The Secret of Fatima (33 page)

“I'm going to be blunt, Francesco,” said Toby. “You are in a CIA safe house. Don't let the plush surroundings fool you. This serves two purposes: to protect some people and to get information from others.”

“You are in the latter category,” Kevin said, leaning forward, inches from Francesco's face.

Francesco smiled again. “Of course,” he said.

“Tell me what you know about Opus Mundi's mission to the United States,” said Kevin.

“Well,” he began. “First, let me say, I was recruited under duress. I don't agree with their methods, which have become very, shall we say, harsh and unacceptable.”

“Go on,” said Kevin.

“I overheard conversations about a mission to Washington, D.C. Carlos Alameda is going, which leads me to believe it's important. This Alameda—we also call him Columbo—indicated they plan to talk to a woman named Kate O'Connell.”

“Why?” Kevin demanded.

“I don't know.”

“Hey, not acceptable,” Kevin said. “Look, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Are you with me?” Kevin rose and stood behind Francesco. Without warning, he locked his arm around Francesco's neck and began strangling him.

The young priest was shocked. He gasped for air and struggled to loosen Kevin's grip, but Kevin was too strong.

“Answer the question,” Kevin said, keeping his grip tight.

“Wait a minute,” Toby said. “Give him a chance to talk.”
Toby playing Mr. Nice Guy
.

Kevin released the priest and sat down facing him. “Next time I have to get up, we're going downstairs to the basement,” Kevin said. “You won't like it down there.” Kevin didn't know if the townhouse had a basement or not, but he was assuming Francesco didn't, either.

Toby shot a look at Kevin which both men understood. This guy wasn't going to take a chance on ruining his pretty looks. In no time, he'd be singing like a canary.

“If I talk, will you protect me?” Francesco asked. He seemed afraid, and eager to cooperate.

“We'll get the Italian authorities to protect you,” Toby said. “But only if you tell us everything you know. If you don't, we'll let you walk out of here, but we'll make sure the whole town knows you talked to us.”

Francesco shuddered.

“Tell me about the mission to Washington,” Kevin said, calmly.

Francesco took a deep breath. “It's about the secret, the unrevealed secret of Fatima. I don't know what it says, but Alameda does. Whatever is in the secret is the reason Alameda is going to Washington.”

“What about Katie O'Connell? How does she fit in? Is he using her to get at me?” Kevin shouted.

“I do not know, sir. Honestly, this I don't know.”

Kevin jumped up from his chair, kicked it over, and reached across the table for Francesco.

“Is he using her to get to me?”

Toby stood up. “Easy, Kevin. This guy doesn't know.”

Kevin relaxed his grip, and let the priest slide back into his seat.

Francesco begged to be released. “Please let me go! I know nothing else!”

Toby and Kevin went to the corner of the room to discuss what to do with Francesco. Finally, they came to a decision. “You can go, Francesco,” said Toby. “But, don't say a word to anyone about this meeting, or this location.”

“I swear,
signori!
”

“Get out of here before we change our minds,” said Kevin.

“Please … are you going to tell them what I told you? If you do, they'll kill me.”

“We won't tell anyone. At least, not unless we hear you talked.
Capice?
”

Nodding, Francesco bolted for the door.

Chapter Forty-Five

Rome, Italy

That afternoon, Max Drotti went home, and Toby accompanied Kevin to his quarters in the Vatican. For the time being, MC would stay at the CIA safe house. It was the safest place for her. She had cried when Kevin let Francesco go, and thanked him profusely by wrapping her arms around him. “Kevin, if you need anything—and I mean anything, please ask me. I'll do anything for you.”

He knew what she meant as she rubbed her body against his. Once again, she'd conveniently forgotten his priestly calling.

Toby watched them, shaking his head. He couldn't believe this nun was throwing herself at Kevin. Honestly! Kevin—even as a priest—got more action than he did. It didn't seem fair.

Kevin found everything at his apartment the way he'd left it. “I'm really thankful for the security system here,” he told Toby.

“It's probably one of the best,” Toby said.

Toby dropped his bag in the living room. Kevin made coffee.

“I'm going back to D.C. tomorrow,” Toby said while making himself comfortable on the couch. “Time for me to head home. Have you thought any more about the secret?”

Kevin had stored the pouch in his leather briefcase. He hadn't let it out of his sight. “I'll let you know in the morning, Toby.”

“My plane's at two p.m.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes, OK.” Kevin nodded. “May I ask another favor?”

“Sure.”

“Would you run a deeper check on Jimmy Stein? I need to know why he's digging up dirt on me and if his recommendation of Maggio to Katie was innocent or because he knew something more. Could he be with Opus Mundi?”

“If he is, there's going to be a clue, something pointing to it, either through communications, travel, or money. I'm pretty sure, if he's working with them, we'll find something that tips us off. Might take time.”

“Thanks, Toby.” Kevin said.

Kevin and Toby turned on CNN to catch up on the latest news.

Since assuming his role as successor to St. Peter and leader of the Roman Catholic Church, Pope Linus II had become a world celebrity. Kevin was proud to call him a friend, but knew his rising star would make access and communication hard. And he had to see him.

It wasn't enough that Porter had become the first American pope—remarkable in itself—but in his brief reign, he'd negotiated a peace between Israel and Iran, thus distinguishing himself as the first in history to do so. He'd become a world-class diplomat. However, the media was now referring to it not as “peace” but as a “Mexican standoff.” It didn't matter. Either way, Porter had accomplished a major feat, which others before him hadn't been able to do for several decades.

And the accolades were newsworthy. For his exemplary conduct during an assassination attempt on his life, the United States Army made His Holiness an honorary Green Beret Ranger. The commandant of West Point was making plans to travel to Rome with a sizeable delegation to present the award. The Italian press speculated whether the pope would actually don the Green Beret during the ceremony. Officials at the Vatican made plans to ensure that he did not.

While Toby watched the news, Kevin made phone calls. He was as surprised as anyone when his request for an audience with the pope was granted immediately. His Holiness would see Kevin at six p.m.

Kevin showered, shaved, and donned his finest black suit and white collar. Looking at himself in the mirror, he thought he detected more gray in his hair. Given the stress of the last few weeks, he was neither surprised nor bothered. Vanity wasn't one of his vices. Still, he liked his face. It had the ruddy charm of an almost middle-aged American man.

Where the pope resided, the Apostolic Palace, the security was as tight as in the White House. A uniformed security man requested the leather portfolio in Kevin's possession. Kevin wouldn't let it out of his possession for anyone, and told that to the guard. Sensing a confrontation brewing, a papal aide motioned to the guard to stand fast. Clutching the leather folio under his arm, Kevin followed the aide up the stairs to the pope's quarters.

Porter, being American, had minimized some of the traditional ceremonial pomp and circumstance, the daily rituals accompanying the pope's presentation. For example, there was no chamberlain with a commanding stick banging the floor to announce His Holiness. No lines of visiting clerics kneeling to kiss the pontiff's ring. There were now mostly informal meetings in house dress with the Vatican higher officials.

Instead, Kevin was escorted directly into the room and invited to sit on an embroidered armchair in the papal library. Once again, Kevin found himself admiring the bound volumes nestled in floor-to-ceiling bookcases around the room. The expansive windows offered a spectacular view of St. Peter's Square below and of the basilica to the right. As always, a crowd was waiting to enter the church.

Kevin had been seated for only a minute when the pontiff entered the room by himself, dressed in papal white. As usual, he wore the white zucchetto on his head.

“Hello, Kevin.” The pontiff smiled, holding out his hand.

Kevin jumped to his feet, took the pope's hand and kissed his ring.

“Thank you for seeing me, Holiness,” Kevin said. He knew the man well enough to know he couldn't be fully adjusted to the papacy yet, his papacy.

“Always good to see an old friend, Kevin. Let's sit over here.” They sat facing each other in two plumped, down-filled armchairs. “It's amazing the new friends I've made since becoming pope,” Porter added. “Have you found what you were looking for?”

“I did, Holiness, with the help of a few friends.” Kevin unzipped his leather case and retrieved the velvet pouch. He handed it to Porter, making sure he could see the unbroken wax seal.

His Holiness took the pouch from Kevin and heaved a weary sigh. “I can feel the weight of this already,” he said, “and I suspect you do too, Kevin.”

Kevin nodded.

“Shall we see what's inside?”

Kevin was surprised, but pleased. He couldn't help but notice that his friend had aged in the few weeks since taking office. His role as the spiritual leader for more than a billion people was not for the faint-hearted.

“Considering what happened to some of your predecessors who read it, aren't you a bit unsettled?” Kevin asked.

The pope laughed. “Given that somebody was trying to shoot me the other day, I doubt the musings of some young lady about the goings on in 1917 will do me in.” He pressed a buzzer on the table beside him and a young man appeared and bowed. After addressing the man in Italian, the pope broke the seal on the velvet pouch. He withdrew two faded pieces of paper. Kevin glanced at the handwriting on the pages. He recognized it as Lucia's, the same as the other four pages.

The pope began to read. After a few seconds, he stopped and handed the pages to the young man, who bowed again and took a seat at a small desk in a corner of the room. He opened a small laptop and went to work.

“He's a translator, Kevin,” the pope said. “My Portuguese isn't good enough to make it out. He is reliable and discreet. This should only take a few minutes.”

Kevin noted to himself that as reliable as the translator might be, His Holiness had insisted he perform his work in his presence.

The two sat quietly while they waited. An attendant in a white coat brought coffee and pastries. In the silence of the moment, as old friends, they were at ease, sipping coffee and sampling the croissants.

Closing his eyes, Kevin wondered if he should share with His Holiness that Opus Mundi was targeting his friend, Katie O'Connell. He could decide after the pope had read the secret. He prayed the pontiff would share it with him.

A few minutes later, the young man rose from the desk, bowed, and handed the pontiff a handwritten piece of paper and the two original, yellowing pages from which he'd translated.

Taking the handwritten page from the man, the pope dismissed him. Then he looked at Kevin, his eyes wide. “Here goes,” he said.

Kevin watched Porter's eyes. While he read, the pope clearly was making an effort to remain composed, but his eyes betrayed him before he spoke. “Good Lord,” he muttered.

As the pontiff finished with the page, he held it in his hand and looked up at the ceiling. He didn't speak. Then, composing himself, he turned to Kevin.

“Takes your breath away,” he said soberly.

Kevin debated whether or not to ask the pope. Instead, he remained silent, hoping the pontiff would confide in him. Something—anything.

The pope handed Kevin the single sheet of paper. “Read this. Keep it to yourself,” he said. “You deserve to know.”

Kevin began reading. When he'd finished, he read it again, making sure he'd fully grasped what it'd said. He broke out in a cold sweat. Could this be? He thought about the message Ivan had given him in Medjugorje, from one of the visionaries to whom the Virgin had appeared. Follow the path of your destiny. At the time, it seemed silly, but now much less so.

He handed the page back to the pontiff.

“Holiness, this is startling. Mary talks of a dramatic event that'll occur in one hundred years. From then. That time is now.”

The pope nodded. “Fatima was in 1917. That's just about one hundred years ago.”

“Yes, Holiness, and there seems to be a pattern here. The visionaries in Medjugorje said Our Lady spoke of Fatima in her appearances to them, which wasn't so long ago.”

“There is likely a connection here. I wish I knew what it was.” The pope was folding and unfolding his hands.

“I have some ideas, Holiness, but I won't speculate until I'm more certain,” Kevin said.

“I understand, Kev. My concern is Opus Mundi. What do they plan to do with the information revealed in the secret?”

“Opus Mundi will certainly play a role. Do you know their leader?”

“Based on new evidence, I have suspicions,” he said.

“May I remind you, Holiness, that you brought me here to take care of Opus Mundi. I can't be effective with one hand tied behind my back.”

“I understand, Kevin. Truly, I do. But I won't mention names just yet.”

And then Kevin got it. He smiled. “That's not necessary, Holiness. I am reading your mind.”