The Fifth Gospel Read online

  Table of Contents

  Synopsis

  By the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  About the Author

  Books Available from Bold Strokes Books

  Synopsis

  Rome. A shocking discovery and dark secrets. Is the leader of the Catholic Church hiding something that could change the world?

  Investigative journalist Flic Bastone overhears a startling conversation she can’t ignore. There is no proof, nor does she want any. Poking into Vatican affairs is dangerous. Aware that the secret could soon be exposed to the world, Flic hastily pens a novel that shares alarming similarities to the uncovered truth.

  Eager to capitalize on what they recognize as a best seller, Griffin Publishers fast-tracks the novel to print, propelling marketing guru Anna Lawrence and Flic on a grueling promotional tour. Pushed closer together when attempts are made on Flic’s life, their growing attraction intensifies. Who’s targeting Flic? And will Anna move beyond her own religious beliefs while their worlds fall apart?

  The Fifth Gospel

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  eBooks from Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  http://www.boldstrokesbooks.com

  eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share.

  The Fifth Gospel

  © 2016 By Michelle Grubb. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-468-1

  This Electronic Book is published by

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, New York 12185

  First Edition: January 2016

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Editor: Cindy Cresap

  Production Design: Susan Ramundo

  Cover Design By Sheri ([email protected])

  By the Author

  Getting Lost

  Keep Hold

  The Fifth Gospel

  Acknowledgments

  It’s always tricky writing about topics for which people hold strong beliefs. Religion is no exception.

  The intention of this book is not to offend nor disrespect any religion. If my book encourages healthy debate and entertains readers, I will have achieved my goal.

  A group I refer to in the book called the Order of Purity is fictitious, created by my imagination for the purpose of the story.

  Once again, thank you to Bold Strokes Books: Radclyffe, Sandy, Cindy, and the entire team.

  My heartfelt thanks to Kerry who helped me form a clear outline for this book and who encouraged me through the planning process.

  For the record, I believe in love, kindness, and compassion. That is my religion.

  Dedication

  For Kerry

  For making my world a bigger and better place.

  Prologue

  Felicity Bastone heard it, but she didn’t believe it. Well, not immediately anyway.

  “I am telling you,” the stylish young Swiss man whispered in frustration, “he is a sodomite.”

  Felicity glanced up and down the bustling alleyway through grimy windows. Rome was teeming with tourists—it was August after all—and she possessed enough smarts to at least take a deep breath and assess the situation. And this situation required some serious assessment.

  Two men, one Italian, the other Swiss, stood staring out the same window of a run-down coffee bar on the crowded narrow thoroughfare called Via Daniele Manin, only two streets behind the Basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore. It seemed odd to be discussing such issues in proximity to a basilica, but then, in Rome, you were never too far from a holy place. Felicity stood a comfortable distance from the men. Her eyes felt heavy from drinking the previous night and she knew she looked less than appealing. To the casual observer, she’d appear sluggish and thoroughly disinterested. She rested her iPod in full view on the bench in front of them before sliding her earphones into place. Nodding her head and tapping her feet, she listened to absolutely nothing but their heated conversation.

  In this neighborhood and in a coffee shop barely attractive to locals, let alone tourists, Felicity was convinced the men spoke English, soft and fast, so the locals had little chance of comprehending their conversation. Desperate for coffee, she hadn’t bothered to consider the decor; she’d simply followed her nose to the closest scent of caffeine. It seemed that Felicity’s olive toned skin and dark features left many Italians believing she was one of their own. With a mixture of Spanish and Australian heritage, she blended in perfectly. Not that her aim was to blend in; she was on holiday after all. Being a tourist had its advantages, but so it seemed did impersonating a local, albeit unintentionally.

  The last time Felicity heard a conversation anywhere near the caliber of this one, she had been the instigator. The article she wrote that followed proved to be an award-winning exposé in the small, but highly regarded, Sunday Experience Magazine. It had been the one and only time her investigative journalism skills had paid off and the story went global. Of course, she’d had many successful articles, bits and pieces scattered throughout her seven years, but there had only been that one big break so far. At thirty-two, she was doing okay for herself, and freelance work was providing much of her bread and butter. She preferred it that way. Landing a full-time job as a journalist was great in the early days—job stability, food on the table and the ability to regularly pay the rent—but now freelance work provided her with exactly what the name suggested: freedom.

  As she systematically considered the impact of what she was hearing, she knew this story, even if remotely true, would, for some, be far more devastating than the corruption, fraud, and downright filthy criminals involved in the international pedophile ring she’d helped uncover. The impact of this current revelation, either partly or completely true, had the potential to devastate the followers of one of the planet’s most powerful religious institutions. Over one billion people could potentially wake to find their world had shifted axis.

  Felicity sipped her coffee and contemplated what she should do.

  Chapter One

  Ten months later

  “Felicity, you’d better get down here and quick. I swear to God, everyone is going mental. You really could be on to something with this.” Laura Johnson, Felicity’s right-hand woman and self-confessed “best friend in the world” left a message on Flic’s voice mail. Laura only ever used Flic’s full name when she was
angry, annoyed, or excited. That was the best thing about Laura; she embraced simplicity. Flic always knew where she stood, and right now, she knew where Laura stood: The Happy Trumpet, one of London’s largest pubs. It was next door to Laura’s work, and it was precisely where Flic was headed.

  Flic walked at a swift pace but paused in the doorway of an electrical retailer. It was packed full of people. Not shoppers, but people watching the televisions that covered the entire back wall. Everyone appeared captivated. The air was abuzz with anticipation. Increasing numbers of people were walking off the street as a news reporter filled the screen and explained that they were waiting on confirmation of a highly controversial Vatican rumor.

  Flic’s phone beeped, and she read the text message, Hurry up. She pulled herself away from the shop front, and increased her previous walking pace to a jog and finally a sprint as she caught sight of The HT only a hundred meters away. Her flip-flops were slowing her down, and the blazer she wore over jeans flapped behind her, but she pushed on, determined not to miss the big announcement. Her pulse raced, not only because of the unexpected and unusual physical exertion, but also through anticipation. If it was the news she was expecting, then her gamble and downright hard work just might have paid off.

  “Jesus, we have trains to get around this big city you know.” Laura reached through the crowd and pulled Flic, hot and sweaty, unceremoniously through to the front of the bar. Standing a foot taller than Flic, Laura pushed her into prime, front row position.

  Flic struggled to catch her breath. “I used the Tube.”

  “Did you forget to get off again?”

  Once, only once did Flic forget to get off the train, and Laura hadn’t let her live it down. “I’m so unfit.” She sucked in stale pub air. “Has it started yet?”

  “They announced they’ll be reporting breaking news, but I doubt the Vatican works to the same schedule as the BBC, so we’ll just have to wait.”

  Flic watched as Laura checked her phone for Twitter updates from Rome. “Should be any second now.”

  Flic shrugged. All this smartphone technology gave her a headache.

  “I have a hunch you’re right about this.” Laura rested a protective arm on Flic’s shoulder after an enthusiastic patron roughly bumped into her, a ricochet action from all the pushing and jostling toward the rear of the bar.

  Flic glared at the screen. It was midday and a program about antiques had returned to viewing. With no one remotely interested, most people had resumed talking amongst themselves, and she noticed the doors had been closed to prevent overcrowding. At times like these, pubs and cafes were where most people flocked to hear and see the unfolding of big media events, and today was certainly a big event. In recent years, the Vatican had made much noise, albeit controversial, about remaining “strong” and “true” to their beliefs and values on many social issues. With rumors circulating in all levels of media, it was only natural that people would want to bear firsthand witness to possible life-altering revelations.

  Although tight, the timing for publication of her manuscript couldn’t have been better. Penning the novel had consumed her. The long nights and endless cups of coffee had taken their toll. It was July now, and seven months ago, she’d slept through Christmas and barely registered it was the new year until mid January. If the news unraveled as expected, it could certainly make her, and her publisher, a tidy sum of cash. Maybe enough to upgrade her car and aging computer equipment. Anything beyond that would be a bonus. The small publishing house took a gamble when they signed her, but as things progressed in the Vatican, the gamble might just pay off for them all.

  When the volume on the television was increased and a BBC reporter flashed on the screen in a sea of media outside St. Peter’s Basilica, over three hundred people in The HT fell deadly silent.

  “—while it remains unsubstantiated by the Vatican, close sources suggest that while the rumor surrounding Pope Valentine II’s sexuality cannot be confirmed, the undeniable truth is that, at this stage, there is yet to be any formal denial.”

  “What utter rubbish,” Flic whispered to Laura. “Is the church so powerful that even the world’s largest broadcasters are too afraid to come right out and say that, according to rumor, the pope is gay?”

  Flic had watched with interest in the preceding weeks as attention and talk surrounding leaked e-mails and messages from the pope to his Camerlengo—that could only be perceived as seriously sexy in her mind—were made public and were instantaneously viral. It was about time, too. She had begun to wonder if she’d dreamt up the conversation she’d overheard in Rome. Subsequently, the church—which Flic guessed had more money stashed away than Bill Gates—had released a general statement alluding to the expense of defamation, their only public statement since the rumors began. The statement—a clear warning to anyone publishing supposed and alleged inflammatory content—evidently did the trick, because just about every news broadcaster, commentator, website, and blogger had suddenly introduced the terms “hearsay” and “sources say” and “alleged messages” into their previously lacking vocabulary. In a nutshell, until the pope himself came out and said he was gay, everyone was dancing around the issue, but predictably never straying too far from the dance floor.

  Laura rubbed Flic’s shoulder excitedly. “This could be big for you.”

  Flic had been on the phone to the publisher last week. The first run was small, but judging by interest all over the world in the unfolding events, they’d considered a second run almost immediately. In order to facilitate this, the publisher had approached investors. The cash to finance unscheduled and larger print runs just wasn’t at their disposal. Flic kept her fingers crossed. She hoped her book would be a success and she hoped View Press found an investor sooner rather than later.

  The news coverage crossed back to the reporter in Rome who held aloft an official Vatican document. The crowd in The HT fell silent yet again.

  “I have just been handed this official statement. With the world watching and with speculation mounting, we can confirm that the church has canceled, indefinitely, all Pope Valentine’s official duties and appearances. Sources have also suggested that the Camerlengo, Cardinal Renaldo Caetani, has also had his official duties suspended, although this is yet to be confirmed by the Vatican.”

  Flic glanced around at the faces in the crowd as the news that the leader of the Catholic Church was most likely in a homosexual relationship with the Camerlengo, sunk in. Jesus, news that the pope was in any sort of relationship was enough to shake the world, let alone a homosexual relationship. Until reporters began descending on Rome by the hundreds, most people simply assumed the rumor about the pope was a joke, or at most, a trumped up rumor about an ambiguous and inflamed incident that might or might not have happened. To the billion plus Catholics of the world, it was all in bad taste. Nevertheless, the lack of denial from the church left many wondering if there was any truth in the rumor, and with an official Vatican announcement looming, albeit a lame one regarding the cancellation of official duties, public interest was the highest Flic could ever remember witnessing.

  The chatter in the pub continued long after the television channel changed. The irony that the leader of the Catholic faith, a faith that condemned homosexuality, was most likely gay was not lost on the patrons. Reassuringly, however, not one conversation she overheard focused on Pope Valentine’s sexuality as being abhorrent. On the contrary, most people, probably few of them actually Catholic, were shocked by the news, but certainly not repulsed by it. The consensus was that the Vatican should let him get on with his job. It seemed that the only people concerned that the pope was gay were homophobic people who hated all gays—leader of the Roman Catholic Church or not.

  The crowd, including Flic and Laura, poured from the pub to be greeted by a crisp yet bright summer day. The air wasn’t as fresh and as clean as it could be, after all they were in central London, but it was better than the stifling heat in the pub. Flic pulled her phone from h
er pocket. One missed call and one voice mail message. She continued her discussion with Laura concerning the pope as she distractedly listened to the message.

  Flic froze. She pushed her free hand against her exposed ear to block the city noise and gave her full attention to the message.

  Laura quickly pulled her into a doorway. “You’ll get trampled to death if you pay any less attention.”

  Flic replayed the message and held the phone to Laura’s ear. “This is Dee Macintosh. We need to talk. Are you watching the news? Call me.”

  Chapter Two

  Flic couldn’t remember the last time Laura found herself speechless. Slightly amused, she watched as Laura mumbled and muttered before finally managing to speak.

  “She rang you while watching the news. Dee Macintosh is the best of the best, and she just called you.” Laura pushed her stylish short blond hair from her eyes.

  “Yes, seems like it.”

  “What do you suppose she wants?”

  “How the hell should I know?”

  Laura stopped fidgeting. “You don’t know who she is, do you?”

  Flic shook her head. “Nope. Not a clue.”

  “Griffin’s. She’s the publisher.”

  Flic had certainly heard of Griffin’s Publishing House, but she had no idea who owned it. “Why is she calling me?”

  “Did you submit to Griffin’s?”

  “I submitted to everyone, so I guess so.”

  Laura began pacing, an awkward sight in a narrow doorway for someone nearly six feet tall. She became serious. “We have to think about this, Flic.”

  Felicity nodded. Her mind was racing. She already had a publisher.