Veil. Part 29

We'll talk later. You have my word."

No answer. Just wet eyes and red cheeks. Charles cleared his throat. "I'm sorry if I hurt you. I love you." There, I said it. "We'll talk more in a few days, until then, let's continue to keep it quiet." Still no answer, just a wounded stare. His lover turned the doork.n.o.b, and left the room. Guilt washed over Charles. He'd broken his vows again, caught up in an affair he knew would destroy his relationship. He fastened his shirt, ice white, high collar, and slipped into his favorite suit, dark, slightly wrinkled. A wood framed full-length mirror as old as the building he worked in, caught his attention, and forced him to look upon the ugliness he so abhorred. He turned away, chest heaving, mouth dry, and plopped down in a blue leather swivel chair behind his desk. Losing a love that brings me such childlike joy is not something I'm prepared to do. Chocolates, he thought. I'll start with chocolates, then a shower of gifts. It's a bit pretentious, but it's a start.

Charles smiled at himself in the mirror, his jet black hair and boyish good looks overriding the monster that now retreated within. He checked his watch. I'm late. He grabbed the tools of his trade and headed for the door. The monster in the mirror right behind him.

2.

Strikingly exquisite, the ten-foot stained gla.s.s image of the a.s.sumption of Our Lady surrounded by twenty-three angels, in a montage of red and multiple shades of blue handcrafted gla.s.s, impressed Robert Veil.

Church was not his favorite place to be during the middle of baseball season, but sitting there in a spiritual ports-of-call that played host and home to Chicago's eighteenth century Northern Italian immigrants, Robert's heart pounded, and his palms moistened. He was about to see his G.o.dson, Samuel, for the first time in almost six months. "I bet he's grown an inch or two," Robert whispered to Donovan Napier, Samuels father. "An inch and a half since you last saw him," Donovan whispered back. "Shhh," Donavon's wife, Alison, hissed. "You boys will have plenty of time to stick your chests out over Sam when service is over." She gave Donavon a sly smile and sat back against the naked wooden pew.

Donavon gave Robert a We better do as mommy says look. He smiled back. She's your mommy, not mine.

Robert, born catholic, defected as soon as he could slip under his mother's radar, and had forgotten how opulent catholic churches could be, Chicago's a.s.sumption Church especially so. Below the stained gla.s.s masterpiece up front, hung a stunning recreation of Leonardo da Vinci's masterpiece "The Last Supper" that would've made the Italian master proud. Smaller, but every bit as impressive, was an extensive splattering of stained gla.s.s images, in addition to dazzling mosaics and murals prominently displayed on the walls and ceiling. Robert counted five different types of Italian marble on the alter rail, and a dozen museum quality statues standing sentry on three sides of the remarkable sanctuary. Under their feet lay a sea of deep, royal blue carpet, so rich walking on it seemed a sin. Robert glanced over at Donavon and Alison, still making goo-goo eyes after ten years of marriage. Seeing his old friend so happy amazed Robert, especially since ten years before the marriage, while they were working a CIA surveillance a.s.signment in Bohn, Germany, Donavon swore off the lifetime confinement of matrimony, saying he'd rather roll around naked in broken gla.s.s.

"After service, there's a few people we need to meet," Alison whispered to Donavon, who took a deep breath, bit his lower lip, then sighed. He looked over a Robert. Save me.

Marry one of Chicago's treasures, and that's the price you pay, thought Robert, wanting to laugh. Melodic Latin phrases from a male falsetto echoed throughout the sanctuary, and Robert watched his G.o.dson, Samuel Napier, lead a priest, three other altar boys, and an alter girl, down the center aisle. Samuel, draped in a white satin vestment, along with the other altar adolescents, looked deadly serious holding an elaborate silver and gold cross stretched out in front of him toward the sky, marching toward the altar at a pace more fit for a funeral procession than a spiritual celebration. One look at the boy and Robert was sure Samuel had grown more than the inch and a half Donovan mentioned. The dirty-brown haired boy's shoulders were starting to broaden, and Robert could already imagine the ten-year old birthday boy playing linebacker or center field.

After readings from the book of Isaiah, several more from Matthew, John, and Luke, Robert listened to the priest, a Father Charles Tolbert, launch into an additional series of chants, and a sleeping pill of a sermon that Robert vaguely surmised as an exultation to pray for one's enemies, and those that hate you. The need to yawn was almost more than Robert could bear, and water welled up in his eyes as he fought back the urge. Samuel and one of the other altar boys, a portly, jovial kid, with fiery red hair, freckles, and friendly eyes, set up the altar for communion.

When Samuel turned to resume his position on the far left of the altar, Robert noticed the boy flinch slightly as he pa.s.sed Father Tolbert. Must be a little nervous, thought Robert, remembering Alison's earlier comment that it was Samuel's first time setting the communion table. After communion, more prayer, benediction, and then dismissal, Samuel, cross held high, lead the evangelical parade back down the aisle and disappeared through ivory painted, gold encrusted double doors.

Ten minutes later, Robert milled around outside in front of the church with most of the rest of the congregation, watching them chat, laugh, and wish each other well. Chicago's summer season, in full motion, but sporting a dark, overcast sky, blew crisp air, but not cold, and the wind for which the city got its nickname, toyed with parishioners hats and coats for sport. All were subtle precursors to the harsh winter that always followed. Robert watched Donavon and Alison work the crowd like seasoned vets. Alison flashed a smile that could disarm the most hardened heart, and Donavon, standing slightly behind her, put on a stellar performance worthy of an Oscar. It was like watching a President and the first husband campaign. "Uncle Robert! Uncle Robert!" Robert looked over his shoulder and spied Samuel in full sprint, arms pumping, face bright and excited. A foot or two from his G.o.dfather, Samuel leapt through the air into Robert's arms, wrapping his legs around him, almost sending Robert backwards to the ground. "Well h.e.l.lo birthday boy. I'm happy to see you too. Happy Birthday." Samuel thanked Robert but didn't release his grip. When Robert finally pried him loose and lowered him to the ground, he took a step back. "Let's have look at you," he said, hands on his chin, inspecting every inch of the boy. "I've grown two whole inches," said Samuel, beaming with pride. "I see that," said Robert. "You'll tower over me soon." At this, Samuels smile broadened and his back straightened. He took Roberts hand and led him over to his mother and father. "Well, I see you've found your favorite playmate," said Alison, kissing her son on the cheek. "Yes", added Donavon. Now we won't get an ounce of sleep over the next few days." "Oh, like you won't enjoy it yourself," chided Alison. "I'll have to find a place to stay for the next two days, the way you three carry on." "We're not that bad," Robert joked, knowing that they were. When he visited Samuel, the kid inside him shook loose, and he loved it. It was like reclaiming something he'd lost in his own youth, the day his father was murdered. "Where's Aunt Nikki?" asked Samuel. "She's going to meet us at the restaurant," answered Robert. "She said to tell you she wouldn't miss your birthday for the world." Aunt Nikki, Nikki Thorne, Robert's partner and best friend, was a Baptist, as much as he was a Catholic. Thorne pa.s.sed on morning ma.s.s, opting instead to visit an old friend, which Robert knew without asking meant a visit to Nelson Reynolds, a detective on Chicago's police force, and an old flame. "I'm starving," said Donavon. "Let's head for Spraggia." Spraggia was Roberts's favorite Italian restaurant. A choice he knew Samuel made with him in mind. "I'm with that," he answered, smiling at Samuel. "We'll eat, and then, presents." Samuels face beamed and he bounced around like he was going to wet himself. "Well, this must be the famous G.o.dfather I've heard so much about," a voice said behind them. "Father Tolbert," said Alison, pulsating with charm and respect.

"May I introduce Mr. Robert Veil, from our nations capitol. Robert shook the priests moist, clammy hand. The cleric greeted Donavon and gave Alison a hug.

"Our little angel here did a great job today," said Father Tolbert, turning to Samuel, placing his hand on the boys shoulder. "Thank you, father," answered Samuel, eyes glued to his feet. "Now, don't be so modest," said Father Tolbert. "I'll allow a little pride today. It's your birthday." Everyone laughed, except Samuel, who seemed to force a smile.

"Thank you, father." "Thank you so much, father, for taking an interest in Samuel. We're very grateful," said Alison. "Not at all," said the priest. "He's an exceptional child. It's my pleasure." They continued to banter and make small talk for several minutes, when a black Cadillac sedan swooped up to the curb. The driver, a broad shouldered priest with a pit bull mug, hurried to the rear pa.s.senger door and s.n.a.t.c.hed it open. A tall, lean, elderly gentleman unfolded out onto the sidewalk, wearing blood red robes and the air of catholic royalty.

"Cardinal Polletto," Father Tolbert gushed. "I wasn't expecting you for another hour or so," he continued, kissing the elder priests hand. "Yes, I know," answered the cardinal. "I left St. Francis as soon as ma.s.s was over. I wanted to make sure you and I had plenty of time to spend together." Father Tolbert introduced everyone. Donovan fell just short of kissing the cardinal's hand, and Alison bowed and curtsied as though she'd just met the pope himself. The episode made Robert feel a bit out of place. He had no intention of bowing or kissing anybody's hand; instead, he opted for a firm, respectful handshake. "And who's this little fellow?" asked Cardinal Polletto, leaning down to Samuel. Pressed up against his mother, Samuel eased forward and introduced himself. Father Tolbert added a few compliments on Samuel's performance as altar boy. Samuel looked relieved when the two men turned their attention elsewhere. Cardinal Polletto and Father Tolbert excused themselves and disappeared inside the church. Robert and the others hustled to Donovan's Lincoln Town car, and headed for Spraggia's.

"So, have you caught any bad guys lately?" asked Samuel, bouncing in his seat. "Do you have your gun on you? Can I see it? Do you think I can be a bounty hunter when I grow up?"

"No bounty hunting for you," Alison scolded, smirking. Since leaving the CIA, Robert and Thorne had opened their own firm and chased down high-level criminals all over the world. Samuel loved to hear the details of their exploits. Stories about terrorists they'd captured, serial killers they hunted down, and exotic places they traveled to all over the world. Most of the details he gave Samuel were fabricated, since the majority of the cases they worked were highly confidential, for which they were sometimes paid millions of dollars for their efforts, by governments, and the wealthy. "I left my gun with Thorne today," he said. Not the type of thing you should wear in church, and your mother's right. I see medical school in your future." "Not a chance," said Samuel. " I want to come work with you and Aunt Nikki. We can be a team." Donovan looked back at them in the rearview mirror. Robert saw a big smile on his face. Despite all they'd seen working for the government, intelligence was in Donovan's blood, and a son in the family business was just fine with him. Donovan even wore the bullet in his hip as a badge of honor. "You looked a little nervous up at the altar today," said Robert, changing the subject. "I thought you were gonna choke." "Me, choke. Never," answered Samuel. "Just a little game-time jitters. I get the same way before a big game in little league." "I understand," said Robert, kissing Samuel on top of the head. "I get the same way from time to time." Samuel smiled and laid his head in Robert's lap. Robert stroked the boy's hair and smiled. Donavon stopped to make a left turn into the restaurant parking lot.

Bam! Somebody plowed into them from behind. Robert's head jerked backwards and snapped forward. The Lincoln lunged into oncoming traffic and crashed into an SUV. The airbags exploded into Donovan and Alison's faces. Robert covered Samuel as best he could. "Is everybody okay?" asked Robert, heart and adrenaline pumping.

"Out of the car, hands up," a ski masked man shouted, waving an Uzi machinegun. Robert reached for his gun. d.a.m.n! He counted four men in total, two from each vehicle. A set up! One of the men pulled open Robert's door and s.n.a.t.c.hed Samuel outside. "Not my son!" shouted Alison, in frantic tears. Donovan jumped out and started cursing. Robert slid out, an Uzi trained at his head. He caught a familiar image running fast in their direction, about fifty yards away. Thorne!

Out of the alley across the street from Spraggia's, another SUV came flying toward them and screeched to a halt. Three of the men holding them at gunpoint scrambled to the vehicle behind them, with Samuel kicking and screaming. Alison took a step, but the forth gunmen fired into the car, sending everyone to the ground, except Robert. Four people jumped out of the SUV that came from the alley, wearing black ski masks, armed with machine guns. "Save the boy!" one of them shouted. Robert felt the hard end of an Uzi on the back of his head and fell to the pavement. He heard footsteps, more gunfire, and Thorne's unmistakable bark. He raised his head and saw the four figures from the alley run back to their vehicle and take off after the kidnappers, who'd sped off with Samuel. Robert heard the distinct baritone of a man's voice, shout orders he couldn't make out, then lowered his head to the pavement, and blacked out.

end.