Vatican Assassin by Mike Luoma Page A

long.
    “I don’t honestly know, Mr. Longeux
    “I used to be a Roman Catholic, Father. You don’t strike me as the Catholic type. I don’t mean any offense, Father.”
    “No, that’s okay, I wasn’t. But, I’m the Pope’s man now.”
    “Me too, Father. And we all follow Jesus, too.”
    What do I say to that...
    “Amen, Mr. Longeux.”
    “Amen, Father. All right. I’m going to warm up the engines, so I’m heading this way,” he nods to the right. “You head up that way,” he nods to the left, “and you’ll come to your stateroom. First door on the left. It says ‘one’ on the door, but it’s actually the only one. Can’t miss it.” He turns and heads away from BC.
    I hate it when they say, “Can’t miss it.” Usually means you will. BC walks down the corridor until he comes to the hatch marked “one”. Hmmph. Couldn’t miss it. Let’s see what we’ve got for accommodations... The stateroom is small but neat and well kept. It’s a rectangular room, about ten feet deep and five feet across, with the ceiling almost seven feet high. The green and gold theme continues, with green carpet and green covers on the small, folded out bed. The walls are gray with gold and green piping along the borders of each wall. Opposite the bed there’s a small table folded out from the wall, and a chair folded up from a square spot on the floor. BC also notices a seam along the four sides of the back wall of the room.
    That wall’s one big door. Probably opens on the cargo bay. And everything in here can be folded away, so this can become just another cargo space, looks like. A cargo space with nicely painted walls and carpet. Good use of space. I approve.
    BC settles in, sitting down on the bed and collecting his thoughts as he listens to the thrum of the engines growing increasingly louder and higher pitched.
    Amen. Yeah, right. And I can say a mass, too, sure. What was I thinking? I’ve never said a mass in my life! I only pray when my ass is on the line, anyway. Course, then again, prayer might be appropriate in this case...
    Not much of a priest. This is what I get for once thinking it was an easy way to make some cash. It was, for a while. Good cover for the illegal import/export business. Didn’t elaborate on that for Edwards, thank you very much. But then the reunification, getting sucked into the OPO, no choice, kill for Christ or else... Now it’s off to kill someone in the name of Christ who is himself killing in the name of Christ. What a tangled fucking web...
    The intercom buzzes, interrupting his reverie.
    “Yeah?”
    “Uh, Father, we’re just about to leave. Thought you’d like to know we were getting underway. If you’d like some company, I could come get you and show you the way to the common area and the bridge?”
    “Thanks, Mr. Longeux, but I think I’ll stay in for now. I’ve been very busy, and I’m enjoying the quiet here.”
    “Fine, Father. Have it your way. But I’ll need to get the details of our trip from you soon. I’ll call you when we’re clear of the Moon.”
    “Thanks.”
    BC hears the connection click off, and the sound of the engines changes again. The pitch drops, and the thrumming becomes low and bassy and vibrates the floor, the bed, the walls, everything. They lurch slightly.
    Must be pulling away from Reagan Station.
    BC feels the floor shift as the ship sets out.
    There are no windows in his stateroom, but in his mind’s eye BC imagines them pulling up and away from the bunkers, buildings, domes and tunnels of Reagan Station. Goodnight for now, Moon. Off to kill a killer. This one won’t be easy, I know it already. I can just feel it. It feels wrong, weird, greasy and dark. Not that any of them are really easy, though, not really. I always think about them. Their faces all still come back to me. Not easy. Nothing’s simple, even if you’re doing “the Lord’s work.”
    But it’s what I do. And I’m good at it.
    And the Pope, the fucking POPE tells