Reginald Cook - The Hammer of God

He gathered as much gossip as he dared, realizing he could be recognized at anytime, and eased away from the bustling press, curious onlookers, and fellow clergy. He crossed the street to where he could watch from a safe inconspicuous distance, backed into a small space between two buildings, and waited.

Almost a week had passed since he last saw Robert Veil and his partner at The Grand Hotel de Minerve, where he’d learned that Alison Napier was staying. The priest wondered how she fit into Cardinal Polletto’s hands, and if she knew that her son, Samuel, was cloned.

Father Tolbert liked Alison. She had always been nice to him, respectful.

He wondered what she’d think when she learned he was Samuel’s biological father, and a monster.

Father Tolbert had made sure he stayed out of sight, holing up in small, non-descript flophouse hotels in old Rome, where people saw everything, but minded their own business. The priest stayed off the streets during the day, and only went out for food and hair coloring at night. He frequented offbeat coffee shops and bars, where patrons shared the discreet talk of the town, but he heard nothing that would help his cause.

He was especially careful to suppress the sickness still burning in his soul, and avoided even eye contact with children who passed his way.

The hunger called to him daily, but his new purpose, the destruction of The Order of Asmodeus, enabled him to keep control for the moment.

This morning, while sipping an espresso at a coffee shop not far from his hotel, Father Tolbert overheard the owner speak of the attack on Cardinal Maximilian, a man he feared, but who had always been kind to him. He couldn’t account for his unease when it came to the cardinal, but his soul searching eyes seemed to pierce right through him, and Father Tolbert felt like the man could see his very soul.

He ran right over to the hospital, hoping that the incident would cause Samuel’s godfather to show. He had no reason to suspect a connection, but it was all he had to go on at the time. Father Tolbert was well aware of Cardinal Polletto’s hatred for Cardinal Maximilian, which made him wonder if the attack was more than a simple robbery attempt, as many were calling it, or something more. An assassination.

More press, priests, nuns, and catholic faithful, gathered in front of the hospital. Father Tolbert carefully examined each new face, hoping, praying for a break. Then, two dusty, dark blue sedans stopped in front of the hospital. After a few minutes, the cars turned around and parked across the street, not far from where Father Tolbert was hiding. He backed up into the darkness, then slowly eased forward.

Sitting in the passenger seat of the first car was a man who looked like Robert Veil, but he wasn’t sure. He slid back, then leaned forward again. In the backseat was a black woman, American, with an unforgettable face. It’s them! Father Tolbert considered rushing over and knocking on the window, but didn’t because there were others in the car.

After about two minutes, both cars pulled away and headed for the rear of the hospital. He quickly walked across the street and went to the back of the building on the opposite side, head low, eyes straight. When he reached the rear parking lot, he didn’t look around, but kept moving, careful not to walk too fast. He stopped well out of the sight of the two sedans, now parked at the back entrance. He stooped low behind a tan Volvo and watched Robert Veil, his partner, an Asian priest he didn’t recognize, and a woman he now recognized as Sister Isabella, who he knew well, rush inside the hospital.

Father Tolbert leaned back against the car behind him, keeping the back door and the two cars still parked there, in sight. The remaining men still left in the cars stepped out to smoke cigarettes, their weapons well in sight. They didn’t look like clergy, but after what Father Tolbert had seen over the last month, he was ready to believe anything.

A light rain fell. The priest closed his eyes and let the mist caress his face. Almost and hour passed before Robert Veil and the others exited the hospital. Veil’s partner, the black woman, snapped her head in Father Tolbert’s direction, sending him to the wet asphalt. He eased his head up and watched Robert and Thorne hide weapons under their jackets and signal one of the waiting cabs.

The Asian priest and Sister Isabella jumped in separate cars and sped away. Father Tolbert quickly ran to one of the waiting taxis as Robert and Thorne pulled away.

“Follow them,” Father Tolbert ordered the driver, slamming the door, handing him a fifty-dollar bill. “And don’t let them get away.”

T en minutes into the ride, Father Tolbert knew they were headed for Alison Napier’s hotel. Good, it’s the perfect place.

The night crowd had died down, and the taxis made good time.

Father Tolbert had to warn his driver several times not to follow too close, and several more not to lose sight of the car. A block and a half from the hotel, he got out and walked, blindly bumping into several people along the way. A half block from the Minerve, he stopped to gather his confidence.

When he turned the corner, something hit him hard in the stomach.

He keeled over and landed on his face. Dazed, he felt someone turn him over and bark loudly. Dizzy and struggling for breath, he couldn’t make out a word. Finally, his watery eyes cleared. Robert and Thorne stared down at him, both with guns pointed at his head.

“Who the hell are you?” snapped Robert. “Why are you following us?”

The priest coughed hard and sucked in air, unable to get out the words.

“He tailed us from the hospital,” said Thorne. “I spotted him in the parking lot before we left.”

Robert shoved his machine gun against Father Tolbert’s forehead. “I suggest you speak quickly, we’re not in the mood this evening.”

“My name is Father Charles Tolbert,” the priest finally spewed. “I met you back in Chicago, with the Napiers.” Father Tolbert watched Robert’s face go from bewilderment, to heated anger. He put his gun away.

“Why?” asked Robert. “Why did you hurt my godson?” Father Tolbert couldn’t find the words. He didn’t have any that would suffice. Robert asked why over and over, his own eyes glassy, a tight grip around the priest’s neck, banging Father Tolbert’s head against the concrete.

“Bastard! You fucking bastard!” screamed Robert.

Thorne looked on, her own eyes red with hatred. After a moment, she reached down, grabbed her partner and pulled him off. “Robert, we need this asshole. Let him up.”

Robert backed off, then lunged forward with a punch to the jaw as Father Tolbert tried to stand, knocking him back to the ground.

Onlookers pointed and whispered, then pulled out their cell phones and dialed.

“We need to get away from here,” said Thorne, “before the cops show up.”

Robert snatched Father Tolbert up and they hurried away from the hotel, stopping near Trevi Fountain, where the priest plopped down on a bench. Thorne handed him a handkerchief.

“Why were following us?” she asked. “If you ask me, you should’ve stayed as far away from us as possible.” Father Tolbert rested back and took a deep breath. “I had to find you.

It’s important that we talk.”

“What could you possibly have to say to me that would keep me from putting a bullet in your head?” Robert growled.

“I don’t blame you for hating me,” answered the priest. “I deserve punishment, if not death. I’m ashamed of myself for what I did to children, and how I stained the Church.”

“It’s a little late for I’m sorry around here,” snapped Robert. “Why?

Why Samuel? Why any child?”