Reginald Cook: The Hammer of God

“I’m starving,” said Donavon. “Let’s head for Spraggia.” Spraggia was Robert’s favorite Italian restaurant. A choice he knew Samuel made with him in mind. “I’m with that,” he answered, smiling at Samuel. “We’ll eat, and then presents.”

Samuel’s face beamed, and he bounced around like he was going to wet himself.

“Well, this must be the famous godfather I’ve heard so much about,” a voice said behind them.

“Father Tolbert,” said Alison, pulsating with charm and respect.

“Allow me to introduce Mr. Robert Veil from our nation’s capitol.” Robert shook the priest moist, clammy hand. The cleric greeted Donavon and gave Alison a hug. “Our little angel here did a great job today,” said Father Tolbert, turning to Samuel, placing his hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you, Father,” answered Samuel, eyes glued to his feet.

“Now, don’t be so modest,” said Father Tolbert. “I’ll allow a little pride today, it’s your birthday.”

Everyone laughed, except Samuel, who seemed to force a smile.

“Thank you, Father.”

“Thank you so much, Father, for taking an interest in Samuel. We’re very grateful,” said Alison.

“Not at all,” said the priest. “He’s an exceptional child. It’s my pleasure.”

They continued to banter and make small talk for several minutes, when a black Cadillac sedan swooped up to the curb. The driver, a broad shouldered priest with a pit bull mug, hurried to the rear passenger door and snatched it open. A tall, lean, elderly gentleman unfolded out onto the sidewalk, draped in a blood red silk cape, wearing a black wool cassock trimmed in scarlet, and the air of Catholic royalty.

“Cardinal Polletto,” Father Tolbert gushed. “I wasn’t expecting you for another hour or so,” he continued, kissing the elder priest’s hand.

“Yes, I know,” answered the Cardinal. “I left St. Francis as soon as mass was over. I wanted to make sure you and I had plenty of time to spend together.”

Father Tolbert introduced everyone to Cardinal Poletto, the Archbishop of Chicago. Donovan fell just short of kissing his hand, and Alison bowed and curtsied as though she’d just met the Pope himself.

The episode made Robert feel a bit out of place. He had no intention of bowing or kissing anybody’s hand. Instead, he opted for a firm, respectful handshake.

“And who’s this little fellow?” asked Cardinal Polletto, leaning down to Samuel.

Pressed up against his mother, Samuel eased forward and introduced himself. Father Tolbert added a few compliments on Samuel’s performance as altar boy. Samuel looked relieved when the two men turned their attention elsewhere.

Cardinal Polletto and Father Tolbert excused themselves and disappeared inside the Church. Robert and the others hustled to Donovan’s Lincoln Town car, and headed for Spraggia’s.

“So, have you caught any bad guys lately?” asked Samuel, bouncing in his seat. “Do you have your gun on you? Can I see it? Do you think I can be a bounty hunter when I grow up?”

“No bounty hunting for you,” Alison scolded, smirking.

Since leaving the CIA, Robert and Nikki had opened their own firm and chased down high-level criminals all over the world. Samuel loved to hear the details of their exploits. Stories about terrorists they’d captured, serial killers they hunted down, and exotic places they traveled to all over the world. Most of the details he gave Samuel were fabricated, since the majority of the cases they worked were highly confidential, for which they were sometimes paid millions of dollars for their efforts, by governments, and the wealthy.

“I left my gun with Aunt Nikki today,” said Robert. “That’s not the type of thing you should wear in church. And your mother’s right, I see medical school in your future.”

“Not a chance,” said Samuel. “I want to come work with you and Aunt Nikki. We can be a team.”

Donovan looked back at them in the rearview mirror. Robert saw a big smile on his face. Despite all they’d seen working for the government, intelligence was in Donovan’s blood, and a son in the family business was just fine with him. Donovan even wore the bullet in his hip as a badge of honor.

“You looked a little nervous up at the altar today,” said Robert, changing the subject. “I thought you were gonna choke.”

“Me choke? Never,” answered Samuel. “Just a little game-time jitters. I get the same way before a big game in little league.”

“I understand,” said Robert, kissing Samuel on top of his head. “I get the same way from time to time.”

Samuel smiled and laid his head in Robert’s lap, who stroked his hair and smiled.

Donavon stopped to make a left turn into the restaurant parking lot.

An SUV in front of them made a sudden stop. Donavan hit the brakes.

Bam! Another SUV plowed into them from behind. Robert’s head jerked backwards and snapped forward. The Lincoln lunged into the SUV in front of them. The airbags exploded into Donovan and Alison’s faces. Robert covered Samuel as best he could.

“Is everybody okay?” asked Robert, heart and adrenaline pumping.

“Out of the car, hands up!” a ski masked man shouted, waving an Uzi machine gun.

Robert reached for his gun. Damn, I left my gun with Thorne! He counted four men in total, two from each vehicle. One of the men pulled open Robert’s door and snatched Samuel outside.

“Not my son!” shouted Alison.

Donovan jumped out, cursing. Robert slid out, an Uzi trained at his head. He caught a familiar image running fast in their direction, about fifty yards away. Thorne!

Out of the alley across the street from Spraggia’s, another SUV sped toward them and screeched to a halt. Three of the men holding them at gunpoint scrambled to the vehicle behind them, with Samuel kicking and screaming. Alison took a step, but the forth gunmen fired into the car, sending everyone to the ground, except Robert. Four people jumped out of the SUV that came from the alley, wearing black ski masks, armed with machine guns.

“Save the boy!” one of them shouted.

Robert felt the hard end of an Uzi on the back of his head and fell to the pavement. He heard footsteps, more gunfire, and Thorne’s unmistakable bark. He raised his head and saw the four figures from the alley run back to their vehicle and take off after the kidnappers who’d sped off with Samuel. Robert heard the distinct baritone of a man’s voice shout orders he couldn’t make out, then lowered his head to the pavement, and blacked out.

“F orgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

“How long has it been since your last confession?”

“About a week, Father.”

“Go on, my son.”

Cardinal Giafranco Polletto rested comfortably against a high-back leather chair in the den at his forty-one acre estate in Yorkville, Illinois, an hour and a half outside of downtown Chicago. He pretended to pay close attention to Father Tolbert, whose chair sat back to back with his, as the priest droned on about drinking too much wine and lies he’d told.

“Go on, my son,” the cardinal entreated, stroking his chin, eyes closed, his mind on other matters.

“And I’ve sinned again against a child,” said Father Tolbert, reluctance in his tone.

Cardinal Polletto’s eyes opened. “Go on, my son.” For twenty minutes, Father Tolbert, snorting and crying, confessed to having sex with several young boys, including Samuel Napier, whom the cardinal had met earlier. The cardinal asked the priest to elaborate about Samuel. He listened to the pathetic cleric confess misguided love for a child, and smiled. “Your sins are great, my son,” he said, “but fortunately, the forgiveness of our Lord is greater.” The cardinal launched into a litany of prayer and Latin chants, asking God to grant forgiveness to a soul he knew would fill hell, along with his own. They finished, turned their chairs facing each other, and the cardinal poured two glasses of red wine from a crystal carafe on the small round marble table next to them.