Papal Justice Read Free Page B

past.”
    “Is he trustworthy, this man? Who is he?”
    “When I knew him, his name was Gabriel. Now he goes by Father Pietro.”
    “He’s a priest?”
    “He is, Holy Father.”
    “Why did he contact you, why not his diocese, or his bishop?”
    “I think he believed I could help.”
    The Pope sat back and digested the news. It was a moment before he replied.
    “Does he know about your brotherhood?”
    “He does not, Holy Father.”
    The Pope nodded. “Good. Now, tell me what happened.”
    The robed man retold Father Pietro’s story, along with the priest’s description of his attackers, and what he’d done in the apartment next to the church.
    The Pope’s eyes went just perceptibly wide.
    “Let us say a prayer for our brothers and sisters,” the Pope said, bowing his head. The others did the same. After a short blessing for those lost and those gone missing, the head of the Roman Catholic Church looked up again. “This is grave, my friend. Do you believe this Father Pietro? How was it that he was able to do what he did?”
    There was no accusation in the Pope’s tone, just curiosity.
    “Father Pietro was a special forces soldier in the Italian army. He saved my life on one of his operations. I owe him a great debt.”
    “This Father Pietro sounds like more of a man who should be part of your order, no?”
    The old man nodded. “He would have made a good brother, but he wanted a break from his old life. There was an…incident that brought him to The Church.”
    “Ah. God’s plans.”
    Both men nodded as if they’d had this same conversation many times in the past, the mysteries of God’s plan and what it meant for humankind.
    “He has a good heart, but his past still weighs heavily on his conscience. Even after almost a decade, I could hear the remorse in his voice.”
    “And you would like to go to him?” the Pope asked.
    “As much as it pains me to say it, Your Holiness, my health now keeps me from such a journey. My brothers are more than capable of handling the situation.”
    “Very well. You know my trust resides with you. You have my blessing to investigate this further. I will do what I can to get you any help you need.”
    The Pope rose from his seat, the others rising with him.
    “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must inform my advisors of our loss.”
     
    +++
     
    As soon as the Pope closed the door, Brother Luca eased himself back down into his chair. His face was slick with sweat.
    “Can we assist you, Brother?” asked another monk, this one a full head taller than Luca.
    “I’m fine. Just let me catch my breath.”
    Brother Luca knew his time was coming. The doctors had given him six months to live, but that was eight months ago. So far he’d done what he’d always done, defied the odds. He hadn’t expected the well of emotion to hit him when he saw the pontiff, but the sight of his old friend, the holiest man he’d ever met, filled his weakened body with a relief so profound that he’d almost forgotten why they’d come.
    His mind was clearing, and now that he had the blessing of the only man who could put the brotherhood in action, he went back to analyzing what the jihadi’s motives might be. The first thing that had come to mind when Father Pietro had told him about the massacre was that this wouldn’t be the last. That issue worried the old warrior. If there was one thing he’d learned about this new breed of terror, it was that random acts rarely occurred. No, there was something more insidious happening. He could feel it in his crumbling bones.
    With more than a little effort, he stood again and said, “Come, brothers, we have preparations to make.”
     
    +++
     
    The Pope thumbed his rosary as he walked. It was an old habit from his days in Buenos Aires, when he’d walk the barrios and talk with the poor children as they played in the hot Argentine sun. Seeing Brother Luca brought those memories back in a flood of color.
    When he’d first met Luca, the Pope had