Chapter Thirty-Five
Captain O’Neil knew that Father Darius would act and his plan was to get off a clean shot at the priest’s head without harming Elena, but the priest knew about clean shots to the head and kept his head low and Elena in front of him. He did not want to die without accomplishing his mission.
Dave ran up to Father Darius and was about to grab Elena when O’Neil pulled him back. “He’ll kill her, Dave. Let me handle this.”
“Like you handled everything else? Get the hell out of here. Elena, are you okay?”
She was whimpering and struggling against her captor. “Help me, Dave.”
Father Darius began to drag Elena up the stairs into the upper church, a seventy-six thousand square foot religious center that can welcome six thousand worshipers to a single service. The upper church is a massive testament to faith and the power of architecture to lift the human spirit to the realm of the divine. The nave lifts the eye upward to the massive dome, some one-hundred-fifty feet above the floor. The Romanesque and Byzantine art lift the senses with a majestic example of the pleasures of spiritual pursuit. Small chapels to the Madonna line the sides of the upper church and offered solace and prayer to the faithful who come in reverence or to seek relief from suffering. It has the power to overwhelm the senses of even the most jaded skeptic.
Like a monastery, the Shrine is other-worldly and calls to mind a time long lost when mankind was concerned with more than gadgets and the price of things. For most people, even non-Catholics, the Shrine is a place of worship, prayer, contemplation and adoration. So it was obscene that a young woman was being dragged up the stairs by a madman with a knife. Should that madman perform his murderous act upon the altar in a consecrated holy place, the consecration would be in jeopardy, and, in the eyes of some, the place would be returned to the realm of Satan and a re-consecration would be required, an act that can only be performed by someone of the status of bishop or higher. And so it was that a priest, a monsignor, rushed to the Shrine.
Father Darius found the door to the Shrine locked, as it was most nights during the winter. The Church had learned through bitter experience that leaving the doors open could lead to temptation for those of weak disposition in the presence of valuable art. In the winter, the Shrine closes at six in the evening unless services are scheduled for seasonal or other reasons. Father Darius had his back to the door and was holding Elena as a shield.
"Aperi portam!” He shouted in Latin. Open the door.
The monsignor had arrived from his residence on the grounds and rushed up the stairs. “Inclusum est in nocturnis.” It is locked for the night.
“Sacrum munus mihi,” Father Darius said. I have a holy mission.
“Let us speak English, Father,” the monsignor responded, “for the benefit of the others.”
“Alii non cadit.” The others do not matter.
“We all matter in the eyes of God. Please, release the woman. Do not profane this place.”
‘I decus huc venimus ad missionem et meam impleat Madonna,” Father Darius replied. I have come to honor this place and to fulfill my mission to the Madonna.
“The Holy Virgin Mary wishes no violence upon anyone. She is love. She is the mother of our Lord. She must be honored in love and peace. She commands you to release the woman.” The monsignor was pleading and slowly approaching Father Darius and Elena, who was moaning and crying.
“Et mulier illa liberata est, unus et spiritus redeat ad caelum.” She and the woman are one and Her spirit must be freed to return to heaven.”
“Quæ est in cælo. Captus fueris satanas. Oportet eum id.” She is in heaven. You have been captured by Satan. You must cast him off.
“No! You are wrong! I am with Her. I am doing Her work. Open the door.”
A squad of O’Neil’s homicide detectives had arrived and were deployed around the stairs, handguns drawn, watching the scene unfold. Dave had been moving slowly up the stairs as Father Darius’s attention was focused on the monsignor. He moved to a point near the door and stood in shadow as the drama played out, waiting for a chance to grab Elena. He had no knowledge of Latin and was lost in the conversation that was taking place. So was O’Neil, whose only exposure to Latin had been as an altar boy serving the rare Latin mass. An observer might have thought he had stumbled upon a movie being shot or a Shakespearean scene played by actors: A crazed man holding a small, frightened woman against wall the of a great church while another holy man attempts to reason with him in a dead language and all while armed men watch and wait for an opportunity to kill the man with the knife.
“Let her go!” Dave shouted, rushing at Elena in an attempt to pull her away. The blade flashed and a bright scarlet line appeared across her face. She screamed as blood ran down her cheek and onto her clothes.
Dave was enraged and ran at Father Darius with such force that he could not stop and he grabbed Elena around her waist and pulled her away while the priest frantically waved the knife, shouting “Mater, mane apud me.” Mother, stay with me.
O’Neil and his men were on him as the monsignor watched. “Do not harm him! He is not in control of his thoughts. Do not harm him!”
O’Neil’s first thought was to grab the knife and use it on Father Darius, but there were too many witnesses and his men were subduing the priest to arrest him. O’Neil wondered if his personal situation had just got worse. Depending on his mental faculties, Father Darius might have a very interesting story to tell to those who already had their suspicions about O’Neil. The priest was on the stones near the door, weeping, but handcuffed.
Dave was holding Elena and trying to calm her, but she was too shaken to be comforted. Her cheek had been sliced open from her mouth to her hairline but it was a shallow, clean cut and would heal without a dramatic scar. But her ordeal would not heal for a long time. She was shaking and whimpering, looking at Dave like he was from another world. “I’m cold,” she said.
Dave wrapped his coat over her shoulders and held her close. He glared at Father Darius, who was shouting apologies to the Virgin and begging the homicide detectives to shoot him. He seemed small and frail and not at all the hardened killer. To O’Neil he looked like just another parish priest, pasty and soft. Only this one was mad. He went over his options for damage control and decided to take Father Darius to 4D and where he could isolate him until he thought up a plan to make the problem go away. He knew he would have at least twelve-hours before Indiana Avenue would come calling, given the late hour. That would give him precious time.
“Get him up,” he ordered. “We’ll take him to the squad and process him there. Then we can call the chief and get the PR ball rolling.” He wanted to signal his men that homicide would get credit for the arrest of the mass murderer. Dave’s rescue of Elena would be all over the news but the actual police work would go to O’Neil and his men. Father Darius was helped to his feet and was being escorted to the stairs when two black SUVs pulled into the circle. Both had U.S. Government tags. They stopped at the foot of the stairs and a rear door open. Out stepped a thin middle-aged man in a dark suit and rimless eyeglasses. He wore close-cut hair and an expression of disgust.
“Captain O’Neil, I’m Special Agent Ossening and these men are with me. We are assuming custody of that man.” He pointed to Father Darius. “We have a warrant charging him with federal crimes. I’ve already spoken with your chief.”
O’Neil was furious. “How did you know we had him? We just took him into custody.”
“We have radios too, Captain. He’s ours.” Ossening’s team moved to Father Darius, placed another set of handcuffs on him, removed the cuffs that O’Neil’s people had used and gave them to O’Neil. “Here, these are yours.”
“Where are you taking him?” O’Neil asked, stepping in front of Ossening.
“We need to get him checked out and ask him a few questions. You know the drill. Oh, and by the way, we’re assuming custody of those two.” He pointed to Dave and Elena. “She looks like she needs medical atte
ntion. We’ll take good care of her.” A female F.B.I. agent placed an arm around Elena and led her to the second SUV, while a male agent pointed to Dave and then the vehicle.
Within minutes Ossening and his team, Father Darius, Dave and Elena were gone and the entrance to the Shrine was swarming with D.C. cops, federal agents, and soon, the news media. It was too late to make the 11 o’clock news on the Washington stations but the cable news outlets were going wall-to-wall with the big “get” being the monsignor, who was quick to point out that the Church did not have anything to do with the insane and bloody acts committed by Father Darius, who was clearly out of his mind.
O’Neil watched while his men and others went over the MG and took statements from everyone who was there about what had happened. The D.C. patrol sergeant who had chased Dave and Father Darius up North Capitol Street was telling everyone who would listen that he could have handled it if Captain O’Neil had not interfered with the chase. His comments were duly noted to be part of the file that would go to the chief, who would smile and ignore them.