Veil - 02 - The Hammer of God (5 page)

When I return, you and I will have our little talk.” Samuel held the cup. It took everything he could muster to keep from dropping it on the deep tan carpet. Confused, he looked up at the smiling angelic face, but couldn’t make sense of it. His captures were three priests and a nun.

“My name is Sister Maria Bravo. Drink your cocoa, I’ll be back in a moment.”

Father Tolbert rested back, eyes closed, as the Vatican’s Gulfstream G550 cruised to, then leveled off at forty thousand feet. Two Kettle One martinis into his flight to Rome, and the torment that had been a part of his life since high school, seemed to temporarily evaporate.

“Excuse me, Father, is there anything else I can get for you?” Father Tolbert lifted his eyelids. Sister Maria Bravo, one of Cardinal Polletto’s assistants, a broad smile on her angelic face, leaned over and covered him with an extra dark crimson wool blanket.

“No thank you, Sister, everything is fine.”

“Good. Dinner will be served in a few hours. Until then, there are appetizers on the counter in the galley, and of course, the bar is fully stocked. If you need anything else, press the button on your chair and I’ll be happy to serve you.”

Father Tolbert said thank you, and watched the always gracious nun disappear through a door of the cabin. No doubt to get some much deserved rest herself.

He closed his eyes. The vodka took over. Father Tolbert thought of Samuel, and drifted off to a place somewhere in the clouds.

S
amuel barely tasted the hot cocoa, even though he’d drained the mug by more than half. The three priests sitting with him didn’t speak, but each shot him an occasional glare, as if to let him know they’d just as soon slit his throat as say hello. One in particular, a neckless, red-faced linebacker, with the largest hands Samuel had ever seen, clinched his fists every time their eyes met. Each time, Samuel wanted to piss his pants.

The door opened. Sister Maria Bravo slid back inside and snatched off her habit, shaking her silky black hair down past her shoulders. The three priests snapped to attention. She whispered something to them, but didn’t so much as look Samuel’s way.

Five minutes later, the whispering stopped. Sister Bravo, the three black suits in tow, walked over and sat down next to him. The holy trio stood behind her, stone-faced and silent. Samuel tried to swallow, but his throat felt like sandpaper. His hands quivered, splattering cocoa on his pants.

“There are a few important rules you must abide by while in our care,” Sister Bravo said, a smile on her face. “But first, let me introduce the others.” Samuel raised his eyes without fully lifting his head. “This is Father Matthew Clancy.”

The stoic menace plastered on the slender, sandy haired cleric, turned hospitable with a smile. “Please to make your acquaintance,” said the priest, in a light British accent.

Next, Sister Bravo introduced Father Theodore Murphy, whose face softened too, with a wide show of teeth. Samuel noticed for the first time, Father Murphy’s light green eyes, which framed an almost serene countenance. The priest didn’t utter a word, but Samuel felt a chill hit his spine, and the hair on the back of his head bristled as Father Murphy’s smile turned fiendish.

Samuel turned his head to the last of the three, the linebacker in black, who made him the most nervous. “I’m Father Adolfo Sin,” he said, his accent heavy German. “If you try to escape, I’m the one who’ll catch and kill you.”

Father Sin’s words took a moment to register. Samuel’s moist brow confirmed that he believed every word.

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” said Sister Bravo.

She motioned for the priests to leave, and each adjourned to a different part of the cabin. Fathers Murphy and Clancy leaned back in two billowy leather chairs, and closed their eyes. Father Sin leaned back in his, and continued to stare.

Sister Bravo took a deep breath. “Don’t mind him. He’s a teddy bear once you get to know him.”

You mean a grizzly bear,
thought Samuel.

Sister Bravo laughed as though she could read his mind. “Now, as I said, let’s get an understanding of what’s expected of you.” Her smile receded to a slight upturn of the corners of her mouth. She was beautiful, more striking than any women Samuel had ever seen. He sat transfixed.

“We’ll treat you with the same respect you give us,” she continued.

“You’ll always, and I mean
always
, do what you’re told. We’re not keen on repeating ourselves. Do you understand?” Samuel nodded yes, more out of fear than agreement. “Never speak to anybody outside the four of us, unless we give permission,” she continued. “And don’t take anything from anyone unless it’s first handed to us.” Samuel again acknowledged that he understood. Sister Bravo’s accommodating manner helped him relax. His hands ceased to quiver, but his stomach rumbled with hunger. Sister Bravo opened a cardboard box next to the couch and pulled out a bundle of clothes, including jeans, a navy polo shirt, new white tennis shoes and socks.

“There’s a bathroom over there,” she said, pointing to a narrow wood-grained door a few feet away. “Go inside and put these on. You’ll find them a perfect fit.”

Samuel took the pile of clothes and set it on his lap. He bit his tongue, then looked up at the nun. “Why am I here? What did I do?” His bottom lip trembled. His eyes watered. “I want to go home.” Sister Bravo stroked his face with the back of her hand, and wiped the tears from his cheeks with a white lace handkerchief. Her eyes locked on his, saucers of apology and concern. “I’m afraid those questions will have to wait,” she said. “All you need to know now is that you’re safe with us as long as you do as we say.”

“But if I’ve done something wrong, I’m sorry,” he said, feeling frantic. “I, I, just don’t un-un-derstand. Just tell me what I did wrong.

Please, just tell me.”

Sister Bravo pulled him close, and he laid his head on her lap. “I’m sorry things are so unclear right now, but it’ll all make sense very soon,” she said, mussing up his hair.

“But I want to go home,” Samuel continued. He raised his head; Sister Bravo’s face a blur through his tears. “Why won’t you let me go home?” The tears fell and his sight cleared.

Sister Bravo’s kind disposition had diminished, her smile replaced with the cold indifference Samuel remembered from the nuns at his school when they’d had enough of him playing the prankster.

“Enough of this, Samuel, you’re going to do everything we tell you, and that’s all you need to know for now. Stop crying, and go change into the clothes.”

Samuel didn’t move. He wanted to, but it had become clear that whatever was happening, it didn’t include him returning to his parents, and the thought of never seeing them again left him paralyzed. A hard slap snapped him out of the trance. A stinging sensation on the right side of his face turned numb, but he didn’t feel pain, he got angry. He looked up at Sister Bravo, now towering over him.

“I want to go home! When are you going to let me talk to my mother and father!” he bellowed, through clenched teeth.

SLAP!

Father Sin stood. The other priests awakened, but remained seated.

“You’re never going to see them again! Happy! Now go put on the clothes,” Sister Bravo snapped.

“Fuck you! Go to hell,” Samuel yelled back.

SLAP! SLAP!

“The clothes, now!”

SLAP!

“No!”

Sister Bravo snatched Samuel off the couch and shook him violently.

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! “Now go put the fucking clothes on, or I’ll turn this over to Father Sin.”

Father Sin smiled, right fist clenched, punching his other hand.

Blood oozed from Samuel’s nose. He let it fall. He wanted to cry out.

The pain was unbearable, but he fought the urge to wince. He snatched up the clothes and stormed off to the tiny bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

“A strong little fucker,” he heard Father Sin say. They all laughed.

Samuel leaned against the small, stainless steel basin, his bravery defeated. Anxiety gripping his stomach. He swallowed hard, the saltiness of his blood and tears gagging him, so he abruptly turned to the toilet, fell to his knees and threw up. Back on his feet, he wiped his eyes and mouth with his shirtsleeve, then ripped the once neat, now blood stained oxford shirt off, sending pearl white buttons ricocheting off the walls.

Foggy lighting couldn’t help soften the frightened boy that stared back from the mirror. Swollen and red, the right side of his face, puffy and bruised, complimented his ear, now half a size larger. He ran cold water and splashed it liberally over his head and face. Samuel slowly stood up straight and stared in the mirror, struggling to conjure up his parents’ faces. His legs weak, he wobbled over to the toilet and plopped down, head in his hands.

“I want to go home,” he whimpered softly, wondering if God could hear him. He gathered himself as best he could, kicked off his shoes, and removed his khaki pants, socks and underwear
.

“I’m coming for you,”
he heard a familiar voice whisper in his head.

It was his godfather, Uncle Robert.

Yes, Uncle Robert and Aunt Thorne, they’ll come get me. I know they
will.

Encouraged, Samuel knelt down and prayed, asking God to help him.

The longer he prayed, the stronger he felt.

“Hurry up in there,” Father Sin’s grizzly voice growled.

Samuel stood. “I’m almost finished,” he said, mustering as much strength as he could, not wanting to appear defeated. He heard Father Sin give a huff and stomp away.

Despite the pain searing his face, he felt better. There were people looking for him, people who loved him, and would die for him. He quickly put on the clothes, dried his hair and face, stopping to gaze at the smile plastered on the now not-so-cute boy looking back. He’d do what he thought his godfather would do.
Play it cool. Watch and wait.
He’d find a way to help whoever was searching for him, and if he got an opening, he’d run away.

An almost sinister calm fell over him. He opened the bathroom door and stepped out into the cabin, where Sister Bravo and Father Sin were standing and waiting as the others slept. Samuel sat down on the couch and picked up his mug.

“Can I please have some more?” he asked, subdued and cool. “And may I have something to eat?”

Sister Bravo walked over and kissed his cheek. “Forgive me for hitting you,” she said, taking his cup.

Samuel smiled. Father Sin didn’t.

H
alfway to Lake Forest, a small suburb, thirty-one miles outside of Chicago, Robert took several measured breaths and flexed his hands out of nervousness. Freeway signs and highway shrubbery a blur, he gritted his teeth and suppressed the primal urge to bellow at the top of his lungs.

Samuel’s voice played in his head.
“Uncle Robert, how come you
don’t have any children?”

“I have a son.”

Samuel’s eyes widened. “Where is he?”
Robert smiled. “I’m looking at him.”
The rented, black, two-ton Explorer sped down Interstate 94 like a guided missile, weaving in and out of traffic, Robert barely aware of others on the road. For the first time since he and Thorne opened shop as guns-for-hire, the pangs of victim, not savior, filled his gut like hot coals, scorching his soul. More than he cared to remember, he’d sat in living rooms and offices across the globe, watching husbands and wives, mothers and fathers, sons and daughters, lament feverishly to the point of collapse over a loved one. But now, his usually well-weaved nerves felt weak, unsteady and unraveled.

Get it together. You’ve done this before, and you’ve never lost one
yet. Samuel won’t be the first.

Slowly, Robert’s pulse eased back to normal, his shoulder muscles and jaw relaxed. Two miles from St. Paul Catholic, the elementary school Samuel attended, he gathered himself, his surroundings a clearer presence. He heard the wind whistle through a crevice in the passenger door and bang against the windows. The partly cloudy sky cast a soft light on the surrounding area, much brighter than the veil of darkness his mood blanketed everything with earlier. The artificial scent of strawberries, from an air freshener the rental car clerk gave him, reemerged in his nostrils, signaling the near full return of self-control.

He found a jazz station on the radio at FM 89.3, Northwestern University’s station, and recalled the letters he and Samuel often wrote each other. Pen pals since the boy could scribble in crayon. The information Samuel had shared with Robert were no longer simply cute ramblings of an adolescent pre-teen, but lifelines, strands of potential clues that could save the boy’s life. Samuel had written about three individuals most often over the last year. Ms. Salomon, his fifth grade teacher, a woman Robert was sure Samuel had a crush on, and his two best friends, Paul Chambers and Carla Bryant. Robert couldn’t remember a letter that didn’t mention the three. Maybe one of them noticed something strange or out of place. In his experience, sometimes the smallest, seemingly insignificant detail could solve the unsolvable.

Just a year earlier, Robert and Thorne had been hired by the Wellingtons, a powerful family whose wealth was built on four generations of insurance industry profits. The commissioned them to find the murderer who beat their seventeen year old daughter, Amy, to death on the grounds of the Wellington estate in Westport, Connecticut. Police and federal agents were baffled, and on the advice of a mutual associate, Amy’s father, Nathaniel Wellington, offered Robert and Thorne five hundred thousand dollars to track down the killer.

One of the items listed in the mounds of evidence compiled by the authorities, and obtained in confidence by Mr. Wellington for their effort, was a dime size stain of butter pecan ice cream. Two months later, while questioning Briana Payne, one of Amy’s close friends, Robert noticed three empty Butter Pecan Hägan Daas containers in Briana’s trashcan. The stain revealed Briana’s favorite flavor, and set off an avalanche that locked Amy’s jealous friend away for the rest of her life.