The Vatican Children - Chapter 3: Training Day

Dawn came gray over the ridgeline. Coffee already brewed on the counter, and the guest room door stood open—a second mug drying on the rack.

Arthur had risen before dawn and spent the first hour at his desk, reviewing the dossier he'd assembled on Bishop Glasser. Property records from three dioceses, financial disclosures with unexplained gaps, parish directories cross-referenced against flight manifests out of Rome—the trail remained fragmentary, but patterns had begun to emerge. Two shell companies kept surfacing in the bishop's real estate transactions, and Arthur had circled them in red. When he carried his coffee into the living room, he found Niccolo sitting on the couch, and it pleased him more than he would like to admit. Though confident that he could track down the bishop one way or another, having someone around brought a welcome benefit.

This case had burrowed under his skin in ways most assignments didn't, and Arthur knew exactly why. Eight years ago, freelancing for the Sacramento Bee, he'd gotten a tip about three children who'd vanished from a parish youth program over eighteen months. He'd spent four months tracking the paper trail—fabricated transfer records, donations routed through offshore accounts, a bishop who'd been quietly reassigned to Rome before anyone asked hard questions. He'd had enough to blow it open.

His editors killed the piece. The archdiocese leaned on them, advertisers made nervous calls, and the story was buried. The source recanted under pressure, and the children were never found. David Morales, age nine. Theresa Kim, age eleven. Lucas Abara, age seven. Their names lived in a corner of his memory that he couldn't scour clean no matter how many years passed.

That failure had shoved him deeper into hunting. Journalism alone couldn't reach the people the Church chose to protect. When Frieda had dropped Bishop Glasser's file on his desk six months ago and Arthur started pulling threads, the same patterns emerged—shell companies, parish transfers, children. Always children. He'd promised himself, not Frieda, not Mitchell, not anyone who might hold him to it, but himself, that this time would be different.

In particular, having Niccolo around. Arthur had worried that Niccolo would leave in the middle of the night. It wouldn't have surprised him, and to be honest, it might have turned out for the best. His next steps in tracking the bishop's network would bring danger, and it certainly fell outside of Niccolo's world. Usually, Arthur worked alone—years of investigative journalism had taught him that fewer people meant fewer leaks—yet he had to admit that, sometimes, it was good to have help.

But, it came down to more than that. Niccolo Paladina, a few years older than Arthur, brought a calm maturity that added decades to his bearing. He had become, in many ways, Arthur's newfound conscience—his voice of reason—in the new life Arthur tried to create for himself.

The priest sat on one of the couches with a Bible open on his lap. He appeared exhausted, and Arthur knew he wouldn't have slept much, if at all. Though still going, the fireplace had burned down to almost nothing. Instead, Niccolo sat wrapped in blankets dragged from his room.

When Arthur came into the room, he glanced up and folded the book closed on his lap. Arthur waited for him to say something, but he didn't. Instead, they stared at each other until the silence became awkward.

"Would you like some tea?" Arthur asked, finally, heading to the kitchen. He filled up a kettle and set it on the stove. To light the burner, he had to use matches and had run low. Later, he would need to stock up on supplies.

"No, thank you." Niccolo set the book on the couch next to him.

"Coffee, then?"

"No."

"You should get some caffeine," Arthur said. "Doesn't look like you got much rest, and we'll have a long day."

"I thought you said we didn't have any leads to follow up on."

"We don't," Arthur said. "Not yet, at least. But we'll still be busy."

"Doing what?"

"Training. We won't leave this cabin until I have confidence you can take care of yourself and won't panic at the first sign of trouble."

Arthur grabbed a loaf of bread out of one of the cupboards and sliced off a few pieces. They had grown hard and stale, but better than nothing. At least they hadn't yet gone moldy. He turned on another burner, grabbed the slices with tongs, and heated them up.

"No toaster?"

"The generator isn't running. We only have the gas burners."

"Ah."

"Food is food."

"So you keep telling me," Niccolo said. "Yet, I still can't help but disagree."

"You'll get used to it."

"Maybe. What kind of training did you have in mind?"

Arthur finished toasting the bread and then grabbed a jar of grape jelly from the cabinet. He brought that, two cups of coffee, and the slightly burnt bread into the living room and sat down across from Niccolo.

"Eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"I don't care. Eat."

Reluctantly, Niccolo picked up some of the bread. He took a bite.

"No jelly?" Arthur asked.

"I prefer jam."

"You won't find any jam here," Arthur said. "This is a jam-free zone."

"What training?"

Arthur finished smearing about half of the jar onto his toast and then took a bite. "Have you ever fired a gun before?"

"I told you, I'm not—"

"The tranquilizer dart guns that I acquired are similar to normal pistols, though lighter and with only three darts. They're also extremely expensive, so I expect a fair amount of accuracy from you if you're to carry one."

"I don't intend on carrying one."

"And I don't intend on you leaving this cabin without one. You might as well accept it and learn how to shoot."

"And how do you plan on me learning that? I've never been a fighter and don't know how to use a gun."

"Guns don't require you to be a fighter. Pretty much, they prove the antithesis to it. You aim and pull the trigger."

"I don't think that will be—"

"This isn't up for debate," Arthur said. "You will learn how to shoot a tranquilizer gun, and you will figure out how to hit your target before we leave this cabin."

Niccolo leaned forward and stared at Arthur. The priest's jaw tightened, and a vein stood out along his temple. His hands gripped the Bible on the table as though he meant to hurl it across the room. A long while passed before he spoke.

"Fine."

"Good."

"We will let Desiree train as well."

"Excuse me?"

"Everything you teach me about these tranquilizer guns, you will teach her as well."

"No," Arthur said, shaking his head in disbelief. "That is not happening."

"This isn't up for debate either. I don't appreciate getting manipulated or lied to, and you brought her here because of me."

"And to keep her safe. But, fair enough," Arthur said. "I did use her, but only to make a point."

"Consider your point made. Now, let me make mine. You said she can't defend herself, so teach her. Since you brought her here, then you will show her how to protect herself when you show me."

"You have a flaw in your logic," Arthur said. "If I show her how to use one of these guns, she can use them on us."

"Then, I suppose it's a good thing you're not killing people anymore, isn't it? You'll wake up with a really bad headache."

Arthur sat back, a breath of surprised laughter escaping before he caught it. His hands stilled on the armrest. The priest had outmaneuvered him—turned Arthur's own logic into a moral lever and pressed.

After what he had put Niccolo through, this didn't bring the retribution he'd expected.

It also wasn't a terrible idea, when he thought about it. And teaching her how to defend herself would make it easier to send her back out into the world and would be good for her. It wasn't exactly a good idea, either, though, as teaching one person how to become accurate with one of these guns would prove difficult enough, but two amateurs …

Plus, if Desiree did turn out as the sort of person to hold a grudge, he would have to keep a constant eye on her so that she didn't run away or try to shoot him.

Still, considering what he'd put them both through, it would be a small concession to make.

"Fine."

"Make no mistake, the only reason I'm still here is because you told me you intended to change your ways and that you were done murdering. The world is a dangerous place, considerably more so than I might have known during my life at the Vatican, but that does not, and will not, ever justify murder. Those are my terms."

"I agree to them."

"You were a murderer," Niccolo continued bluntly. "And there is no changing that. What you've done is terrible, and maybe even unforgivable in God's eyes. The Bible teaches us, however, that no person falls beyond redemption, and no crime too great for forgiveness. I don't know if I believe you are redeemable, but that lies between you and God. I will work with you, Arthur, provided your change is real and permanent. However, the very second I decide that it isn't, I will work to stop you and make you pay for all your crimes."

Arthur leaned back in his chair. "Fair enough."

Niccolo set the book on the table next to him. "Then, since we have that settled, what do we do next?"

"Now," Arthur said, standing up and brushing the crumbs from his hands. "We get to work."

***

Arthur headed out to get the range ready for their target practice while Niccolo disappeared into the basement to gather up Desiree Portman. He doubted she would want to participate, and he didn't blame her. If she proved unwilling, he wouldn't force her. He had no idea what the priest intended to say to her to convince her to participate, and he hoped the priest didn't get his hopes up about his grand scheme.

However, they both emerged from the front door of the cabin about ten minutes later, stepping into the thin morning light that slanted through the canopy. Frost still clung to the shadows between the trees, and their breath hung in the cold air. Niccolo led Desiree out to the range where Arthur stood waiting. She looked skittish and wary, as if ready to bolt at a moment's notice, but she also looked confused.

Arthur waited patiently for them both to make it out to him, raising an eyebrow at Niccolo. Whatever the priest had said, it worked—Desiree followed willingly, which was more than Arthur had managed in three days. That didn't mean he trusted her or her intentions—after all, he did kidnap her. The priest nodded at him, and he cleared his throat.

"First things first," Arthur said. "We are a long way from any cities and surrounded by dangerous terrain and animals. And running away will only get you killed."

Niccolo sighed. "We're here to help her, not scare her."

"I am helping," Arthur said. "I'm stating the facts so that no one gets hurt." Then he reached behind him on the table and picked up one of the tranquilizer guns. He only had two of them and about sixty darts.

"These," he said, holding up the gun so that they could see it, "shoot tranquilizer darts. Each holds three darts, and each dart holds enough horse tranquilizer to take down a bull in a couple of seconds."

He handed the first one to Niccolo. The priest held it gingerly, like it was a snake that might bite him. He handed the second one to Desiree, and her eyes went wide. Her fingers closed around the grip—not the fumbling wrap of someone unfamiliar with weight in her hand, but a slow, deliberate squeeze, as though testing the heft of something she'd imagined holding for a long time. For three full seconds, she stood perfectly still, her gaze locked on the gun, and something passed across her face that wasn't shock and wasn't gratitude. Something harder. The look of a woman measuring whether this changed anything.

"Both of them." He held them up, turning them so she could see. "Are fully loaded, but right now, I only have water in them to simulate the weight of a real dart."

Her jaw tightened. She lowered the gun to her side, but she kept her index finger indexed along the frame—the grip of someone who intended to remember this.

For the next twenty minutes, Arthur walked them through how the guns worked. He showed them how to take them apart and put them back together and explained their inner workings. Squat cartridges in the back made them bulky and released the compressed air that propelled the darts. After ten or so shots, they would need to pop out the old one and put in a new canister to keep firing.

It made the entire process cumbersome and slow, but they remained some of the best and most accurate dart guns on the market. Arthur had researched them and found these to be cutting edge, but the technology still hadn't become that portable. The problem was, they could never offer a suitable substitute for a real gun, especially with their cost.

Finally, they began their target practice. Arthur started with a quick demonstration on how to hold the gun and how to aim, firing three darts into the chest of his target. The other two watched him studiously, and then they had a go at shooting as well.

It proved abysmally bad.

Niccolo fired the first three shots clean over the target and past the mammoth backstop that Arthur had erected, sending the darts sailing somewhere into the woods behind it. They would never find them, which meant a lot of lost money. Desiree did better, managing to hit the target with one shot and the backstop with the other two.

Arthur bit back a groan and headed off into the woods to attempt to retrieve the missing darts. He doubted he would find them, but he didn't have any choice but to try. They cost a lot of money, after all.

***

After a few hours of shooting, they stopped for a break. Niccolo had improved his accuracy, able to hit the backdrop consistently, and occasionally, the target, but he remained a long way from being ready to use the dart gun in combat.

That didn't make the point of the exercise anyway. Best case scenario, Niccolo would never have to fire the dart gun or any gun in their time together. If things went well, then Niccolo would, basically, carry a backup weapon for him.

Arthur used the training opportunity to study Niccolo the same way he'd studied countless sources and subjects throughout his career. Every good journalist learned to read people—their tells under pressure, their breaking points, the gap between what they said and what their body language revealed. Would Niccolo close up and shut down when things didn't go his way, or would he keep his focus?

So far, Niccolo had done the latter. His jaw stayed set through each misfire, and he adjusted his grip without being told. By the third round, he cracked a half-smile between shots.

Desiree barely spoke during the range session. She fired when told, reloaded when shown, and stood where Arthur pointed—compliant in the way of someone who had learned that compliance bought time. But each time a dart struck the target, her exhale came out sharper, more deliberate, and her stance shifted a fraction steadier. She wasn't practicing to impress anyone. She was memorizing.

She took it in stride, though, and by the end of their morning session answered him politely and hit the target with increasing regularity.

When they took a break, the sun had climbed high enough to warm the clearing, and the sharp crack of darts hitting the backstop gave way to the gentler sounds of the forest—jays calling, a squirrel chattering somewhere overhead. He prepared a lunch for them of canned stew and more stale bread and brought it into the living room. Desiree accepted hers and took it out onto the porch. Arthur allowed her to go, fairly certain she wouldn't try to run.

"She doesn't like you very much," Niccolo said as they sat down to eat.

"Thanks for stating the obvious. Would you?"

"Of course not," Niccolo said. "Though, I thought she would become more receptive once she found out we planned to put an end to Bishop Glasser's tyranny."

Arthur set his stew down. "Most probably, she doesn't believe we will."

"She thinks we're lying?"

"More likely incompetent." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "I've interviewed dozens of victims over the years—trafficking survivors, whistleblowers, people who went to authorities and got burned. They all share certain tells. Watch Desiree's eyes when we talk about the bishop. She doesn't look afraid. She looks resigned."

"What do you mean?"

"Think of it from her perspective: she came forward to the Church to tell the truth, and the Church completely ignored her. Worse, they called her a liar to protect an evil priest who has now become a bishop. In her eyes, the Church is, at best, incompetent and, at worst, evil."

"So, you think that she thinks we're not being honest with her?"

"Why would she believe otherwise? I've seen this pattern before—sources who've been burned stop trusting anyone who promises to help. More than that, she understands maybe even more than we do how bad the bishop really is. She might simply think we won't manage to stop him."

Niccolo sat in silence for a long few moments. While absorbed in his thoughts, he ate a spoonful of his stew. Arthur noted that Niccolo hadn't attempted to rationalize, justify, or make excuses for what the Church had done. No protests about insufficient evidence or unreliable narratives—the usual deflections Arthur had encountered from institutional spokespeople throughout his career.

It must have been difficult for him to listen to accusations like this against his beloved Church. He had dedicated his life to serving the Vatican, and this woman represented a tremendous failing of the Church to protect its people. However, he didn't even attempt to deny the accusations. Instead, he was more concerned with what had happened to Desiree and where to go from here.

"She might think this is one of the bishop's tests," Niccolo said, finally. "He forced her to write letters and tortured her for years. Maybe she thinks he orchestrated the kidnapping and that this is another situation where she's supposed to prove her loyalty to him."

Arthur hadn't thought of that possibility, but it fit a pattern he recognized. Abusers who maintained long-term control over victims often used loyalty tests—he'd written about it in a piece on cult dynamics three years ago. "Could be."

"In which case, maybe she does know something and feels afraid to tell us because he would punish her."

Arthur hesitated, and then said, "No. I spent three hours questioning her when I first brought her here. Ran through every approach I know—open-ended questions, circling back to catch inconsistencies, letting silences build until they became uncomfortable. She's not hiding anything about his location. Her gaps in knowledge are genuine—I'd stake my career on it."

"With the life she's lived, she'd probably get quite good at pretending. She fears you, but no doubt she feels more afraid of him. After years of torture, if she thinks this is one of his tests, then no way would she tell you anything."

"It's possible. Unfortunately, we can't do much about it. I did sort of kidnap her, and no matter how many times I promise I'm not working with the bishop, she will never believe me."

"I can talk to her."

"You think she will believe you?"

"No," Niccolo said. "But if she knows anything at all, then we need to at least try."

Arthur nodded. "It sounds like a good plan. Try to win her over, and I'll stay out of the way. Just try to get her to believe that any information she gives you, we will use to put the bishop away. We can keep her safe but only if we can find the bishop."

"Can we, though?"

"Can we what?"

"Can we keep her safe?"

"We will bring the bishop to justice, and once he's safely locked away in the Vatican, she'll be free of him."

"What if she helps us, and we fail to stop the bishop? Then, we'll have asked her to increase her risk while she remains in danger."

"We will."

"But what if we don't?"

"You overthink things." Arthur shook his head. "We don't have time to stop and worry about what might go wrong. We need to deal with what we have, and right now, we have her. She gives us an asset, and brings the only clear link we have to the bishop, and if you can't get her to talk, then our entire mission might die before it begins."

He'd told a lie, at least partly. Arthur had been working other angles—a Vatican financial analyst who owed him a favor from a story he'd killed two years back, shipping records he'd flagged through a customs contact in Naples, and a pattern he'd noticed in the bishop's real estate holdings that suggested a network of safe houses along the Mediterranean coast. But each of those leads required getting closer to people who might be connected to Glasser, and pulling on those threads would alert the bishop that someone was looking for him.

He hadn't thought that Niccolo could get anything out of her, but if that possibility existed, it would be worth pursuing. Their tenuous position would become much more solid if Niccolo managed to get the woman to divulge any relevant information.

"Fine," Niccolo said, standing up from the couch. "I'll try to talk to her."

"Okay."

Niccolo hesitated in the living room for a moment longer before heading for the exit that led out through the front door of the cabin. With one last meaningful look toward Arthur, he opened it and disappeared outside.

Arthur watched him go, and then pulled the dossier from his desk and spread it across the table. The priest hadn't hedged or asked for more time—he'd stood up and walked straight toward the harder conversation. Arthur held some hope that Niccolo might coax out something useful. But he also knew better than to rely on a single source. Years of investigative work had taught him that—you never bet everything on one lead.

He picked up his notes on the bishop's financial trail and began marking connections he'd missed that morning. Two of Glasser's former parishes had received donations from the same anonymous benefactor, routed through a bank in Liechtenstein. It might be nothing, or it might be the thread that unraveled everything.

The bishop stayed careful and guarded, and the likelihood that he would slip up and give important information to a victim didn't appear that plausible. But Arthur had brought down careful people before. They all made mistakes eventually—the trick was knowing where to look.

Plus, watching Niccolo work would give him a chance to further evaluate the priest before they headed out into the real world. He needed to see Niccolo's capabilities, and this would serve as a decent first test.

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