Rome was always beautiful, almost overwhelmingly so, no matter how many times one had visited before. Bond had been smartly picked up from Aeroporto internazionale di Roma-Fiumicino "Leonardo da Vinci" by a local agent after they had straight-facedly run through the latest recognition code, and now he sat enjoying the renowned sites as they steadily fought their way through the equally renowned Rome traffic. He was glad that his contact was clearly experienced with the seemingly arbitrary rules of the road here which the many drivers apparently followed only at random and that only when the mood struck them.
“My name is Giancarlo, Mr Bond”, the driver said. He was a middle-aged man with grey hair and moustache.
“Call me James, would you? Do you think we’d be able to have a drink together before we go to my hotel?”
“Of course. I know a good place”.
Within ten minutes they were sitting alone at a table outside a traditional caffe with glasses of a white wine in front of them. Bond had been happy to accept Giancarlo’s suggestion of what to drink, and on sipping his wine he was pleasantly surprised at the quality.
“Yours is a beautiful city, Giancarlo”, he said.
“It is, yes. Much beauty here”.
“Though you’d think they would have fixed the Coliseum by now, the war was forty years ago”.
Giancarlo smiled as though he hadn’t heard the joke before.
“How much have you been told about why I’m here, Giancarlo?” he asked.
“I have been told that you are here because Roberto Calvi was murdered in London and we would like to find out a little more about that. Now, between you and me, James, there were more people who wanted him dead than who wanted him alive and it would not be very difficult to find some of those people. Proving it though, now, that would be a much harder thing”.
“I believe that he had been, shall we say, quietly taking money from certain people it would not be wise to take money from”, said Bond, raising his glass to his lips.
“That would certainly be one way of putting it”, said Giancarlo. “If the stories that are being told are correct he got greedy. If Calvi had been content to take a little money here and there, either nobody would have been any wiser or they would not have cared. But he took too much, too soon”.
“You must have ideas on who I could talk to, to learn more”.
“There is a certain clergyman, a senior clergyman, you could talk to. I have had his help in the past. I will see what I can do there. But first, I think you and I should pay a visit to a lady called Graziella Corrocher”.
“And who might she be?”
“She was Calvi’s secretary. If anyone knows his secrets, she does”.
Daniel knelt alone in his sparsely furnished chamber, praying toward the light from the one small window. He prayed for the inner strength to resist his body’s incessant demands. He prayed for the outer strength to carry out his missions. He prayed for the peace of mind not to ask the reasons why he was being given these missions and simply to obey what his master asked of him.
His phone rang. He knew who it would be, since only one person had his number.
“Yes, master?”
“Have you been carrying out your penances and saying your prayers, Daniel?” came the voice he loved.
“Yes, master”.
“You are to carry these duties out rigorously, so that you are fit to continue doing the duties which I shall assign to you, for I speak for the Lord”.
“Yes, master”.
“And you will continue to kill those I say you are to kill, is that understood?”
“Yes, master. You want me to be half monk, half hitman”.
“Precisely. Now, Daniel, I have recently been told that an Englishman has arrived in Rome to search into our organisation, to destroy us if he can. You must ensure that he does not succeed”.
“Yes, master”.
“He will no doubt very soon be asking questions of Graziella Corrocher. If you get there first, kill her. If he gets there first, kill him. Do I make myself clear?”
As with any large city there are side streets and backstreets in Rome that are rarely visited or seen by those who are there for a holiday or on business. These streets are not necessarily less interesting to look at, but they are not kept to the same standards as the more popular parts.
James Bond and Giancarlo got out of their car in one of these nondescript side streets. Few shops, no restaurants. Giancarlo pointed and they entered an apartment building with no lift, climbing four storeys to reach their destination. A sign on a door read “Corrocher”. Giancarlo rang the bell and a woman opened the door using a chain to keep them out if she had to.
“Si?” she said, her eyes darting all over them. She was in her middle fifties, Bond judged, with dark hair and a nervous air.
“Signora Corrocher?” said Giancarlo.
“Si”.
“How is your English?” asked Bond.
“I know English”.
“Good. Please do not worry. We are not the polizia and we are not here to cause you any harm. My name is Bond, James Bond, and I work for the British Government. My friend Giancarlo here is showing me around. I have been sent because your boss, Signor Calvi, was murdered in London”.
Reassured, she unchained the door and let them in. The apartment was small but clean. They went into a room with a large window overlooking the street below and she waved them to chairs.
“What is it that I can do for you?” she asked, not offering coffee or refreshments.
“We know that Calvi looked after money for the Vatican. We also know that he looked after money for the Ma-“
“Do not say such things here, Signor Bond. People have been known to lose their lives over saying such things”.
“Perhaps I can arrange for you to come over to London for safety?” said Bond.
“London?” she scoffed. “Signor Calvi was killed there, or had you forgotten? London is no place of safety!”
“We mean no trouble for you, Signora”, said Giancarlo smoothly, “please forgive us. Shall we agree to just say certain businessmen?”
She looked around uncertainly. “If you must say anything at all. What is it you want, coming here and asking such questions?”
Bond said, “We only want to know more about Signor Calvi. He was not a stupid man or he would not have been in the position that he was. Yet he was taking money from either the Vatican or these businessmen or quite possibly both. You were his confidential secretary. Now we are not accusing you of anything, Signora, and you are at no risk of receiving any trouble from us, but you must have know that something was going on and perhaps you might know how he thought he was going to get away with stealing large sums of money from such people, and perhaps you might even know what he was intending to do with it. I do not think he would be buying a yacht and cruising the Mediterranean with girls in bikinis serving him drinks”.
For the first time she smiled. “No, he was not the sort of man who would want such things. I do know that he was not holding on to the money in some Swiss bank account. He saw himself as merely the, how do you say, medium man?”
“The middleman, perhaps?” said Bond.
“Ah, si, the middleman”, she said. “He took the money from one place and sent it off to another”.
“And what would that place be?”
Again she looked uncertain. “If I tell you, you must not say that the name came from me”.
“We will not do such a thing, Signora”, said Giancarlo.
“He was sending the money to the frati neri”.
“And what would the frati neri be?” asked Bond a few moments later as he and Giancarlo got back into their car.
“It means “black brothers” or perhaps “black friars” might be a more exact translation. It is a secret organisation within the Catholic church, and I know nothing of it”.
“Do you think your friendly Cardinal might be willing to tell more?” Bond asked.
“Cardinal Brown? I believe I can arrange for you to see him tomorrow”.
As they drove off, neither saw the tall, pale figure dressed in monk’s clothes enter the building they had just left.
Chapter Five
“Bond. James Bond. I have a meeting with Cardinal Brown”.
He showed his passport to a suspicious official who led him inside, away from the tourists he had entered with on showing tickets. Under some arms were newspapers with the headline about the body of Grazziera Corrocher being found on the street below her fourth-floor window.
Vatican City is an independent state within the city of Rome, established between the two World Wars. At its head is, naturally, the current Pope who resides in the Apostolic Palace within. It is an incredibly wealthy state for such a small one, being the official administrative centre of the Catholic Church. Many visit there for religious reasons, many others simply to see those of the assorted treasures and venerable icons which the public are allowed to view.
Bond was impressed by what he was permitted to see. There was a new-looking painting of Jesus, surrounded by soldiers and fighter jets, healing a sick man – or perhaps it was meant to be a doctor doing the healing, though that seemed highly unlikely. It was very obvious, however, that there was a vast amount of area and an even more tremendous amount of treasures that he was not being allowed to see.
Bond was led to an unobtrusive corridor on one side where his guide unlocked a door before gesturing for him to proceed. They walked some distance before stopping at an elaborate door. The guide knocked, then departed once a voice called from inside that Bond should enter.
A man of about sixty clad in a red robe stood behind a marble desk, smiling patiently as Bond walked up to him.
“Mr Bond? I have been informed that you wished to see me”.
Bond was not surprised to hear the American accent. Not all the Cardinals were Italian, contrary to belief. Cardinal Brown waved him to a seat. Bond admired the excellent painting of Leonardo da Vinci’s The Last Supper which took up most of the wall behind the Cardinal.
“Yes, Your Eminence. I am very grateful that you can see me”.
“It isn’t a problem to see you, but I understand that you wish to ask about the late Signor Roberto Calvi. I do hope you realise that there are certain matters that cannot be discussed”.
“I realise this”, said Bond, “but Signor Calvi was murdered on British territory, indeed in our very capital city, and my government of which I am a representative are duty bound to carry out an investigation. It is not my plan to enquire about confidential matters or to embarrass you by doing so. We do know that Signor Calvi was involved with certain financial matters concerning the Holy See. We do not need to know the exact amounts involved. Could you confirm this?”
Cardinal Brown clasped his hands together on the desk in front of him.
“You will cause me no embarrassment, Mr Bond”, he said firmly, “no matter what you may choose to ask. I will tell you that Signor Calvi was not unknown to the Holy See. Is that enough for your purposes?”
“And the frati neri?”
The Cardinal’s air of invulnerability was visibly shaken.
“Where did you hear that?” he said, his tone changed.
“I have heard those words spoken. Do you think you could perhaps tell me about them?” asked Bond. He didn’t know what the words meant to the man before him, but he pressed his advantage.
The Cardinal spoke slowly and carefully. “Those words mean “black friars” and refer to a sect within the Church which is no longer extant. It was destroyed many years ago. Many, many years”.
Bond gave him a quizzical look. “I was under the opposite impression, Your Eminence, I heard those words in a context that implied the organisation, or sect if you prefer, was still in operation”.
The Cardinal had regained his control. “These are words which today have no valid meaning. Mr Bond, your claims are too vague to act upon. After last year’s attempt on the life of the Holy Father we cannot take any chances. We have stepped up security and cannot simply jump at any vague rumours presented to us. Now, if you will excuse me, I have much to do”.
As Bond walked out of the office, he found himself wondering just what it was that the Cardinal had to do.
Outside the consecrated area Bond began walking back to the centre of Rome. A man stepped out from a car in front of him and smiled, one hand in his pocket. He left the car door open.
“Mr Bond?”
Bond was aware that two other men had appeared from nowhere and were standing behind him. He sighed.
The English was heavily accented, but clear. Bond did as he was told, his Walther PPK having been taken from him – and anyway, there were three of them and one of him inside a confined space. A blindfold was roughly put over his eyes.
“Mystery tour, eh?” he said. There was no reply.
He couldn’t tell how long they drove, perhaps an hour. Eventually the road beneath them changed to gravel and they pulled to a halt. He was led out of the car, down a few steps, and through a door. There was only the sound of their footsteps walking down a stone corridor, then they stopped. A door was knocked. A voice from within said “Si?” and Bond was pushed through.
He was placed in a chair and his hands tied behind him. Only then was the blindfold removed. Blinking, Bond took in what was around him.
The room was large and tastefully decorated in the modern style. The three heavies stood around him, the door at their back. A large glass window took up the wall facing him, showing a river close by with two or three boats moored. The light made him struggle to focus on the figure before him.
Of all things, she was a nun. Black and white clothing, a crucifix around her neck. No, thought Bond, on second thoughts – an inverted crucifix. He had come across those before, some time ago.
And nuns do not wear make-up. This woman’s eyebrows were carefully stylised and her lips painted a bright red. The effect was strangely unsettling as she glared down at him, like a teacher to a misbehaving schoolboy.
“You were picked up by my men here outside the Vatican”, she said. The accent was hard to pin down, somewhere east of central Europe. “We would like to know what you were doing there”.
“And can you do me the courtesy of telling me who I would be telling this to, should I choose to tell it?” asked Bond.
She stepped back and nodded to one of the men, who punched Bond on the right side of his chin. Hard. His head was still spinning as he attempted to regain focus on the unsmiling figure.
“The questions are for me to ask and for you to answer, Mr Bond”, she said, with a shade more harshness in her tone. “Who were you seeing at the Vatican?”
“The Pope”, answered Bond. “He was looking for a hot date tonight and had heard that I had a little black book full of good tips”.
This time two of the men took turns assaulting him, punching his head, his stomach, and anywhere they could reach. His legs hadn’t been tied down, thankfully, putting his testicles out of reach. Gasping, he tried to divert himself by guessing at the bogus nun’s name. Rosa? Ilse? Fatima, perhaps? When they stopped he sat panting, staring at the floor beneath them.
“You are making things unnecessarily hard for yourself, you know”, she said. “You will tell us everything, so you might as well do it now”.
He could feel the bruises starting to swell. Bond ran his tongue carefully over his teeth – good, they were all still there. This time he said nothing.
“And this gun”, she said, holding out her hand for the weapon. “I believe that this is still standard issue for the British Secret Service, although the Americans no longer swear by them. Would this be the case, Mr Bond? Why would a British agent be visiting the Vatican? Who did you go to see?”
Bond said nothing. She stepped back. Her men got ready for her signal but the door opened behind Bond and someone stepped in.
“That’s enough, Sister Melania”, a voice said. Melania, thought Bond. That trumps any other name I might have thought of. She was certainly the first lady he had known of that name. And that voice – it was instantly familiar, but it couldn’t be …?
He heard the sound of footsteps walking in front of him. Melania and her men made space, lowering their heads. The man looked down.
“Hello again, Mr Bond”, Aleister Crowley said. “It has been a long time”.
The exact details of Aleister Crowley’s lurid life had always been the subject of much debate. Only a few hard facts could be pinned down and many claims had been made about the rest of it, not least by Crowley himself. Certainly there had been nothing recently.
“But we are forgetting our manners, Mr Bond”, said Crowley. “Untie him at once”, he ordered no-one in particular though the order was instantly carried out. “And get him some water. Now, sit here with me, please”.
Crowley was dressed in a flowing red robe, not unlike that which Bond had seen Cardinal Brown wearing shortly before. He guided Bond, still tremulous from his recent beating, over to a comfortable-looking divan. One man had rushed off as ordered to get water, while Sister Melania and the other two men stood close by. The water arrived quickly and Bond sipped at it, enjoying the moisture after the effects of the beating had dried his mouth. He didn’t trust Aleister Crowley one inch not to have drugged it or poisoned it, but at this point he didn’t have much choice. And anyway, if they wanted him dead he would certainly be dead by now.
“You’re looking well, Crowley”, he said. “I might guess that you’ve done a deal with the devil, it doesn’t look as if you’ve aged one day”.
“Really, Mr Bond, that’s not a subject I would bring up if I were you”, said Crowley. His eyes, with the pupils entirely surrounded by the whites as they were, still had that effect of making one feel as if they were being examined all the way through to their soul. “However, I am certainly one of the very few in a position to do a deal with the devil if you remember our first encounter”.
“Oh, I remember all right”.
“Now, the question still stands – I want to know why you were in the Vatican and who you were there to see. You will tell me in time, so you might as well save yourself a great deal of pain and tell me now”.
“I won’t tell you anything”, said Bond, “so you can save yourself a great deal of time and kill me now”.
He looked Crowley straight in the eye. He could sense the others in the room preparing for action, awaiting only the word, then Crowley laughed.
“Do you know, I believe you, Mr Bond. I believe you will not tell me anything, you are exactly the kind of stubborn man who wouldn’t”.
“Then you tell me, Crowley. What is going on here? What are you up to this time?”
Crowley was silent for a moment, then said “I see no harm in telling you, since you won’t be telling anyone else. You will recall that Karol Wotyla narrowly escaped assassination last year?”
It took Bond a moment to remember that Karol Jozef Wotyla was the birth name of the current Pope. He had been shot and badly wounded last May by a Turk, a member of one of their far-right movements. The Pope had recovered, although it had been a close thing, and forgiven the gunman who was now in jail.
“Of course I know that. Are you claiming that you were behind that?”
“Indeed I am. The gunman was a Turkish citizen as was publicised at the time, but he adhered to Satanism and he was following my orders. I now have another candidate ready to make a second attempt, and this one will not fail”.
Bond said, puzzled, “But why, Crowley? What advantage can there be for you in assassinating the Pope? You know, the world knows, that another will be elected within a short time”.
Crowley smiled. “It has taken me many years to get into position for what will be my greatest triumph of all. Over those years I have managed to fill the cardinalate with a majority of unknown members of my own, shall we say, opposing line of belief. Perhaps you have noticed my mode of dress, Mr Bond? It is not merely an affectation. When the conclave next gathers to elect a new Pope, I shall be the man chosen for the most singular of honours. I have created an entire false identity which can stand up against any and all examinations, and a majority of the College of Cardinals shall choose the name they know me under as the new Pope.
Once I have assumed my exalted position, I shall promptly decree that the Church shall henceforth convert to worship of Lucifer. He shall be their one and only Lord”.
“Crowley, you’re mad”, said Bond, shocked, “you’ll never be able to get away with it. They won’t let you”.
“They will have no choice, Mr Bond”, said Crowley, his eyes shining as he stared into what he had decided would be his future, “for is the Pope not infallible? And I shall have a majority of the College of Cardinals behind me. The icons of Christianity shall be removed and destroyed, and those of my Lord Lucifer shall take their place. The devil shall be the one and only true King”.
“You’ll never get away with it. Even if you do have the Cardinals on your side, the people won’t allow it. They will stand up and rise against you”.
“You think so? But I have said enough, and grow weary of you. We shall continue this most interesting conversation at a later point. Sister Melania?”
The counterfeit nun came to attention before him.
“Yes, Lord?”
“Take Mr Bond to the dungeons below. I shall send for him later”.
Looking forward to Chapter 8, where Wing Commander Dennis Wheatley of the Special Air Service parachutes into Crowley's lair, infiltrates the dungeons and rescues Bond from the evil clutches of the cult.
Thank very much gentlemen. Sonero, Dennis Wheatley was in the previous story - that was him complaining about his room being full of spiders, a story CHB told me which I just had to use - but that's a nice plot idea and a cool picture.
BTW, I must ask you something. PM soon.
Sir MilesThe Wrong Side Of The WardrobePosts: 30,906Chief of Staff
Bond’s watch had been taken from him, unfortunately. Not only was he unable to tell how long he had been in this disgusting little cell, but the watch had also contained some items from Q Branch which would have proven useful in his current situation.
There were no windows in his cell, and any light came from a high window in the corridor about ten feet away from him. He sighed and tried to get some sleep, there seeming nothing else to do for the moment.
Was that a noise? Had he heard …? The door to the corridor was opening, agonisingly slowly. A figure appeared, silently entered, and closed the door again. There wasn’t enough light to see anything.
“Mr Bond?” A harsh whisper.
“Yes”.
There was a rattle of keys and his door was unlocked. Bond stepped quickly through, now seeing more in the faint light coming into the corridor. His rescuer was a tall man dressed as a monk.
“My name is Daniel. I work for the frati neri, I overheard what Crowley was telling you. I waited until I could free you, so the odds would be better than me just attacking on my own earlier”.
“I don’t understand. Isn’t Crowley the frati neri?”
“No, no. His man Calvi stole from the Vatican. My leader is Cardinal Brown, it is our task to defend the Faith. I was sent to get our money back, but I can see there is more to be done than that to protect the Church”.
Suddenly everything seemed a lot clearer to Bond.
“Then let’s get going”, said Bond.
“One moment. Here, I managed to get this”.
Daniel handed Bond his Walther. He felt the steel nestle comfortably into his hand and his confidence, at a low ebb only recently, began to grow.
“Have you got a gun yourself?” he asked.
Daniel gave an unsettling smile.
“No need. I have this”.
He displayed a long knife.
Outside the main room, they whispered.
“There are five of them”.
“And at least one has a gun”.
“I’ll take the one with a gun first– I remember him from when I was picked up”.
“Be careful, there may be more guns”.
“I know”.
Bond lifted his free hand and using his fingers counted down. At zero Daniel kicked the door open and leapt inside, crouched with a knife in throwing position in one hand. Bond shot the man he already knew had a gun twice through the heart then quickly turned only to find another hadn’t been able to pull his gun out owing to Daniel’s knife projecting from his throat. Bond crouched before aiming at the third man, which probably saved his life from the two or three shots he managed to put in Bond’s direction before being shot himself.
Screaming, Sister Melania headed for the door but Daniel tackled her and brought her down hard, uncaring. One of her hands scrabbled for a pocket but Daniel twisted her arm painfully before she could manage then pulled a small gun out of there.
Bond was looking around for Crowley, in vain. He hadn’t been in the room when they burst in. Now, where …?
The crackle of an outboard motor exploded just outside, and through the window he could see one of the boats outside shoot out onto the river. With no time to find the way out, Bond fired three bullets at the huge window and ran through it as it shattered into a million pieces. He ran down to the other boats at the river’s edge, then stopped and swore viciously. None of the others had motors.
To Be Concluded
Sir MilesThe Wrong Side Of The WardrobePosts: 30,906Chief of Staff
Cardinal Brown sat stone-faced behind his desk. Bond and Daniel had finished their story and awaited his reaction.
“And the woman?” he said, eventually.
“She’s with the British agent in Rome, Your Eminence, at a safe house with extra security laid on”, said Bond. “We didn’t think it would be a good idea to hand her over to the carabinieri”.
“No, certainly not. You did the right thing”.
“Your Eminence, I found this in a desk drawer”, said Daniel. He handed over a Swiss bank book. The Cardinal’s eyes widened as he read the entries and counted.
“This is more money than Calvi embezzled from us”, he said slowly.
“And we’re pretty sure we know where that extra money came from”, said Bond. “Can we leave that with you to deal with?”
The Cardinal rolled his eyes and sighed.
“At any other time that would simply be a task I would not be looking forward to. At this time, however, there are far more important matters to be dealing with. I am not the beginning and the end of the frati neri, which is fortunate. There is a gargantuan duty ahead for Daniel and myself. Mr Bond, you have the sincere thanks of the Church for what you have achieved here”.
“I appreciate that, Your Eminence. I too have a gargantuan duty ahead, however. I must track down Crowley wherever he is and whatever he is up to next”.
Comments
Illustration
By
Sonero
Chapter Three
Rome was always beautiful, almost overwhelmingly so, no matter how many times one had visited before. Bond had been smartly picked up from Aeroporto internazionale di Roma-Fiumicino "Leonardo da Vinci" by a local agent after they had straight-facedly run through the latest recognition code, and now he sat enjoying the renowned sites as they steadily fought their way through the equally renowned Rome traffic. He was glad that his contact was clearly experienced with the seemingly arbitrary rules of the road here which the many drivers apparently followed only at random and that only when the mood struck them.
“My name is Giancarlo, Mr Bond”, the driver said. He was a middle-aged man with grey hair and moustache.
“Call me James, would you? Do you think we’d be able to have a drink together before we go to my hotel?”
“Of course. I know a good place”.
Within ten minutes they were sitting alone at a table outside a traditional caffe with glasses of a white wine in front of them. Bond had been happy to accept Giancarlo’s suggestion of what to drink, and on sipping his wine he was pleasantly surprised at the quality.
“Yours is a beautiful city, Giancarlo”, he said.
“It is, yes. Much beauty here”.
“Though you’d think they would have fixed the Coliseum by now, the war was forty years ago”.
Giancarlo smiled as though he hadn’t heard the joke before.
“How much have you been told about why I’m here, Giancarlo?” he asked.
“I have been told that you are here because Roberto Calvi was murdered in London and we would like to find out a little more about that. Now, between you and me, James, there were more people who wanted him dead than who wanted him alive and it would not be very difficult to find some of those people. Proving it though, now, that would be a much harder thing”.
“I believe that he had been, shall we say, quietly taking money from certain people it would not be wise to take money from”, said Bond, raising his glass to his lips.
“That would certainly be one way of putting it”, said Giancarlo. “If the stories that are being told are correct he got greedy. If Calvi had been content to take a little money here and there, either nobody would have been any wiser or they would not have cared. But he took too much, too soon”.
“You must have ideas on who I could talk to, to learn more”.
“There is a certain clergyman, a senior clergyman, you could talk to. I have had his help in the past. I will see what I can do there. But first, I think you and I should pay a visit to a lady called Graziella Corrocher”.
“And who might she be?”
“She was Calvi’s secretary. If anyone knows his secrets, she does”.
Daniel knelt alone in his sparsely furnished chamber, praying toward the light from the one small window. He prayed for the inner strength to resist his body’s incessant demands. He prayed for the outer strength to carry out his missions. He prayed for the peace of mind not to ask the reasons why he was being given these missions and simply to obey what his master asked of him.
His phone rang. He knew who it would be, since only one person had his number.
“Yes, master?”
“Have you been carrying out your penances and saying your prayers, Daniel?” came the voice he loved.
“Yes, master”.
“You are to carry these duties out rigorously, so that you are fit to continue doing the duties which I shall assign to you, for I speak for the Lord”.
“Yes, master”.
“And you will continue to kill those I say you are to kill, is that understood?”
“Yes, master. You want me to be half monk, half hitman”.
“Precisely. Now, Daniel, I have recently been told that an Englishman has arrived in Rome to search into our organisation, to destroy us if he can. You must ensure that he does not succeed”.
“Yes, master”.
“He will no doubt very soon be asking questions of Graziella Corrocher. If you get there first, kill her. If he gets there first, kill him. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, master. What is his name?”
To Be Continued
Short, sinister, suspense sustained
Thank you for including my artwork Barbel.
Looking forward to reading Chapter 4.
Keep up the great work 👍.
Daniel…half monk - half hitman 🤨🤣
Enjoyable stuff 👏🏻
Mysterious with subtle humour, this is excellent stuff 👏
Much appreciated, guys, more soon.
Chapter Four
As with any large city there are side streets and backstreets in Rome that are rarely visited or seen by those who are there for a holiday or on business. These streets are not necessarily less interesting to look at, but they are not kept to the same standards as the more popular parts.
James Bond and Giancarlo got out of their car in one of these nondescript side streets. Few shops, no restaurants. Giancarlo pointed and they entered an apartment building with no lift, climbing four storeys to reach their destination. A sign on a door read “Corrocher”. Giancarlo rang the bell and a woman opened the door using a chain to keep them out if she had to.
“Si?” she said, her eyes darting all over them. She was in her middle fifties, Bond judged, with dark hair and a nervous air.
“Signora Corrocher?” said Giancarlo.
“Si”.
“How is your English?” asked Bond.
“I know English”.
“Good. Please do not worry. We are not the polizia and we are not here to cause you any harm. My name is Bond, James Bond, and I work for the British Government. My friend Giancarlo here is showing me around. I have been sent because your boss, Signor Calvi, was murdered in London”.
Reassured, she unchained the door and let them in. The apartment was small but clean. They went into a room with a large window overlooking the street below and she waved them to chairs.
“What is it that I can do for you?” she asked, not offering coffee or refreshments.
“We know that Calvi looked after money for the Vatican. We also know that he looked after money for the Ma-“
“Do not say such things here, Signor Bond. People have been known to lose their lives over saying such things”.
“Perhaps I can arrange for you to come over to London for safety?” said Bond.
“London?” she scoffed. “Signor Calvi was killed there, or had you forgotten? London is no place of safety!”
“We mean no trouble for you, Signora”, said Giancarlo smoothly, “please forgive us. Shall we agree to just say certain businessmen?”
She looked around uncertainly. “If you must say anything at all. What is it you want, coming here and asking such questions?”
Bond said, “We only want to know more about Signor Calvi. He was not a stupid man or he would not have been in the position that he was. Yet he was taking money from either the Vatican or these businessmen or quite possibly both. You were his confidential secretary. Now we are not accusing you of anything, Signora, and you are at no risk of receiving any trouble from us, but you must have know that something was going on and perhaps you might know how he thought he was going to get away with stealing large sums of money from such people, and perhaps you might even know what he was intending to do with it. I do not think he would be buying a yacht and cruising the Mediterranean with girls in bikinis serving him drinks”.
For the first time she smiled. “No, he was not the sort of man who would want such things. I do know that he was not holding on to the money in some Swiss bank account. He saw himself as merely the, how do you say, medium man?”
“The middleman, perhaps?” said Bond.
“Ah, si, the middleman”, she said. “He took the money from one place and sent it off to another”.
“And what would that place be?”
Again she looked uncertain. “If I tell you, you must not say that the name came from me”.
“We will not do such a thing, Signora”, said Giancarlo.
“He was sending the money to the frati neri”.
“And what would the frati neri be?” asked Bond a few moments later as he and Giancarlo got back into their car.
“It means “black brothers” or perhaps “black friars” might be a more exact translation. It is a secret organisation within the Catholic church, and I know nothing of it”.
“Do you think your friendly Cardinal might be willing to tell more?” Bond asked.
“Cardinal Brown? I believe I can arrange for you to see him tomorrow”.
As they drove off, neither saw the tall, pale figure dressed in monk’s clothes enter the building they had just left.
Chapter Five
“Bond. James Bond. I have a meeting with Cardinal Brown”.
He showed his passport to a suspicious official who led him inside, away from the tourists he had entered with on showing tickets. Under some arms were newspapers with the headline about the body of Grazziera Corrocher being found on the street below her fourth-floor window.
Vatican City is an independent state within the city of Rome, established between the two World Wars. At its head is, naturally, the current Pope who resides in the Apostolic Palace within. It is an incredibly wealthy state for such a small one, being the official administrative centre of the Catholic Church. Many visit there for religious reasons, many others simply to see those of the assorted treasures and venerable icons which the public are allowed to view.
Bond was impressed by what he was permitted to see. There was a new-looking painting of Jesus, surrounded by soldiers and fighter jets, healing a sick man – or perhaps it was meant to be a doctor doing the healing, though that seemed highly unlikely. It was very obvious, however, that there was a vast amount of area and an even more tremendous amount of treasures that he was not being allowed to see.
Bond was led to an unobtrusive corridor on one side where his guide unlocked a door before gesturing for him to proceed. They walked some distance before stopping at an elaborate door. The guide knocked, then departed once a voice called from inside that Bond should enter.
A man of about sixty clad in a red robe stood behind a marble desk, smiling patiently as Bond walked up to him.
“Mr Bond? I have been informed that you wished to see me”.
Bond was not surprised to hear the American accent. Not all the Cardinals were Italian, contrary to belief. Cardinal Brown waved him to a seat. Bond admired the excellent painting of Leonardo da Vinci’s The Last Supper which took up most of the wall behind the Cardinal.
“Yes, Your Eminence. I am very grateful that you can see me”.
“It isn’t a problem to see you, but I understand that you wish to ask about the late Signor Roberto Calvi. I do hope you realise that there are certain matters that cannot be discussed”.
“I realise this”, said Bond, “but Signor Calvi was murdered on British territory, indeed in our very capital city, and my government of which I am a representative are duty bound to carry out an investigation. It is not my plan to enquire about confidential matters or to embarrass you by doing so. We do know that Signor Calvi was involved with certain financial matters concerning the Holy See. We do not need to know the exact amounts involved. Could you confirm this?”
Cardinal Brown clasped his hands together on the desk in front of him.
“You will cause me no embarrassment, Mr Bond”, he said firmly, “no matter what you may choose to ask. I will tell you that Signor Calvi was not unknown to the Holy See. Is that enough for your purposes?”
“And the frati neri?”
The Cardinal’s air of invulnerability was visibly shaken.
“Where did you hear that?” he said, his tone changed.
“I have heard those words spoken. Do you think you could perhaps tell me about them?” asked Bond. He didn’t know what the words meant to the man before him, but he pressed his advantage.
The Cardinal spoke slowly and carefully. “Those words mean “black friars” and refer to a sect within the Church which is no longer extant. It was destroyed many years ago. Many, many years”.
Bond gave him a quizzical look. “I was under the opposite impression, Your Eminence, I heard those words in a context that implied the organisation, or sect if you prefer, was still in operation”.
The Cardinal had regained his control. “These are words which today have no valid meaning. Mr Bond, your claims are too vague to act upon. After last year’s attempt on the life of the Holy Father we cannot take any chances. We have stepped up security and cannot simply jump at any vague rumours presented to us. Now, if you will excuse me, I have much to do”.
As Bond walked out of the office, he found himself wondering just what it was that the Cardinal had to do.
Outside the consecrated area Bond began walking back to the centre of Rome. A man stepped out from a car in front of him and smiled, one hand in his pocket. He left the car door open.
“Mr Bond?”
Bond was aware that two other men had appeared from nowhere and were standing behind him. He sighed.
“We would like you to come with us”.
Bond weighed up his chances and got in the car.
To Be Continued
A new painting, up to date, as usual, Barbel 😂 Shades of using a prominent painting in the news, like DN 😁
Very neat. I liked the newspaper ref, to YOLT & OHMSS.
Nice - looking forward to more 👏🏻😁
A very engaging story Barbel.
Looking forward to reading the next chapter.
Very glad you’re enjoying it, everyone. More soon
Chapter Six
“Lean forward”.
The English was heavily accented, but clear. Bond did as he was told, his Walther PPK having been taken from him – and anyway, there were three of them and one of him inside a confined space. A blindfold was roughly put over his eyes.
“Mystery tour, eh?” he said. There was no reply.
He couldn’t tell how long they drove, perhaps an hour. Eventually the road beneath them changed to gravel and they pulled to a halt. He was led out of the car, down a few steps, and through a door. There was only the sound of their footsteps walking down a stone corridor, then they stopped. A door was knocked. A voice from within said “Si?” and Bond was pushed through.
He was placed in a chair and his hands tied behind him. Only then was the blindfold removed. Blinking, Bond took in what was around him.
The room was large and tastefully decorated in the modern style. The three heavies stood around him, the door at their back. A large glass window took up the wall facing him, showing a river close by with two or three boats moored. The light made him struggle to focus on the figure before him.
Of all things, she was a nun. Black and white clothing, a crucifix around her neck. No, thought Bond, on second thoughts – an inverted crucifix. He had come across those before, some time ago.
And nuns do not wear make-up. This woman’s eyebrows were carefully stylised and her lips painted a bright red. The effect was strangely unsettling as she glared down at him, like a teacher to a misbehaving schoolboy.
“You were picked up by my men here outside the Vatican”, she said. The accent was hard to pin down, somewhere east of central Europe. “We would like to know what you were doing there”.
“And can you do me the courtesy of telling me who I would be telling this to, should I choose to tell it?” asked Bond.
She stepped back and nodded to one of the men, who punched Bond on the right side of his chin. Hard. His head was still spinning as he attempted to regain focus on the unsmiling figure.
“The questions are for me to ask and for you to answer, Mr Bond”, she said, with a shade more harshness in her tone. “Who were you seeing at the Vatican?”
“The Pope”, answered Bond. “He was looking for a hot date tonight and had heard that I had a little black book full of good tips”.
This time two of the men took turns assaulting him, punching his head, his stomach, and anywhere they could reach. His legs hadn’t been tied down, thankfully, putting his testicles out of reach. Gasping, he tried to divert himself by guessing at the bogus nun’s name. Rosa? Ilse? Fatima, perhaps? When they stopped he sat panting, staring at the floor beneath them.
“You are making things unnecessarily hard for yourself, you know”, she said. “You will tell us everything, so you might as well do it now”.
He could feel the bruises starting to swell. Bond ran his tongue carefully over his teeth – good, they were all still there. This time he said nothing.
“And this gun”, she said, holding out her hand for the weapon. “I believe that this is still standard issue for the British Secret Service, although the Americans no longer swear by them. Would this be the case, Mr Bond? Why would a British agent be visiting the Vatican? Who did you go to see?”
Bond said nothing. She stepped back. Her men got ready for her signal but the door opened behind Bond and someone stepped in.
“That’s enough, Sister Melania”, a voice said. Melania, thought Bond. That trumps any other name I might have thought of. She was certainly the first lady he had known of that name. And that voice – it was instantly familiar, but it couldn’t be …?
He heard the sound of footsteps walking in front of him. Melania and her men made space, lowering their heads. The man looked down.
“Hello again, Mr Bond”, Aleister Crowley said. “It has been a long time”.
Sister Melania, first lady 😂 you just get better and better, Barbel, and Crowley is back 🍸👏
You're very kind, CHB, thank you.
Some lovely little touches in there 😁🤣
Thanks, Sir M, next chapter soon.
Chapter Seven
The exact details of Aleister Crowley’s lurid life had always been the subject of much debate. Only a few hard facts could be pinned down and many claims had been made about the rest of it, not least by Crowley himself. Certainly there had been nothing recently.
“But we are forgetting our manners, Mr Bond”, said Crowley. “Untie him at once”, he ordered no-one in particular though the order was instantly carried out. “And get him some water. Now, sit here with me, please”.
Crowley was dressed in a flowing red robe, not unlike that which Bond had seen Cardinal Brown wearing shortly before. He guided Bond, still tremulous from his recent beating, over to a comfortable-looking divan. One man had rushed off as ordered to get water, while Sister Melania and the other two men stood close by. The water arrived quickly and Bond sipped at it, enjoying the moisture after the effects of the beating had dried his mouth. He didn’t trust Aleister Crowley one inch not to have drugged it or poisoned it, but at this point he didn’t have much choice. And anyway, if they wanted him dead he would certainly be dead by now.
“You’re looking well, Crowley”, he said. “I might guess that you’ve done a deal with the devil, it doesn’t look as if you’ve aged one day”.
“Really, Mr Bond, that’s not a subject I would bring up if I were you”, said Crowley. His eyes, with the pupils entirely surrounded by the whites as they were, still had that effect of making one feel as if they were being examined all the way through to their soul. “However, I am certainly one of the very few in a position to do a deal with the devil if you remember our first encounter”.
“Oh, I remember all right”.
“Now, the question still stands – I want to know why you were in the Vatican and who you were there to see. You will tell me in time, so you might as well save yourself a great deal of pain and tell me now”.
“I won’t tell you anything”, said Bond, “so you can save yourself a great deal of time and kill me now”.
He looked Crowley straight in the eye. He could sense the others in the room preparing for action, awaiting only the word, then Crowley laughed.
“Do you know, I believe you, Mr Bond. I believe you will not tell me anything, you are exactly the kind of stubborn man who wouldn’t”.
“Then you tell me, Crowley. What is going on here? What are you up to this time?”
Crowley was silent for a moment, then said “I see no harm in telling you, since you won’t be telling anyone else. You will recall that Karol Wotyla narrowly escaped assassination last year?”
It took Bond a moment to remember that Karol Jozef Wotyla was the birth name of the current Pope. He had been shot and badly wounded last May by a Turk, a member of one of their far-right movements. The Pope had recovered, although it had been a close thing, and forgiven the gunman who was now in jail.
“Of course I know that. Are you claiming that you were behind that?”
“Indeed I am. The gunman was a Turkish citizen as was publicised at the time, but he adhered to Satanism and he was following my orders. I now have another candidate ready to make a second attempt, and this one will not fail”.
Bond said, puzzled, “But why, Crowley? What advantage can there be for you in assassinating the Pope? You know, the world knows, that another will be elected within a short time”.
Crowley smiled. “It has taken me many years to get into position for what will be my greatest triumph of all. Over those years I have managed to fill the cardinalate with a majority of unknown members of my own, shall we say, opposing line of belief. Perhaps you have noticed my mode of dress, Mr Bond? It is not merely an affectation. When the conclave next gathers to elect a new Pope, I shall be the man chosen for the most singular of honours. I have created an entire false identity which can stand up against any and all examinations, and a majority of the College of Cardinals shall choose the name they know me under as the new Pope.
Once I have assumed my exalted position, I shall promptly decree that the Church shall henceforth convert to worship of Lucifer. He shall be their one and only Lord”.
“Crowley, you’re mad”, said Bond, shocked, “you’ll never be able to get away with it. They won’t let you”.
“They will have no choice, Mr Bond”, said Crowley, his eyes shining as he stared into what he had decided would be his future, “for is the Pope not infallible? And I shall have a majority of the College of Cardinals behind me. The icons of Christianity shall be removed and destroyed, and those of my Lord Lucifer shall take their place. The devil shall be the one and only true King”.
“You’ll never get away with it. Even if you do have the Cardinals on your side, the people won’t allow it. They will stand up and rise against you”.
“You think so? But I have said enough, and grow weary of you. We shall continue this most interesting conversation at a later point. Sister Melania?”
The counterfeit nun came to attention before him.
“Yes, Lord?”
“Take Mr Bond to the dungeons below. I shall send for him later”.
To Be Continued
Very Hammer 😁
Some scintillating conversations there! A proper megalomaniac Bond plot too!
Barbel...
Looking forward to Chapter 8, where Wing Commander Dennis Wheatley of the Special Air Service parachutes into Crowley's lair, infiltrates the dungeons and rescues Bond from the evil clutches of the cult.
Just kidding...😂
Keep up the great work.
Thank very much gentlemen. Sonero, Dennis Wheatley was in the previous story - that was him complaining about his room being full of spiders, a story CHB told me which I just had to use - but that's a nice plot idea and a cool picture.
BTW, I must ask you something. PM soon.
A very interesting chapter 😁👏🏻
Glad you liked it, the next one will be along soon.
Chapter Eight
Bond’s watch had been taken from him, unfortunately. Not only was he unable to tell how long he had been in this disgusting little cell, but the watch had also contained some items from Q Branch which would have proven useful in his current situation.
There were no windows in his cell, and any light came from a high window in the corridor about ten feet away from him. He sighed and tried to get some sleep, there seeming nothing else to do for the moment.
Was that a noise? Had he heard …? The door to the corridor was opening, agonisingly slowly. A figure appeared, silently entered, and closed the door again. There wasn’t enough light to see anything.
“Mr Bond?” A harsh whisper.
“Yes”.
There was a rattle of keys and his door was unlocked. Bond stepped quickly through, now seeing more in the faint light coming into the corridor. His rescuer was a tall man dressed as a monk.
“My name is Daniel. I work for the frati neri, I overheard what Crowley was telling you. I waited until I could free you, so the odds would be better than me just attacking on my own earlier”.
“I don’t understand. Isn’t Crowley the frati neri?”
“No, no. His man Calvi stole from the Vatican. My leader is Cardinal Brown, it is our task to defend the Faith. I was sent to get our money back, but I can see there is more to be done than that to protect the Church”.
Suddenly everything seemed a lot clearer to Bond.
“Then let’s get going”, said Bond.
“One moment. Here, I managed to get this”.
Daniel handed Bond his Walther. He felt the steel nestle comfortably into his hand and his confidence, at a low ebb only recently, began to grow.
“Have you got a gun yourself?” he asked.
Daniel gave an unsettling smile.
“No need. I have this”.
He displayed a long knife.
Outside the main room, they whispered.
“There are five of them”.
“And at least one has a gun”.
“I’ll take the one with a gun first– I remember him from when I was picked up”.
“Be careful, there may be more guns”.
“I know”.
Bond lifted his free hand and using his fingers counted down. At zero Daniel kicked the door open and leapt inside, crouched with a knife in throwing position in one hand. Bond shot the man he already knew had a gun twice through the heart then quickly turned only to find another hadn’t been able to pull his gun out owing to Daniel’s knife projecting from his throat. Bond crouched before aiming at the third man, which probably saved his life from the two or three shots he managed to put in Bond’s direction before being shot himself.
Screaming, Sister Melania headed for the door but Daniel tackled her and brought her down hard, uncaring. One of her hands scrabbled for a pocket but Daniel twisted her arm painfully before she could manage then pulled a small gun out of there.
Bond was looking around for Crowley, in vain. He hadn’t been in the room when they burst in. Now, where …?
The crackle of an outboard motor exploded just outside, and through the window he could see one of the boats outside shoot out onto the river. With no time to find the way out, Bond fired three bullets at the huge window and ran through it as it shattered into a million pieces. He ran down to the other boats at the river’s edge, then stopped and swore viciously. None of the others had motors.
To Be Concluded
Nice action sequence…😁
Can’t wait for the conclusion 👏
Thank you. Conclusion follows....
Epilogue
Cardinal Brown sat stone-faced behind his desk. Bond and Daniel had finished their story and awaited his reaction.
“And the woman?” he said, eventually.
“She’s with the British agent in Rome, Your Eminence, at a safe house with extra security laid on”, said Bond. “We didn’t think it would be a good idea to hand her over to the carabinieri”.
“No, certainly not. You did the right thing”.
“Your Eminence, I found this in a desk drawer”, said Daniel. He handed over a Swiss bank book. The Cardinal’s eyes widened as he read the entries and counted.
“This is more money than Calvi embezzled from us”, he said slowly.
“And we’re pretty sure we know where that extra money came from”, said Bond. “Can we leave that with you to deal with?”
The Cardinal rolled his eyes and sighed.
“At any other time that would simply be a task I would not be looking forward to. At this time, however, there are far more important matters to be dealing with. I am not the beginning and the end of the frati neri, which is fortunate. There is a gargantuan duty ahead for Daniel and myself. Mr Bond, you have the sincere thanks of the Church for what you have achieved here”.
“I appreciate that, Your Eminence. I too have a gargantuan duty ahead, however. I must track down Crowley wherever he is and whatever he is up to next”.
THE END