Free Papal Justice by CG Cooper

Italy, without parishioners to tend to. Surely they would take his circumstances into account and let him live out his days in quiet solitude, atoning for his sins in relative peace.
    “You are to remain here and assist us in finding our stolen flock. There have been more kidnappings.”
    Sweat sprang from Pietro’s brow.
    “I am happy to assist with information, but I am not qualified to help in any other way.” He felt the panic clawing away at his insides. This couldn’t be happening.
    The muscular monk shook his head.
    “That is not God’s plan, Father.”
    The words shot from his mouth before he could stop them. “What do you know of God’s plan?! What life have you lived that you should be the judge of what I must do?”
    It was like the words shattered against an impenetrable wall of stone. The monk’s face didn’t change.
    “It is not my choice, Father.”
    “Then whose is it? Who demands that I stay and help you?” His old anger simmered, long since tamped down into the farthest reaches of his soul, wrapped in iron bonds where it could no longer hurt others. But now it shook in its chains, demanding to be let out, howling for the light. Pietro let it come. “You know nothing,” he hissed.
    But still the monk looked unfazed.
    “I know you are in pain, Father. Is that not why you changed your name, to distance yourself from your past? Is that not why Gabriel Fusconi became Pietro?”
    Cold fury washed over the priest. His hands shook as he tried to form his retort.
    “How dare you…”
    “No, Father, how dare you .” The monk rose from his chair, now even more imposing as he walked to the bed. His face wasn’t the mask of fury Father Pietro expected, but still the calm facade of a determined warrior. Father Pietro glared at the man with every ounce of hatred he could muster, but if he felt a thing, the monk didn’t let it show. He said, “You swore an oath to God. You promised to serve Him, to serve His people. Instead you’ve chosen to hide like a coward, to lose yourself in your weakness. That is not what God wants of you.”
    The words were like swift jabs to the priest’s chest. He felt each one, saw the truth in the words, but didn’t want to listen.
    “So tell me, monk,” Father Pietro stabbed back. “Whose orders do you follow now? Is it God who told you to keep me in Mexico?”
    A smile made its way onto the burly monk’s face. Pietro steeled himself for a glib reply.
    “Normally we are bound by our vows not to divulge our master’s identity, but Brother Luca has given me the assurance that you can be trusted.”
    Pietro was getting tired of the man’s riddles.
    “So, who is it? Who is this mysterious person that commands the warrior monks before me?”
    The monk’s smile stretched wider.
    “His Holiness, our Holy Father, the Pope.”
     
    +++
     
    The villa they’d rented was swanky and built like a fortress. Commanding an impressive view of the Pacific Ocean, Villa Tesoro (Spanish for treasure) lived up to its name. With video surveillance inside and out, two sets of armored entry gates, and enough room to house a platoon, Villa Tesoro was exactly what Cal and his team needed: a safe place to plan their next move. Sometimes it was good to have a lot of money and friends who could find new accommodations on the fly.
    The Pope’s warriors had taken Father Pietro to a large guest room on the other side of the mansion. The Jefferson Group operators were congregated in a split level living area that overlooked an LED lit swimming pool that could’ve been an exact replica of the one at the Playboy Mansion.
    Cal read the report Neil had sent moments earlier from TJG headquarters. With the help of the pictures they’d sent him of the dead men who’d attacked them hours before, Neil was able to discover their identities by accessing the Mexican police database.
    “Neil says these guys are cartel gunmen. Some have records and others were rumored to have affiliations with a guy