Reginald Cook - The Hammer of God

“I understand.”

“To bring into the world the one foretold in scriptures is a monumental task that will change the world. A task you cannot fail.” Cardinal Polletto felt a swell of energy and strength. “I shall not fail, Your Eminence.”

The Black Pope leaned in close and slapped the cardinal hard across the face. “How can you be so sure?”

Cardinal Polletto rocked backwards, dizzy. The old man’s hand felt like granite.

The Black Pope raised his hand again. The cardinal winced, but this time the old man gently stroked the cardinal’s face. “This man, Robert Veil, and his partner, Nikki Thorne, are a problem, no?”

“A problem, yes, but one we can deal with. They won’t interrupt our plans.”

The old man smiled and backed away. “Good, good. And what are your plans for Alison Napier?”

The cardinal was not surprised to hear the question. The old man had ears everywhere. “Whatever do you mean, Your Eminence?”

“After the ritual, she’ll no longer be necessary.”

“But she could be of use while we raise the boy,” said the cardinal.

“We should give it time. We can always get rid of her later.”

“I see,” sneered the old man. “You’ve become attached to the woman.”

“Not at all, I just think we’d be hasty to eliminate her too soon.” Cardinal Polletto felt exposed. He had grown attached to Alison, and wasn’t ready to kill her just yet.

“Nevertheless, you will dispose of her directly when the ritual is over. The longer she lives, the longer law enforcement agencies in the States will keep looking for Samuel. Close the loop, and finish her.

That’s an order.”

The cardinal bowed his head, veins bulging in his neck, his face twisted. “As you wish,” he said.

The Black Pope put a gentle hand on the cardinal’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, my son, when this is over, you’ll head the Vatican, and be in complete charge of raising the boy. Removing the present Pope is no small reward for your success.”

Cardinal Polletto knew the old man spoke the truth. He was going to become the Holy Father, a prize he’d coveted since joining The Order.

He fell to his knees and kissed the old man’s ring again.

“Forgive my hesitation. I was only thinking of myself,” said Cardinal Polletto.

The old man bid him to rise. “I understand. We all have much to learn.” They walked back to the castle and stood next to the old man’s car. “On the night of the ritual, I’ll be in the crowd,” the Black Pope told him.

“Yes, Your Excellency, we’ve prepared a place for you on stage.”

“Do nothing of the sort,” snapped the Black Pope. “My presence will be known only to a few.”

The cardinal bowed his head. “Will there be anything else, Your Eminence?”

The Black Pope leaned forward and whispered into Cardinal Polletto’s ear, then slid inside the shiny, black limousine and sped away.

When it cleared the road and was out of sight, the cardinal fell to his knees and wept, as the old man’s description of his punishment and death if he failed rang in his ears and tortured his soul. The cardinal pounded the ground with both fists and clawed the earth until his fingers bled.

“Cardinal!” Bishop Giordano yelled. He grabbed the cardinal and helped him to his feet.

“We must not fail,” cried Cardinal Polletto, weeping. He shook loose from the bishop. The Black Pope knew everything, Samuel’s escape, the problems with Father Tolbert and Robert Veil.

Cardinal Polletto decided to get back in touch with Rinaldo and Dianora, and double their fee. He wanted Cardinal Maximilian, Robert Veil and Nikki Thorne dealt with immediately. He turned to Bishop Giordano.

“Call Father Ortega, I need him back here as soon as possible. Then contact Sister Bravo,” said Cardinal Polletto.

“Yes, Cardinal.”

“And here’s what I want her to do with Samuel and the other children.”

C ool air breezed in through Astura Torre’s castle window. Samuel, tired of staring out at the sea, no matter how beautiful it looked, laid back on his cot and watched bundles of clouds float by the window, teasing him with their freedom. Three days had passed since the last time he’d been allowed outside, with no explanation. He complained to Father Murphy every time the priest came in to check on him or bring food, but was ignored.

Samuel sat up and finished a lukewarm, half-full glass of orange juice, leftover from breakfast. His thoughts turned toward Sister Bravo.

Over the past three days, he hadn’t seen or heard from her, and although he still considered her his enemy, not having her around made him nervous. It was a strange feeling. She was one of his captures, and had taken him from the only life he knew, but he missed her presence and had grown to depend on her for comfort and security. She made him feel safe when she was around.

He had almost asked Father Murphy of her whereabouts, but didn’t utter a word, not wanting to show concern. But the longer she stayed away, the more fearful and alone he felt.

Lunch turned into dinner, and dinner to night. Samuel paced the room and eventually hung out of the window looking down at the now moonlit water again. The longer he looked, the closer the water seemed.

He considered jumping, and pulled himself up further to make sure of the fit. He stared down at the wet, rippling water, and knew he’d never survive the jump, let alone swim away afterwards.

Multiple footsteps pounded the concrete stairs, slowly coming his way. Samuel jumped down, ran to the bed and sat against the wall, struggling to control his breathing, wiping sweat from his forehead with his shirt.

The door creaked open. Father Murphy backed inside, carrying the end of a large, brown leather traveling trunk. One of the goons who guarded him outside handled the other end. The other machine gun toting thugs carried in two more trunks and stood them upright. Everyone left the room without giving Samuel so much as a glance, except Father Murphy, who smiled on his way out and left the door wide open.

Sister Bravo walked inside. Samuel felt a surge of relief and almost ran to her, but resisted. Sister Bravo’s face said she’d read his mind, but she too kept her composure.

Samuel stood. “I haven’t been allowed outside for three days,” he said, mustering up his anger. “You promised.” Sister Bravo walked over and gently stroked his hair. “I’m sorry, my child, but it couldn’t be helped.”

Samuel looked up at her deceptive, angelic face. “I’m going crazy in here. It’s not fair,” he said.

The nun kissed his forehead then walked over to the first trunk. She unlocked the door and pulled it open. Samuel took a step forward in disbelief. A child, his age, with his face, stepped out of the trunk. Sister Bravo opened the next trunk, and another twin, this one with dark hair, stared back at him.

Samuel fell back against the bed and landed on his behind. “What?” The two boys looked as confused as Samuel. They all looked up at Sister Bravo, bewildered.

“Samuel, this is Felipe and Eduardo. They’re your brothers. Boys, this is Samuel,” she said in French, then Italian.

Each boy gave a half-hearted wave, their faces pallets of fear and confusion, echoing Samuel’s emotions. Sister Bravo herded the boys back into the trunks, then opened the third, which was empty.

“It’s time to leave the castle,” she said, firm and serious. “Get inside.”

Ten minutes later, Samuel heard footsteps again, and his trunk lifted into the air. They carried him down the stairs and outside, then loaded him on a truck or in a van, he couldn’t tell. He heard the other two trunks being loaded next to him. Doors slammed shut, the engine started and they drove away. They stopped abruptly, then kept going.