Reginald Cook - The Hammer of God

“Close your eyes American cowboy,” he said.

Samuel relaxed, resigned to his fate. Tears swelled from under his eyelids and he cried like a newborn. Suddenly, the weight lifted off of him, and he heard the sound of a grainy Italian voice, screaming and yelling in Italian. Barely able to move, Samuel peered down the alley and saw all of the boys running in the other direction. Samuel rested his head back on the asphalt. When he looked up, he saw the face of a large man with a scraggly salt and pepper beard and a long ponytail.

“Get up, my friend,” said the man, reaching down and lifting Samuel with little effort. “What are you doing here this time of night?” Samuel, exhausted and confused, could barely speak.

“I’m…trying…to…get home,” he finally stammered, exasperated. “I need…to get to…the American…Em…bassy.” He bent over. His head and the alley swirled all around, and then his legs gave away. The giant caught Samuel and lifted him up like a new bride.

“No, no, my friend, Luciano will take you home where you can rest.

We’ll deal with your problems tomorrow.” Samuel wanted to protest, but didn’t have the strength. Luciano’s kind eyes told him he was in good hands for the moment, so Samuel let his body go limp, and collapsed into a deep sleep.

C ardinal Polletto sat behind his immaculate glass-top desk, phone glued to his ear, sipping a Brazilian espresso. He’d just finished thanking Bishop Niccolo at the Vatican Archives for overriding Cardinal Maximilian’s request that Father Tolbert be brought back to Chicago for questioning. The bishop told Cardinal Maximilian that he didn’t have a ready replacement, and that he was already shorthanded. The cardinal didn’t put up much fuss. Maintaining the precious heirlooms and artifacts in the archives was a priority at the Holy See, so Cardinal Maximilian agreed to conduct any needed interviews over the phone via conference calls.

However, as Cardinal Polletto listened to the bad news being reported to him by Sister Bravo, the temporary victory evaporated, and the knot in his stomach cramped.

“How? When?” asked Cardinal Polletto, his voice stern and angry, fist wrapped tight around the secure satellite phone.

“We’ve been looking for over an hour,” answered Sister Bravo, cool and steady. “He jumped out of a parked car and ran into a crowd, but we’ll find him. I have a team on it.”

“How many?”

“Sin, Murphy, and two others. They’re scouring the streets in plainclothes, around the clock. ”

“It’s not enough. Put everybody on the streets. Make it an all out effort. I want him found quickly.”

Sister Bravo cleared her throat. “We should keep the effort small, but deliberate. I want him found too, and I take full responsibility for losing him in the first place, but we don’t want to attract unwanted attention.”

“If he’s not found quickly, and the Americans get hold of him, what kind of attention do you think that will attract?”

“I understand, Cardinal. I was just thinking that he’s in Rome, and knows no one. We have the advantage.”

“Sooner or later somebody will point him to, or take him to the American Embassy. So I don’t think our advantage will last very long.” Sister Bravo fell silent. After a few seconds, she cleared her throat again. “You’re right. I’ll add a few more bodies on the street, but I still think a full scale effort is too dangerous.” Cardinal Polletto leaned back and rubbed his eyes. “Very well,” he finally said. “But remember, Rome can be dangerous, even for those who know the streets. If something should happen to Samuel, we’ll pay the price.”

“Forgive me, Cardinal, but if Samuel Napier is who you say he his, nothing will happen to him.”

Cardinal Polletto smiled. True, very true. “You’re correct, Sister, but that won’t stop him from falling into the wrong hands. Contact Captain Merced at the Vatican Secret Service, and have him put two men loyal to us on it quietly.”

“Very well, Cardinal. But there is one other matter.”

“Yes.”

“If we don’t find the boy within the next twelve hours, I must notify the tribunal at The Order. He’s my responsibility, and I won’t burn for this without them knowing.”

The cardinal stroked his chin. “Very well, twelve hours, then we’ll notify the tribunal, but not before.”

The line went dead. Cardinal Polletto stumbled over to a locked cabinet, opened it, poured himself a glass of wine and sat back down. He drained one glass, then another. Stupid, stupid fools! How could they lose the boy?

The last thing Cardinal Polletto wanted was to irritate the tribunal at The Order of Asmodeus. For centuries, The Order had worked every angle to torment The Church, watching and waiting for the opportunity to deliver the death blow. With that day in sight, he had managed to fumble The Order’s golden opportunity, a mistake that would certainly not go unpunished. Even he, leader of The Order, was not above its precepts, and his enemies on the tribunal wouldn’t hesitate to take his head.

The cardinal agreed with Sister Bravo on one point. Samuel Napier was no ordinary boy, and any fear of his untimely demise was unfounded. The setback, although catastrophic, couldn’t stop the boy’s destiny. However, his destiny was another story. He paced the room. I need to act. I need to do something. A Machiavellian smile crept across his face.

He rushed to his desk and rifled through his drawers until he found an old, torn address book, its pages stained from age, and located names he hadn’t called on in years. He hesitated, rocking back and forth in the chair. If The Order finds out Samuel’s gone, I’ll be killed. I must get him back.

He stared down at names of men and women loyal to him, but not The Order. Using outsiders was frowned upon, but this was no ordinary predicament. He had to find the boy, and his old friends in Rome were the best in the business.

Cardinal Polletto dialed the leader of the group. A gruff, male voice answered.

“It’s me,” said Cardinal Polletto.

“Ahhh, Your Eminence,” said a voice on the other end. “So nice to hear from you, it’s been a long time. We’ve been waiting for your call.” Cardinal Polletto sat up straight. “Oh?”

“Yes, we understand you’ve lost a little boy.”

A light rain burst into a torrential shower, as Robert trailed a black Ford Excursion with dark tinted windows through the wet Chicago streets. Cardinal Maximilian had refused to talk to Robert and Thorne in the parking deck under Detective Reynolds’ apartment building, so they agreed to follow them to a more secure location.

“This keeps getting weirder by the second,” said Thorne, loading extra shells into her shotgun. “Are you sure these are the guys who tried to help save Samuel?”

Robert wasn’t sure about the others, but recognized Cardinal Maximilian’s distinct voice. “I’m sure,” he answered. “The cardinal was definitely there, so he knows something.”

”I’ve never known priests to carry Mac-10’s and shotguns. They look more like mercenaries.”

“Well, I plan to get answers. Right now, they’re the best lead we’ve got.”

Thorne checked the clip in her Glock 20 10mm automatic.

Robert looked over at her. “Think we’ll need all of that?” he asked.

“A girl’s got to be ready when she goes out. Besides, like I said, they’re priests carrying shotguns. At this point, anything’s possible.” The SUV rolled south down Halsted to 49th Street, made a left, and parked in front of a large dilapidated warehouse on Wallace. The area, formally home to the stockyards that made Chicago’s meat industry famous, was now called Back of the Yards, and most of the old meat and slaughterhouses were a long gone memory.