Page 42 of No Stone Unturned

Holding the micro transmitter between his fingers, Slash snapped it as the father looked on in shock. Slash resumed his search through the rest of the apartment, but it was clean. He returned to the living room where Father Armando sat on the couch, holding a bottle of cognac and pouring a generous amount into two glasses.

“So, it’s true,” he said, his hand shaking slightly as he poured. “Spying on me in the office and now at home. For what purpose would someone want to eavesdrop on me in my own home?”

Slash sank into a chair across from the couch. “There’s a game being played in Rome and it involves you and me.”

The father set the bottle down and handed Slash a glass. “What in the world would either of us have to do with any of the machinations in Rome?”

“A lot, apparently.” Slash swirled the cognac for a moment and took long a drink, fortifying himself. “You’re a threat.”

Father Armando pointed to himself as if he’d heard Slash incorrectly. “Me? How am I a threat and to whom?”

“Cardinal Lazo. He has eyes on the papacy.”

“Well, that’s no secret. But what does that have to do with me?”

“Do you really have no idea?” Slash studied him, looking for any signs of deception, but saw none. Thank God. Father Armando was as guileless in this matter as he’d suspected.

“I do not.”

“You’re a popular man, Father. There are a lot of powerful people who would like to see the papacy returned to the Italians. Right now, you have a strong coalition building in Rome. Imagine what you could do with that if the pope were to pass.”

“That’s ridiculous. I’m a new cardinal, and nothing more than a fierce and loyal follower of the Holy Father. Besides, I happen to be Italian, but that does not matter to God. He looks into my heart, not my ethnicity. I have no desire to return the papacy to Italians. I wish nothing more than the next pope is a true man of God and a defender of the people and poor.”

That was exactly what he’d believed Father Armando would say. Now that he had, it made him more convinced to protect him. “But you could still be voted in if the Holy Father were to pass.” He rested his elbows on his thighs. “Listen to me, Emilio. You would have the pope’s following, as well as those who favor his more progressive agenda. Lazo, he’s no fan of the Holy Father or progress.”

“Well, if Lazo is threatened by me, then he’s certainly desperate.” Father Armando took a swallow of his cognac.

Slash tried to temper his frustration. The father clearly didn’t believe himself to be a threat, and Slash needed to change his perception on that.

“He’s not desperate, Emilio. He’s shrewd, and in this case, he’s right. You could rally the pope’s forces. You’re his single greatest threat.”

“Nonsense. I told you, I am not seeking the papacy.”

“It is possible, and Lazo sees it. He’s the best positioned of all the cardinals right now to take the papacy, and he knows it. He could easily consolidate the Italians and go that route, but only if you are out of his way. So, unfortunately, we’ll have to play his game, at least for a little bit.”

Father Armando looked up sharply. “Play his game? What does that mean?”

Setting his glass on the table, Slash looked directly into the priest’s eyes. A fist squeezed his heart, a suffocating sensation. He wanted to know the truth, but part of him didn’t. There was safety in not knowing, because knowing might change the dynamic between them, and Slash didn’t want to venture into that kind of unknown territory. But Cardinal Lazo had forced his hand, and now he needed to know. He steadied himself internally, preparing himself for the question, as well as the answer.

“I need to ask you a question, and I pray you will tell me the truth. It may matter, it may not. But I need to have the information.” He cleared his throat a couple of times before he could continue. Why was this so hard after all these years?

“Emilio, are you my father?”

A myriad of expressions—stunned, shocked, scared—crossed Father Armando’s face. For an endless moment, the question hung in the air, suspended between them. Cars zoomed past on the street below, and there was faint laughter from the adjoining flat where a neighbor had the television turned up too loudly.

They stared at each other, neither speaking. It was a simple question, but given the length of time it was taking the priest to speak, apparently the answer wasn’t quite as straightforward.

“Nicolo, why would you ask me that?” Father Armando finally asked. Sadness and regret tinged his voice.

It was neither the answer nor the reaction Slash expected. Hurt and confusion swept through him. “I need to know if it’s true. It’s just a question.” But he knew it wasn’t that simple. This was his life they were discussing. His identity.

Who am I?

“Where did you get that idea?” the priest asked. “Lazo?”

Slash dipped his head in acknowledgment. “He wants me to publicly acknowledge you as my biological father.”

The priest stared at him for a moment, when, to Slash’s astonishment, he started to laugh. “Oh, heaven help me. What is this? He wants to reveal you as my secret love child to remove me from contention for the papacy? Not that I believe I’mincontention for the papacy. I assume he’s the one holding up Giorgio’s wedding in order to bring you here and force a confession.”

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