Reginald Cook - The Hammer of God

A stiff, hard wind sliced through the yard, causing Samuel to cringe inside the wafer thin windbreaker. He fought to keep himself from shivering, not wanting to give the men guarding him a reason to end his brief, but valuable, sojourn outside.

“It’s time to go back inside,” called Father Murphy, the cold wind obviously getting the best of him.

Samuel reminded them of their deal.

“Okay,” answered Father Clancy, none too happy with the night chill himself. “But we’re going back inside in ten minutes.” Samuel kicked at rocks and continued to pace. Ten minutes later, Father Clancy ordered him back to the car. The two armed guards smiled for the first time, and momentarily looked away. Samuel turned his head, then hesitated, a flash of light, quick but definite, caught his eye.

Someone’s out there!

The guards turned their attention back to him, and Samuel walked to the car and jumped in the backseat, head straight, heart pumping.

Someone’s out there in the grass! Someone who wants me to know they’re watching!

Father Murphy took the wheel and Father Clancy sat in back with Samuel. The two guards stayed out in the yard. He wanted desperately to look back, but didn’t dare. His mind raced as they rode back to the castle.

Who could it be? Who would hide there in the grass? He wanted to believe that his godfather had come for him, but forced the thought away.

Maybe it’s the police, or someone from the U.S. Embassy.

The car reached the castle. The entire area was now completely bathed in darkness, except for a small overhead light just above the front door. The three of them got out of the car. Samuel stole a quick glance back at the grassy area, nothing.

“Carlos and Michael are going to check the area and stay in the other house tonight,” Father Clancy told the two men guarding the castle.

“You two will stay in the castle tonight and rotate with them each day.” The guards nodded their heads in agreement. Samuel looked back one last time. He saw the beams of two flashlights heading toward the grass, and swallowed. I have to let whoever’s out there know I saw their signal.

Inside, Sister Bravo took him by the hand, and led him back toward the circular stairs.

“Can I use the bathroom?” he asked, twisting his face, his legs crossed. “I didn’t go before I went outside, now I need to use it bad.”

“Use the one upstairs,” said Sister Bravo.

Samuel continued to hop around. “I don’t think I can make it.” Sister Bravo, impatient, pointed to a door next to the kitchen entrance. “Be quick about it,” she said.

Samuel thanked her and cut across the room quickly, his mind racing, sweat beading up on his face. His eyes flickered around the room as he walked, but nothing sparked in his mind. Inside the bathroom, he sat on the toilet, head in his hands, hoping the person hiding out in the grass wouldn’t be discovered by the guards.

He searched the small, blue concrete bathroom. Under the sink, he found an assortment of cleaning products, extra rolls of toilet paper, and a box of steel wool pads, similar to those he’d seen in the kitchen at home. He grabbed one of the steel wool pads and wrapped as much toilet paper around his hand as he felt he could hide, and stuffed them down the front and back of his pants. He flushed the toilet and washed his hands, aware that he was taking too much time.

When he opened the door, Sister Bravo was standing right outside.

She leered down. “That took long enough,” she said.

“I was washing my hands,” he said, a big smile on his face. “Think I could have a can of coke before bed?”

“You just finished in the bathroom,” she answered. “I think you’ve had enough to drink.”

“I usually have two at dinner,” said Samuel, a hint of disappointment in his voice.

Sister Bravo took a deep breath. “Okay, but if you piss a river tonight you get to sleep in it, or on the floor.”

“I’m a big boy,” Samuel answered, meaning it. I haven’t wet the bed since I was five years old, asshole.

Sister Bravo went and got him the can of Coke, and then dropped him off in his room, with directions to turn out the lights within the half hour. Samuel thanked her again for letting him go outside and gave her a hug. When he stepped back, the nun’s face lit up with a smile.

“You’re very welcome,” she told him, and left the room.

Samuel sat down on the cot and waited several minutes, the steel wool irritating his crotch. When all was clear, he quickly opened the soda can and gladly drained every drop. His throat was dry from the tension.

He removed the wadded toilet paper and steel wool, and proceeded to bend the soda can back and forth until it cracked open. He stuffed the toilet paper and steel wool inside the can, grabbed the candle from the table and ran to the window. The sky was cloudy and black, but the wind had died down considerably. Samuel lit the paper and let the flames build until he could barely hold the can. He hurled it as far out over the water as he could, a tail of flames and sparkles streaking through the night, then quickly vanished into the water.

Samuel, his chest pounding, stood at the window, his hands and bottom lip quivering, his eyes welling up with tears. He hoped someone saw his signal, but even if they didn’t he felt hopeful. He knelt down, not to pray, but out of exhaustion. His legs would no longer support him. He sat there for an hour, then crawled to his bed and passed out.

S olemn and pious, each cardinal and bishop summoned to Rome, to sit before the Congregation for the Doctrine of Faith (CDF), slowly filed into the Palace of Holy Office, quiet and tense. Summoned by the Pope himself, they had gathered at the Holy See to discuss the rash exposure of child molestations sweeping the United States, devastating the Church’s reputation and credibility around the world, costing millions of dollars in lost contributions and out of court settlements.

The CDF was the oldest, and most active, of the nine congregations of the Roman Catholic Church, that managed church affairs and oversaw the Roman Curia’s operations.

From his studies of the Apostolic Constitution on Roman Curia, Cardinal Polletto recalled Article 48, which defined the duties of the CDF as a mandate to safeguard the doctrine of faith and morals throughout the world of Catholicism, and to defend the integrity of the faith, a broad directive that encompassed much.

Cardinal Polletto, draped in a new cardinal red vestment, wore his favorite twenty-two carat ring, with a blood red ruby surrounded by twenty half carat diamonds. He followed the stream of nervous, concerned holy men, feigning the same trepidation that was plastered on their faces, knowing full well that many of them had more interest in the Church’s economic and political well-being, than for the injured children.

Cardinal Polletto gave pious nods and smiles to several men he counted in the service of The Order. He pretended to acknowledge several cardinals he knew would vigorously oppose his drive to destroy the Church if they knew his true intentions. He even tossed a smile and bow of his head to Cardinal Maximilian, the man he would destroy if given a speck of an opportunity.

Nobody in the chamber now taking their seat worried or gave him reason to fret. Especially since only forty-eight hours before, he’d stood with a chill running down his spine, as Father Tolbert pointed a loaded revolver at his head.

On the edge of a breakdown, Father Tolbert had pulled a gun after Cardinal Polletto told him that the two Samuel look-a-likes, Eduardo and Felipe, as well as Samuel himself, were the priest’s genetic clones.

Father Tolbert took a shot at him, but the bullet whizzed by the cardinal’s right ear and lodged in the wall. Father Ortega rushed inside and tackled Father Tolbert, knocking the gun from his grasp. Cardinal Polletto fumed, stomped forward, his hand drawn back to deliver a hard slap, but before he could, Father Tolbert collapsed and passed out cold.