And then a flash of lightning, giving light and pushing back the darkness, exposing him. But it also granted him the necessary vision to see that the pontiff was lying in bed with the blanket drawn to his chin and halfway across his face.
There was another quick flash, proposing enough light to see the man shift beneath the covers and turned his back to him.
Angullo smiled, God presenting him with the moment. He saw an unused pillow next to the pontiff’s head, the means and necessity within reach. It was as if God was sending his divine light to show him the way. He moved closer, quietly, his footfalls unheard.
And then he stood still, his senses suddenly kicking in.
Something was wrong. The air suddenly seemed oppressive and heavy, a viable threat lingering close by. In reaction the cardinal assessed the situation, feeling an unease that drove him away from the bed and back into the shadows.
As he glided back towards the darkness, a black mass shot up from the bed. In the cardinal’s eyes it appeared impossibly large, the shadow rising, the blanket flaring upward and outward like a frill, the thing beneath it reaching for him, grabbing him, the strength of its grip clutching his throat in a choking embrace, crushing his windpipe, and forcing him against the wall.
The cardinal’s heart raced with uncontrollable panic. The thing before him was massive, large, and in the subsequent pulse of lightning he witnessed the murderous rage in the man’s eyes, saw the hateful intent and the willingness to gladly snuff out his life with a twist of his hand and snapping his neck where he stood.
Only it was not the pontiff.
This man was large and bulky with broad shoulders and thick arms. His face was angular and sharp. And his teeth gritted as he pressed his hand across the cardinal’s throat, as if he was trying to force the man’s neck through the wall.
The cardinal grunted, then gasped, his world starting to go black as pinpricks of light started to shoot off in his field of vision.
Suddenly the light came on. In the background stood Bonasero Vessucci wearing a sleeping garment that covered him from neck to toe. Beside him stood the man he had seen earlier, the security guard. But this time he was wearing different garb. He wore a cleric’s shirt and Roman Catholic collar. His pants were of military fashion, as were the boots — a weird display of uniform. And then he focused on the man who pressed him tightly against the wall, noting the same outfit.
“Ease up, Kimball,” said the pontiff.
But Kimball held tight, fighting off the urge to push the man through the marble wall, if that was possible.
“Kimball, enough.”
The Vatican Knight eased off and let the cardinal regain his breath, but stood close by to engineer another thorough choking, if necessary.
Bonasero Vessucci advanced slowly, his saddened eyes set on Angullo. “You truly are a lost soul, Giuseppe; can’t you see that by your attempt tonight?”
Angullo stared up at Kimball for a brief moment before sidestepping him. “Attempt?”
“Why are you here at so early an hour?”
“To try to talk you out of my reassignment,” he answered.
“It couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”
“My apologies,” he said. “But the idea of such an assignment has been eating away at me. I was hoping to conclude the matter as quickly as possible. I have to admit, Your Holiness, that my actions were not thought out and premature, allowing my impulse to react rather than my patience.”
The pontiff sighed. “Do you think I really believe that, Giuseppe?”
“It is the truth.”
Vessucci stared at him for a brief moment before a rebuttal. “No, Giuseppe, it’s not. I gave specific orders to the guard not to allow anyone in this hallway. No one. Yet here you are.” He cocked his head questioningly to the side. “So tell me, how did you get here?”
Angullo remained quiet, the microexpression of his eyes flaring with animalistic fear.
“How did you get here?” he repeated.
Silence.
“Did you use the same route the night you visited Pope Gregory?”
The walls were closing in on Angullo and he knew it, feeling dangerously oppressed.
“If I view the security cameras, will I see you? Or did you use a route not within the scope of the cameras eyes?”
“Is there such a passageway?” asked Kimball.
“An ancient one,” said Bonasero. He took a step closer to the cardinal. “Did you take the ancient tunnels, Giuseppe? Did you purposely use the tunnels to avoid the cameras?”
Angullo closed in on himself, drawing his shoulders inward as if imploding, making him smaller.
Kimball reached out and grabbed the man by the collar, setting him straight. “The pontiff asked you a question. Don’t you think you better answer him?”
Angullo held his hands out imploringly. “Please, Bonasero, my intentions were sincere.”
“Then why take the old passageway? It only confirms what I thought,” he said, “since we could not locate you on the cameras on the night of Gregory’s death. And now you come into my chamber using the same course with perhaps the same intent in your heart? Does the power of supreme leadership mean so much to you that you’re willing to kill for it?”
“Your Holiness, my intent was to plea for your forgiveness and to entreat you to maintain my position here at the Vatican, since a secretary of state has yet to be chosen.”
“In the eyes of God, Giuseppe, you lie… In the eyes of God. Do you think when it’s your time of Judgment that God will roll out the red carpet for you?”
Angullo swallowed.
“I feel sorry for you, Giuseppe. I’m not sure that your soul can be saved. I pray it can. But I doubt it.”
“What I say is true.”
“Stop it!” yelled the pontiff. “Every time you tell a lie, you take one step closer to Hell. Lying is not the way of absolution, Giuseppe, but truth is.”
The cardinal measured the Knights, turning his gaze to Kimball, to Leviticus, then back to Bonasero Vessucci. “I see,” he said. “I see that you reinstated the Vatican Knights, yes? Your personal army of killers, correct?”
Kimball’s grip tightened on the cardinal’s collar, causing the cleric to gasp.
And then, with an uplifting and sardonic grin, the cardinal went on. “How easy it is to justify your needs, assembling murderers to achieve the means. Tell me, Bonasero, do you think that God will roll out the red carpet for you on the Day of Judgment?” His smile widened. “It’s a stop we all have to make someday.”
“My intentions are good, Giuseppe. What is in my heart, what is in the hearts of these men, bear nothing but good intentions. These killers, as you call them, work abroad saving the lives of those who cannot protect themselves. Women, children, those who are feeble minded or incapable of raising a voice in fear of fatal reprisals, such as having a knife driven across their throat, or perhaps a child tries to run away from someone who wants to incorporate them into their dark legions by placing a gun in their hands, and tells them to kill or be killed, like in Uganda or Burma.”
“And you really think that these men can alter destiny?”
“These men provide salvation when salvation is all but lost. In your case, Giuseppe, these men can do nothing for you.” And then: “Kimball.”
It was Kimball’s cue to let the man go. He did, the cardinal’s collar settling as bunched fabric along his left shoulder.
“So now what?” asked the cardinal. “Obviously you do not intend to hear my pleas or take into consideration my request to remain here at the Vatican.”
“You’re right. I don’t.” Bonasero took a step closer, intent on driving his point home. “You’re lucky, Giuseppe, that I don’t take further action against you. Your blatant trespass into the papal chamber is criminal enough. But let it be known that you will be watched. These men will maintain constant vigil over you. No matter where you are. No matter what you do. Believe me when I say that your every move is being watched. You won’t see them. But trust me, they will see you.”