Page 19 of No Stone Unturned

Father Armando already stood in the hallway, dressed in an ordinary black cassock and collar. He waved Slash in. His black hair held more gray than last time, but his eyes were filled with happiness and obvious affection.

I wonder what changes he sees in me.

Before Slash could say a word of greeting, the father embraced him with open arms. The young priest who accompanied him quietly closed the door behind them when they stepped into the father’s office.

“Nicolo, what a surprise to see you.” Father Armando framed Slash’s face between his hands and studied him for a long moment, and then gave a satisfied nod before kissing him on both cheeks. “You look well. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“I’m sorry. I’ve interrupted something.”

“It’s okay. We were wrapping things up. Please, sit down. To what do I owe this honor? Did you just get in?”

Slash sat as requested and Father Armando took the chair across from him. “I did. I’m sorry I didn’t give you advance notice of my arrival. This trip was rather unexpected.”

“I see. Is this about Giorgio?”

“Yes...and no.”

Seemingly intrigued by that comment, the priest leaned forward. “Well, I’ve been digging to see if I can figure out what is behind the denial of his marriage request, but found nothing yet. It’s highly unusual. I still have more threads to pull, so I will get answers for you.”

“I understand, and appreciate your effort. I actually wondered if you wouldn’t mind taking a stroll in the church garden. I’d appreciate the opportunity to see how it’s grown since the last time I was here.”

Father Armando looked at Slash for a long, puzzled moment and then rose. “Of course, I’d be delighted to show you the garden. I’ve nurtured the most splendid purple wisteria. You will be amazed at the vividness of the color. Come, my son, let us walk.”

Father Armando grabbed a Nationals baseball cap from the bookshelf—one Slash had given him—then swept out his hand to indicate Slash should go first. The father closed the door behind them and they walked down the cool, dark corridor until they came to a door. They stepped into the bright sunlight, blinking rapidly. He slipped on his sunglasses while Father Armando jammed the cap on his head to shade his head and face.

“This way,” he said.

Slash followed without comment. When they reached the purple wisteria, he lifted a bloom to his nose and noted the sweet fragrance.

“Impressive,” he said, releasing the flower. “You’ve developed quite the green thumb.”

“Thank you. I believe that nurturing the environment is a noble endeavor. If you’d like, we can sit on the bench and enjoy the view while you tell me why you really came. I trust there’s a reason we cannot speak candidly in my office.”

“Si. I’m afraid someone may be listening in on your conversations, Father.”

Father Armando stumbled, nearly falling onto the bench before Slash caught him by the arm.

“What? My office is bugged? Someone is listening to my private conversations?”

“I think it’s a possibility. I prefer to err on the side of caution.”

Shaken, the father settled onto the bench. “That’s a grave accusation on many different levels. Who exactly would be listening?”

“I’m not sure, but I urge you to be circumspect in what you say from this point on.” Slash joined him on the bench. “I’m concerned there’s something going on at the Vatican. Something’s not right.”

“Why would you say that?”

“It’s complicated. Suffice it to say, I’ve been summoned to Rome, and not in a good way.” He briefly brought the father up to speed on recent events. Father Armando listened quietly without interruption. When he finished, the priest leaned back on the bench, a contemplative expression on his face.

“Thenkondistatue means it has to be someone who knows what happened in the Congo,” Father Armando said.

“Si.” Slash spread his hands. “But who? There are only a handful of us who know. What would be the purpose of revealing such things now?”

“Well, whoever sent the statue is playing dangerously.” Father Armando reached up to tap the gold crucifix around his neck. “It’s most certainly about power and control. What happened in the Congo... You know your actions were justified as those necessary to the church. You did what you were told. No one could have foreseen what would happen.”

The words didn’t help. They never did. He looked at the wisteria, its blossoms stretching toward the heat of the sun, yearning to grow. “Intellectually I understand, but my soul remains troubled by the actions and the outcome.”

“I know.” The priest put a gentle hand on his arm. “Nicolo, your heart is not yet healed, and you continue to seek peace for your past actions. As we have spoken before, what happened there is not on you.”

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