Free In the Wind: Out of the Box, Book 2 by Robert J. Crane Page B

of course, that are like myself. The church knows us.” He finally looks up. “There is no shame; we are all children of God, all loved. But when Sovereign began to move—” I shouldn’t be surprised that a priest can knowledgeably discuss events I was intimately involved in, but somehow I am, “—they reacted differently than almost any other country. They gathered us together and protected us here in Vatican City. They isolated us from exposure to the outside world, limited access, used the intelligence they accumulated about Century’s methods to keep us hidden and safe.” He opens his hands and I can see the sweat glistening on his palms. “They managed to do what no other country could.”
    “They protected their meta population,” I say in a low voice.
    He nods. “But not only theirs, I found out.”
    This elicits a frown from me. “Did they take in others?”
    He looks away and nods again. “Some. Where they could, and where they were certain that these people were not Century spies.” He purses his lips. “This is where the problem lies.” He folds his hands. “Where my problem lies.”
    I lean in, very serious. “So what is your problem?” I ask, now unconcerned about dispelling the image that I’m totally informed. He’s in the boat; there’s no reason to be coy now. (Because we’re not in a koi pond, har har.)
    “One of the outsiders that they gave sanctuary to,” Emmanuel says, still looking down. “ He is the problem. He is using us—the church. He’s hiding now. He got in because his brother is a priest, and now we continue to shield him while he—while he—” Emmanuel makes a noise of utter frustration, something a holy man trying to avoid the sin of wrath might make, and I suspect his next confession will be interesting if he doesn’t keep this to himself. “He’s still using us to hide.”
    I narrow my eyes as I realize that this is moral outrage. It’s as serious as can be for him; whatever this situation is, it offends him on a deeply personal level. “What’s this guy doing?” I ask.
    Emmanuel looks up, and his dark eyes flash. “It’s not just what he’s doing, but who he is. He is a criminal,” Emmanuel says, “and I think he’s still committing crimes—while using our sanctuary to keep himself hidden.”

16.
    Father Emmanuel doesn’t give us much more than that. He’s jumpy, and he leaves a few minutes later, promising that if he can find more—proof of his claims, for instance—he’ll be in touch. I get the sense he’s carrying a bit of a load, but I also get the sense he’s not telling me everything.
    Like how he figured out this guy is still active as a criminal. Did Emmanuel witness something? Or is he a telepath?
    Dr. Perugini and I head back to the hotel. I spring for a cab, because her gait is showing the first signs that she might be developing a blister and I’m sensitive like that.
    On the ride back to the hotel, we’re pretty quiet. The windows are cracked, letting cool air drift in on the stretches where the cabbie revs the engine up to redline. Then he slams on the brakes as we come to a traffic light and audibly protests in muted Italian. I decide he must be related to the last swearing cab driver I had.
    Dr. Perugini says nothing, hiding behind her sunglasses, eyes fixed straight ahead. She’s lost in thought, I can tell even through the lenses, and I don’t want to be the one to disturb her.
    The threads of my little Italian tapestry (not the “Jesus is watching you” one, but the one I’m spinning from all the different things I’m dealing with here) are getting more and more complicated. I’ve got an info broker’s murder. One of the old goddesses. A guy with powers like mine. A priest who’s a meta and says that there’s a criminal meta hiding in the Vatican. And a villain who’s dropping the name of my old organization in a letter to a former colleague.
    I’m gonna need some help tying these strands off, I decide, so