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

villa’s reception area to his apartment on the first floor. Kevin whistled. “This is a welcome surprise.”
    â€œPretty luxurious, isn’t it?”
    It was far more than Kevin had expected. A VIP setup with a living room and flat screen TV, separate bedrooms, outfitted in modern furniture, and a fully stocked refrigerator and bar with whiskey, beer, and vodka. Mmm , thought Kevin. Drinking is one of the vices tolerated in the priesthood . He was grateful for that.
    â€œTry to get some rest. I will too,” Drotti said, his face drawn. “I’ll be by for you at five o’clock. We have a meeting.”
    â€œWho with?”
    â€œTell you later. Make yourself comfortable. Please, no shootings or gangsta-like shenanigans.”
    â€œDuly noted.” Kevin beamed, grinning from ear to ear.
    â€œIf you need anything, you have my number. But my offer is good for emergencies only,” said Drotti.
    â€œDon’t worry, I’ll be fine.”
    When Drotti had left, Kevin unpacked quickly, finding ample room in a walk-in closet and dresser for storing his things. He plugged in his laptop, placing it on the desk, and was relieved to see a card offering Wi-Fi with a password. The apartment had all the office equipment a guest might need, including a copy machine and a fax.
    Once everything was put away, Kevin laid his breviary, the liturgical book of the Latin rites of the Catholic Church, on the bedside table. He never traveled without this little book. Exhausted, he flopped onto the bed. He had a throbbing headache. The jet lag, plus the charade with the thugs, had done him in.
    â€œ Colombo ,” the thugs had said. What did that mean? Kevin had no idea. At least, by the end of it, Kevin had gotten his hands on a couple of pistols. He’d need to figure out how to get ammunition. That shouldn’t be too difficult. Maybe he wouldn’t need it, but his experience told him otherwise. Later on, he’d search the SIM cards.
    Kevin’s iPhone beeped. A text message from Katie:
    â€œGoing to Brussels next week. Afterwards shall I come to Rome for a couple of days?”
    Kevin had no idea of his itinerary—he’d just gotten here. A visit from a woman might be problematic. But then it was Katie. The thought of her warmed him.
    â€œSure,” he texted.

Chapter Six
    Seville, Spain
    Carlos Alameda’s shabby one-room apartment was nestled among rows and rows of same-size houses in the poorest section of Seville. The paint on the buildings was peeling, exposing rotting wood beneath. The apartment was ascetic. Simple. A rickety metal cot covered with a thin blanket, a small wooden table and chair, and a light bulb hanging from the ceiling on a string. Once upon a time, the walls may have been washed in white, but now were gray.
    Wet from a shower, Carlos Alameda stood in his underwear facing the window. This was his home. Carlos was interested in utility only, not comfort. This bare-bones décor was what he needed. Standing at the window, he noticed the sun hovering over the buildings in the distance, ushering in the dawn of the day.
    Carlos’s trim body and taut muscles glistened from his shower. If there’d ever been an ounce of fat on him, there was no trace of it on this body that had been muscled and toned years earlier under the expert training of the Franco Youth Brigade. Carlos often prayed to the founder of the brigade, his own grandfather who, during the Spanish Civil War, had fought alongside Generalissimo Franco as part of the ultranationalist movement in the thirties.
    Falling to his knees, he prayed out loud in his native Spanish. At fifty-four, Alameda was the trusted and obedient servant of the Visitor, the leader of Opus Mundi. He’d been working for the Visitor for more than thirty-five years.
    The morning’s quiet was broken by the sonorous clang of bells from Seville’s cathedral. The bells reminded Alameda of his start