No Stone Unturned: A Lexi Carmichael Mystery, Book Eleven Page 7

  “I imagine I do.” Father Armando offered a small smile of his own. “Let’s wrap this up as quickly as possible so you can get home to her.”

  He put a hand on the priest’s shoulder. “Trust me. There’s nothing I want more.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lexi

  I set my alarm for five o’clock in the morning to get up and check the progress of the claim on the package. Although I’d told Slash I didn’t think I was in danger, he clearly believed I was. That meant whoever sent the statue held some kind of power over Slash, which indicated the real threat wasn’t against me, but him. To hell with that! I wasn’t going to let someone use me to get to him.

  After brewing some coffee, I got to work, still in my pjs, and gave myself three hours to snoop online before I had to leave for work.

  I reentered the CAI email system to check on my claim. It had been read and the claim’s process started, so I typed an email and made it appear to come from one of Europin’s staff. I said in the email that data corruption had occurred on several of their claims. Files with multiple addresses had been mistakenly merged with the senders who were filing claims. As a result, I requested that a new list of package numbers and sender information for shipping numbers, that included mine, needed to be generated at once to confirm the correct pairing. I provided a bogus email that I’d created within the system and sat back to wait.

  Within forty minutes, I had what I needed and was grateful for CAI’s efficiency. In order to hide my tracks, I cancelled the claim, so I didn’t alert the sender I was on to him.

  Now I had to track down the sender. I had a name but was about ninety-nine percent sure it would be bogus. It took me another half hour to confirm that, but I still had to rule it out. The sender used an electronic wallet to pay anonymously, but it didn’t matter. I had a number and that was all I needed. It did mean, however, I would have to cruise the murky alleys of the Dark Web looking for what I needed, and that was extremely dangerous because I was searching for a credit card number and that was illegal. I didn’t intend to use the card number for nefarious reasons, but that didn’t make it any more legal. Plus, most of the agencies like the FBI and the NSA had penetrated the Dark Web and had agents who were pretending to be sellers, buyers or offering goods and services. They were clever, so I had to be smarter. I had been one of those agents once, so I was experienced and knowledgeable about their methods, but I still had to be exceptionally careful not to trigger any alarms or get noticed in ways I shouldn’t.

  Cloaked in anonymity and using a special browser that hid my IP address, I plunged into the Dark Web, my heart accelerating. It was truly nerve-racking work, even for an experienced hacker like me. My experience worked in my favor. Thirty-two minutes later I had a name.

  Julian Koenhein.

  Meant nothing to me, but I disconnected from the Dark Web, then stretched my arms above my head and rolled my neck. Time to get ready for work, but I wanted to do a quick search on Mr. Koenhein first. A brief overview provided quite a bit of interesting information. Julian Koenhein happened to be a priest at the Vatican. He apparently worked as a clerk for Cardinal Jacopo Lazo. No way did I think that a coincidence, especially because Cardinal Lazo was the current president of the Vatican, a position I didn’t know existed.

  “Holy conclave,” I muttered. I didn’t need Basia to translate the significance of that. Slash needed to know as soon as possible what I’d discovered. A clerk from the office of the president of the Vatican had sent a statue from the Congo to me. I had no idea what it meant or what kind of importance it held for Slash, if any.

  I checked the time. It was almost eight o’clock in the morning, which meant it would be about two o’clock in the afternoon Slash’s time. Hoping that after I gave him the info, we could try to talk and sort things out, I swiped open my phone and called him. It went to voice mail immediately, which meant he likely had his phone turned off. Swallowing my disappointment, I left a message.

  “Hi, Slash, it’s me. Call me back when you get a chance. I’ve got something important to tell you.”

  I hung up, letting out a deep breath. I wasn’t sure how my information would impact him, but the sooner he found out what I’d discovered, the better.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Slash

  He needed access to a weapon.

  In truth, he felt fine most of the time with just his hands and training, but he had no idea what was going on, and it was always prudent to be prepared. Keeping that in mind, he’d secured some specialized equipment that he felt might be needed and assembled the unlicensed and unregistered weapons in a spot more central to his planned location in Rome. He didn’t carry anything on his person yet because at this stage of the game, he couldn’t afford to be caught with unlicensed and unregistered guns. But he’d secreted what he needed in close proximity to his current area of operations, so they would be available as needed.

  As he drove up toward the hotel, his phone vibrated. It was a text from Father Armando with nothing more than a phone number. He knew what it was.

  Father Nucci had come through with a number. That’d been fast.

  While scanning his phone, he noticed he’d missed a call from Lexi, and she’d left him a message. He’d figured she’d be busy at work, so he’d ring her later. For now, he instructed his phone to call the number Father Armando had sent.

  The phone rang several times before it was picked up.

  An irate male voice spoke. “Who is this?”

  “Vipera.”

  There was a long silence. “This phone is not secure.” He didn’t ask how Slash had got the number. Nucci had probably tipped him off that he’d be calling.

  “I need to talk to you.” He had no expectations that his former boss would speak to him, but he risked nothing in trying.

  The silence stretched on for an uncomfortable amount of time. Still Slash waited.

  “The usual place?” Pacini finally spoke. “One hour?”

  The usual place was Piazza della Madonna dei Monti at a place near the sixteenth-century fountain. They’d met there several times for private discussions outside the Vatican.

  “I’ll be there,” Slash said.

  Pacini hung up without another word.

  Slash reorganized his plans for the afternoon in his head, then listened to the message from Lexi. He told his phone to call her immediately, but it rang several times before her voice mail kicked in. Although he hated the wasted effort of phone tag, he left her a message.

  “It’s me, cara. Sorry I missed your call. You’re probably in a meeting. I’ll call you back this evening. Ti amo.”

  It took him thirty minutes to arrive at the piazza, but he drove past and parked about a half-mile away. Though he had little reason to suspect a problem, since he had the time, he used the thirty minutes to reconnoiter the area around the fountain.

  He walked slowly, blending in with the local population, and bought a coffee to go. Just another local on his way to work. While the area wasn’t overrun with tourists, it wasn’t devoid of them, either, which provided cover for those who might otherwise look out of place surveilling them.

  The area surrounding the piazza was filled with kiosks, shops and stores. Feral cats ran wild here, as they did in many parts of Rome. He strolled, seemingly unconcerned, along the uneven sidewalks and narrow alleys, the façades lined with stone and Roman stucco—old ruins mixed in with new, more modern structures. He passed a couple of stalls with striped awnings selling colorful vegetables. The butcher shop that sold the best pork he’d ever eaten still stood in its same spot, the meat hooks showing the slabs visible in the shop window.

  He meandered into the piazza, doing a visual sweep of the crowd, looking for an averted gaze or someone who met his eyes and looked away too quickly. An old woman fed pigeons from a paper bag while sitting on the edge of the fountain. Japanese tourist
s took pictures of each other. People passed by, some chatting with friends, others talking on their cell phones. An older man sat in front of one of the buildings, sketching on a pad. Nothing triggered his instincts.

  Just in case, he made two more sweeps before slipping into a seat at an empty table at a café. He positioned himself behind other diners, but with a decent view of the fountain. His field instincts remained calm, so he ordered two glasses of the local white wine, and paid when the server brought them.

  Ten minutes later Pacini slipped into the chair across from him with a grin. He had aged considerably in the seven years since Slash had seen him. His jet-black hair had been dusted with gray, but now it had turned completely white, and the lines on his face were carved deeper, especially around the eyes and on the forehead. But his physique remained fit and defined, and his handshake was firm when he reached across the table to shake Slash’s hand.

  “It’s good to see you,” Pacini spoke in Italian. His expression looked reluctantly impressed. “You haven’t aged a day.”

  “Flattery doesn’t suit you,” Slash responded.

  “No, it doesn’t, which is why I don’t engage in it.” Pacini picked up the wine and took a sip. “Novello Superiore. Excellent choice.”

  “I remembered it was your favorite.” Slash lifted his own glass in a salute. “Hopefully that hasn’t changed.”

  “It hasn’t.” He tapped his glass to Slash’s and took a sip, sighing in pleasure. “I need to take a bottle or ten of these home with me.”

  “I appreciate you coming.”

  “Just saved us some time. Figured you would have found me by tomorrow anyway. Better we meet on neutral ground.” Pacini’s fingers played with the wine stem. He was clearly uncomfortable with the summons, as he should be. He took another sip, then regarded Slash. “What do you want?”

  That was Pacini for you. Blunt, direct and honest. He liked that. No wasted conversation, no wasted time.

  “Information on the Congo.”

  Pacini’s hand with the wineglass stilled inches from his mouth. He carefully set it down, narrowing his eyes. “What kind of information?”

  “Someone sent a nkondi statue to my fiancée. That was preceded by an anonymous note that said, ‘I know who you are,’ the refusal of the church to marry my younger brother, and a firecracker display with a Bible verse referring to my wickedness and a so-called betrayal of my oath.”

  Pacini lowered his hand. “What the hell?”

  “Someone wanted me here. So, here I am. Happen to know what’s going on?”

  He stared at Slash, thinking, then shook his head. “Ah, I’m afraid I’m long retired from such intrigue. I drink coffee and brandy during the day and spend my nights with whomever is willing to stay with me.”

  Slash didn’t believe that for a minute. Pacini’s eyes remained sharp, assessing. As much as Pacini might have wanted to deny it, Slash saw the interest their conversation had sparked. He also knew the man had many deep and important connections at the Vatican. In many ways, Pacini was still a very dangerous man. As head of the sodalitium pianum for so many years, he held a lot of important secrets.

  Slash leaned forward. “Who else knew about the operation? As far as I know, there were only a few of us in the know.”

  Pacini looked at the fountain, thinking. “It was the tightest held secret of the organization. Only you, me, Carmelo and Manna were officially in the know regarding the details. Carmelo passed away two years ago from liver cancer, and Manna is rarely sober these days. I assure you, even if he was, he wouldn’t remember you. About a year after the Congo, he overdosed. He survived, but it addled him. These days he seeks solace in the bottle. That leaves you and me.”

  Manna was a good man, and Carmelo had been, too. The operation had hurt all of them. “No one else knew about the mission?”

  Pacini shook his head. “No one.”

  He ran a hand through his hair, considering. Father Armando and the pope both knew, as a result of his confessions, but Father Armando hadn’t been a cardinal yet, and the current pope hadn’t yet been elected pope. Besides, he trusted both of them to respect the vows of his confession even among other priests. It was possible Manna and Carmelo had also confessed, which brought in any number of priests who could know and might not be as circumspect as the pope and Father Armando. Still, there had to be a deeper connection somewhere.

  “Perhaps someone is just fishing,” he mused aloud. “If so, they won’t get anything from me.”

  But Pacini was no longer listening. He stared out at the piazza as if frozen deep in thought, then snapped his fingers. “Wait. When we disbanded the sodalitium, I borrowed a couple of Vatican clerks to help me close down things. It’d be unlikely they saw or understood anything of value, but it’s possible.”

  He wanted to believe him, but he didn’t. Swallowing the frustration, he kept his voice even. “What about my file? Could they have seen that?”

  Pacini’s eyes shifted slightly, just enough to raise doubt. “I doubt it.”

  “But it’s possible.”

  Pacini reluctantly nodded. “All things are possible, but I sincerely don’t think so. Besides, priests are sworn to secrecy. What would be the point? Revealing information on the Congo operation would only hurt the church.”

  “Maybe someone doesn’t want to hurt the church.”

  Pacini paused, gave him a long, hard stare. “Are you saying you’re the target?”

  “Blackmail.” That made the most sense. “But I’m not sure to what end. Any chance you remember the names of those clerks?”

  “Not off the top of my head.” He drained the last of his wine. “But I’ll get them to you.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  Pacini stood, resting both hands on the back of his chair. “In the meantime, be careful, Viper. I share your sense of concern. I suspect there are layers of complex motivations at work, and those behind this will not be eager to see you picking at them. They clearly know more about you at this moment than you know about them, so be careful who you trust. People who say they’ve got your back may be simply positioning themselves for an easy stabbing.”

  “I’m ready.” He could handle whatever they threw at him, as long as it stayed directed at him. “I can play this game, too. But I’m not going away without answers.”

  Pacini dipped his head in acknowledgment. “I figured as much. Good luck and I’ll send you what I find.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lexi

  I’d just walked in the door at home when my cell rang. I recognized the tone, so I dropped the keys trying to get the phone out of my purse. When I bent down to get the keys, my briefcase dropped on my foot, causing me to hop around on one leg, cursing while finally retrieving my cell.

  “Slash?” I slammed the front door shut and tapped in the code on the alarm.

  “Cara. Is everything okay?”

  It was so good to hear his voice, I momentarily forgot why I had called him in the first place. So, I stood there dumbly in the foyer of our house, the purse hanging drunkenly off my arm, my brain freezing. “Uh, I...”

  “Cara?”

  “Slash, hi. I’m fine.” I closed my eyes. “No, actually, I’m not fine. I miss you. A lot.”

  He let out a breath. “I miss you, too. More than you know.”

  We both fell silent as an unusual awkwardness descended on us. We were engaged to be married, and yet, we were suddenly talking like strangers. Mysterious secrets, hidden agendas and an unknown past were coming between us with no end in sight.

  I walked into the living room and dropped my purse on the couch. “Slash, I have something to tell you. I was, ah, hanging around online, and decided to see if I could track down the sender of the statue package.”

  No response. I pressed my hand against my forehead. “Okay. Fine. I wasn’t just hanging
around. I deliberately and intentionally tracked down the sender on your behalf. I wasn’t just going to sit around and worry about you. I’m perfectly capable of helping you with or without your permission.”

  He said nothing. I figured he was thinking what to say. We were on seriously shaky ground after all. Since I didn’t know what else to say, I waited.

  “Thank you.”

  It was a small step, but it was forward progress. Thank God for that. Still, I was so nervous, my words came out fast. “Do you want to know what I found out?”

  “I do.”

  Was it wishful thinking or did I hear a hint of hopefulness in his voice? I gave him a brief rundown of how I tracked the sender of the package through the claims company and by extension, the insurance company. “I was able to secure the electronic wallet number, but I needed to know to whom it belonged. I went through the Dark Web and came up with a name, thank goodness.”

  “That was smart thinking, cara. No mishaps on the Dark Web?”

  “None to my knowledge.”

  “Did you get a name?” he asked, and now I was sure I heard a tinge of excitement.

  “I did. It’s a guy named Julian Koenhein. Have you heard of him before?”

  “No. It sounds German.”

  I hadn’t even wondered. “I don’t know his ethnicity, but he works at the Vatican.”

  Slash was quiet for a moment. “Where at the Vatican?”

  I braced myself for the revelation. “In the office of Cardinal Jacopo Lazo. Lazo is the president of the Vatican.”

  “I know who Lazo is. Are you sure about this, cara?”

  “I’m sure. Does it mean anything to you?”

  “It might.”

  “Well, personally, I didn’t know the Vatican had a president. However, in hindsight, it makes perfect sense since the Vatican is technically a country, albeit the smallest in the world in terms of both population and area.” I was babbling, but I was afraid he’d shut me out again and say he had to go.