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Authors: Francis Joseph Smith
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fault.”
After ten minutes, Peter Dems had provided his version of the story.
CHAPTER TWELVE
PRESENT DAY – VATICAN CITY
“Mr. Perluci, I have excellent news for your Special Action Team,” Father Lester said excitedly. “Only moments ago we received a message from our contact in New York. The time has finally come. They are going for our products. It seems your team is a go.”
Father Lester patted the Beretta 9mm he carried in his jacket pocket as a Special Action Team member, secretly wishing to follow along. His being a priest negated that possibility, regulating him to Vatican City duties where he could only use his weapon for self-defense and protecting the pontiff.
Perluci paced about his office as if a caged animal set to strike. “Damn it, I knew that old bastard would finally crack and tell us where it was —or at the very least our agent would retrieve the info. For years I have been telling anyone who would listen. We must be patient and wait him out—that and a little prodding from our agent would eventually get him to talk. Well, our patience has finally paid off.”
Father Lester stared at Perluci for a moment, secretly admiring the agent they had placed in America. “Obviously our deep agent is an extremely patient man to have waited so long.”
“Patience? ” Perluci snarled. “I don’t think so, Father Lester. Our agent is not one known for his patience. No, sir. We have that bastard under wraps for atrocities he performed as a member of the Irish Republican Army before he moved to New York in our employ.”
Father Lester appeared confused as he stood in front of Perluci’s desk . New to the position of Special Action Team operations chief, he had reported only 2 weeks earlier. Father Lester was a “pup,” as Perluci would commonly refer to him.
“I don’t understand,” Father Lester said. “What type of atrocities would cause such a man to turn and work for us?”
Perluci point s to a well-worn mahogany chair, motioning for Father Lester to sit down.
“I take it a story is brewing?” Father Lester said.
Perluci nodded before lighting a cigarette. “Nasty habit,” he said, dropping the match into an ashtray before starting. “As we both now know, he was bloody IRA. In my opinion not a true follower, but a decent chap just the same. Now, let’s regress a few years. This is probably long before your time. I imagine you were still a student learning your catechism,” taking a stab at Father Lester’s youth. “It was during the early seventies that the Catholic and Protestant factions were once again fighting in Ireland. Our boy had an excellent IRA cover as a respected and well-educated teacher who, for all appearances, was a neutral. Now, this cover earned him the trust of both sides, able to lure the top two men in the Belfast Ulster Protestant Wing to a supposed truce meeting in Tulagee, Donegal. The Protestants, the trusting souls they were, showed up at the meeting with their families in tow and the organizations top two lieutenants. They hoped to squeeze in a nice long holiday along with the meeting. Our man Flaherty had a different idea. He used the disguise of a bellboy to wire the place with 20 pounds of C4, waiting until the appropriate moment before blowing the place to bloody hell. He killed ten people in that blast including three small children.”
“My God,” Father Lester said, applying the sign of the cross. “Our man is a ruthless one.”
“Yes, ruthless when he wants to be,” Perluci was quick to respond. “Add to that sixteen assassinations of various petty criminals for crimes against the IRA, and you have Flaherty. He needs us, Father Lester, and we need him.”
“Wha t about the son of Hans Dieter — James Dieter? Seems to be on the straight and narrow to me,” Father Lester said, thoroughly engrossed with the story. “Only
After ten minutes, Peter Dems had provided his version of the story.
CHAPTER TWELVE
PRESENT DAY – VATICAN CITY
“Mr. Perluci, I have excellent news for your Special Action Team,” Father Lester said excitedly. “Only moments ago we received a message from our contact in New York. The time has finally come. They are going for our products. It seems your team is a go.”
Father Lester patted the Beretta 9mm he carried in his jacket pocket as a Special Action Team member, secretly wishing to follow along. His being a priest negated that possibility, regulating him to Vatican City duties where he could only use his weapon for self-defense and protecting the pontiff.
Perluci paced about his office as if a caged animal set to strike. “Damn it, I knew that old bastard would finally crack and tell us where it was —or at the very least our agent would retrieve the info. For years I have been telling anyone who would listen. We must be patient and wait him out—that and a little prodding from our agent would eventually get him to talk. Well, our patience has finally paid off.”
Father Lester stared at Perluci for a moment, secretly admiring the agent they had placed in America. “Obviously our deep agent is an extremely patient man to have waited so long.”
“Patience? ” Perluci snarled. “I don’t think so, Father Lester. Our agent is not one known for his patience. No, sir. We have that bastard under wraps for atrocities he performed as a member of the Irish Republican Army before he moved to New York in our employ.”
Father Lester appeared confused as he stood in front of Perluci’s desk . New to the position of Special Action Team operations chief, he had reported only 2 weeks earlier. Father Lester was a “pup,” as Perluci would commonly refer to him.
“I don’t understand,” Father Lester said. “What type of atrocities would cause such a man to turn and work for us?”
Perluci point s to a well-worn mahogany chair, motioning for Father Lester to sit down.
“I take it a story is brewing?” Father Lester said.
Perluci nodded before lighting a cigarette. “Nasty habit,” he said, dropping the match into an ashtray before starting. “As we both now know, he was bloody IRA. In my opinion not a true follower, but a decent chap just the same. Now, let’s regress a few years. This is probably long before your time. I imagine you were still a student learning your catechism,” taking a stab at Father Lester’s youth. “It was during the early seventies that the Catholic and Protestant factions were once again fighting in Ireland. Our boy had an excellent IRA cover as a respected and well-educated teacher who, for all appearances, was a neutral. Now, this cover earned him the trust of both sides, able to lure the top two men in the Belfast Ulster Protestant Wing to a supposed truce meeting in Tulagee, Donegal. The Protestants, the trusting souls they were, showed up at the meeting with their families in tow and the organizations top two lieutenants. They hoped to squeeze in a nice long holiday along with the meeting. Our man Flaherty had a different idea. He used the disguise of a bellboy to wire the place with 20 pounds of C4, waiting until the appropriate moment before blowing the place to bloody hell. He killed ten people in that blast including three small children.”
“My God,” Father Lester said, applying the sign of the cross. “Our man is a ruthless one.”
“Yes, ruthless when he wants to be,” Perluci was quick to respond. “Add to that sixteen assassinations of various petty criminals for crimes against the IRA, and you have Flaherty. He needs us, Father Lester, and we need him.”
“Wha t about the son of Hans Dieter — James Dieter? Seems to be on the straight and narrow to me,” Father Lester said, thoroughly engrossed with the story. “Only
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