The Unholy Ghost: A Sophie Kramer Mystery

By Narendra Simone

Against the mighty cartel of Columbian drug lords, an Argentinian priest, now an American citizen is determined to bring peace and justice to the people of Argentina. He is hoping to be elected as the next president of the country but the cartel-backed popular political parties are determined to eliminate the priest prior to the election date. The FBI Specialist, Sophie Kramer supported by a new recruit Charlie McGregor is assigned to ensure the priest’s safety. The drug cartel severs fingers of the priest’s father and sends them to him as a warning. The priest remains relentless but then the cartel begins to punish the priest. Sophie discovers a frightening clue linking priest with the drowning of a small boy in Idaho about twenty years ago. She takes her fight to the Vatican and threatens to expose their involvement in harbouring crime. She can’t trust Charlie as he gets too close to the drug cartel and she finds no help from the local authorities. She feels helpless and time is ticking away. Is Charlie a traitor jeopardizing her mission? Would she survive the web weaved by both the drug cartel and the Vatican?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jan 25, 2015
• ISBN: 9781483548623

Book preview

Tagore

PROLOGUE

Once there was a young priest called Julio Salvatore, of Argentinian origin, who lived in the small town of Rigby, Idaho. As a young boy he suffered from a strange disorder, which neither he could explain well nor anyone could fully understand. He disliked people, for the smallest physical contact with people produced revulsion in him. He could not remember when this feeling began, nor could he ever manage to free himself from it.

When he was a small boy, his parents, who were hard-working farmers, first moved from the Littoral of Parana and Uruguay River area to Pampas around Buenos Aries, seeking a better life. Eventually, as the opportunity appeared, they emigrated and settled in Idaho, for they loved its beauty of many streams, rivers and the surrounding mountains.

His parents were deeply religious, and growing up, he sought solace in the love of God. In His love he found both relief and resolution. He learned that God intended him to be special and as a result, bestowed upon him special and uncommon feelings. Finally it all made sense to him. Such an understanding soothed him and provided him with the freedom to exercise his evolving whims and yearnings.

Whenever others mocked him for his timid demeanor and aversion to physical touch, enraging him, he found strength in his devotion to the Lord, for it provided him with an ability to cope with his repressed pain. Over time his disdain for physical touch showed him the way to serve them.

He always tried to be nice to people and for that they trusted him. Consequently, he became engaged in a profession that was a result of his ability to win the trust of people, and one in which people trusted him. He became a priest. Time and fortune were on his side, as the priesthood brought him both contentment and freedom. The priesthood suited him well and his congregation adored him.

Growing up, he had suffered from disquiet and disorder, but now as a priest of the local Catholic Church, he was finally happy. Although his income was small, he had no taste for luxury. His upbringing as a son of poor farmers had solidified his instinct to help the poor and assist in whatever way he could to alleviate the suffering of families. Whatever money the church received in offerings, he gave away to the families in need. Celibacy was his haven, and solitude a shelter.

All his life he had a fondness for the soft and subtle things—not the acquisition of striking and expensive things, but a genuine love of delicate and beautiful objects: fragile butterflies, spring flowers, and soft satin materials. It was as though his derision of physical touch translated itself into a passion for what was gentle, caressing and soft. The innocence of delicate things was all he could permit into his private life.

All in all, his personality was a mystery: complicated, asymmetrical, demanding and tightly assembled. He could manage living with such a personality except for one flaw. The careful design was marred occasionally by rare but profound sexual cravings.

He knew he could never be an active homosexual. It was just not acceptable in his profession. And besides, the one thing that disgusted him more than making love to a woman was making love to a man. His cravings, although intense, never focused on physical contact with another adult human body. His attention therefore gradually settled on those whose bodies were least offensive—children. And since little girls were timid, stubborn and clingy, he further limited his interest to little boys. They were usually manageable and frequently seductive.

It was a cold evening in late November when a soft knock on the cottage door of Father Salvatore brought a faint smile to his face. He walked to the door and opened it.

A couple of months short of his eighth birthday, young Michael, accompanied by his brother who was three years older than he was, stood there holding a small plate covered with a white crocheted cover. His eyes were laced with visible fear and his little lips were twitching. Constant sexual abuse of several years was taking its toll. Standing behind him and partly hidden in the shadow was his eleven-year-old brother Charles. If people didn’t know their age difference, they would think they were twins.

Mommy has sent you this and she wants me back home soon, Michael whispered, keeping his eyes fixed on the cake he was carrying.

Don’t be frightened, Michael, said Father Salvatore amiably. He added, Please, come in, out of the cold. Your mommy wouldn’t mind, she knows you’re here with me. Charlie, you can watch TV if you like. He took the cake plate from Michael and held one of his small and soft hands as he walked him over to his bedroom.

Michael did not return to his home that night and Charlie rushed back home to inform his parents of an unfortunate incident. Michael slipped and fell into a fast-moving river. The police were informed immediately and Michael’s parents rushed to the scene of accident. But it was too late. After a frantic search all night and the next morning by the police, all they could find was one of his shoes lying upside down by the riverbank and his cap farther down the stream lodged into some twigs. A search of the river revealed no results, and the current over several hours could have carried Michael’s body miles away. After two days the search was called off and Michael’s death was officially recorded as drowning by accident.

No sooner was the search for Michael over, than Charlie stole money from his parents and ran away from home, leaving a note saying he blamed himself for his brother’s death and never intended to return to the wretched town. Police circulated Charlie’s photograph nationwide and informed his parents that once he was out of whatever money he might have and was hungry, he would return.

About that they were wrong. Charlie never returned to Rigby.

Book I

Twenty Years Later

Genesis

ONE

It was not one of his usual days. It was the day of decision, the day he’d waited and lived for all his life. The day he was determined to take control of his own destiny.

All of those wasted days of his innocent youth, where did they go? he mused. He’d spent little time alone, for he always had many friends. But then it seemed as if a storm came and when it subsided, everything precious that he once had vanished with it. All of those wonderful days filled with sweet memories and future promises! Whatever happened to those times? He wondered if he would ever be able to return to the innocence of those days.

Such thoughts were now drifting through Benny’s mind as he sat alone in a corner of an open-air bar at the Turtle Beach Resort, situated five miles north of the town of Tortuguero in Costa Rica. He smiled as if in appreciation of the choice Mark had made.

It was a secluded resort, spanning over 175 acres, surrounded by lush jungle, a meandering private canal and a half-mile of private beach on the Caribbean Sea. It was the ultimate in seclusion, tropical in nature and filled with exotic beauty. No wonder people called it ‘The Amazon of Costa Rica.’ And this was the perfect place for Mark to hide and escape from his previous life.

Benny lifted the chilled beer bottle to his lips and took a sip. He stared blankly at the bar but did not notice the pretty girl behind it who was smiling at him. He was watching the man sitting at the bar with his back towards him.

Should he just approach the man he wanted to see and introduce himself, or should he send the man an invitation through a free drink to come and join his table? Neither suggestion seemed to make much sense. While he appeared cheerful, his thoughts were growing darker and darker, like his corner spot in the gathering darkness of the evening. Yet the darkness of his corner seemed to make his thoughts more vivid, and he began to see as if in a vision his next step.

Another one, sir? she asked, as she leaned unnecessarily close to him, keeping her hungry eyes fixed on his bulging biceps protruding out of a tight-fitting red T-shirt.

Sure, he responded, contemplatively pushing his almost empty beer bottle towards her. She picked up the empty bottle, turned and sauntered back to the bar counter. There was an extra swing in her hips broadcasting her sensuous invitation. Benny grimaced and leaned back in his chair, as he ran fingers through his thick, blond hair.

His life was a series of distracted compromises between the responsibility of killing people he didn’t know in the name of national security and the inner turmoil that emanated from his childhood memories. He knew he could never recover from the ineradicable and tumultuous childhood, the ravages firmly planted in his mind and wrapped around his soul. But there comes a time in everyone’s life when an incredible assembly of unexpected events yields a once-in-a-lifetime chance to redeem oneself. For Benny, that time had come.

Stuck stubbornly in his subconscious was an unspeakable certainty that there was something still unfulfilled in his life. This sense that had battered at him for years could be partially explained by his desire to play with danger in his life circumstances. It wasn’t a game he was playing; rather, it was the sole purpose of his life. Today was an important day for which he had waited a long time. Life for him was about to change.

He remembered how on most nights he would wake up, sweating and scared. Then the ritual would begin. He would get a glass of cold water, drink it, pace up and down in his room in darkness for several minutes and then lie awake in bed waiting for sleep to come again. His days were a little easier for he would work out at a gym where he could busy himself relentlessly exercising and pumping weights, anything to keep his mind occupied, for every man has a breaking point. And he would never, ever willfully try to think of those childhood days, years ago, when he was little.

But then last week it all changed when he spotted an old friend on the Travel Channel. He had not seen or heard from him for many years, maybe since his childhood days. He had never been more frightened, for seeing his picture brought back all those ugly memories. But he had to know what happened to Mark and the others, and knowing his whereabouts, where he could get in touch with him, gave him hope.

He knew that hope is a dangerous thing for it can drive a man insane. But living in fear is debilitating. He had to get to the point where it all began to make some sense. He believed that he was born for a purpose, and had devised a proposal that he was hoping his friend would accept. Murder was on his mind.

TWO

He let out a long sigh. How could he lower his soul to the degree that he was willing to murder? But then he was not given many choices. Murder was the last resort and the first step to bringing a little joy to his heart. He was not constrained to do it, but he wanted to commit this murder. He looked at his watch and it was exactly seven in the evening, the time he decided to make his move.

He watched the waitress approaching. As she placed another fresh chilled beer on the table, he slipped her a twenty-dollar bill and said, I’d like to buy a beer for the gentleman sitting at the bar.

She turned towards the bar and then turning back, said to Benny, He is the owner of this place, are you a friend?

The twenty was for asking no questions, just a beer for him is all I need, thanks.

She took the twenty and stuck it in her bra, shrugging her shoulders, and returning back behind the bar, and then whispered something to the man sitting at the bar. He immediately turned around and stared at Benny with questioning eyes. Benny raised his beer bottle as if toasting him.

The man grabbed his glass of wine and headed towards Benny. Standing next to his table, he asked, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but do I know you?

You had a friend when you were a boy, Benny. Do you remember him?

Benny? said the owner, and after hesitating for a few moments, repeated, Benny? After a moment’s silence, suddenly his eyes widened as if an explosion had taken place in his head, and he responded, Oh, yeah. Benny. I remember him. He was a feisty one, always ordering us around. But he disappeared and nobody ever heard from him again, not even his family. Whatever happened to him?

People never answer what you say, they answer what you mean, or what they think you mean, mused Benny. Is that all you remember about him? asked Benny, giving Mark time to take a closer look at him.

Who are you? asked Mark, narrowing his brows, you look familiar. Are you his friend? There was a mixed sense of fear and urgency in his voice and it didn’t go unnoticed by Benny. He smiled and, extending his hand, said, I’m Benny. Benny from good old Rigby, Idaho! It’s been a long time but it is good to see you again, Mark.

Mark screwed his lips up as if in deep contemplation and then suddenly the glass of wine slipped from his hand and shattered on the flagstone flooring. The girl behind the bar came running to clean up the mess. By that time the owner had recovered and said to her, Thanks, and would you get me a double scotch and one for my friend, too?

When she left, Mark asked, Is it really you, Benny? He took a seat opposite from Benny. They shook hands and greeted each other with a wary smile. You seem calm compared to the Benny I knew all those years ago. Also, you seem to have filled out. Are you a professional boxer?

Years do mellow us out, or perhaps it is the burden of responsibilities we carry as adults? Benny returned.

Bloody hell, muttered Mark, troubles always followed you, didn’t they? It has been ages. You knew I had come here because I didn’t want people to know my whereabouts? You understand that, don’t you? I, like others, want to forget the past.

And can you?

Mark answered the question with a question, How did you find me?

I never lost you. I just kept my distance, answered Benny, and his response seemed to alarm Mark.

Why me? And why now?

Don’t worry, said Benny, I mean no harm and ask nothing of you. First tell me, do you still keep in touch with the other boys from Rigby?

Some, he said contemplatively, and then added, actually, quite a few. I am still in touch with eight others but we don’t see each other, just communicate through email. You know why? Meeting face to face would bring back ugly old memories, but we do care about each other. We were victims of the same evil. As he uttered the word evil his nostrils flared as if fear had gripped his heart, and it did not go unnoticed by Benny.

THREE

Benny had vowed to eliminate the one who had destroyed his life and that of so many others. After the girl brought drinks and left, Mark, lifting his glass high, said, Here’s to you, and then taking a sip of his drink added, you haven’t told me why you were looking for me and why all of a sudden after so many years you have an interest in our other friends? Are you in some kind of trouble? We’ll help if we can.

It was Benny who hesitated momentarily this time and then said, I have served with the Navy SEALs and faced numerous life-threatening situations, bringing justice to those who suffer from injustice. Then one day it dawned on me that I have been living a lie. That was a moment, the moment, when I realized that life’s biggest lie is justice. Revenge is more appropriate, especially for victims who seek closure. So now a glorious mission consumes my life. A mission that concerns you and our old friends.

What mission? retorted Mark, sounding unconvinced that Benny required nothing from him, and through him, from their friends.

I’ve a proposal for you to consider and share with the others, but discreetly, of course, said Benny, sipping his scotch. Mark simply looked at him in perplexity.

He continued, I intend to put an end to what made our lives hell twenty years ago. I’ve found the whereabouts of Father Julio Salvatore, and I’m going to kill him. He is going to die a thousand deaths. Benny’s facial expression was that of a professional killer, calm and composed; all business.

Benny, whispered Mark, nothing would give me more satisfaction than to see him dead. But this is not the place to talk about such things. The authorities must know you are here? I can’t afford to be implicated in such a scheme.

Don’t worry. No one knows that I am here. I entered Nicaragua illegally, which wasn’t that difficult, and bribed a boatman there to slip me into Costa Rica. I will leave the same way. But I need to know what you think of my proposal.

I require a little more time to think it over, said Mark. Don’t get me wrong; I believe killing him is the only answer, but I guess you want financial support from us, and for that I’ll need to talk with the others.

Benny’s jaw tightened. Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear, said Benny, looking at Mark with a fixed gaze. I need no financial support. I’ll be doing this as much for myself as for all of you. All you need to understand is that it’ll be done on my terms and none of you need to get involved. If the authorities were ever to make the connection of our past, then you must deny any knowledge of it. Remember, this meeting never happened. Why do you think I came to see you through illegal entry into Costa Rica?

Mark sipped his scotch in silence and after several moments said, There are many of us who would be willing to contribute anything you need, enough funds to make it worth your while. Just name your price.

Benny was about to take another sip when what Mark said made him stop. He put his glass down and combed his thick hair with his fingers. Leaning forward in his chair, he responded, Now, listen carefully. Money is the last thing I’d be interested in as it could easily be traced to us. No money is to be involved. I want nothing from you guys. I don’t care how you tell the others but promise me that they’ll never know I’m involved. When the job is done, I’ll inform you and you can then share the good news. Do we have a clear understanding?

Mark nodded as if agreeing half heartedly so Benny, in a firm voice, added, If you tell another soul of my involvement then you’ll never hear from me again. You understand? This is a one-time deal only, for you and our friends to get closure. I just wanted all our friends to benefit from what I am about to commit myself to do.

Yes, said Mark, you’d do so many of us a great favor, and I understand why you may want to do this for free. We, including you, have already paid the price.

Benny’s face grimaced as if shot through by sharp inner pain. He simply nodded and, once again leaning back in his chair, said, We should keep this meeting short and promise to never see each other again. After a brief pause, draining the remainder of his scotch and throwing a twenty-dollar bill on the table, Benny concluded, Have a great life, my friend, for soon we shall stop living in the shadows of fear.

Picking up the twenty-dollar bill and returning it to Benny, he responded, It is my treat. Good luck to you. They stood and Mark gave Benny a hug. In an emotion-filled, trembling voice, he said, Benny, do it for all of us. I think you’re on a divine mission.

Benny smiled. Thanks. I’ve vowed to bring closure to those who suffered at the hand of Salvatore and stop him and maybe others like him from hurting anyone else.

Believe you me, I understand, responded Mark contemplatively. I do understand. But you can’t just walk up to him and do it. Don’t you need a plan of attack?

I do have a plan, and it is called an attack. Trust me; I’ve got it all figured out.

They shook hands vigorously and Benny slipped into the bushes to the mud path he used earlier to get back to his waiting boat, the one he came in on from Nicaragua.

Book II

Revelation

FOUR

The storm clouds of late September