The mother and little girl were terrified. A priest aiming a gun at her head. Two armed acolytes. What a horrible scene. The beggar in the back had disappeared. Life, even without shelter, is priceless.
‘Shut up,’ Robin ordered, visibly angry. ‘I’m going to deal with you, you son of a bitch.’ He looked at the woman and turned the gun away from her head. ‘Get out of here fast. Forget what you saw here, or I won’t forget you.’
It took less than five seconds for the woman and child to cross the nave and leave the church, completely traumatized.
‘You’re real brave, Robin,’ Rafael sneered.
‘Put a bullet in this guy’s head,’ Robin shouted at the acolyte aiming at Rafael.
The young man cocked the gun without hesitating, but before he could squeeze the trigger, he was hurled against the confessional, breaking one of the doors and falling inside. A bullet in the head had taken his life.
Instinctively, Robin fired at the column from which the shot came. Nobody had counted on that.
‘Only a bastard like you could drag me to this den of fags,’ someone was heard to grumble. The ragged beggar strode pungently into the center of the nave.
‘I’m glad to see you, Donald,’ Rafael greeted him sincerely.
‘Fuck you, Santini. You’re as much of a fag as they are,’ Donald insulted him in his usual affectionate way. Then he dropped the gun and sat down on the floor in pain. Robin’s random shot had hit him in the stomach.
Rafael smiled sadly. Donald was always bad tempered, but always there at the right time. Long ago, he’d been an agent like Rafael. His aim was still perfect.
‘What do you want, you smelly bum?’ Robin said.
‘Don’t talk, asshole.’
The other young acolyte looked at Robin in confusion, as if asking for instructions.
‘Kill him,’ Robin said without a trace of feeling.
‘I’d think twice before you do that, cocksuckers,’ Donald warned. He pointed at the dead acolyte. ‘Your friend is now sucking cocks in hell.’
‘You’re going to die slowly, Donald,’ Robin said disdainfully. He aimed his own gun at Donald’s head.
‘Cut the shit, Robin.’ Rafael came forward, leaving the altar and approaching him. ‘No one else but me has to die.’ He struck his chest. ‘This is my fault. Do what you need to do, you bastard. Aim at me and get it over with.’ He came on with firm, quick steps. ‘Shoot me and let him go. He doesn’t know what I do.’
Robin watched Rafael come nearer. ‘Stop, Santini. That’s enough.’
Rafael obeyed. ‘Do what you have to do. Shoot. Get it over with.’
Robin observed the scene as if he were hovering over it.
Rafael continued to stare hard at Robin. ‘Shoot.’
Robin smiled disdainfully. ‘As you wish.’
A sharp, echoing shot followed. ‘Amen.’
Rafael’s head should have exploded, but instead it was Robin who spit mouthfuls of blood before falling on the cold floor of the sacred temple that had seen so many sins over the last few minutes.
‘It seems like today’s the day for priests to die in church,’ Gavache spoke out, gun in hand, his shot taken. Amen.
‘Police. Drop the gun,’ he ordered the acolyte, who immediately threw it down, as if it were red-hot. ‘Get on the floor. Hands behind your back.’
Gavache looked at the corpse of the acolyte in the confessional and shook his head. ‘This world is going to hell.’
‘Is everything okay, Inspector?’ Paul came into the church to see what was going on, gun ready, and kneeled over the other acolyte to handcuff him.
‘Look at this, Paul. Does it look like everything is okay?’
‘This is my last hour,’ Donald said to Rafael, trying to grab the pew to get up. ‘Give my regards to William and tell him to fuck himself. All he ever does is put me in tight spots. He never gives me a break.’
Rafael ran to help him. ‘Don’t try to get up, Don.’ He looked at Gavache. ‘Can you call an ambulance?’
Gavache bent over Robin to take his pulse. ‘Call an ambulance for this one, too,’ he told Paul.
‘How did you know I was here?’ Rafael asked Gavache.
‘Reinforcements are on the way,’ Paul informed them.
‘Okay, let them clean up this shit.’ Gavache straightened up and walked toward the door. ‘Come along, Rafael.’
Rafael looked around the church one last time. His head was filled with confusion. Much needed to be explained. He bent down over Donald.
‘Thanks, Don.’
‘This shit didn’t come out so well,’ Donald excused himself.
‘It could have been worse.’
Gavache interrupted them. ‘Boys, leave your conversation for later.’ He looked at Rafael. ‘Let’s go. It’s time.’
‘An ambulance is on the way. I’ll see you later,’ Rafael said to Donald.
‘Fuck you. Who said I want to see you? Get out of my sight.’
Rafael smiled and followed in Gavache’s footsteps. ‘Where are we going?’
‘We have a plane waiting for us.’
‘Why do I feel like I don’t know what’s going on?’
‘Because you don’t.’
56
No office in the world could compare in size and sumptuousness to Tarcisio’s, with the exception of the pontifical apartments. Not even the Oval Office was in the same league.
Tarcisio occupied a chair that resembled a throne behind his solid, antique desk.
Adolph sat down on the other side in a smaller, less luxurious, but equally comfortable chair. The difference in size was not accidental. It served to show whoever sat in it the superiority in rank and power of the person on the other side of the desk. The secretary of state was the most powerful man in the world, except for the pope. He was responsible for an empire of incalculable value, influential throughout the civilized world and in parts less civilized according to the standards set by the civilized. All his power was exercised without weapons or an army, and this was extraordinary in a world in which order was imposed by military might. Tarcisio never tired of telling how Pope Pacelli, during World War II, ordered his Swiss Guard to go unarmed, so that no accidental shot would create an international crisis with the Germans. History testifies that Hitler in all his power, capable of the most execrable massacres, master of the world, or at least pretending to be, with all his military might, never permitted a single German soldier to cross the defenseless Vatican border into Saint Peter’s Square. It wouldn’t have taken half an hour to capture the Supreme Pontiff and to occupy the Vatican state, but as Pius XII said, My army is not of this world. Hitler never had the courage to test this assertion.
Adolph smiled cynically. He adjusted his glasses and waited for Tarcisio to begin their meeting as usual. Outside, rain continued to fall in a constant torrent, the sky blackened with heavy clouds, and the wind keened in the windows. Adolph and his cynical smile.
‘I wonder if you have anything to say to me before we begin,’ Tarcisio began in a serious tone, his duty in the best interests of the church.
Adolph felt superior to Tarcisio, as if the secretary of state did not deserve the distinctions he received. ‘Not that I know of.’
Tarcisio took off his glasses and began to clean the lenses with a velvet cloth. ‘Cut the bullshit. We know everything.’
‘About what, Your Eminence?’ Adolph said, showing no surprise.
‘Ernesto Aragones, Yaman Zafer, Sigfried Hamal, Ursino. Who’s next? Joseph Ratzinger?’ The secretary showed his anger.
‘Should I know those names, Your Eminence?’ Adolph asked with the same smile on his lips.
‘If you want to continue lying, that’s up to you, Adolph. I’ll only say the following, we know everything.’
Tarcisio finished cleaning his glasses and put them back on.
Neither one said anything for a few moments. Seconds, minutes, a tense silence.
‘We were always the right arm of the church,’ the superior general finally said bitterly. ‘Our methods were never questioned.’
‘Well, when you interfere in matters of the church and kill innocent people and dedicated servants within our own walls, we have to begin to question, don’t you think?’ Tarcisio argued.