Day Of Confession

28

Pescara. Still Thursday, July 9. 10:35 p.m.

Nursing sister Elena Voso rode on a fold-down jump seat in the back of an unmarked beige van. In the dimness she could see Michael Roark next to her. He lay on his back on a gurney, staring at the IV hanging overhead as it swung with the motion of the truck. Across from her was the handsome Marco, while up front, the heavy-set Luca drove, guiding the van deliberately through the narrow streets as if he knew exactly where he was taking them, though none had spoken of it.

Elena had not been prepared when, little more than an hour earlier, her mother general had called from her home convent of the Congregation of Franciscan Sisters of the Sacred Heart in Siena to tell her the patient in her charge was to be moved by private ambulance that night and she was to accompany him, continuing to give him the care she had been. When she asked where he was being moved, where they were going, she was simply told 'to another hospital'. Very shortly afterward Luca had arrived with the ambulance and they were on their way. Leaving Hospital St Cecilia quickly and quietly, with hardly a word spoken between them, as if they were fugitives.

Crossing the Pescara River, Luca took a number of side streets before ending up in a slow parade of traffic along Viale della Riviera, a main thoroughfare that paralleled the beach. The night was steamy hot, and scores of people ambled along the sidewalk in shorts and tank tops, or crowded the pizzerias that sat along the edge of the sand. Because of their route Elena wondered if perhaps they were going to another hospital in the city. But then Luca turned away from the ocean and drove a zigzag course through the city, which took them past the massive railroad terminal before swinging northeast on a main highway out of town.

Through it all Michael Roark's gaze shifted, from the IV to her, to the men in the van, and then back to her. It made her think that his mind was working, that somewhere he was trying to put it all together and understand what was happening. Physically he seemed as well as could be expected, his blood pressure and pulse remained strong, his breathing as normal as it had been all along. She had seen the EKG and EEG results of tests done prior to her arrival that reflected a strong heart and a functioning brain. The diagnosis was that he had suffered acute trauma; and that aside from the burns and broken legs, the main damage and the one bearing the closest watching had been a severe concussion. He could recover from it fully, partially, or not at all. Her job was to keep his body operative while the brain attempted to heal itself.

Smiling gently at Michael Roark's gaze, she looked up to see Marco watching her as well. Two men examining her at the same time – the thought tickled her, and she grinned. Then quickly she looked away, embarrassed she had reacted so openly. She saw for the first time that dark curtains covered the van's rear windows. Turning back, she looked at Marco.

'Why are the windows covered?'

'The truck was rented. It came that way.'

Elena hesitated. 'Where are we going?'

'Nobody told me.'

'Luca knows.'

'Then ask him.'

Elena glanced forward at Luca at the wheel, then back to Marco. 'Are we in danger?'

Marco grinned. 'So many questions.'

'We are directed to leave, suddenly, almost in the middle of the night. We drive as if to make it impossible to follow us. The truck windows are covered over, and you… carry a gun.'

'Do I…?'

'Yes.'

'I told you I was a carabiniere…'

'Not anymore.'

'But still on reserve…' Abruptly Marco turned toward the front. 'Luca, Sister Elena wants to know where we're going.'

'North.'

Crossing his arms over his chest, Marco leaned back and closed his eyes. 'I'm going to sleep,' he said to Elena. 'You sleep, too. We have a long way to go.'

Elena watched him, then looked to Luca at the wheel and saw his features briefly as he lit a cigarette. She had seen the bulge under his jacket as he helped load her patient into the truck, verifying what she had suspected earlier, that he carried a gun as well. And though no one had mentioned it, she knew Pietro, the morning man, was following in his car behind them.

Beside her Michael Roark had closed his eyes. She wondered if he was dreaming, and if so, what his dreams might be like. And where they were taking him. Or if he was simply going without knowing, as she was, down a darkened road toward a destination unknown, in the company of armed strangers.

And she wondered, as she had before, who he was that he would need such men. She wondered who he was at all.