The Secret of Fatima by Peter J; Tanous Read Free Book Online

get this guy to talk. Get over here. My Italian isn’t as good as yours.”
    â€œThis man’s bleeding, Kevin. We’ve got to do something.”
    â€œMax, ask him why he’s following us, who he works for—the important details. Tell him if he doesn’t, he’s roadkill.”
    â€œI can’t say that!” Drotti winced.
    â€œJust do it, damn it.” Kevin kept his gun pointed at both of them.
    Nodding, Drotti came over and handed the gun he’d picked up to Kevin, who stuck it in his jeans. Still pale and shaking, Drotti translated as they talked, but Kevin understood most of it. After a lot of Italian jabber, Drotti said they’d been hired by a group called Columbo to follow them wherever they went, and report back who they talked to. For the job, they were paid 2,000 euros. The thug said he worked regularly for Colombo, but didn’t know his identity or any of the bosses. They were originally contacted over the Internet, so they didn’t even know the names of the guys hiring them or their intentions. For ordinary thugs like them, this was simply a source of income. Nothing personal.
    â€œOkay, that’s all we’re going to get out of them,” Kevin concluded. Nothing new here. He’d assumed they were just hired guns.
    Reaching into his pocket, Drotti pulled out his cell.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” Kevin asked.
    â€œCalling an ambulance,” Drotti responded.
    â€œNo. Put that phone down.”
    â€œKevin, this one’s bleeding to death. We can’t just let …”
    Kevin grabbed the phone. “We’ll call for help, but not on your phone. They’ll trace the number.”
    He reached inside the jacket of the man who lay bleeding on the ground.
    Kevin searched Baldie’s pocket, found a mobile phone, and threw it at Drotti. “Here. Use this one. Don’t let them know who you are.”
    â€œThey’ll find out, won’t they? Shouldn’t we stay until the ambulance comes?”
    â€œJust make the call, Max. Trust me. These guys won’t say a word. If they do, next time I won’t be so kind and gentle.”
    Drotti called the emergency number, gave the location, and requested an ambulance. Snatching the phone from him, Kevin removed the SIM card with the stored data.
    From his pocket Kevin found a clean handkerchief and handed it to Baldie to stop the bleeding. He then searched the pockets of the driver who was still on the ground, squirming in pain. Kevin found his cell, yanked the SIM card out, and dropped the phone on the ground.
    â€œC’mon, Max, let’s get out of here.”
    They got into the Alfa Romeo and sped away, rubber to the road, toward the Vatican, Kevin at the wheel.
    Drotti was still visibly shaken up. He whined, “Kevin, if this is the way it’s going to be, I’m not your best partner material. I’m a priest. I’ve no experience or appetite for this.”
    â€œI’m a priest, too, and I’m not sure that you should be my partner, either. But given how this assignment is starting, I’ll need someone who’s not afraid to get his hands dirty.”
    After a while, Drotti asked, “Kevin, forgive me for asking, I’m terribly curious, how does a man like you become a priest?”
    Kevin didn’t answer. Interesting question, monsignor. I’m a priest who roughs it up with the best of them. Excites me, that adrenaline. How do I reconcile this with my calling to serve as a priest of God? Does it matter? It’s who I am, what I want. I’m divided, a split personality. I am two, Kevin the brave and fearless warrior, and Father Thrall, the humble servant of God. What’s mind-boggling is that they’re opposites. Kevin, meet Father Thrall. Father Thrall, meet Kevin .
    Finally, Kevin turned to Drotti. “When I find out, I’ll let you know,” he said. He pushed into fifth gear as an ambulance, sirens