Page 80 of No Stone Unturned

So, Grayson had been brought into this, too. He should have known Lexi would be resourceful when asking their friends for help. It shamed him that while he’d been keeping secrets from her, she’d always been forthright with him. He had no excuse for that other than he’d been keeping and chasing secrets his entire life. It was a part of who he was. But was it a part of who he wanted to be?

He kept his eyes on the sea and the timeless push and pull of the water. Seagulls circled and swooped down to skim the waves, looking for their next meal. The world could go to hell, but the sea would remain a constant force—the peaceful waves masking the dangerous turmoil beneath. Yet even the sea grew and adapted as new environments were forged.

“You came to Italy,” he finally said. “To me. Why?”

The question surprised her. “Why? Slash, do you really have to ask me that? When you gave me this ring, I understood it to mean we’re a team in all parts of our lives. The good and the bad. We may not have had the wedding yet, but this ring means everything we face, we face together.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I wanted to start fresh with you. I didn’t want this to touch you...touch us.”

“It’s too late for that,” she said. “If it touches you, it touches me. It already has. We all have a past, Slash. The question is, are you going to remain a prisoner to yours?”

He considered her words. Emotions, responsibilities, fear and wariness still raged within him. If he decided to change, he would do itwithher—and go wherever that led them. But it started by sharing his worst secret, a part of him he’d never wanted her to know.

“Several years ago the Vatican was brokering a deal in the Congo to promote a peaceful transition to democracy,” he said quietly. “We were working with Congolese bishops to form a deal between the leader—an embattled dictator by the name of Harun Apeloko—and rebel forces. The deal was that Apeloko would step down after elections were held to ensure a smooth democratic transition. The problem was that Apeloko didn’t officially agree to the deal. He never signed anything or made an official pronouncement. He made some vague promises, but was careful to never put his signature on anything. He was quite clever—a cruel despot, but far from stupid. He was a well-educated, charming man, who spent most of his years in power carefully destroying or controlling every major institution in the country. Except for one.”

“The Catholic Church,” Lexi said quietly.

“Si. The church was holding together the very fabric of the country. People were dying,cara, the elderly were in unimaginable pain, and children were succumbing to starvation and disease. They looked to the church for their salvation, and the church tried to help them. The Vatican did everything they could to oust Apeloko. Secret offers of money, safe haven, whatever he might want. Anything and everything was on the table.”

“What happened?”

“Apeloko enjoyed matching wits with the bishops and the Vatican delegations that came to broker the deals. He threw lavish parties and dinners, and, at some point, he took a special interest in a young Italian priest with whom he used to fiercely debate matters of the world. Apeloko apparently found the priest witty and interesting. The Vatican noticed the budding interest and asked the priest to cultivate a friendship in the hopes that one day that priest could convince Apeloko to agree to a peaceful transition.”

“But it didn’t work,” Lexi said.

“It didn’t work. First of all, the young priest wasn’t a priest, although he was forced to listen to Apeloko’s horrific, gleeful confessions. The priest was a Vatican operative and Apeloko was his mission.”

Lexi inclined her head to show she was following, but said nothing.

“Despite the operative’s best efforts,” Slash continued, “Apeloko refused to sign any agreement and escalated his murderous reign. It became quite evident he had no intention of stepping down. The discussions with the bishops, with the Vatican, it was all a distraction. In the meantime, his people remained locked in unimaginable poverty and suffering while Apeloko lived in grotesque wealth. He killed indiscriminately and tortured millions of men, women and children. The Vatican was helpless to bring about change, to stop the suffering.”

Her hand tightened on his knee, but she remained silent. He kept his focus on the sea and the waves that crashed against the shore.

“There was a rebel leader by the name of Joseph Jakande,” he continued after a minute. “He’d united most of the rural tribes against Apeloko. The Congolese bishops, and by extension the Vatican, were supporting him. Jakande was powerful and charismatic. He was poised to take control of the country from Apeloko. He promised to lead the people to a democratic society, if Apeloko would step down peacefully. But it was clear that was never going to happen. So, a decision was made in the highest echelons of the Vatican. Apeloko had to go.”

He risked a sideways glance at Lexi. She was looking at the sea, just as he had been, her expression calm and thoughtful. Her hand stayed reassuringly on his knee, waiting for him to get through it. If he could.

“As is true with most despots, Apeloko was extraordinarily paranoid. He had food tasters and bodyguards near him constantly. He’d installed his eldest son, a boy barely nineteen, as head of the national army. The boy was as sadistic and cruel as his father, but he made sure his father was well protected. The only time Apeloko was without his guards present was at night while he was sleeping and after dinner when he retired to his study to drink and read. Guards were always posted outside of his locations, even if he wasn’t in actual sight. So, one day, while the Vatican was figuring out the best way to conduct the assassination, a heaven-sent opportunity fell into their laps. One evening, Apeloko invited the young priest to accompany him to his study to play chess and continue their discussion on worldly matters.”

He glanced at Lexi. She sat so motionless, he wondered what she was thinking.

“The session lasted several hours and the guards did not enter the study once,” he continued. “After the priest reported back, a tightly held group of bishops at the Vatican made the difficult decision to save many more people, if the priest was invited into the study again. So, he was given orders to assassinate Apeloko if he could. The operative resisted, as this was not normal protocol. Options were discussed and alternative scenarios evaluated. But there was no other way, so in the end, the operative agreed to move forward if an invitation to the study came again.”

“How long until that happened?” Lexi asked, her voice so soft it was almost a whisper.

“Nearly three weeks. That night, as the others watched the young priest disappear with Apeloko into the study, their plan was put into motion.”

Slash leaned forward more, his hand inches from hers, but not daring to touch her. “It was easier than expected. Trust had been built, so Apeloko was careless. When Apeloko went to the bathroom, which was located inside the study, the operative slipped poison into his drink. It was a fast-acting agent, so Apeloko began to die with seconds of ingestion. He slipped from his chair, clutching his throat and foaming at the mouth, gasping for air as the blood coagulated around his heart and lungs. The operative knelt over Apeloko, ensuring his heart had stopped, when he heard a sound from behind him. It was Apeloko’s nineteen-year-old son, Thako. He’d come in from a hidden entrance behind a bookcase.”

Slash exhaled, willing himself to finish. He didn’t dare to pause for long. “Many things rushed through the operative’s mind at that moment, but first and foremost was the absolute certainty that the boy would have to die as well.”

Lexi clenched her hands together in her lap so tightly the knuckles were stretched pale. He waited until a couple walked past and resumed speaking. “The operative stood with an anxious look on his face, and waved Thako over. ‘Something happened to your father,’ he said. When Thako bent over his father, the operative hit him from behind, knocking him to the ground. The operative rolled him over and pressed a hand over his mouth and nose. For what might have been a minute or perhaps only seconds, the operative and the boy locked eyes. Thako lay helpless on his back, barely conscious, outmatched and outweighed. Tears leaked from the boy’s eyes as the operative’s hand pressed harder. At that moment, he didn’t look more than twelve years old.”

He swallowed, then continued. “The operative racked his brain for a solution that would save this boy’s life. He pleaded with God to let him spare this boy, to escape the unfairness of the situation in which they both found themselves. But God was silent, so the priest took another vial from beneath his robe and forced the poison down the boy’s throat, holding his nose until he had no choice but to swallow. When the boy died, the operative flushed the small plastic vials down the toilet, washed his hands and popped a harmless foaming pill and sedative into his mouth. The operative staggered to the door and flung it open, collapsing in the hallway. The guards rushed into the room to find their leader and his eldest son dead. The Vatican quickly collected their gravely injured priest and whisked him back to Rome for medical treatment. Mission complete.”

He stopped, waited for her to say something, but she was silent. The silence stretched on for so long, his stomach churned with anxiety.

“So, the operative was never actually poisoned. It was an act.”

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