The Secret of Fatima by Peter J; Tanous

with Opus Mundi. It was after he’d completed his studies for the priesthood. He’d been given the mission of violence with Opus Mundi. Should he get ordained? It seemed pointless. He never had.
    Back in 1980, the Visitor had taken notice of him and his talents. Alameda was special. He was recruited to train a contemporary, Mehmet Ali Agca. The young Turk being trained by Carlos was determined to do whatever he could to save his family from starvation and penury. They told Agca he could also retain his farm for his parents and siblings in Yozgat. But the deal was that he must do as they ordered, without question. Agca agreed, of course. But he didn’t realize he was selling his soul.
    At about the time he was thinking of being ordained, Alameda trained the young Turk to be an assassin. His mission: to assassinate Pope John Paul II.
    Finishing his prayers, Alameda dressed in black trousers and shirt, as was his custom. Now it was time for another ritual. In a small bowl on the table were six shiny steel knives, each with a short handle and a six-inch blade. Once thrown, the knife would spin twice, then level out, blade first, on its trajectory to the target.
    No one was better at throwing knives than Alameda. This morning, he grabbed the knives and placed his target on the wall with a piece of tape. It was a recent photo of His Holiness Quintus II.
    Alameda backed up ten meters, spun around, and in a fluid, practiced motion of speed and balance, launched a dagger. The knife sailed through the air, striking the target in the forehead. Alameda performed the same motion twice more, striking the target precisely in each eye. He was a master.
    Alameda smiled, remembering how he’d trained young Mehmet Agca for his day with the pope. But when the day had come, the attempt had failed. On May 13, 1981, he shot Pope John Paul II in St. Peter’s Square. The pope fell, but hadn’t died. Instead, Agca was captured and imprisoned. The Opus Mundi had upheld their end of the bargain. While Agca was sentenced to life in prison, his family survived, though modestly.
    The bells were now tolling again. Alameda checked his wristwatch. Time to get to work.

Chapter Seven
    Kevin’s Mission, Vatican City
    Monsignor Max Drotti arrived at Kevin’s executive suite promptly at five p.m. Drotti was clean-shaven, looking eager. Kevin, too, was refreshed. He’d grabbed a nap, showered, and downed a beer. Ready to go.
    â€œDid you find everything here satisfactory?” asked Drotti.
    â€œPerfect. Everything was great.”
    â€œNo visitors or shootings?”
    â€œWell, well,” said Kevin. “The monsignor has a sense of humor!” Kevin slapped him on the back good-naturedly.
    â€œJust looking out for you,” said Drotti, dryly. “I hadn’t realized you were one of those rambunctious American cowboys.”
    â€œOh, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” said Kevin. He smiled at the monsignor. Maybe they’d be friends, after all . “So, who’re we meeting?”
    â€œYour good friend, Cardinal John Porter,” Drotti said. “If you’re ready, let’s go.”
    Kevin relished the idea of seeing his old friend Porter, but he knew the meeting wasn’t because Porter was missing him.
    Kevin grabbed his watch and key and locked the door, following Drotti outside. Together, they walked through the damp chill of the late spring afternoon around St. Peter’s Basilica. Kevin loved the history of the place. It seemed uncanny that since the fourth century there’d been a church on this site. Since Caligula was the Emperor, a granite Egyptian obelisk had stood in Rome. And then there was the power of this place. An indisputable lingering and mysterious energy which couldn’t be ignored.
    A pope’s responsibilities are staggering—leading a church of more than one billion souls. And with the Curia, overseeing 2,500 dioceses, more than 150