CHAPTER 5
Giuseppe frowned as he glanced at the leather bag sticking out of his son’s pocket. “What is that?”
Silvo glanced down at the tip of the bag, then shrugged. “Nothing, Father.”
“Let me see it.” A suspicious tone crept into Giuseppe’s voice.
Taking a deep breath, Silvo slowly pulled the bag out of his jeans pocket and held it up. His father’s face turned beet-red as he grabbed the bag, opened it, and stared down into its contents.
“Where did you get this?!” he shouted. “How long have you been taking this—this—!” He slapped Silvo, who staggered backward. Giuseppe snatched the burlap bag from his son and draped it over his shoulder. “You’re in for it now, young man! I will not have a son of mine using illegal drugs! You’re going to be turned over to the authorities when we go home.” Giuseppe pointed a quivering finger at the boy.
Silvo was distraught. He was in real trouble now! Somehow, he had to persuade his father to rescind the threatened punishment. He took a deep breath again.
“Please, Papá,” he said, “it was not my idea! It—it was Benito’s. He—he gave it to me, last night!”
Giuseppe’s eyes narrowed into tiny slits. “And where, pray tell, did Benito get this crack?”
Silvo took another deep breath. He had no desire to get Benito or the pope in trouble, but it was either them or him now. He glanced down at his shoes. In a small voice, he answered, “His uncle gave it to him.”
His father grabbed him by the collar. “Pope Benedict is going to pay dearly for this!” Releasing the boy, Giuseppe hurled the leather bag to the floor, then slammed his fist against the mahogany highboy behind him. “You’re a dead man, Pope Benedict! I’m going to kill you!”
Without another word, Silvo tiptoed away while his irate father, facing the wall, shouted threats against the pope. I’ve got to get away from him, fast!
As he rushed toward his friend’s bedroom, his shoes softly thudding on the carpet, a mixture of relief and guilt warred in Silvo’s heart. He might well have gotten his best friend in real trouble, and the pope, too. But that was better than being turned over to the authorities by his stern father.
He slid to a halt in front of Benito’s door, then knocked. The door swung open; Benito framed the entrance. “Come in,” he whispered. Looking behind him, Silvo crept through the doorway. Benito shut the door.
“I—I can’t sell it to you now,” Silvo said, slumping onto the bed. “My father caught me with the bag I was bringing you.”
Cursing, Benito slumped onto the bed next to him. The mattress sagged and creaked underneath as he half-turned to face Silvo. “Why do they keep catching us? Why can’t we get away with it?”
Silvo grimaced. “I don’t know. Fortunately, I have more in my room. I keep it hidden under my books and things.”
Benito straightened his back. “How are we going to get together to take it?”
Silvo glanced out the window at the expanse of desert for a long moment. “I have an idea.” He looked nervously toward the door, then whispered, “Come to my rooms, the last night of the celebration, and bring the gold with you. I’ll sell it to you then. I don’t dare bring it to you now—my father might catch me again.”
Benito nodded. “I’ll be there.” He sighed. “In the meantime, we’ll have to sneak to each other’s rooms after dark. My uncle has forbidden me to see you for the rest of the celebration.”
Silvo pursed his lower lip. “I don’t like that! It may be months before I get to come back.”
Benito scowled. “I’ve been here for well over a year now. I hate it here! I want to go back to Rome.”
“I wish you could, too.” Silvo sighed. He glanced at his watch. “I better go before your uncle catches me. I’ll be back tonight. Want to play a video game when I return?”
Nodding, Benito raised his hand as his friend left, the door clicking shut behind him. “Yes. We will. Good-bye.” After staring at the wall for a long moment, he picked up the book Monica had given him and flipped open the first page. Guess this is what it’s like to be a prisoner, he thought wryly. You get so bored you’ll even do things you usually hate!
Meanwhile, Silvo’s father cornered Tess as she approached with a tray of drinks in her hand. “Tess, I want you to tell the other leaders I’m calling an immediate meeting. The other leaders of the European Union, and Puccini.”
Tess nodded, cradling the gleaming silver tray against her chest. “And the pope?”
Giuseppe shook his head. “No. I wish to prepare a surprise for him—the surprise will be spoiled if he knows about the meeting. Just tell the other leaders. Tell them I want to meet with them in my quarters in 15 minutes.”
Nodding acquiescence, Tess walked on past, balancing the tray of drinks. As she served them in the reception hall, she whispered to each leader, “Giuseppe Spadolini wants to hold a private meeting in his quarters.”
Father, she prayed silently, should I tell Pope Benedict that Giuseppe is plotting to murder him? The answer that instantly came forbade her to do so. Sighing, she raised her head toward the ceiling, nodded acquiescence, and returned the empty tray to the kitchen. When the Father gave an order, it only remained for an angel to obey.
As she pushed her way past the swinging kitchen door, she found Monica perched on a stool at the counter, sipping a steaming cup of coffee. “Angel Girl, put down that coffee now!” Tess set the tray on the counter, then put her hands on her hips. “You and I have an important meeting to go to!”
“Yes, ma’am.” Monica set her china coffee cup on the smooth cabinet; it landed with a clink. She followed her supervisor out the door.
“How many times must I tell you this is not a coffee assignment?” Tess wagged her finger, her face etched with severity.
“Where’s Gloria?” Monica looked up and down the hall.
“Doing her work elsewhere; she’s not going to join us for this.” Tess marched down the hall, Monica following behind. “We’ll fill her in when the time is right.”
Minutes later, Puccini and the 10 leaders of the European Union met in Giuseppe’s sitting room. They sat in a half-circle, perched on folding metal chairs. The Italian leader’s face had turned beet-red, and his hands shook with evident rage. Sunlight poured through the window behind him, forming shadows below the legs of the chairs and the men sitting in them. Unknown to him, Tess and Monica listened from the Italian leader’s bedroom, invisible to human eyes. To Tess’ relief, Puccini gave no hint that he knew that angels were in the next room.
“It’s time we decided how to get rid of the pope.” Giuseppe looked from one leader to another, fists clenched in his lap so tightly his knuckles had turned white. “I suggest that we kill him! He’s an atrocious man, and he deserves to die.”
Chuckling, Antonio rose to his feet. “What happened to make you want to kill him, Spadolini?”
Giuseppe held up the leather bag. “This!” Leaping out of his chair, he marched to his desk and hurled the bag on its smooth surface. He returned to his seat and perched on it stiffly. “Do you know what’s in that bag? Crack!” Rising to his feet again, he paced back and forth. “The pope gave it to Benito, and then Benito tried to sell it to my nephew! This man runs the world religion, and yet he gives drugs to his nephew to give to my son!” His already-red face deepened to purple as he spoke. His hands shook with rage.
Putting his hands on his hips, he pivoted to face the others. “He will never get another chance to pull such a stunt, not if I can help it! He’s going to die if I have to kill him myself!” He glared at Puccini, as if daring him to stop him.
The other leaders nodded agreement. “I agree,” the Greek leader said. “Even death is too good for Pope Benedict, but I can think of no worse punishment to give him. I agree—let’s kill him!” The others concurred.
A cold smile of satisfaction spread across Giuseppe’s face. “Then let’s do it! Right now! I brought a gun with me—let’s find Puccini and put a bullet through his head!” He ground the toe of his right shoe against the carpet, flattening the tufts beneath.
Puccini rose to his feet and held up his hand. “Not now, Giuseppe. Not yet. I understand your rage, but we must not act impulsively. We need to plan this out carefully.” He paused. “You will carry out the deed at the close of the celebration. That will give us a chance to hold one more meeting and make our plans.”
With a sigh, Giuseppe nodded acquiescence. He held up his hands in surrender. “Very well, Antonio. I guess a few days won’t harm us.”
The men left the sitting room, one by one, to return to the celebration. Giuseppe shut the door behind them; their soft footfalls faded into the distance. Gazing at Tess, Monica sighed. “Oh, Tess! I knew it was leading up to this, but I was hoping—”
“That what the Bible predicted wouldn’t happen?” Tess folded her arms across her chest, staring Monica in the eyes. “Pope Benedict sealed his fate at the outset of the Tribulation with the choices he made, Miss Wings. He had plenty of chances to turn to Jesus before the Rapture, but he turned them all down. He still has a chance to do so, even now, and so does his nephew, but their grace period is running out. God has sent us to give them that last chance, but not even we can save the pope from the physical fate that awaits him.” She shook her head. “Nor can we save Benito from his, if we fail to get through to his uncle.”
The supervisor angel nodded toward the door to the sitting room. “Pope Benedict is going to die, at the close of the celebration, Angel Girl. Nothing can stop that now.”
Monica nodded acquiescence. “Yes, ma’am.” Sadness etched her face; Tess understood how she felt. She gently touched the Irish-tongued angel’s arm.
Tess glanced out the window. A golden sunset flooded the sky above the courtyard. “It’s getting late, and we still have to prepare food for the evening festivities. You’d better get back to the kitchen; I’ll meet with Gloria and fill her in.” She wagged her finger. “And no more coffee! You’re here to work, to finish your assignment, not to indulge your cravings.” With evident reluctance, Monica nodded acquiescence. The two angels vanished.
END OF CHAPTER 5