Read Online Veil - 02 - The Hammer of God by Reginald Cook - Free Book Online
Authors: Reginald Cook
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world discovers who Samuel Napier really is, it’ll be too late.
The elevator door opened. Cardinal Polletto, his anxiety now abated, was met by his assistant, Father Gerald Volken.
“I need you to get Bishop Niccolo at the Vatican Archives on the phone immediately,” he told the boyish-faced thirty-five year old.
“Yes, Cardinal, right away. I’ve placed your itinerary on your desk, including a list of people you need to call today and their phone numbers.
There’s one at the top of the list that requires your immediate attention,” said Father Volken, following the cardinal into his office.
Cardinal Polletto picked up the list of scheduled phone calls. At the top it read: Call Chicago office, FBI, Agent Baxter, and included a phone number and extension.
Cardinal Polletto looked out over Chicago through his large, pane glass window. “Get me Bishop Niccolo at the Vatican as I requested, immediately.”
12
R obert parked at the curb across the street from the Napier’s estate.
Except for two unmarked federal sedans out front, and a black SUV with dark tinted windows in the circular driveway, things looked much quieter than the day before. Gone were the black and whites, flashing lights, heavy police presence, television trucks and reporters.
Robert sat a few minutes to calm himself, then got out and walked through the gate entrance, making a beeline for the front door. He was only a few feet away from the house when the front door opened, and an FBI lumberjack, wearing a dark blue suit, emerged and blocked his path.
“May I help you, sir?” the agent asked.
Robert didn’t like the idea of having to account for his presence at Donavon’s house, but suppressed his emotions, not wanting to upset Alison further by causing a scene. He explained the reason for his visit, that he was a close friend of Donovan’s, hoping the agent would speak to his friend, not Alison.
“You’re the boy’s godfather, correct?” asked the agent, more polite than Robert anticipated. Robert nodded. The agent’s eyes softened. “One moment, Mr. Veil. Please stay here, I’ll see what I can do.” Robert said thanks, and a few minutes later, Donovan appeared at the side of the house. “Robert, follow me around back.” Robert opened his mouth to speak, but Donovan held up a hand, and motioned for him to remain quiet.
Donovan’s limp looked more pronounced. Dark circles outlined his now sunken eyes, and salt-and-pepper stubble crusted his leathery, basset hound face. Once they reached the guesthouse, Donovan went straight to the couch in the living room and collapsed into the Indian embroidery, exhausted. Robert had never seen his friend so distraught, not even when their lives were on the line out in the field when they worked for the CIA. Robert sat down, but only stared in silence, giving Donovan a chance to gather himself. After a little more than five minutes, the beaten down father sat up and wiped his eyes. Robert did the same.
“I’m sorry, but I haven’t slept much,” said Donovan. “Alison’s out cold right now, thanks to Dr. Vicodin.”
“Looks like you should swallow a few yourself,” said Robert, knowing it would take a cocked pistol to the head to get so much as an aspirin down Donovan’s throat.
Donovan stretched. “Don’t think I haven’t considered it. This is more brutal than you know.”
Robert cleared his throat. “Donovan, have they…have they called, made contact?”
“No, nothing,” he answered, rubbing his eyes. “It’s got us twisted in knots. If the bastards would just tell us what they want, anything, it doesn’t matter. Nothing would be too much.” A jarring bolt zipped down Robert’s spine, but he held fast. “The boys at Quantico have any ideas? It’s what we pay them for.”
“No,” said Donovan, struggling to his feet. “They’re as much in the dark as we are.”
Donovan walked to the front window, leaned forward until his forehead touched it, and
The elevator door opened. Cardinal Polletto, his anxiety now abated, was met by his assistant, Father Gerald Volken.
“I need you to get Bishop Niccolo at the Vatican Archives on the phone immediately,” he told the boyish-faced thirty-five year old.
“Yes, Cardinal, right away. I’ve placed your itinerary on your desk, including a list of people you need to call today and their phone numbers.
There’s one at the top of the list that requires your immediate attention,” said Father Volken, following the cardinal into his office.
Cardinal Polletto picked up the list of scheduled phone calls. At the top it read: Call Chicago office, FBI, Agent Baxter, and included a phone number and extension.
Cardinal Polletto looked out over Chicago through his large, pane glass window. “Get me Bishop Niccolo at the Vatican as I requested, immediately.”
12
R obert parked at the curb across the street from the Napier’s estate.
Except for two unmarked federal sedans out front, and a black SUV with dark tinted windows in the circular driveway, things looked much quieter than the day before. Gone were the black and whites, flashing lights, heavy police presence, television trucks and reporters.
Robert sat a few minutes to calm himself, then got out and walked through the gate entrance, making a beeline for the front door. He was only a few feet away from the house when the front door opened, and an FBI lumberjack, wearing a dark blue suit, emerged and blocked his path.
“May I help you, sir?” the agent asked.
Robert didn’t like the idea of having to account for his presence at Donavon’s house, but suppressed his emotions, not wanting to upset Alison further by causing a scene. He explained the reason for his visit, that he was a close friend of Donovan’s, hoping the agent would speak to his friend, not Alison.
“You’re the boy’s godfather, correct?” asked the agent, more polite than Robert anticipated. Robert nodded. The agent’s eyes softened. “One moment, Mr. Veil. Please stay here, I’ll see what I can do.” Robert said thanks, and a few minutes later, Donovan appeared at the side of the house. “Robert, follow me around back.” Robert opened his mouth to speak, but Donovan held up a hand, and motioned for him to remain quiet.
Donovan’s limp looked more pronounced. Dark circles outlined his now sunken eyes, and salt-and-pepper stubble crusted his leathery, basset hound face. Once they reached the guesthouse, Donovan went straight to the couch in the living room and collapsed into the Indian embroidery, exhausted. Robert had never seen his friend so distraught, not even when their lives were on the line out in the field when they worked for the CIA. Robert sat down, but only stared in silence, giving Donovan a chance to gather himself. After a little more than five minutes, the beaten down father sat up and wiped his eyes. Robert did the same.
“I’m sorry, but I haven’t slept much,” said Donovan. “Alison’s out cold right now, thanks to Dr. Vicodin.”
“Looks like you should swallow a few yourself,” said Robert, knowing it would take a cocked pistol to the head to get so much as an aspirin down Donovan’s throat.
Donovan stretched. “Don’t think I haven’t considered it. This is more brutal than you know.”
Robert cleared his throat. “Donovan, have they…have they called, made contact?”
“No, nothing,” he answered, rubbing his eyes. “It’s got us twisted in knots. If the bastards would just tell us what they want, anything, it doesn’t matter. Nothing would be too much.” A jarring bolt zipped down Robert’s spine, but he held fast. “The boys at Quantico have any ideas? It’s what we pay them for.”
“No,” said Donovan, struggling to his feet. “They’re as much in the dark as we are.”
Donovan walked to the front window, leaned forward until his forehead touched it, and
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