Page 109 of Skotos
“Fine,” Manakin said, sounding unconvinced. “Financial records?”
“We weren’t allowed to view those, but Rinaldi said the Vatican Treasury went back five years. All expenditures appeared properly documented and accounted for. If Severan was funding Order activities, he wasn’t using Church money to do it.”
“What about personal finances? I know those men are supposed to be poor or whatever, but they’re still men. Church history is rife with themisdeeds of its leaders, most of which involved extortion or outright theft of Church funds.”
“There’s some family wealth. It’s modest by cardinal standards but enough to support a comfortable lifestyle. We couldn’t find any unusual withdrawals or suspicious transactions, but the accounting nerds at the Vatican are still looking over his books.” Thomas flipped through more papers. “That doesn’t mean much if he was dealing in cash or using intermediaries.”
I stopped pacing and turned back to him. “What about the travel records? His unauthorized trips?”
“That’s where it gets interesting.” Thomas pulled out a map of Europe with red pins marking various locations. “We confirmed at least six trips over the past two years where Severan left Rome without official Church business. Florence, Naples, Milan, Venice, even one to Geneva.”
“All in Italy except Geneva?” Manakin asked.
“Right. And here’s the thing, we found hotel records for most of these trips, but in every case, he checked in under false names. Father Antonio Benedetti, Father Marco Rossi, or Father Giuseppe Torriani.”
“Common names?” Manakin asked.
“Extremely common. They’re the kind of aliases someone would use if they wanted to blend in completely. Think ‘Smith’ or ‘Jones’ back home.” Thomas set down the papers and rubbed his face. “The Italian police checked with the hotels, but none of the staff remembered anything unusual about him. He kept to himself, paid in cash, tipped well, left early.”
Manakin was quiet a moment before asking, “You think those trips were meeting locations? Order gatherings?”
“We cross-referenced his travel dates with known religious sites, political events, anything that might indicate why he was in those cities. We found nothing. There were no corresponding conferences, no ceremonies, no obvious reasons for a cardinal to visit.”
I felt the familiar knot of frustration tightening in my chest. “So he was meeting with people, but we don’t know who.”
“Or he was conducting surveillance, or planning operations, or any number of things we can’t prove.” Thomas gestured at the scattered reports. “Hell, for all we know, he might’ve just wanted a different flavor of sauce on his pasta. The man covered his tracks like an intelligence operative.”
“What about the Order’s recruitment methods?” Manakin ignored Thomas’s sauce jibe. “How do you find religious fanatics willing to commit murder?”
“Vatican historians went through their archives looking for any mention of the Order of Saint Longinus or similar groups. They found the referenceswe already knew about—medieval records, papal condemnations from centuries ago—but nothing recent.” Thomas paused. “Although . . .”
“What?” Manakin snapped, his patience wearing thin.
“There have been reports over the past few years of unusual activity at various religious sites across Europe.”
“What kind of activities?” I could almost hear Manakin leaning forward on his elbows.
“Unauthorized gatherings, strange rituals, clergy behaving oddly, that sort of thing.”
“Define oddly,” Manakin ordered.
Thomas drew in a breath and looked my way. Manakin had been our handler for years. Hell, the man recruited us; and still, neither of us were used to his interrogations, certainly not when the lives of world leaders hung in the balance. Manakin could make the most cold-blooded operative piddle his pants with little more than a glare.
“Priests disappearing for days without explanation,” Thomas finally said. “Monks found in possession of non-religious materials such as maps, weapons, political pamphlets. Seminary students asking unusual questions about Church history and papal authority.” Thomas pulled out yet another folder. “Most of it was dismissed as isolated incidents, but when you put it all together . . .”
“It starts to look like a recruitment pattern,” I said.
“Exactly.” Thomas nodded. “Someone’s been identifying and cultivating religious extremists for years, maybe decades.”
The scope was staggering. This wasn’t just a disgruntled cardinal and a few fanatics, but a systematic infiltration of the Church at multiple levels.
“And our only solid lead is still Naples,” I said.
Thomas nodded and flipped to a different section of his folder. “A dockworker claims he saw a priest with his arm in a sling boarding a freighter bound for Argentina. He said the man paid in cash, spoke little, and looked like he was in pain.”
“You believe the witness?” Manakin asked.
“Italian police interviewed him three times, and his story stayed consistent. He had no reason to lie. Plus, he provided details about the priest’s appearance that match Severan.”
