The Flaming Grenade, page 27
"Hey," she laughed, squirming away. "We're going to be late."
I raised my hands in a gesture of innocence and laughed. Zaira grabbed her purse and I grabbed the laptop. I took the two badges and put one into each pocket. As an afterthought, I also grabbed the printouts we made earlier that day.
We left our room at the same time as Heinrich, who was wearing slacks, a light tan crew-neck sweater and a cotton blazer. He was carrying a bottle of wine, which reminded me we didn't have anything.
Zaira noticed my panic and said, "Don't worry. The hotel clerk has a box of pastries for us. I went down and asked him to pick something up while you were sleeping. What would you do without me?"
My arm was around her waist and I squeezed.
We decided to walk to the church. It was a very comfortable night. It had cooled down considerably, but the heat of the day still radiated from the cobblestone street. We chatted with Heinrich about Germany and the Passion Play of Oberammergau. Heinrich told us how he, as a child, had participated in the production. He wasn't invited back on stage the next go round. We all laughed together and forgot for a moment the badges or our shared history. Heinrich's new job during the production was to hang flyers. That was as close to the stage as he was allowed.
When we arrived at the church, we walked around to the back door as Archbishop Antonelli had instructed, and I knocked. A porch light turned on and the door cracked open. A young priest peered out.
"We are here to see the Archbishop," Zaira explained. The priest opened the door wide and walked down the hallway. We followed him, Heinrich closing the door behind us. He led us through a storage room, shelves stacked with dusty boxes, and into a large, ornate dining room. He held out his hands, into which we released the wine bottle and plate of pastries. The room was long, with a chandelier hanging at each end. A fine marble fireplace along the left wall had a dark wooden mantle decorated with ornate carvings. The table was set for three; the archbishop wasn't expecting Heinrich.
Heinrich went directly to the mantle and ran his fingers over the carvings. Professionally, he approved of the work and wanted to know the history behind the beautiful pieces and their creators. Along the right wall hung three paintings, lit by wall sconces. The paintings depicted peaceful pastoral scenes, the smoking Mt. Etna in the background. Zaira guessed they were from the 17th century, but that was just a guess. She wasn't really an expert.
A door opened on the far side of the room through which Archbishop Antonelli entered. He was wearing his standard black pants and shirt with the white Roman collar. He looked curiously at Heinrich, who approached him and bowed his head.
"Your Excellency," Heinrich said.
"Father Antonelli, it is good to see you again." I smiled and shook his hand.
Zaira greeted him next and introduced Heinrich. "This is Heinrich Müller. I apologize for inviting him as well, but we met in our hotel and discovered a common interest."
Antonelli seemed annoyed at the uninvited guest, but intrigued by Zaira's introduction.
"It turns out his father was one of the German officers who met and tried to care for a surviving Carabinieri officer up north. The officer had been involved in a massacre on Mt. Etna." Heinrich fidgeted uncomfortably, and Zaira smiled warmly at him.
"Oh?" After a moment’s thought he continued, "Yes, I remember. Unterfeldwebel Müller."
"You knew my grandfather?” Heinrich asked excitedly.
"Yes of course. He and his friend would secretly meet with me for confession and mass. They were good men. I am very pleased to meet you, Heinrich."
The priest who had answered the door appeared in the room with a pitcher of wine. Antonelli asked him to set out another place on the long wooden table as I went to pour us each a glass. I offered a glass to Zaira. Is the rule ladies first or priests? I didn't know. The other priest entered with an extra place setting and when he finished, Antonelli invited us to sit. The meal was delicious: fresh vegetables and homemade pasta. The light olive oil was fantastic, and Antonelli explained that it came from a monastery located about an hour away. It blew away any oil you can buy in the states. We talked about the history of the church and Antonelli's service in Sicily throughout the years. He had led an interesting life.
When dinner was finished, Antonelli invited us to retire to a library in the adjoining room. The walls were lined with books, mostly in Italian and Latin, from colorful new texts to old cracked leather-bound volumes.
“Robert would love it in here,” I muttered.
A couch and two cushioned chairs sat facing a stone fireplace. We sat, and the priest came in with coffee and then left us, shutting the door behind him.
"So, you would like to know about what happened here so many years ago and about your grandfather?" Antonelli began. He spoke in very good, but heavily accented, English.
I decided he needed to know what we had been up to. I explained how we met and spoke with Alessandra. He was surprised and asked how she was doing. He was older than Alessandra, but fortunately had a clear mind. I reported Alessandra was confused, but remembered the past with great clarity and spoke highly of Father Antonelli.
"You were really here then?" Zaira asked.
Antonelli chuckled. "Yes, yes. I am that old. It was my very first assignment, and I was very young. It was an interesting time. We were a very poor town, and when the Nazis came, they took what little food we had for themselves. They forced the townspeople to house soldiers in their homes. I am sorry to say, but as in all wars throughout history, some of the Nazis took advantage of our women and young girls. Our young men were off to war. But there were good ones, men like your grandfather, Heinrich. He came to me when he could. Naziism was the only religion Hitler allowed, so Heinrich had to sneak into the church for confession and communion."
"He never spoke of his time here. Thank you."
"He had a friend; Franz I think his name was."
"Yes, I met him when I was a boy, but he died in a car accident."
"Those two were always together. It was they who discovered the massacre."
"So, what happened?" Zaira asked.
"Well, let me start from the beginning. Just after the Allied invasion, the Germans were very busy preparing their defenses. We were still technically allies with the Nazis, but everyone knew it wouldn't last. The Nazis didn't trust us and always acted like an occupational force instead of allies. They refused to work with our army and the high commanders were always German.”
“So, about a month before the massacre,” he continued, “a group of Carabinieri officers came to town. They told the townspeople they were there to work with the Germans to prepare defenses in case of an Allied invasion, but that was just a story. The people in town believed them; they were just excited there were some Italian soldiers involved. I believe they thought this would make the Nazis treat them better."
"I imagine the Nazis didn't really want their help?"
"True. But they treated the Carabinieri just like they did all of the other Italians, like backwards peasants. It was maddening really, and the entire town secretly prayed the American and British would liberate them. I spoke with the head of the Carabinieri unit, and he admitted to me they were there to perform a secret mission. Word had traveled to Rome through our network of spies that Hitler was searching for the Pietra Omnipotente. I had heard of it, but in all honesty didn't really believe it existed. To prove it to me, the officer went outside and returned with the hats of two of his men. He unpinned the badges from their hats and held them together. I have never seen anything like it! They came alive!”
“They snapped into an orbit, circling around and around each other with an energy that permeated the room! I couldn't explain it, but I was convinced it was real. The officer explained that Hitler had finally traced the origins of the Power to a rock suspected to be hidden somewhere in Italy. Half of it, of course, was hiding in plain sight, while the other half was still hidden in the mountain.”
“The officials in Rome decided it was time that the two halves be reunited and relocated somewhere far outside of Hitler's grasp. He claimed that an American officer with the OSS..."
"The OSS?" Zaira interrupted.
"The Office of Strategic Services. It was the World War II version of the CIA. They worked covert ops behind enemy lines and tried to help resistance movements in France and Italy," I explained.
"How do you know all of this stuff?"
"W.E.B Griffin books." I shrugged.
"Who? Oh nevermind. Sorry, Father."
He smiled. "Where was I? Right, so he claimed the OSS officer was going to mount an operation to get the stone out of the country to a secure location. He had his doubts though. In an effort to keep the stone away from one government, they were planning to give it to another. Power is an irresistible thing, and he didn't want Roosevelt to be tempted to use the stone either."
"So he came to you for help?" Heinrich opined.
"More with a proposal. He said he thought the church would be better suited to handle the rock. He believed the Power was that of God, and it rightly belonged with the church. I reminded him of the popes in previous centuries who also became drunk with power. It felt sacrilegious to say such things, but I wanted to help him make the right decision. He left to think it over.”
“Then, the fateful day came. The Nazis were down the mountain building bunkers and pill boxes and only left a few men behind. Your father, Heinrich, and his friend were tasked with patrolling the mountain trails. The Germans were paranoid that an invading army would suddenly appear, flanking them from the mountain side. Anyway, the Carabinieri squad set out for the cave, and things went disastrously wrong. When they reached the clearing just outside the entrance to the cave, they were attacked by the monster."
"What was it?"
"Just a minute," he continued. "There had always been rumors that a beast lived on the mountain, very similar to the rumors of Bigfoot or the Yeti. When Alessandra came to me in a panic, she described the monster."
"Right," Zaira said, pulling out the print out of Alessandra's diary. "She called it the monster monkey."
Antonelli looked surprised that we had a copy of the diary, but he continued, "Right, well, I went to the convent to speak to the Mother Superior. She was very old, at least it seemed to me at my young age, and I asked her about the monster. She had lived in Trecastagni all her life, as had her ancestors. She sat me down and told me the story.”
“Everyone here knows about the great earthquake in 1669. Trecastagni was actually saved from the eruption; however, ash fell for days. It got into everything, their food, their water. The town feared they would all die, in spite of being spared from the lava flows. A shepherd showed them to an underground spring inside of a cave. It was in the front cavern, and the water was crystal clear. To their surprise, the man refused to accept the gratitude of the town, instead claiming the disaster was all his fault. Eventually, when the air cleared and the normal water supplies returned, the people forgot the lone shepherd had saved their lives; instead, they mocked him and claimed he was crazy."
I jumped in. "But didn't he hand over the stone to the priest here in this church?"
"Yes, he did, but the damage had already been done. He had broken the Pietra Omnipotente and stolen it. He was ignorant and could not control or understand its power. The priest offered to take the pieces and eventually they became a part of the church, until one day, in fear the stones would be discovered, they were melted and cast into flaming grenades. An elite unit of officers, sworn to protect the secret, was formed. The officers held normal posts within the Carabinieri, and the badges were scattered throughout Italy, but they all swore to keep their oath."
"How did they melt down a stone?" Heinrich queried.
"Good question, and the best explanation I have is that they determined it was a mixture of cooled lava and a metal alloy. It required extreme temperatures to melt. How they thought of trying it, I have no idea."
"Why didn't the priest just return the pieces to the cave in the first place?" Zaira wondered.
"Well, that is the question, isn't it? I think his motives were pure. After the eruption, he wanted to prevent anyone from following in the shepherd's footsteps and unwittingly cause another disaster. I had the same question you all have, I suspect. What happened to the shepherd?"
We all nodded.
"Well, he was cursed. He was forced to guard the cave until the stone could be reunited and made whole again."
"But it still isn't together, so who is guarding it now?" I had to ask.
"He is. The curse has no expiration. He has been living in the cave for centuries, with no human contact and no purpose other than to guard that place. Over time, he lost his humanity and became more and more like an animal. He lost the ability to speak more than a word or two, and he attacks anything that comes near. He stopped bathing, stopped cutting his hair, stopped every human activity. That is why Alessandra called him a monkey."
"And he is still there?" I asked, incredulous.
"Yes. After the horrible massacre, I knew something had to be done. Those officers were trying to rejoin the parts of the stone. They would have broken the curse! But the shepherd was so far gone, he didn't even realize it. So, after the massacre, I ventured up to the cave."
"Weren't you scared?" asked Zaira.
"Well yes, actually I was terrified. The town was poor and we didn't have much, but I brought him a small gift, a shiny metal top. I placed it on the stone in front of the cave and stood back. Eventually, he emerged, smelling foul and caked in dried blood. He growled at me, so I stepped back further. He snatched the top and disappeared back into the cave. I just kept coming back, bringing gifts and talking quietly to him. Eventually he came outside and stayed for a few minutes, and then a few minutes more. I still visit him, although it is more difficult now that I am down in Catania."
"So what happened with the massacre?" Heinrich prodded.
"When the Nazis returned, your father briefed the commander on what happened. He just laughed and said he wasn't surprised the Italians got themselves killed. The townspeople asked for help in retrieving and burying the bodies, but he refused. He said we could go up and bury them there. It was all a joke to him. So, that is what we did. We gathered together and went up the mountain and went to work. It was horrible. The bodies had been out the whole day and night. I will never forget the blood and the smell. Oh my. There was a clearing just below the cave and we dug the graves there. I was one of the only ones who knew the secret so, on a whim, I decided to do what the Carabinieri commander wanted. I gathered all of the badges. I told the people I was going to return the badges to their families. I wrapped each one individually and carried them back to the church. I met with the Mother Superior and we decided I would take five and she would take five. I hid them in the church, and they have been there ever since."
At this, I decided it was time. I pulled one badge from each pocket and placed them on the table. I unwrapped one while Zaira unwrapped the other. Antonelli immediately recognized them and he walked to the bookshelves. He pulled out a wooden box and set it on the table. I finished unwrapping my badge just as Antonelli retrieved a badge from the box. There were now three there on the table.
Heinrich gasped, and I looked over to see him fumbling in his pockets. He also pulled out a handkerchief and placed a fourth on the table.
"You? Your grandfather?" Zaira stammered.
"Yes, I found the badge last week in a hidden compartment in one of his carvings. He got it from the dying Carabinieri officer and kept it."
"Where did you get the second badge? It's not Officer Moretti's, is it?" It was his turn to ask questions.
"That's a really long story, Father, but yes, the bottom line is, I found it. No, I was led to it, and now it's here."
He was deep in thought. "That's interesting. Usually, the badges are impossible to find. But, if what you say is true, it found you."
We had four, and I looked expectantly up at Antonelli. He shrugged and then shook his head.
"I honestly don't know where they are hidden. There was so much going on that week that I hid them and created notes where they were hidden. Then the Allies invaded and by the time things calmed down, I could no longer find my notes and had no idea where they were hidden."
I suspected there was more to it than that and said so. "I think maybe the badges hid themselves. We are talking about unfathomable power, after all."
"That is what I believe as well."
"So, what do we do? We have to finish the job and return those badges to the cave," Zaira said. She was getting excited now. I admit, I was as well, but I was also afraid of what could happen. We had to get past the shepherd, after all.
Chapter 89
LINGUAGLOSSA, SICILY, ITALY
The bells hanging from the door jam jingled as Vincenzo walked into the bar.
"Sorry, we're closed," Mario said without looking up. He was sweeping the floor behind the counter.
Carmela rushed into the front room from the kitchen, hoping it was Giuseppe. They had plans for dinner, and she hadn't heard from him all day. He promised he would call if he wasn't going to make it.
"Enzo, how are you?"
"Is Giuseppe here?" he asked, without bothering with a greeting.
"Oh, hi Enzo," Mario said.
"No, I was going to ask you. Have you heard from him? Enzo? He was supposed to call."
"No. I figured he came straight here. He said you two were going to get dinner. I've tried to call and no one answers."
