Pierced by a Sword (11 page)

Tom Wheat waited by the private aircraft gate in the small terminal of Michiana Regional Airport. He had seen the corporate jet with SLG painted
on the tail land a few minutes before. A large, powerfully built, bald-headed man who was obviously Karl Slinger, Chairman and CEO of SLG Industries, was heading toward the gate in a golf cart driven by an airport worker.

He doesn't look seventy-four. Must have served in the Pacific during Number Two.

Before the cart reached the ground level gate, Slinger recognized Wheat and gave him a huge smile
and a wave. Slinger leaped off the cart and jogged toward the door carrying a leather overnight bag. He practically ran through the open door toward Wheat.

"You're Wheat, aren't you?" Karl boomed.

"Mr. Slinger, I presume?"

Both men clasped hands in a firm, quick grip.

"Are there any more bags–" Wheat began to inquire.

Slinger cut him off.

"Look, I want to tell you two things. Last night I went
to confession for the first time since high school. This morning, I went to Mass for the first time since my mother died ten years ago, and I received Holy Communion for the first time in fifty-four years. My wife Dottie just about had a heart attack! In the last twenty-four hours, I've said my first two Rosaries since I was a little boy. I owe it all to you and to your CD. One of my gardeners left
it on the seat of my limousine yesterday morning, can you believe it!"

Slinger let out a laugh so loud that several heads turned in the terminal.

"Welcome back, Karl!" Wheat replied, caught up in Slinger's enthusiasm. The smile on Wheat's face was very wide.
This guy's energy is enormous!
Wheat thought.

"I've got my Caravan right outside. Let's go. My wife Anne has a feast ready. Do you like kielbasa?"

Polish sausage was Slinger's favorite meal. He eyed Wheat suspiciously.

"A calculated guess, Karl. I read Forbes, remember. I feel like I know you. The article mentioned that your dad came to America from Poland–"

Slinger smiled and finished Wheat's sentence, "–and you figured all Polacks love kielbasa. Got it. Actually, my doc tells me to lay off it–bad for the cholesterol." Slinger noticed the
concerned look on Wheat's face. "But don't worry, my friend, I'll gladly make an exception on account of your wife's putting herself out like that. Who wants to live forever anyway?"

Both men laughed and headed for Tom Wheat's minivan.

3

Saturday Afternoon
7 October
Rome, Italy

Luigi Cardinal Casino was in a jubilant mood. The flight from Milan had gone quickly and smoothly. Every dog has his
day. Tomorrow was Luigi's day. He was also in disguise: an Oleg Casini suit, Gucci shoes, and a fedora angled over the dark Ray Ban sunglasses. No one glancing at the confident gray-haired man strolling into the Roman bistro would have recognized Casino as the man who missed being elected pope by one vote eighteen months earlier.

Casino went to the back of the bistro and sat down in his private
booth. The waiter thought Casino's name was "Giancarlo Tucci" and had no idea that he was a prince of the Catholic Church.

The waiter's main concern was that "Tucci" tipped well, liked expensive brandy, and valued privacy. Within minutes a tall, thin, handsome, and impeccably dressed man who was also wearing sunglasses came to Casino's table and sat down. The dark man in a dark suit had neatly
combed, greased-back hair. Unlike Casino, the dark man kept his sunglasses on. The waiter brought them each a snifter of brandy.

"Are you ready for tomorrow?" Casino's guest asked casually.

"I am. I have done as I was instructed," Casino responded gravely. "It is fixed–there will be no Twelve Apostates or unfortunate bus accidents to delay our plans this time!" Casino, feeling the bitterness of
losing the election to Angus O'Hara, glared at the other man. "Although I sometimes think there really is a God watching over this damned church!"

At that, the man in the dark glasses laughed heartily. Then he leaned forward and took off his glasses, looking directly into the cardinal's eyes. The blood ran out of Casino's face as he became instantly transfixed by the other man's gaze, like a deer
caught in headlights.

Those are the blackest eyes I have ever seen,
the cardinal thought.
Am I being hypnotized?
Casino felt the sweat on his back turn cold, and crazily imagined small ice crystals forming along his spine.

The man with jet black eyes picked up the menu and began to speak amiably, as if discussing the weather. One perfectly manicured hand rested gently on the base of the untouched
brandy snifter. "You know, Luigi, I did not have to come today. I wanted to look you in the eye before it happens. Angus O'Hara will be much easier than the other one–I lobbied to forgo the use of drugs this time. There will not be any traces.

"The Society has a complete dossier on him. We have been following this Irish fool for over a year. He is a lightweight, a dreamer. Intelligent, clever,
charming–yes–but completely naïve when it comes to politics. I am confident that we have waited long enough, and have prepared for this
event
on a worldwide basis. The
event
will go smoothly, and I trust you will follow your instructions to the letter after the event. O'Hara returns from America this evening. You
will
be pope soon."

The dark man looked back to Casino.

"I have to return to Amsterdam
tonight," he continued, "so we will not meet in person again. Perhaps after the new conclave. The Society will arrange things and contact you with instructions. Please extend my apologies to the waiter and remain here. Finish your meal." The dark man frowned and put down the menu.

He seemed to be finished speaking, then added, with a smile that was quite charming, "One last thing, Luigi. I'm disappointed
you don't believe in God. I do."

Their eyes met and Casino felt like screaming. The man put his black sunglasses on, which seemed gray compared to his eyes. He stood and walked away, leaving the cardinal alone.

He quickly downed both untouched brandies and motioned to the waiter so he could order something stronger.

Just a little to take the chill off.

4

Sunday Evening
8 October
Mishawaka, Indiana

The Wheats owned over sixty acres on the outskirts of Mishawaka. Tom and Anne decided to invest their life savings into the land thirty years earlier when it became clear that they could not support their growing family on Tom's salary. To this day they rented out most of the land to local farmers who grew corn and other crops in the fertile Indiana soil. The Wheats had built additions onto the
farmhouse to make room for their seven children.

Tom had also invested his money wisely in stocks, but he was not a wealthy man. He regularly gave more than ten percent of his income to charity. Most of their friends would have been shocked to discover that Tom and Anne didn't keep a monthly budget. They trusted God's Providence to provide for their needs; God had never betrayed their trust.

Anne was Tom's childhood sweetheart; they had been pretty much in love since the days when they played together in the streets of their South Bend neighborhood during the Depression. They got married before Tom left for Korea with the Marines Corps. Anne looked much like her only daughter Joanie, with clear blue eyes, thick auburn hair, fair skin, and a willowy build, although it was a bit worse for
the wear after nine pregnancies (including two late miscarriages) and thirty years of coal-filtered Lark cigarettes.

Anne had a kind of homespun wisdom and what Protestants would call an abiding faith. She was solid, steady, funny, and a wonderful cook. She was also a daily communicant.

She was standing at the drive when Tom and Karl pulled up in the dusty maroon Dodge Caravan.

"How do you do,
Mr. Slinger? Welcome to the land of the Hoosiers!"

"Quite pleased to be here," Slinger replied, and proving that he was not completely without charm, added, "I'm pleased to see that not all the beautiful Irish lasses are in Ireland." His smile was winning.

"Oh, go on now. I'm a worn out old lady and you both know it!"

"Let Karl and me go in and have a drink before the meal, Annie." Wheat looked
past the house to the field behind his home. "Is that Joanie and that Payne fella?" he said, gesturing toward the hill, where two silhouettes stood before the sinking sun.

"It is. Interesting young man," Anne observed. "Joanie seems quite taken with him. Mr. Slinger, I hope you don't mind us having a second guest at the table?"

"Not at all, Mrs. Wheat."

"Do call me Anne," she suggested, smiling.
"The Maker's Mark is in the den. I don't know about you, Karl, but Tom's too old and too stubborn to bother with any warning about drinking too much." Anne turned to her husband, squinting her eyes as she spoke, "Just don't embarrass me at the table, Thomas. Dinner'll be along in about half an hour."

She walked to the door and rang the large dinner bell which hung over the old-fashioned milk box
set into the clapboard wall of the house. The two silhouettes turned and began walking toward the house.

Joanie and Nathan came into the den. After introductions were made, Nathan excused himself to call his voicemail. He came back to the living room next to the den where Joanie was sitting.

"Well, well. I just called my voicemail," Nathan said to her. "I left a message earlier letting Chet know
I'll be back late tonight.
He
had a message for me. He's coming tomorrow to Notre Dame with a girl you met at my party, Becky Macadam. He's on vacation for the whole week, you know."

"Isn't that marvelous! I don't really know Becky," Joanie observed. "We've got a mutual friend, a Notre Dame grad, who works at her agency. Becky seemed pretty mellow at your party. I'll bet Chet's probably going
to meet up with Joe Jackson, too. You don't know him, but Joe is the guy who started and runs the Kolbe Foundation, which distributes my father's talks. It's too bad you'll miss them."

"I could take the day off," Nathan offered.

"Not on my account," she said.

"Why not? We could spend more time together. Get to know each other better. Chet would make a great chaperone, too. And hey, he's
my
best
friend! He's here on vacation visiting
me,
remember?"

"I remember," she nodded.

"By the way, Chet sent me one of your dad's CDs a couple of years ago. I threw it away without even listening to it. Mr. Open Mind, right?" Nathan frowned.

Joanie thought for a moment. "I want you to stay. But I can't get off work–I don't have any personal days left."

"Call in sick," Nathan suggested.

"That's lying.
I won't do that." Her reprimand was firm, but her tone was not harsh.

She's tough as nails. And I like it. The Moral Universe. I'm an alien. These people don't lie.

"I'm sure Mom would offer to put you up. There are plenty of empty bedrooms," Joanie suggested helpfully, looking toward the stairway that led to the bedrooms.

She's totally forgotten my suggestion that she lie about being sick. Just
like that. Forgive and forget? Forgive without being asked?

"I can get a hotel. It's not a hassle, and I can afford it," he replied.

"Okay by me," she said, looking down at her hands.

Nathan was having a hard time keeping his gaze chaste when Joanie was not directly watching him. She was wearing her usual casual uniform–jeans and a floppy sweater, with white socks and black boots–surfing up to
the edge of grunge fashion. Her clothes hid her sleek, feline figure. But they could not hide her almost European posture–which was extremely feminine–or her natural physical grace. Nathan found himself stirred by her despite himself–the way she tilted her head; the way emotions quickly surfaced and submerged on her face; the way she now stood up and arched her back, stretching. Nathan half-expected
to hear her purr.

This Tom Wheat Rule is going to be tough,
he thought.

"But really, Nathan, it's no problem having you stay over. Mom will make sure her room is between yours and mine. She has ears like a hound dog. If you head anywhere out of your room that's not the bathroom, she'll shoot you before Dad or Denny can strangle you."

She giggled, her eyes brightening.

"She's a good shot with a
rifle, too," Joanie added, a hint of a playful smile around her eyes.

"You're serious, aren't you?" he asked uncertainly.

"Only half," she said. "Oh, you better call Father Chet on that voicemail and let him know where to meet you. I suggest the Father Sorin statue, for obvious sentimental reasons. I'll catch up with the two of you when I finish teaching tomorrow afternoon. I'll take the bus."

Joanie, like her dad, was a history teacher, but she taught in the local public middle school. Her car was in the shop getting a new transmission.

She got up from the sofa, grabbed his hand, and led him to the country kitchen where the wonderful smell of polish sausage mixed with the fragrance of hot apple pie.

I can't remember being so excited just to hold a girl's hand,
Nathan thought as he let
himself be led into the kitchen. Karl Slinger and Tom Wheat were just getting seated.

5

Saturday Afternoon
7 October
The Motorman Motel
Santa Paula, California

Sister Leonardo was not the only creature capable of intervening in human events. A dark figure, assigned to his post by an even more grotesque creature from a world without light, was working on a man named Lee Washington, who was tossing
and turning on filthy, threadbare sheets in a cheap motel.

The grotesque creature's orders were clear. His superior, who was only once removed from the Supreme Master, had made certain of it, during the earlier briefing on the target.

"If you succeed in your task, countless numbers of these vile humans will cower beneath our Supreme Master's throne. You will be greatly rewarded. Many humans will
be your slaves if you succeed in enslaving this one weak, pathetic man. The target is ready to listen to you. You are practically inside his mind. Even now, he is being led to a place where you will finish him. You have all the resources at my disposal at your disposal. The Supreme Master, who is attending most important business in Sector Four, is expecting complete victory, or he would have overseen
this oblation himself. Surely, I do not need to explain your punishment if you should fail. But you will not fail. I will be at your side."
The demon's superior had laughed wickedly after finishing the brief.