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Chapter Ten

Caledonia City
Sierra Blanca
Nueva Esperanza
Second Church Protectorate


The bell jingled and Isabella laid her sewing down next to her. Diego was taking a nap, more and more he needed his daily siesta. At this time business was slow, especially after the recent events in the city. It also gave her a little quiet time. Today she had been happy to lose herself in the calming monotony of her repairs. She pulled back the bead curtain and entered with a smile of greeting.

“Your Grace.”

Confusion reigned as she saw her visitor. No Church official had ever entered their shop before and, even with his guards in tow, the barrio was unsafe.

“How can I help you?”

The Cardinal ignored her, his be-ringed fingers stroking various bolts of cloth stacked to one side of her. It was a decadent, lascivious gesture, unbecoming of a High Churchman. He brushed past her, his boredom apparent and it was not until he had opened distance between him that he spoke.

“Take her.”

She screamed as the guards seized her, struggled as they dragged her unwilling form towards the exit, and called for the one man she could rely on. The beads clashed together as Diego burst from the back room, a kitchen knife in his hand. Isabella called to him in supplication and he rushed, as best he could, to her defence. With a callous disdain, one of the guards pulled free his pistol and shot the old man, twice. The force of the impacting rounds drove him back against the wood of the counter, the knife spinning free. He struck and slumped to the floor.

“Grandfather!”

Her struggles were rewarded and she raced to his side, cradling the old man’s head. He clutched his chest, blood staining his shirt with a steady finality.

“What have they done?” she asked, no answer expected.

“Made another mistake.”

She leaned closer, unsure whether she had heard correctly. One hand snaked forward, slippery with blood.

“Come closer, my Dear.”

His voice was fading, waxing in step with his life. She bent her ear to his mouth, determined to capture every word.

“He ... will ... come ...”

With his last strength he clutched at her, his fingers catching on the chain which had fallen from beneath her blouse. He gripped the small medallion and squeezed tightly. It was the last thing he did.

A hand grasped her shoulder and she spun, her palm connecting with a meaty slap against the Cardinal’s cheek. There was a squeal of pain, and then the guards once more caught her.

“Hold her!”

The words were hissed, the vicious intent obvious. Mendoza balled his fist and punched her full in the face. Her nose crunched under the coward’s blow. Another followed to her stomach and one more to the top of her head. This one brought a curse of pain, as the Cardinal’s soft fingers cracked against her skull.

“Enough.” said Isabella, tears of pain and sorrow blinding her eyes. “I will come.”

“You have no choice, girl. The Church has judged you guilty of heresy.”

There was no mercy in the Cardinal’s tone, no option for appeal. Isabella knew that this was a sentence of death. One of the guards released her arm and moved to open the door for his Master. With her free hand, Isabella caught at the medallion and raised it to her lips in a final kiss of farewell. She was surprised at the electric thrill she felt. The thing was warm and hummed against her mouth. What had her Grandfather said? “He will come.” Who?

One last glance at Diego was possible, the image held tightly, before she was bundled into the waiting vehicle. She was surprised to see a smile on the old man’s face.

*

It was a day of being dragged, bruised and belittled. They had arrived at the Cathedral without pomp and circumstance, the Guards pulling a wailing Isabella from the vehicle. She was casually bounced up the steps, scraped past the ornate double doors and held against one of the columns. Cardinal Mendoza ignored her, apart from the shove which pushed her aside.

“You will wait here ... for my pleasure.”

His staged leering lost most of its impact, her blood covered the front of his robe and he cradled one painful hand in the other. It appeared he had done himself some injury with his cowardly attempt at a beating. Isabella hoped he had broken at least his fingers, if not his whole hand. He waddled off down the main aisle, his gait unbalanced with the need to protect his more delicate appendage.

A harsh laugh from one of the Guards turned her away from the pathetic priest.
He winked at her, “Well, my girl. You’ve certainly cooled His Grace’s ardour. That is until he gets his pinkies seen to.”

His companion cackled at the humour, but his eyes remained cold and professional. There would be no sympathy nor succour from either of these men. The only hope she had, was held on a chain, nestled between her breasts. That, of course, and the faith in a dead man’s word.

*

The sub-cutaneous implant nestled against his jaw hummed. It was annoying that now, of all times, the call had come. There was no possible denial of the summons. Its job was to alert him to the subject’s danger and insist on his presence. In that, it functioned perfectly. His little sideshow would have to wait.

He bundled the cloak in his backpack, hiding some of his weapons nearby and with those few simple actions, El Angel disappeared and once more Juan Escola walked the daylight streets. This irritating transmitter drew him swiftly towards the centre of the city, the vibrations lessened as he picked up the trail. Only when he strayed to avoid some inconvenient stall or building, did it resume its angry buzzing. It was a remnant of his previous life, of the Order and duty. Something he had put aside when he had joined Ortega in the family business, but obviously not forgotten.

As far as he knew there had been only two operatives in the city and only one package. This meant a detour and he gritted his teeth in anticipation at the pain to come. It must be done though.

Brow furrowed and eyes clouded with pain, he approached the old man’s shop. Diego had been one of his contacts, his shop a drop-point in Juan’s other life. It did not take long to realise that it was not Diego pleading for help; his blueing body and rictus grin could be seen from the street. Passers-by joined the flies which buzzed around his bloody corpse, their dance just as obnoxious. No, it must be the package.

His journey was swift. There was no doubt where the trail led: the Cathedral. The Church had once more taken a hand in things which did not concern it. Juan was unsure whether the sequestering of the package was deliberate or whether it was just some unhappy coincidence. It did not really matter, the reddened scene in Diego’s shop spoke of violence and that was something that Juan understood only too well.

The early morning penitents made their way up the steps and Juan joined them. Not, though, before he had relieved one of them of their rough-spun cloak as they passed his alleyway. His plan was simple; enter, get the package and kill anyone who stood in his way. Definition of a plan was always important.

*

“Halt!”

The guards randomly stopped the faithful, groped women, roughed up men and cuffed children. They also confiscated suspicious items and Juan knew his luck had just run out.

“You!”

Ignorance seemed his only defence and a slim one at that. A guard grabbed his arm and spun him round, causing his cloak to flare open.

“Shit!” screamed the guard, as armour and weapons were revealed. He back-pedalled, clawed franticly for his pistol, and died.

“Oh dear,” said Juan, his right hand grasping his combat knife, “curiosity is such a terminal thing.”

His blade sank deep into the guard’s throat and with a flick, it was free again. Juan was already on the move. He transferred the weapon to his left hand and pulled free a throwing knife which whistled as it flew through the air. A dull thud announced the end of its journey as it did of the guard, in whose right eye nestled the steel sliver.

Cries of horror and protest rose as bloody droplets sprayed indiscriminately over the penitents.

“Enough!”

The response was instant and with a nod, Juan passed through the open doors, into cool shadow.