Veil - 02 - The Hammer of God (6 page)

Robert parked in St. Paul Catholic Elementary visitor parking lot.

Fifteen minutes later, under the guise of a federal agent, an illegal move Robert only resorted to in dire circumstances, sat in a plain, compact office with a large picture of the Pope on the wall, waiting to question Ms. Salomon, Carla and Paul. The portly, red-faced principal, Father Frank Gakowski, was hesitant initially, but finally agreed after Robert insisted that they not waste time that could save Samuel’s life
.

Eyes closed, Robert took several deep breaths. Samuel, his patented full-face smile floating clear in Robert’s mind, slowly faded away, then dissolved. Robert struggled to regain the image, but the doorknob to the office door clicked, snapping him out of his trance. A slender, strawberry blond woman, with sparkling green eyes entered, with two nervous munchkins hiding behind her. Robert stood and introduced himself, taking note of Ms. Salomon’s soft, well-manicured hands and sweet apple scented perfume.
Yeah, I’m sure Samuel has a crush on you.
The two imps behind her stuck their heads out and stared. Ms. Salomon reached back and gently encouraged them out front.

“Now, this handsome young man must be Paul Chambers,” said Robert, as friendly as he possibly could.

Paul stuck his chubby hands in his pockets and stared at his shoes.

“Yes,” he mumbled, sneaking another glimpse of Robert, then abruptly looking back down.

“And you are?” asked Robert.

“My name is Carla, Carla Bryant,” said the bright-eyed, dark haired little girl Samuel described in his letters as
pushy, but nice
. “I know you,” she continued. “You’re Samuel’s godfather, the bounty hunter.” Robert smiled. “Something like that,” he answered. “Let’s all have a seat.”

Ms. Salomon left to get an extra chair. Carla and Paul plopped down on a small burgundy loveseat that looked as though it had seen its share of parent-teacher conferences, students, and no doubt, more than a few napping teachers. Ms. Salomon returned and they huddled together, Robert’s chair pressed back against the wall.

“Ms. Salomon, I’m here to find out if there’s any information you, Carla or Paul can provide, that will assist us in finding Samuel. It could be anything. A stranger outside the school, a car you noticed, anything,” said Robert.

“This is my first year here at St. Paul,” she said, hurt and strain replacing her smile. “I haven’t noticed anything I would deem out of place or strange. I guess I can give it some thought, but I’m afraid in that area, I won’t be of much help.”

Robert had been hopeful that Ms. Salomon would have something useful to add, but his real targets were now squirming and fidgeting on the couch in front of him. “What about you two? Have you noticed anything or anyone strange around Samuel over the last few weeks?” Both children looked at Ms. Salomon. “It’s okay,” she told them. “If there’s anything you think might help find Samuel, tell Mr. Veil.”

“Do you think Samuel’s okay?” asked Paul sheepish and unsure.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” answered Robert. “There are a lot of people working on getting him back, but we need your help.”

“Have you talked to him?” asked Carla.

“No, I haven’t.”

“Then how do you know he’s okay?”

Robert forced a smile.
Smart girl.
“There are no guarantees, but if we think the best and stay positive, we have a better chance of finding him quickly. And right now, Samuel needs our positive thoughts and prayers.”

Ms. Salomon’s eyes said
I’m impressed
. Carla sat back, arms across her chest, eyes glued to Robert’s, looking less than convinced.

Robert asked again if they’d noticed anything out of the ordinary.

Both kids shook their heads no, but Paul rocked back and forth on the edge of the couch, eyes shifting from Robert to Ms. Salomon and back.

“Is there something you’d like to say, Paul?” Ms. Salomon finally asked. “Don’t be afraid, Mr. Veil is here to help.” Paul looked at Carla, who quickly turned her eyes away. Robert took a slow imperceptible breath, and leaned back.

“I guess Samuel’s pretty close to you guys. He writes to me all the time, and almost always mentions your names,” said Robert.

“We’re best friends,” said Paul, sitting up straight.

“Yes,” added Carla, “we’re the three musketeers.” Robert smiled. “Do musketeers share secrets?”

“Sure,” said Paul. “Musketeers always trust each other.”

“Did Samuel share anything with you that might help us find out where he is, or who took him?”

Paul’s eyes immediately fell to the floor. “He…there…is something.”

“We promised we wouldn’t say anything,” shot Carla. “Samuel made us promise.”

A surge bolted through Robert’s chest. He wanted to grab and shake it out of them. He took another deep breath. “I’m sure he’d want you to tell me,” he said, now leaning forward. “What is it?” Paul and Carla stared at each other.

Ms. Salomon moved to the edge of her seat. “It’s okay. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Carla bit her bottom lip. Tears rolled down Paul’s cheeks. He wiped his shirtsleeve across his face. Carla dropped her head into her hands, crying. “He told us not to tell. We promised,” she whispered.

Ms. Salomon’s forehead wrinkled with confusion. The door to the office sprang opened. Father Gakowski entered with two large security guards behind him, growling scowls on their faces.

“I’ve just gotten off the phone with the Archdiocese, and I’ve alerted the police. Mr. Veil, I’m afraid you’ll have to leave immediately,” demanded Father Gakowski.

Robert jumped to his feet. “But the kids, they know something! We need to find out what they know!”

The two security guards snatched out their batons and stepped forward.

“Ms. Salomon, take Carla and Paul out of the room,” ordered the priest.

The teacher gathered both children, her eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry we couldn’t help you, Mr. Veil,” she said.

“Us too,” said Carla, struggling to look strong.

“Yeah,” added Paul. “We hope you find Samuel okay.” Paul burst into tears and ran out of the room. Carla and Ms. Salomon followed right behind him, tears running down their cheeks too. When the door closed, Father Gakowski moved face-to-face with Robert.

“You lied, Mr. Veil. You’re not with the FBI, or any other agency.

Cardinal Polletto’s people said you were there this morning, and were told all we know.”

“Those children know more,” Robert fumed. “You heard them.”

“I’ll inform the proper authorities,” said Father Gakowski, opening the door. “Gentlemen, walk Mr. Veil to his car.” Robert felt the handle of his nine-millimeter press against his stomach. He relaxed, pushed past the guards, and stormed out of the building. Teeth grinding, he rumbled back down Interstate 94, blind with rage. Five miles down the highway, he abruptly snatched the wheel to the right, swerved off the freeway and skidded to a stop on the side of the road, car horns honking, and middle fingers up in his direction.

Paul and Carla wanted to tell me something. Something Samuel
didn’t want anybody else to know.

Robert considered going to the Feds to get a court order, but knew his hunch wasn’t enough to get a judge to do battle with the Archdiocese, who obviously had something to hide. Besides, Robert was sure Cardinal Polletto, or whoever was pulling the strings, would see to it that neither child would be available for questioning after today. It was a long shot, but he’d run it by Thorne and Detective Reynolds anyway.

The cobalt blue numbers on the dashboard clock beamed 10:00 a.m.

A few more hours and Samuel would be gone for over forty-eight hours.

A near death sentence, unless the kidnappers made contact soon. Robert eased back onto the highway and headed for the Napier’s to have a talk with Donovan, and find out if the kidnappers had sent any word.

Head throbbing, heart pounding, Robert lowered the windows and let cool air blow through.
Hold on Samuel, I’m coming.

C
ardinal Polletto stepped out of his black Cadillac onto busy Superior Avenue, in front of the eight-story building that housed the Archdiocese of Chicago. As expected, he’d been summoned to account for the sudden reassignment of Father Tolbert, and use of the Vatican’s private jet. As Archbishop, it was well within his right to make use of church resources and transfer personnel, but even
he
was required to go through channels.

Cardinal Maximilian, in Chicago on special assignment from the Holy See, to evaluate and audit the diocese, asked if he would come in and explain the urgent need to usurp protocol. Justifying his decisions irritated Cardinal Polletto, unless it came directly from the Vatican.
“I
assure you it did,”
Cardinal Maximilian had told him, smug and self-assured.

Cardinal Polletto strode through the brightly lit lobby, pious, chin high, nodding to visitors, well-wishers and staff, who bowed and greeted him as though he were the Holy Father himself. A ritual he thoroughly enjoyed.

“Good Morning, Your Eminence,” said Father Solomon Fox, Cardinal Maximilian’s assistant, appearing at the cardinal’s side, as though out of thin air.

Cardinal Polletto greeted the stone-faced New Yorker with a broad smile and a pat on the back. “I trust the Lord is treating you well this morning, Father,” he said.

“Indeed he is, sir. Thank you.” Father Fox chiseled an uncomfortable smile on his cold, rocky countenance. “Cardinal Maximilian is waiting for you on the fifth floor. He sent me to ride up with you.” Aggravated, Cardinal Polletto shot the priest a quick glare out the corner of his eye. “How thoughtful, Cardinal Maximilian is always quite the gentleman.”

The elevator door opened on the fifth floor. An instant wave of simultaneous adulation and greeting rang out in chorus. Cardinal Polletto met each salutation with a humble nod and wave.

Father Fox led him to the large conference room and opened the door. Inside, sitting at the head of a long, ebony Gabon conference table with a black Italian marble top was Cardinal James Francis Maximilian.

Cardinal Maximilian, the first African-American to ascend so high in the Roman Catholic Church, stood, draped from head to toe in blood red.

Shoulders back, head held high, he almost seemed to glide over to Cardinal Polletto, hand extended. When Cardinal Polletto took his hand, Cardinal Maximilian bowed his head in a submissive pose, a move Cardinal Polletto knew to be more show than substance.

“Thank you for coming down on such short notice,” said Cardinal Maximilian. “I know your schedule is a hectic one.”

“That it is,” answered Cardinal Polletto, taking a seat. “But one must always understand accountability.”

Cardinal Maximilian smiled. After a few minutes of feigned pleasantries and light gossip, Cardinal Maximilian cleared his throat. “I understand Father Tolbert has been reassigned.”

“Correct. He’s going to intern at the Vatican Archives, a rare opportunity with a short shelf life, as you are aware. Someone was needed immediately, and he was given an immediate clearance at my request.”

Cardinal Maximilian sat unmoved. Cardinal Polletto, prepared for the question, had his operatives at the Vatican Archives and Swiss Guard ready to confirm his cover story.

“Why Father Tolbert?” asked Cardinal Maximilian. “What basis did you use to select him?”

“Father Tolbert has shown intense interest in church history and artifacts over the years. He’s approached me several times, inquiring about a chance to serve there, and has made several applications to do so.

He has an undergraduate degree in Library Science, so I made overtures on his behalf, and praise God an opening finally became available and they called me first.” Cardinal Maximilian stroked his chin. “Certainly, you must agree that such diligence and desire to serve must be rewarded,” added Cardinal Polletto.

Cardinal Maximilian smiled. “Certainly,” he said. “It was just a bit unusual for things to move so quickly without proper notification.”

“My apologies for not calling you in the wee hours of the morning, I assumed it would be more prudent to inform you this morning.”

“Yet morning came, and not a word.”

Cardinal Polletto put his hands together as if to pray. He gave a solemn nod. “Again, my apologies.”

Cardinal Maximilian flipped open a file folder. “More disturbing than Father Tolbert’s sudden departure, is his mode of transportation.

The Vatican jet?”

Cardinal Polletto sat back. “As I’m sure you’re aware, the jet was used to transport a group of wealthy European dignitaries here to the states at the Holy Father’s request. I understand they made quite a healthy contribution to several of the Pontiff’s favorite causes.”

“And that figures into Father Tolbert using it how?” asked Cardinal Maximilian.

Cardinal Polletto smiled. “The plane was pre-scheduled to return to Rome. Why let it go to waste?”

“How convenient.”

“You know our Lord, Cardinal, ever ready to meet our needs.” Cardinal Maximilian continued to turn the pages in the folder. He stopped, picked up a page, then lifted his eyes. “I’m sure you’re aware of the complaints we’ve received about Father Tolbert.”

“Oh, complaints?” asked Cardinal Polletto.

“These are challenging times for the Church,” said Cardinal Maximilian. “The scandals concerning our children and their safety in the hands of Catholic clergy are extremely sensitive. Father Tolbert has been the focus of rumblings for the past year.”

“The molestation of children I take very seriously,” Cardinal Polletto lied. “I too have heard the rumors, and looked into them very carefully.

So far, I’ve found them to be nothing more than dead end gossip.”

“If you’ve made a formal inquiry, why haven’t you filed an official report?”

“Official reports tend to get leaked to the press, draw useless, and might I say unfair accusations to the innocent. I see no need to stir up fodder for an already voracious press, and those who hate the Church.”

“I’m mindful of your stern determination to protect the Church,” said Cardinal Maximilian. “In that, you’re not alone, but we must be careful not to seem eager to hide backsliders and transgressors, especially potential pedophiles. It’s a mistake far too many have made at a devastating price.”