They'll say they're from room service or try some other reason to be there. Pretend to go along. Tell them you just got out of the shower and need a moment to throw some clothes on.”

“Should I call the front desk?” she asked in a shaky little-girl voice.

“Is there a phone in the bathroom?”

“No.”

“Then don't phone. They might overhear you. Just stall for time. We'll be right over.”

Throwing a handful of euros on the table, Kevin jumped up.

“What's going on?” asked Toby.

“It's MC,” said Kevin. “She's in a nearby hotel. Someone was banging on the door, trying to get in.”

“Shit!”

“C'mon,” said Kevin. “Let's go.”

They went outside and found a cab right away. Kevin gave the driver the address, saying
pronto
, and waving a fifty-euro note in his face. The cabbie nodded. He understood. He was hightailing it.

While the Fiat careened through the busy Roman traffic, Kevin told Toby exactly what'd happened. In less than six minutes, the taxi pulled up in front of the hotel.

The Hotel Saturnia was a three-star hotel, with a fancy awning out front, and a 1950s lobby. This place wasn't retro fifties, it was original fifties.

Kevin and Toby raced to the elevator, pushing in front of an American couple with numerous pieces of mismatched luggage.

On the fourth floor, they looked right and left. Not far down the hallway were two thugs in dark jeans and turtlenecks prying open MC's door. Kevin recognized one of them from when he'd been captured. It was the tall guy with long, dark hair and a craggy face.

“What are the chances these clowns are armed?” Toby whispered.

Seeing them approaching, the “clowns” froze dead in their tracks.

“Low probability,” Kevin replied. “If they're caught with weapons in Italy, they get life.”

One thug whipped a long blade out of a holster tucked into the back of his trouser belt, and pointed it at Kevin and Toby.

“Oh, boy,” Toby said, “do you remember the kid at the Farm who taught us how to disarm a guy with a knife?”

Kevin nodded. “I do. Matt something. Very talented guy.”

“I did pretty well in that class,” Toby said, smugly, obviously pleased with himself.

“I remember that,” Kevin said, raising his voice. “As a matter of fact, so did I.”

The thugs looked at one another, trying to figure out what Kevin and Toby were talking about and, more importantly, what they were intending to do. So far, the long-bladed knife hadn't made a big impression.

“Well, Toby, time to practice our training.” Toby sighed and started a slow strut toward the men at the door. “Hi, fellas, I don't suppose you speak much English but—”

“Stop!” craggy face shouted.

Toby kept walking. Kevin followed at a pace behind, keeping his eye on the second guy who wasn't talking. The first thug raised his arm, pointing the knife straight at Toby.

In a swift, fluid motion, Toby kicked the man's arm and the knife flew from his hand and onto the ground. Toby lunged toward the thug and punched him in the jaw, then jabbed him with a powerful blow to the stomach.

Kevin picked up the fallen knife and turned toward the second thug, who was throwing a punch. Kevin blocked it with his free hand and whacked him on the side of his head with the knife's handle. He screamed, crumbling in agony to the floor.

Kevin handed the knife to Toby, who was standing over the two men lying on the floor.

So far, their scuffling and commotion hadn't attracted notice, but that wouldn't be the case for long.

Kevin pounded on the door. “MC. It's Kevin. Open up.”

“Kevin?”

“Yes, all clear. Open up.”

She opened the door. Kevin stepped inside. She moved to hug him. He blocked her, bracing her arms firmly away from him. Seeing her, Kevin thought, what a loss to mankind that this stylish cupcake wasn't grounded in the secular camp.

MC was dressed in fitted taupe capris with a fifties-style side zipper, and a red striped blouse with a turned-up collar. Her hair was unkempt, falling over her shoulders. If nothing else, she had a sense of style.

“Kev, let's get these goons inside the room,” Toby ordered. He held the knife in front of them, motioning for them to enter MC's hotel room.

“Let us go, Father,” craggy face said to Kevin. “If you don't, you'll regret it.”

“I regret it already.”

Both men limped into the room.

Kevin rifled through the men's pockets. Nothing but a few euros. “No ID. These guys are pros.”

Toby tore the cords off the lamp and the telephone and used them to bind the men's hands behind them and to a bedpost. Toby was exceptionally proficient at knots.

The thugs looked at each other and whispered something.

“Talk to me,” Toby said with authority. “Who sent you?”

The men shrugged.

Toby looked at Kevin. “These knots aren't my best. They'll get out of these in a few minutes,” he said, “but by then we'll be gone.”

“Aren't you going to call the police?” MC asked.

“Not worth it,” Kevin replied. “We've got to get you out of here. Get your stuff.”

MC gathered clothes, toiletries, and an iPad and started stuffing them into her backpack.

The room had an old-fashioned metal room key which came in handy. Toby and MC left the room, and Kevin followed them out, key in hand. “They'll have to scream their way out,” Kevin commented as he double-locked the door.

Outside, they hailed a taxi, and all three crammed into the backseat. Kevin told the cab to take them to da Vinci Airport. Then he smiled, looking at MC. “Sister Mary Catherine, may I introduce an old friend of mine, Toby Beck. He has a few questions for you.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

Rome, Italy

On the drive to the airport, the taxi weaved through Rome traffic at high speed. Motorbikes whizzed by, exacerbating the cacophony of street life in the Eternal City. Kevin stared aimlessly out the window, enjoying the relief of a few moments of mindlessness. The tree-lined streets of shops and flats were interspersed with occasional fields of lonely columns from another age.