Rescues of Holy Waters <stripped>

It’s hot…

Another sweltering high pressure over the Mediterranean.

The penance of climate change has no mercy.

And the political heat in this mystery adds to the sweat.

Malta:

High season, cheap flights, holiday packages, online rental homes maxed, campground grounds full, even farmers making space for ad hoc glamping accommodations and the usual upscale hotel & resort business -booked-over booked and then some.

The heat brings out the crazies, rescues are in the bizarre zone, the rescue crew is stretched thin, no days off.

For the Lifeguard Captain, DJ and Chief Constable Ryan, the two best mates have been ‘get’n cooked’ by government bureaucracy.  

The Prime Minister’s office is taking flak from several Embassies, Interpol and EU Security council for not being more transparent tracking down a mystery criminal Cartel, and suspected Cartel bosses seen on the Islands suggesting Malta is just lazy or complicit. The PM fired back at the US ambassador warning ‘if there’s any more covert activity in Malta, they can leave’. He already expelled a UK embassy attaché and warned the Germans that their national Airlines would be suspended if they insult the justice minister again, a Cartel informant working for Interpol was arrested at a strip cub, “EU Security Council That”!

The PM’s security cabinet knows that DJ and Ryan are on the verge of triggering an event that could cripple the Cartel. They’ve already orchestrated a series of setbacks that started infighting with gangster bosses and their voodoo offshore bankers.

Impatience is lurking, egos are boiling to the surface.

As they say, shit roles downhill…

Last week in a heated security meeting the defense minister snapped and said it “We don’t need a couple of former SAS Counter Intelligence officers acting like F’n cowboys out there just because they know the Cartel King Pin from a clandestine past, and by the way, what hell did they do in their past”?!... A secret only the PM and Justice minister know.

This week, more EU heat, the PM threatened to reign in DJ and Ryan calling off the undercover operation.

And then the gravity shifted…

A visitor came to the Islands devoid of any politics.

Perhaps divine intervention, quelling the squabbling.

A Vatican Cardinal unexpectedly arrived in Malta to bless a recently restored church on the UNESCO world heritage list. Not just any Vatican Cardinal, word is he’s the ‘consigliere’ for the Papacy, he was nominated to lead the Holy Empire, but humbly declined.

Before he departed the Island nation, he met privately with the security council in sworn secrecy and handed them a letter with the Vatican seal. A reliable insider said the signature on that letter is the Papacy.

Next morning at dawn, the PM and Justice Minister were at Lifeguard Rescue HQ meeting Chief Ryan and DJ ensuring them the undercover operation had carte blanche support.

One of the mysteries of the mystery in this story.

Gozo Island- Malta:

On the far Northwest end of Gozo, the small 15^th century chapel of St. Dimitri is surrounded by sculpted contoured farmland, several hundred meters in the distance, a sheer drop off white limestone cliffs with stunning Sea views. Inside, Bojan, the former Serbian sergeant, and ex-Cartel boss is rested on a kneeler, elbows on stool, hands clasped.

At the altar, a Priest in a plain brown modest robe speaks a melodic Latin prayer echoing upwards in the narrow-arched ceiling, chanting a psalm of penance and redemption, as a man is knelt before him, reciting the prayer, verse by verse, wiping an occasional tear seeking forgiveness.

The small stone hewed chapel is adorned with flickering candles and small bouquets of wildflowers. Sunlight peaks in from the open door at the far end with a wisp of hot breeze cooled by the shadowed chapel interior as four tuned up security guards in beige cargo trousers stand outside with binoculars, radio wires over ears and dark sport sunglasses. The contoured bulges of pistol holsters and submachine guns neatly tucked on fitted Kevlar black tactical vest.

Malta’s special police from the elite counter-terror squad.

 A moment of silence…

The elderly Priest anoints the kneeling man with holy water…

Gazing above with open arms, the Priest recites the legendary prayer of the chapel to St. Demetrius, “Bring me back my son, and I’ll light your lamp with a measure of oil”. A prayer few know of. Some say local legend, a prayer from a woman of same parish of centuries past when pirates came to the Island and tried to steal her son.

After the prayer the priest invites the two men to sit together forming a close triangle in front of the alter. The simple chairs are old, wooden, uncomfortable, and wobbling a bit.

Bojan has convinced his close comrade, a senior Cartel boss as he once was, to defect from the life as both gangsters come from traditional families of deeply engrained Christian cultures. Bojan’s friend used to be a man of the priesthood, a Jesuit priest from Budapest, schooled in Rome. He rose in Cartel ranks by using his parish and establishing a wider network of Churches and religious historical sites to launder wealth through a donation and investor scheme providing safe storage, a tax haven for transferring Cartel loot, ill-gotten gains under the flag of the Vatican. A money laundering and logistics hub network on holy grounds.

Many years ago, a young Nun who once served with Mother Teresa from the order ‘Missionaries of Charity’ discovered the scheme and approached the former priest privately.

Months later her body was found badly broken and decomposed at the bottom of a monastery well, a cold case still under Vatican investigation.

The former Priest left the Church in good graces and is now a wealthy widow and father of three, fearing for his children’s safety as they grow into young adulthood.

He opens a briefcase with organized files, photos and labeled thumb drives, as he describes a vast network of pirated assets, cash, and high value commodities from slave labor under the guise of donations, ‘declared’ tax exempt under Charities, non-profits and NGO’s on the Church’s vast property holdings. Some entities in countries where the slave labor trade is rife, yet slave and bonded labor produced much of the valuable inventory.

The participation of a select group of ranking clergies, even a few Vatican cardinals.

Maps of the network are likened to the same geography of the Holy Roman Empire of old.

The Charities and nonprofits are a key component of the Cartel exchange mechanism many with trading and clearing accounts at name brand financial institutions where the wealth is laundered internationally undetected, linked to the same bank, acting as a central bank, using accounts that are generations old, some numbered accounts active over centuries.

But it extends further…

The network expanded using Mosque, Orthodox Churches, and religious infrastructure in the Mediterranean region, enriching clerics, imams, mullahs, priest, bishops, and powerful government allies.

He’s here to oversee the swapping of shares, ownership, and titles of offshore companies with laundered assets, the annual payoff.

His fear of detection and reprisal isn’t from Governments, Interpol nor Intelligence agencies. It’s from the secret enforcers of the Papacy. Also, the Sunni hierarchy based out of Mecca.

The new Sovereign in Riyadh has zero tolerance for corruption and will eliminate anything using sacred places of Islam for corrupt causes. The ruling house of Saud and the Vatican has been known to extend its reach beyond their realms and take no prisoners.  

In this moment of spiritual repentance, the gangster still sees the eyes of that young Nun he murdered many years ago through the eyes of his three daughters.

He mourns his wife.

He’s not chasing his own salvation, he’s seeking salvation for his children, the keeping of a dark secret, so his loved ones don’t find the truth of a gangster and murder, trader of souls and stolen riches.

He wants to be a good father.

He seeks a rescue of mercy in the present, not his past. He needs a rescue of love for the future of three innocent young woman, the only light left in his life.

The elderly Priest, fumbles for his reading glasses, reaches in his robe and pulls out a large smart phone that folds out into a mini e-tablet, plugs in a USB extension and opens several thumb drives scanning, nodding, “uh-ha”… “Interesting”… “yes I know him” …. “Mmm, she died recently at the Monastery I gave her last rights” … As he examines bank accounts, shipping documents, offshore companies, and people.

There are no questions; it makes clear sense.

The Priest is the former Director of International Finance for the Vatican, spending a lifetime in service tracking down misappropriated assets globally always suspecting there was two sets of accounting legers matched to the map linked to unholy commercial activity. Rumors are the humble Priest used to lead a secret department deep in bowls of the Vatican, some say a guild or society that recovered assets under the direction of the Papel with the authority to purge souls cloaked in the holy realm, cleansing threats, judged by the seven deadly sins, many never to be seen or heard of again.

Shuffling documents, his robe sleeves pull up exposing a small, faded tattoo on an inside arm resembling a mark of Knights Templar.

Pause, as he slides the files back into the briefcase, gently placing the case beside his chair.

 “Well done my son, the road to salvation is long, I am not the one to judge. Fear not, the holy spirit leads those who seek the light and with that comes peace. My testimony to you is, the order I serve will protect your children at any cost as we are protectors of pilgrims and innocence and have done so for centuries”.

The Priest gently places a hand on the man’s shoulder gazing in his eyes of tears.

“Welcome home my son”.

The Priest stands, walks to the alter lifting a centuries old brass oil lamp, fills it with oil, adjust the wick, strikes a match, holding the lamp next the portrait of Saint Demetrius, lifts his phone, snaps a photo sending it to DJ... A coded message triggering the next event for a Cartel target.

He scrolls the phone, taps on a photo, and makes a call.

Pause… Smiles, “Yes my angel, your wings are required in great haste”.

Theres a muffled static-vibration sound emanating.

“Yes, Yes, so I heard, I expect you here sometime soon for confession”. The call ends as he slips the phone and his reading glasses back into the deep pockets of the worn robe.

The two former Cartel bosses look puzzled, composed yet nervous, paranoia.

 The Priest nods with a grin.

“Walk with me”.

They slowly stroll towards the Chapel entrance…

Bojan breaks the silence, “We need to leave the Islands immediately, Malta is crawling with Cartel on the hunt right now, not to mention Interpol and God knows what else out there that will do anything to get that briefcase, his three daughters are offshore on a yacht ready to set sail”.

The Priest calmly smiles… “Have faith my sons, there are many mysteries to God’s salvation, and some are pre-ordained”.  The two former Gangsters appear agitated and bewildered glancing at their watches.

The security guards assume an alerted posture looking skywards as one seems to be communicating on radio…

Theres hurried stress in the air, Bojan wiping perspiration from his forehead, his colleague, eyes twitching trying to get a wider view of beyond the entrance.

The men approach the Chapel entrance, a plain ceramic bowl of holy water sits on a stool. The Priest pauses, “Aren’t you forgetting something”? with a nod and lift of an eyebrow…

The two nervous men dip their fingers in holy water, face the alter, crossing their hearts with a hastened nod and bow and walk out to the stone promenade.

A distance buzz in the back ground.

A low-pitched whistling seems nearer, chilling, unrhythmic, echoing from below the cliffs.

Pause…

 Zzzz-sss buzzZZZ!

 ‘VAROOM’! Body rattling vibrations, scream as a twin jet helicopter roars a few meters over the cliff edge on a hair-raising low pass over the chapel, ascends, vertically swings in low orbit over the farm field.

The former gangsters hit the stone deck prone looking at the security team with pleading eyes expecting them to draw their weapons protecting them.

 The Priest calmly gestures with hands to arise.

They see the Malta Air Rescue Insignia of the white and orange aircraft as it gently touches down in a haze of swirling dust and farm field stubble.

It’s two of DJ’s ‘power rescue girls’ as he calls them. They’re not here for any forgiveness. In fact, their reputations are bad girls, foul off duty antics, crude behavior and daring rule braking rescues.  

Gabby hops out of the Co-Pilot door; she has a Mini Mouse emblem on her orange helmet flexing her bicep and flipping the bird. She’s decked in a new Barbie hot pink flight suite, shouldered rolled sleeves showing off her gym sculpted arms.

Peering from the Pilot seat in braless sweat-soaked tank top, Sophie, popping a purple bubble from her trademark bubble gum, blowing a kiss to the Priest, clearly displaying the black stenciled call sign ‘FLY BITCH’ on her bright canary yellow helmet.

Gabby slides open the side door, the 3 daughters smiling and waving as their father rushes over in tears of surprise.  Gabby belts him in, check, check double check, door slides shut, hops back in the co-pilot seat, straps in, plugs in her helmet comms and slides down her helmet sun visor, as both woman give a quick salute to the Priest, the sleek machine powers up, turbines scream, rotor wash blows a face stinging dust cloud, ascending above the chapel, hovers, tilts forward, accelerates and disappears over the edge of the cliffs…

Bojan wipes his eyes, turns, looks at the Priest.

“Thank you”.

As they both walk back to the chapel.

 “Umm, by the way, are you and DJ and Ryan part of some sort of, ahh, organization, secret order, or something like that”?

The Priest chuckles, “What in God’s name ever gave you that idea”?

“Umm, well, the tattoo on your arm, I ahh thought, umm, I saw something similar on the inside of DJ’s rescue vest and ah, maybe something like it stamped on Chief Ryan's pistol holster”.

The Priest glances with a grin,

“Stories of stories, rumors of rumors, legends of legends, secrets of secrets, is so with the passing of centuries I don’t keep track of these things”.

“I’m hungry, I need to eat lunch and take a nap before afternoon mass”.

Bojan clears his throat…

“More to the point father, are there any active soldiers secretly ordained or in some way approved by the Papacy”?

The Priest laughs, “Why would they do that”?

“The Vatican is a peaceful state, a country within a country, there is no imminent threat to recruit soldiers in defense of the holy realm ... Is there”?

Glance,

Pause,

“The answer you seek Bojan will come in prayer, look inward at the small blessings. You’re standing here safe, because of your pilgrimage. Was your rescue a worthy cause? Soldiers of the Holy Realm rescuing souls are in all walks of life. Did two of them rescue you?”.

As they stroll in the chapel, the Priest stops and looks at Bojan with one eyebrow lifted.

“Aren’t you forgetting something”? Bojan blushes, dips a finger in the holy water, crosses his heart, pulls a thick money clip from his pocket, walks to the side of the altar, drops the cash in a box, strikes a match for 2 candles.