Free Vatican Knights by Rick Jones Page B

transitioned from anger, to pain, and then to a semblance of
understanding.
    “He said the president wanted to
see me right away.”
    Realizing the lamb was wasted,
Gary removed the cooking mitt and tossed it on the sofa. “I understand,” he
said. But his voice carried the flatness of someone too hurt to care.
    “Look, Gary, I’m sorry. You know I
wanted to spend tonight with you.” This was a modicum of a lie and Gary knew
it. Lying was not her forte. But he knew that she wanted desperately to believe
that her marriage wasn’t failing. Shari Cohen never failed at anything in her
life.
    He stepped forward and looked into
her eyes. “Shari, seriously, help me understand what’s happening here, with us.
Are you losing interest? Is it because I’m a stay-at-home dad? What? Help me
out, will you?”
    “There’s nothing to discuss,
Gary.” She pointed to the TV, maintaining calm. “You see what’s going on. You
know what I do for a living.”
    He hesitated before speaking, and
then softly he said, “I know you’re a mother and a wife. And I know I’m your
husband. And I know you’re running away from me.” He rounded the sofa. “You
wouldn’t even take my last name when we married. I know, I know, “professional”
reasons. But I guess I can’t help thinking you just didn’t want to be associated
with me.”
    She let her hand fall. “Gary. . .
.” She let her words trail because she knew he was right. She was running away.
Even using her maiden name wasn’t escape enough.
    Shari moved before her husband and
leaned into his embrace. She didn’t feel any sense of love or passion, but an
overwhelming sadness that brought her to the brink of tears. “You are without a
doubt, Gary Molin, a good man. And don’t you ever forget that.”
    He drew back and feigned a smile.
And then with the back of his hand he caressed the strands of hair off her
forehead so that her hairstyle completely framed her beautiful face without
errant locks interrupting her features. “I’m not angry with you, honey. I’m
just scared of where we’re going.”
    “We’ll talk,” she said. “I promise.”
There was no smile, not even a false one. And then she placed a hand over his
heart. She could feel the moderate beats against her palm. “I know you’re
disappointed, but I have to go.”
    “I guess when your wife is the
head of the Hostage Rescue Team, then this is to be expected, right?”
     “Thank you for understanding,”
she said.
    He shrugged. “What else can I do?”
    “I just need time, that’s all.”
    “What we need is time to talk. And
I mean talk .”
    She remained forcibly calm. “Right
now, Gary, there’s a lot on my plate and the attorney general is calling me.
Please understand the pressure I’m going through right now because it’s obvious
to me that I’m heading into an impossible task. I need to believe that I can do
this.”
    “You can,” he told her. “He’s
bringing you in because he believes in you like I do.” He then pulled her close
once again, this time kissing the crown of her head. “You can do this, Shari.
This is what you were built for.” 
    When she drew back he saw the
worry in her eyes and the uncertainty on her face. Normally she was brimming
with the fortitude to meet a challenge head-on. But this time she was
different. This time she appeared unusually troubled, which seemed to shake her
normally stalwart confidence. Always keeping to the adage that a single setback
doesn’t crumble an empire, she undoubtedly knew in this case that a single
error in judgment could endanger not only the pope’s life, but also the
stability of the world order. But how could she save the world if she couldn’t
even save her own marriage?
    Grateful for his vote of
confidence, she hugged him, the feeling not so vulgar, and then departed to do
battle against the Soldiers of Islam armed only with excellent judgment.

 
     
     
    CHAPTER FOURTEEN
    Vatican City 
    September 23, Late