God's Little Secrets

By Claudio Hernández

Title: God’s Little Secrets

A bloodthirsty killer on the loose, the perverse antics of Catholic priests exposed to the world, and a Vatican City in fear and turmoil. These are the essential ingredients of God’s Little Secrets.

Inspector Chad Chamberlain of EUROPOL, the European Union’s division of INTERPOL, has been called in to investigate a mysterious find in Notre Dame. But the dismembered bodies found behind a false wall in the old Parisian cathedral are just the start, as more victims start popping up in different parts of Europe, especially in the Vatican.

Chad Chamberlain and his sidekick Mohamed Khan go on the trail of the killer. However, it becomes clear that the killings aren’t just random acts of bloodthirsty violence but follow a pattern of scores being settled and a vengeful wrath as if it had come from God himself. A vengeance visited upon those who have indulged in one of the most evil of sins: the sexual abuse of children.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BadPress
• Release date: Apr 12, 2020
• ISBN: 9781071541081

Book preview

God’s Little Secrets

By Claudio Hernández

Translation by Paul Bowen

First Edition Ebook: April, 2020.

Title: God’s Little Secrets

©  2020 Claudio Hernández

©  2020 Translation by Paul Bowen

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All rights reserved.

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No part of this publication, including the cover design, may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any manner and by any means, electronic, chemical, mechanical, optical, recording, on the Internet or photocopying, without prior permission from the publisher or the author. All rights reserved.

Biography of Claudio Hernandez

I grew up reading and started writing because of the influence of the master of horror and drama, Stephen King. I am the author of the biography of his initial stages as a writer. In addition, I have written an anthology based on the box he found which belonged to his father, who was also a writer. Now I write anthologies and horror novels, suspense and thrillers. There are many that I have already published, but there are still more yet to come.

Biography of Paul Bowen

In terms of translation, this is Paul Bowen’s sixth book. He has previously translated Joseph, the Great Servant; Purple Blood; A Portrait of Death; You Too Can Write a Romance Novel; and Rebecca’s Inherited Secret. He gained his MA in Translation Studies from the University of Hull after teaching both Spanish and English as foreign languages for a number of years. He currently tutors and marks Spanish exams for Edexcel Exam Board in England. as well as being an active professional freelance translator for various European companies.

Chapter 1

‘Where is that faggot?’ asked the cracked and raspy voice, as if the man’s vocal cords were vibrating like the strings of an electric guitar in a rock band. At the same time an evil little chuckle could be heard.

Pope Francis took his ear away from the phone’s handset and looked at the device as if there was something of interest there. Since he had opened a Twitter account, constant criticism had poured in from atheists, just as praise had poured in from the faithful. But what he had just heard made his temples throb and gave him a feeling as if someone were churning his guts with a stick in an attempt to reopen old wounds. The moral burden of guilt felt by all Catholics was now joined by a feeling of dread.

He put the phone to his ear once more, but slowly and deliberately.

‘My son. I recognize that there have been and that there still are bishops, archbishops, priests, and even cardinals who are, let’s say, of a different sexual persuasion. I recognize that within the Catholic Church there are what are known as gay men. They are termed gay, and as far as they’re concerned, it would be very rude to offend this group of people who were born in different bodies; or perhaps, dare I say it, in the wrong body. But I respect this. There is nothing wrong if there has been consent ...’

‘Can you just cut the shit! I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I´m not usually like this. I apologize to the entire Gay community.’ The voice on the other end sounded cracked and broken due to what they were talking about. And, to a certain extent, Pope Francis could sense some regret, as well as a lie in the man’s tone of voice.

‘It's okay my son. Let’s leave it for now. We should always act with respect.’ Pope Francis looked at the huge red ring on his middle finger and asked, ‘Are you a believer?’

‘No!’

‘God not only welcomes believers, but also atheists who baptize their children. Does God forget about a man when he dies? No. He’ll admit into Heaven any atheist who baptizes his children over a non-practicing believer who ...’

‘Who ... who ...’ interrupted the voice now sounding like a ringing bell. In the middle of the communication, a silence fell that was only broken up by clicks; clicks that shouldn’t be heard in any 21st century communication. It wasn’t an intercom as used during World War II; it was the latest generation of phone.

The Pope took a deep breath and felt that he was going to hear something awful. He could sense it, and so he kept his nerve as he spoke.

‘I am a patient man. You’ve just interrupted me in my thoughts and I now think I know what you’re thinking. Not that it’s got anything to do with any divine powers on my part, just intuition. Get it off your chest and let's get this conversation over with.’ 

An ominous silence reigned. The noise from the doves fluttering over the basilica grew louder and louder, eventually breaking the deep and distant silence.

‘I’ve just ranted on about what God chooses for us and now you tell me that you think you know what I’m thinking. I’ve never known a Pope like you. I wasn’t expecting it at all. It just goes to show that the Church must adapt to the times ...’

‘Tell me once and for all,’ Pope Francis cut in suddenly. His eyes were no longer shining, and his lips seemed to be sealed like a zip fastener. He put his middle finger with the ring to his mouth, and the ring stone made a dry noise as he touched it to his front teeth.

‘Okay. I have a question for you. What do you think about the sexual abuse of minors within the Church?’

Pope Francis didn’t answer immediately, hearing the rasp of a voice he didn’t recognise and wondering how on earth the man had gotten hold of his personal phone number. The Pope liked to surround himself with security and guards who wouldn’t breathe a word of indiscretion. Obviously, something had gone wrong. Nevertheless, he was far from sounding nervous, and as always, he answered implacably:

‘That is a sin that has no forgiveness. Those involved must apologize and leave the Holy See. I have started a war against this scandal and I have apologized to the world for it. If I have to give up a priest, a bishop, an archbishop, a cardinal, or an old emissary to the police for them to stand trial, I will do so without hesitation. And if they are sentenced to jail, then so be it. Do you have anything else to add?’

There was a click like the crackle of a fire.

‘Ok. That’ll do,’ said the rough voice, ‘but they will die within a week.’ And he hung up.

Pope Francis stared at the phone, as if the man's eyes were shining out of it, but he saw nothing. He was sitting in a red armchair with golden arm rests, allowing himself to sit back while setting the phone’s handset down slowly on a heavy oak side table. As he settled into the chair, he contemplated what he had just heard. Intuition told him that there must be something seriously wrong with this man, and that it could turn out to be far worse than any scandal involving paedophilia. This man talked about death and perhaps even torture. He didn't know why this last word popped into his head, but there was one thing he felt in his bones: he had a rocky road ahead of him. Then, he remembered the clicking noises during the conversation and wondered about who else might have been listening in and taking an interest.

Chapter 2

Each police force takes care of its own affairs in its own country or territories, and the powers that be hold each member state of the European Union individually accountable. This is the way EUROPOL operates, the European Union’s version of Interpol.

Chad Chamberlain, a non-European by any stretch of the imagination, held a cigarette between his long thin fingers as if it were a hostage to his desires. Tobacco smoke curled up into the air and penetrated his nostrils like a drug needing to be inhaled. It was raining on that autumn day, and the splashing of his shoes on the ground had accompanied him all the way up to and beyond the majestic entrance to the building, which rose up like a mountain before him. Each drop of water that beat down onto his short hair was like a little painless prick. His raincoat, as black as a crow, flapped at the creek of water forming at the foot of the steps. His back was so wet he felt as if an icy-cold iron rested between his raincoat and his bristly skin.

He was thin, 6ft1inch tall, wore size 13 shoes and had a shiny Rolex on his right wrist. Whether it was raining or snowing, that watch was always shiny and gleaming. He had a thin beard and attractive grey eyes that could conquer many a woman. His nose was long and curved to the left; but this defect wasn’t noticeable from the side, and his skin had a dark, tanned complexion. While standing in front of the World Forum Convention Centre in The Hague, he mused that the Netherlands had suited him well enough, and he had been able to hide away any disenchantment with his life in a basement office. The experience had made him a more resilient, but also a more emotionless man with a serious look on his face that he wore constantly. He didn't like jokes and he didn’t play tricks. He was cold and calculating, and now, after many years, it appeared that he was going to fly the nest. His destination: Paris, or more precisely, Notre Dame. And no, he didn't believe in the prophecies of Nostradamus, even though the scholars had said something was going to happen that year.

Putting the cigarette to his wet lips, he took a long drag and, after a few seconds began to release the smoke, even to the point where it seemed to come out of his ears like a steam train that had blown its boiler. The rain was still caressing his face and neck as he stared up at those ugly clouds, looking like large boulders crashing into one another as black as coal. His eyelids closed for a moment. With his heightened senses, he could almost feel the drumming of the rain and the smell of dampness in the walls, as well as the grass that surrounded the building. And the earth. He could also smell the earth all around.

Chad wondered what the hell had happened that meant he would have to travel to another part of Europe. EUROPOL worked in cooperation with the police force of each country, but it also had jurisdiction in all 28 EU states, even though they didn’t carry either badges or regulation firearms. They could send their experts to any member country as long as they were cooperating with that country’s particular police force.

And Chad wouldn't be travelling alone. Mohamed Khan would be with him.

Tobacco smoke formed a whitish ring, which rose slowly in the air, defying the teardrops of the rain. It ascended until it became so great that it formed an opaque fog; and then, translucent, until being extinguished.

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Chapter 3

In Paris, police captain Frédéric, the term police inspector wasn’t used in Paris, was usually clean shaven around his chin, but did sport a moustache that ended in two points. It was so long that it could have been mistaken as part of a clown's haunting smile. He had thin lips and barely breathed in case he made too much noise. His brown-eyed gaze was fixed on the false wall that the construction workers had discovered, just behind the organ in Notre Dame Cathedral. The organ was an outstanding instrument, the work of Aristide Cavaillé-Coll, circa 1900, but was now covered in black plastic as if to cover a dead body.  

‘How did you say you came across this?’ He asked almost in a whisper. His voice was hoarse, and his hands were clasped behind his back. He shifted in front of the wall, his uniform looking like a faded shadow. An older man dressed in colourful overalls answered:

‘We needed to put some scaffolding up here, when we came across this wall. After giving it a tap, we thought it sounded hollow, indicating to us that it wasn’t safe. Anything we might have fix to that would have come away under the slightest bit of force. My partner, Jean’ and he pointed