Wild Cards: Death Draws Five Read Online Free PDF Page B

cunning.
    God knows she needed it. She was on the track of the Allumbrados and she knew that her quest was dangerous. The Hand had sent others to investigate them who had simply disappeared after relaying the most uncertain, though provocative hints that the Enlightened Ones, as they styled themselves, were preparing for action.
    The Hand knew that something big was imminent. He knew the general warning signs as well as the Allumbrados did, though as Papists their knowledge had to be imperfect. The Allumbrado conspiracy, however, had thrust its roots deep into the hierarchy of the Catholic Church. They could call on the vast powers and riches of that ancient institution whereas The Hand had only himself and his loyal minions, such as the Angel, to rely upon. Not that the Allumbrados had defiled everyone in the Church, of course. Most Papists were not satanic. They were just misguided.
    The Angel, keeping to the darkness that enveloped the parking structure like a choking shroud, suddenly caught her breath. The limo’s dome light winked on as the driver opened the door and scurried around to let out his passengers.
    The first to emerge was a patrician-looking man in his late sixties, but still tall, handsome, and distinguished, with a head of thick, white hair. He wore the black, scarlet-trimmed regalia of a Cardinal of the Papist church. It was, the Angel realized, just as The Hand had feared. Cardinal Romulus Contarini had come to America. He was a Dominican, of course. His sect had had an intimate connection with the Holy Office (A very bland name for something as terrible as the Inquisition, she thought) for a very long time. Contarini led the section of the vast and shadowy Vatican bureaucracy which dealt with theological purity. He was the highest-ranking member of the Allumbrados that The Hand’s agents could uncover. Before he’d suddenly and mysteriously disappeared, The Hand’s man in the Vatican had said that the Cardinal was possibly headed for the United States. This was obvious confirmation of the news he’d probably given his life to deliver.
    Contarini was not alone. Three men got out of the limo with him. One was short, chubby, and bearded. He looked soft and jolly, like everyone’s favorite uncle. The other two had such similar facial features that they were probably brothers. But one was tall and strong looking while the other was thin, round-shouldered, and slumping. The tall, strong-looking one was possibly the most attractive man the Angel had ever seen. Her heart caught at the angelic handsome-ness of his face, which was white as unflawed marble. His eyes were as blue as Heaven, his hair a golden torrent with wave and thickness to rival her own. His lips...
    She could almost taste them in her sudden desire. They were full, sensuously curved, and red as a woman’s. But his features were masculine, with a broad forehead, high cheekbones, and a strong jaw. His short-sleeved shirt exposed arms muscled like a blacksmith’s.
    The Angel felt herself breathing heavier and then suddenly the silent parking garage echoed with the trilling opening notes to the “Ode to Joy.” She had forgotten to turn off her cell phone, and it rang at the worst possible time. Her hand fell to her side pocket, grabbed the instrument and silenced it.
    Perhaps, she thought, they hadn’t heard.
    The men stopped on their way to the elevator. The Cardinal looked impatient, but the jolly little man gazed into the darkness where the Angel lurked, holding her breath. His cheery blue eyes suddenly focused with a startling intensity.
    “Someone’s out there,” she heard him say in a British accented voice.
    “Witness—” the Cardinal said.
    The two men, different, yet alike enough in features to be brothers, looked at each other. The tall, handsome one said, “Check it out,” and the other, grumbling to himself under his breath, moved off toward the darkness where the Angel hid.
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    Turin, Italy: Cattedrale di