3

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

“How long has it been since your last confession?”

“About a week, Father.”

“Go on, my son.”

Cardinal Giafranco Polletto rested comfortably against a high-back leather chair in the den at his forty-one acre estate in Yorkville, Illinois, an hour and a half outside of downtown Chicago. He pretended to pay close attention to Father Tolbert, whose chair sat back to back with his, as the priest droned on about drinking too much wine and lies he’d told.

“Go on, my son,” the cardinal entreated, stroking his chin, eyes closed, his mind on other matters.

“And I’ve sinned again against a child,” said Father Tolbert, reluctance in his tone.

Cardinal Polletto’s eyes opened. “Go on, my son.” For twenty minutes, Father Tolbert, snorting and crying, confessed to having sex with several young boys, including Samuel Napier, whom the cardinal had met earlier. The cardinal asked the priest to elaborate about Samuel. He listened to the pathetic cleric confess misguided love for a child, and smiled. “Your sins are great, my son,” he said, “but fortunately, the forgiveness of our Lord is greater.” The cardinal launched into a litany of prayer and Latin chants, asking God to grant forgiveness to a soul he knew would fill hell, along with his own. They finished, turned their chairs facing each other, and the cardinal poured two glasses of red wine from a crystal carafe on the small round marble table next to them.

“I’m afraid I have some disturbing news,” said the cardinal, taking a long sip of wine.

Father Tolbert’s hands quivered, spilling wine on his pants and the Persian carpet, a gift from the Prime Minister of Egypt. “News?” he asked.

“Yes,” Cardinal Polletto continued. “The boy you love so much has been taken into custody by my people. As I explained to you a few months ago, he’s important to our cause.”

“Taken in? You mean kidnapped?”

“Let’s say, forcefully recruited,” said Cardinal Polletto, pouring himself another glass. “It’s the best thing for The Order, and for you.” Father Tolbert stood. “You didn’t say anything about a kidnapping,” he fired, his fear morphing into anger.

“I didn’t have to say anything about it,” snapped the cardinal. “Just be glad we haven’t snatched you up. Now sit.” Slowly, Father Tolbert lowered himself to his seat. “What are you going to do with him?”

The cardinal took a deep breath. “Don’t worry yourself about it,” he said. “The boy’s safe, and he’ll stay that way. Let’s focus our attention on you.”

“I don’t want to talk about me. Whatever I’ve done, whatever you think of me, please don’t punish the boy for it.” You imbecile, do you really believe this is all about you? “Now, Father Tolbert, you know you’re our first and most important concern.

We take care of our own. Relax and leave it to my people. You’re in good hands.”

Father Tolbert’s face turned purple-red, his eyes bulged, and veins crisscrossed his forehead. “No!” he shouted, flinging his glass against the wall.

The door to the den flung open, and Father Ortega Alamino, the pit bull chauffeur, rushed inside. Cardinal Polletto motioned that everything was okay, and Father Ortega hesitantly closed the door behind him.

Father Tolbert collapsed in his chair, head in hands, and burst into tears.

Cardinal Polletto finished his wine, and carefully placed the empty glass on the table. He watched with contempt, as Father Tolbert fell just short of a full breakdown, revolted by the blubbering priest’s weakness.

The cardinal walked over and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“There, there,” he said, insincere and condescending, “I promise you things will come together for the good, and they will.” Father Tolbert looked up, his eyes wet, red, and puffy, and his nose running. Saliva dripped off his chin. “I’ve got to atone for the things I’ve done. I’ve got to make it right,” he sniveled.

Cardinal Polletto snatched Father Tolbert to his feet. “Get a hold of yourself,” he growled through gritted teeth, shaking the priest with the force of a much younger man.

Father Tolbert snatched loose. “No,” he growled, stepping back.

“I’m the monster, not Samuel. Why are you hurting the boy? I’m the one who should die.”

“Nobody’s going to die,” said the cardinal, with all the comfort of a grandfather. “I have plans for you that you know nothing about, very important plans, plans that involve Samuel. Now, let’s sit and talk.”

“I’m going to the police,” shot Father Tolbert. “I’m going to turn myself in. I can’t live like this anymore.” Cardinal Polletto sprang forward and slapped the priest to the floor.

The cardinal leered down with rage and fire in his eyes. He hoped that he could calm Father Tolbert down, and was sorry he allowed the situation to spiral so far out of his grasp. He needed Samuel, and the kidnapping would put enough pressure on his plans without Father Tolbert doing something rash. The feeble cleric would be done away with in time, but for now, he needed him alive.

“Get to your feet,” he ordered. Father Tolbert, dazed, pulled himself up on the side of the cardinal’s dark mahogany desk. The high-priest tossed him a handkerchief. “You’re not going to say a thing. Go home and pack only what you need for the next few weeks. I’ll make sure you get the rest later.”

Father Tolbert’s eyes, confused and inquisitive, asked where he was going.

Cardinal Polletto flashed a dangerous smile. “I’m sending you to Rome.”