Hidden Passion, page 3
In their correspondence and calls leading up to the exhibition, Angelotti had been dry and reticent. But here he’s expressive and gracious. More doubts flowed in her.
“Yes, Father, it was okay but unexpected.”
At five feet nine, Rennie was comfortable being able to look many men in the eye, but this guy was short and thin. His closely cropped black hair had a hint of gray along the temples. He seemed too small.
“I’m grateful you have come, and I wish we had more time in Naples. It’s a city with a big heart. Not so, shall we say, formal, like Rome. If you please, we must take a short ride in a boat.”
“Father Angelotti, what does this have to do with the exhibition? Why are we here?”
He drew a deep breath. His eyes flicked to the side where an Italian police boat was docked; a sleek craft, large enough for a small wheelhouse at its center. He glanced up at her. “I’m sorry, Signora Haran. A tragedy has occurred. I must attend to it, and I could use your assistance.”
“What happened?”
“A priest was murdered. They say it’s an awful sight. He was lashed to a slab of wood and set adrift at sea. Birds and fish got to him. I only hope he drowned first.”
Rennie held her breath. Evil was present.
Angelotti covered his eyes with one hand. A long moment passed. “Signora Haran, this is an awkward time for the Vatican. The priest is Greek Orthodox, and you know His Holiness has tried to restore the difficult relationship with our brothers in Greece. We have a serious diplomatic problem. It’s a complex and possibly dangerous situation for us. You’re an investigator, and I’d value your thoughts.”
A cool breeze slid around her neck. Rennie tugged together her open jacket. The tight, hip-length style was fine for a business meeting but would be a challenge on the open water. The wind teased her face with her hair and wisps of it clung to her long eyelashes. She wasn’t ready for this.
“What do you mean dangerous?”
Her tone was flat and restrained.
“It’s not a personal danger, only a challenge to the church. I had to come to Naples and must now report on this to the highest levels of the Vatican. This evening we’ll be in Rome and this ugliness will be gone. Your investigative skills are deeply important to me.”
She studied him as her curiosity blossomed. This trip might be more of an adventure than she expected.
“I guess we can discuss the exhibition tomorrow. Now what?”
“Grazie, Rennie! Now, we go.”
With a quick, gangly turn he motioned to the boat. His hand flung into the air. “Lorenzo!”
A uniformed man onboard shook his finger at another. He swung around and motioned to Rennie and Father Angelotti to come. He turned back to the subordinate and barked another order.
Rennie followed the Vatican emissary along the uneven planks of the old wharf while seagulls screamed far away. A shiver ran up her back as she imagined the birds landing on a man’s face. A pungent mixture of diesel odor and fish drifted over her.
Behind them a sudden rumble was accented by men yelling. A horn blasted through the crisp air, causing an instinctive jerk in Rennie’s shoulders. People on the dock leaped to the edge as a black Alfa Romeo sedan suddenly appeared at their heels. Angelotti grabbed Rennie’s arm to move her to the side.
She pulled free from him as the car blew past her pant leg. The sleek beast was accented with a red stripe, and the word Carabinieri blazed across the doors. Figures hid behind the dark windows.
Angelotti was suddenly in her face. “I will handle this. Do not speak. This is Raggruppamento Operativo Speciale, ROS. They are military intelligence. They can do whatever they want.”
He was tense. His cold eyes beamed into hers. Then a toothy smile swept across his face, and he turned.
“Bello vederti, Capitano,” Angelotti called out as two men casually exited from the back of the Alfa Romeo. Their dark blue uniforms held massive red epaulets, gold collars, and stacked ribbons on the left side of the coats. They feigned indifference to the priest’s greeting.
Rennie stood her ground. Her nostrils flared as her doubts about Angelotti grew again. She slid designer sunglasses from her jacket pocket and slowly positioned them on her nose. Her mind raced through their conversations for a reference that would help her understand and deal with him. Now military intelligence is involved? Cold energy grew within her.
Father Angelotti’s cape lifted behind him as he raised his arms and he seemed to glide to the officers. One of them gave him polite but restrained attention. The priest’s head bobbed, and his arms churned the air.
She surveyed the scene at the wharf. A couple of young men at an adjacent dock called to her in a soft, pleading way. They were easy to dismiss. Mystery and investigating a death came first.
The priest was again at her side. “It’s all okay. This matter apparently called away our military friends from attending some nonsense ceremony, so they weren’t happy. But now they know they are not needed.”
As the black sedan backed up, Angelotti waved at the windows. The car’s horn sounded loud and long as it disappeared into traffic.
Angelotti gasped, “So, now the boat.” He took a step toward the naval craft.
“Father, what was their interest and why aren’t they needed?” Rennie asked.
The priest swiveled. “Everyone is interested in this unfortunate death. The ROS is concerned with state security. Italy is dealing with massive numbers of refugees and even criminals who continue to come to our shores, so the military is on alert. It’s best they are not involved in this matter.”
“Father, what exactly is this matter?”
“We’re not sure.” The priest’s expression was blank. His eyes didn’t blink in the breeze. “There’s an early report that the poor fellow who died in the water is Father Ioannis Anastasios. He’s an Orthodox priest and a renowned authority on the early church. He’s from Greece. Well, recently from Turkey. No one knows how he entered the country. He was found several hours ago.”
He stared into her sunglasses. “Will you join me, Signora Haran? This sad situation is on a beach a short ride out of the harbor.”
Questions raced through Rennie’s mind as they boarded the boat. She locked onto every movement, noise and smell. Shapes and sounds had edges. She reminded herself to be centered and clear, but suspicions lingered.
Refugees. Terrorists. Military intelligence. Murder.
Even if nothing else happened, she would already have quite a story for the readers in good old Des Moines, Iowa.
The small naval craft powered its way into Naples Harbor where the chaotic activity resembled the streets of the city. Boats and ships cut through the waves in angular paths like the motorbikes, cars, and trucks racing between random gaps of fearless pedestrians. Angelotti and Rennie huddled in the cockpit of their craft to escape the blowing wind.
He shouted, “Signora Haran, did my assistant help you make the connection in Rome for the flight to Naples?”
“Yes, when I arrived he escorted me to the car that took me to the helicopter. He said nothing.”
The boat slid sideways as it gathered speed. Sailors shouted at each other. Rennie grabbed a handle on the wall and flexed her knees to not be thrown by the pounding waves.
Angelotti raised his voice again as wind and thudding sounds of waves on the hull filled their senses.
“This unfortunate death raises questions and risks for us. It could be more than a murder. It might be an attack on Christianity itself.”
He leaned toward her. “Signora Haran, there are dark forces at work. They’ve always been there.”
Naples, Italy
Present Day
I / 4
Adventure splashed over the bow of the boat sending sparkles of foam into the air and across the small cabin in which Rennie and Angelotti huddled. She clutched a chrome bar for support as another wave hit the boat. Her imagination was dazzled with thoughts of military and intelligence agents guarding the coastline as criminals and refugees slipped onto the beach. Death floated in, joining the unwanted in the form of a murdered priest. They said he was a threat to Christianity and suspicions were rampant. Sister Marjorie was right, the unexpected will always happen.
The boat came around a point to a small bay. On the shore, Rennie could see groups of men and a large, brown slab of wood with a bulging tarp covering what she assumed must be the deceased. Five men in police uniforms stood around the tarp, two priests in flowing black cloaks clung to each other nearby, and two men in suits had an animated discussion away from the scene. One of the suits was a thin fellow who carried a thick file folder. The other, who filled his suit with muscle, didn’t look happy.
As the boat turned and accelerated directly for shore, Rennie braced herself. The versatile craft slid smoothly over the rocks, avoiding boulders, and pulled up onto the sand.
The two priests stumbled across the rugged beach as they hurried to greet the Vatican emissary. They glanced at Rennie while trying to wave to Father Angelotti, cross themselves, and clasp their hands in prayer at the same time. Their ankle-length garments caught their feet and knees and the rocks around them.
A tall police officer with gold braid on his shoulders moved away from his group accompanied by the thin man carrying the files as they stepped quickly toward the new visitors. They all arrived to meet Angelotti and Rennie at the same time.
“Greetings, Excellency,” shouted the police officer to Angelotti.
He touched his cap as a salute to Rennie and offered a hand to assist her in stepping from the craft.
The priests gathered to help Father Angelotti step down before then falling at his feet. He laid his hands on their heads and murmured for them to get up. Helping the priests to stand, he suggested they talk for a moment. They glanced around and stumbled away, mumbling apologies and again crossing themselves.
Rennie found smooth footing and waited, scanning the surroundings. Barren slopes rose to a thick grove of pine trees. About a hundred yards away, the high walls of an ancient ruin rose above the shoreline. Across the bay, a castle-like structure jutted from a long causeway. A dry air current flowed from the land to the sea.
The police officer scowled when the angular man carrying the fat folder of paper stepped in front of him. The other, thicker stranger in the civilian suit arrived and greeted Angelotti. His face was rough with life.
“Bello vederti, Padre. Signora Haran. I am Paolo Scarpia. I’m here to assist Padre Angelotti.” His voice rumbled a low tone that commanded one to listen. “My associate here is Francesco Busca. He is taking notes for the record.”
He turned to Angelotti, “Padre, may we speak privately? Mi scusi, Signora Haran.”
Scarpia and Busca walked with Angelotti toward the crime scene, whispering along the way.
Rennie broke a moment of awkward silence with the police officer.
“Do you speak English?”
“Si. Yes, a little.”
He glanced to where the others had gone then offered his hand to Rennie.
“I am Lieutenant Lorenzo Borromeo. Our district is responsible for this investigation. Others, of course, became involved.” He swiveled his commanding presence in the direction of Father Angelotti.
“Officer, who are those other men?”
“They are—how shall we say?—connected with the church. They are private but carry authority.”
His voice was comforting.
“Signora Haran, this is Italy, and everyone here has a special position. It’s a mess sometimes, but this may be one reason for a long history of our wonderful country. Too many people get involved in everything, so maybe that keeps things going.”
He bowed his head, said, “Permesso,” and hurried away to where the other officers stood around the slab of wood.
Rennie felt driven to follow him. She nimbly cruised over the rocks and quickly passed Father Angelotti, Scarpia, and Busca. Riding a crescendo of energy, she hurried toward the crime scene until the rancid stench of death stung her nostrils.
Turning away, she removed a white handkerchief from her pocket and held it to her nose. A swirl of wind lifted a corner of the tarp revealing what she guessed was a bare human foot and lower leg. From what she could see, the body parts were bloated, ruptured, and hardly recognizable. Between the open wounds on the skin, the flesh reflected a shiny, almost khaki coloration. A burgundy stain ran across the exposed wooden plank.
Rennie gagged but motioned to the tarp.
Lieutenant Borromeo began to say “Signora, we cannot—” when Scarpia growled as he approached.
“Si! Show her!”
A policeman knelt on a rock and grabbed a corner of the tarp and jerked away a stone that held the corner in place.
“Prego,” Scarpia responded.
The policeman flipped the edge of the tarp and spun around, retching and crawling away. A seagull screeched as Scarpia and Rennie saw the corpse.
Heat flushed through Rennie’s body and filled her face. She glared at the human-like head on the body. It was puffed up to a ball-shaped mass of matter invaded with crimson pockets. One eye bulged open as if surprised. The other was gone, leaving a small hole filled with water. A fat tongue stood between huge, swollen lips. Patches of hair were gone from the scalp and gray beard.
Scarpia placed his hand over his nose and mouth and pulled the cover over the body. One of the local priests hurried to where shrubs grew above the shoreline and fell to his knees. The other priest held his face and stumbled away from the scene. A policeman stepped quickly to grasp the priest’s elbow to guide him.
Father Angelotti motioned to Rennie to follow him higher up the beach. As they approached a line of sea grass and brush, Borromeo dashed to meet them.
“Signora Haran, we have a small office up there, at the Veduta.”
The tall officer pointed to the ruins beyond the trees. “Per favore, please, let us go there.”
All eyes gave attention to the ancient gray walls of the ruins above them, accented with arched openings, sculptures, and columns. Angelotti shrugged and nodded.
The lieutenant displayed a full smile and enthusiastic greeting, “Grazie! We’ll have coffee and discuss things.”
He and Scarpia quickly turned, taking long strides up to smoother ground as Rennie and Angelotti followed.
Angelotti touched Rennie’s sleeve and stopped. “I must say something to the priests. Follow the officer and Scarpia, but slowly. Please heed my instruction until we get to Rome. Per favore. We don’t know how the local authorities want to proceed, but the military must not get involved.”
She heard each consonant. “What’s this Veduta?”
“Oh, Veduta is like the view from a place. Above us is a park, an archaeological site. There’s an ancient amphitheater and buildings. It’s another place for tourists. I will join with you in a moment, but go slowly.”
He gathered up his garment and hurried to where the priests consoled each other. They cried out with his arrival. His arms opened to them and all three talked at once until he took command. Angelotti leaned in and spoke to the priests, punctuating his comments with sharp hand gestures.
Rennie walked up the slope to a nearby pine tree and closed her eyes. Quiet, be mindful, she reminded herself as she counted her breaths flowing into her and pouring out again. Her focus shifted to her surroundings and senses where she reconnected with the present.
Father Angelotti’s sudden return didn’t surprise her; he was just part of the environment.
“We shall see,” he remarked without reference, “we shall see. You have a noble character, Signora Haran. I can see why God chose you for the revelation of His letters. Now, it appears you have a new mission.”
“What shall we see?”
“I was thinking ahead. When we meet with the lieutenant, please follow my lead. I’m not certain of his intentions. It may be nothing.”
They worked their way up a well-worn path toward the old ruins. A breeze blew through the tall greenery, gently waving the branches that lined the rising trail through a thick grove of pines. Gravel crunched under her boots.
They paused up the slope where the shrubbery opened to reveal a view of the sea. Vivid blue water reflected a gray shore on the other side of the small bay. Rising with vertical walls from this foundation stood a granite mountain, forbidding yet stunning.
Angelotti sighed, “Signora Haran, life might seem to be a journey, but it’s only moments in hope of a destiny. Creation is truth and the presence of the divine.”
“Ciao! Salute,” Lieutenant Borromeo called down the path as he marched toward them. “Everything okay?”
“Bravo, eccelente,” Angelotti announced with a wave of his hand toward the sea. “Glorious beauty! God is good!”
Rennie felt a subtle push on her back as the priest whispered, “We must move ahead.”
She was ready and waved a friendly greeting to the officer. A game was at play, and it was time to get in. With her jaw set firm, she extended her hand.
“Lieutenant, with handsome men in such a wonderful place, I think I might never leave here.”
“Ah, Signora Haran, please stay. Another thirty meters, please. I will guide you to our temporary office.”
Scarpia stood at the top of the hill, the sun behind him; a dark, indiscernible figure.
PART TWO
Naples, Italy
II / 1
Rennie could see ancient ruins behind modern buildings as their trail up the hill reached a parking lot. The lining of her nostrils felt like parchment in the dry air high above and away from the sea. Dust rested on all things, knowing it would always win. Dust to dust; life and civilizations all gave way to dust.
