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

screaming, passed them.

Chapter Five
    Vatican City
    The dome of St. Peter’s Basilica, the world’s largest church, appeared in the distance above the sand colored buildings. Nearing the city limits of Rome, Drotti took the wheel as the car slowed in the heavy traffic on Via Aurelia.
    St. Peter’s, built over a span of more than one hundred years by the greatest Italian architects of the era, was the most recognizable place of worship in the world. Built of travertine stone, combining eclectic architectural styles and adornments, it seemed nothing short of a miracle that this edifice, more than 500 years old, sustained such splendor over the ages. In addition to housing its works of art, including Michelangelo’s masterpiece, the Pieta, St. Peter’s houses the tombs of 91 popes, including that of the first pope, St. Peter. Vatican City is the heart of Rome, surrounded by the city itself.
    As they approached, a burst of sunlight from above was flooding St. Peter’s Square, as if it were a part of heaven itself. As always, tourists were milling about, snapping photos in front of the stately columns and fountains. Kevin had seen many of the great churches of the world, yet none affected him as viscerally as this one. To him, it was the holiest of holy places. It made him proud to be a priest.
    Kevin opened the car window to take in the air, the smell, the aura of this place he’d once called home while training for the priesthood. There was something about being here. Even with his eyes closed he knew exactly where he was, and he liked it. As a city, the entirety of Rome was sacred: just being here lifted his spirits.
    From time to time, Kevin noticed Drotti looking at him quizzically. Kevin knew Drotti was still ruffled by the skirmish with the thugs. To a shielded soul like Drotti, the incident must have been upsetting. Every time Kevin looked at Drotti, he’d see that question on his face. How does a man like you become a priest?
    Drotti drove to the side of the columns, through the gates to the Vatican, and stopped at an administrative building. The two men said little. When they stopped, Drotti got out. “I’ll pick up the keys to your apartment; be right back,” he said. “Stay out of trouble while I’m gone?”
    â€œI didn’t start the trouble,” said Kevin defensively.
    â€œI know,” Drotti said. He was stiff and slow, with a wise, all-knowing look on his face, as if he knew more than he was telling.
    Drotti went to the villa’s gated reception area. Kevin watched him, thinking, Why had he been brought here?
    When Drotti returned, he climbed back into the driver’s seat and started up the engine.
    â€œEverything OK?” asked Kevin.
    â€œSure. I got your key. No messages from the thugs.” He looked at Kevin, smirking.
    Kevin allowed a half smile, knowing their scuffle with the thugs was only the beginning. This wasn’t a pleasure trip.
    Drotti drove the Alfa Romeo up a hill lined with towering pines. Kevin rolled down his window, relishing the fragrance of the pines and the freshness of the morning air, a welcome contrast to the smog and hustle-bustle of the city. The Sistine Chapel’s steepled roof was on his left, the Vatican Museum on his right.
    Slowing in front of a four-story brick building, the Villa Domenica, a Romanesque villa with manicured gardens, Kevin recalled it was the one he was looking for. They stopped. Kevin wondered why he’d be staying in such splendor. This place was for VIPs, like diplomats, celebrities, or high-ranking church officials.
    â€œWelcome to your home away from home,” Drotti said dryly.
    â€œI’m staying here?”
    â€œI think you’ll like it.” Drotti nodded.
    â€œYou think it’s secure?” asked Kevin.
    â€œAs secure as anywhere here,” Drotti said. “Best we can do.”
    The men left the Alfa Romeo and Drotti led Kevin through the