Feet of Clay Read online

  Special Reader Offer

  Get the second book in this series free!

  If you enjoy the story you are about to read, then grab the next story, A Port In The Storm – free.

  Details after you have read Feet of Clay.

  Table of Contents

  Special Reader Offer

  About Feet of Clay

  Praise for Mark Posey’s Thrillers

  Feet of Clay Title Page

  FEET OF CLAY

  Did you enjoy this book? How to make a big difference!

  About the Author

  Other books by Mark Posey

  Copyright Information

  About Feet of Clay

  Hero worship is not just for the masses…

  Sister Jacobine has a secret. An incredible gift from God. It is also an incredible curse.

  Sister Jacobine is also the Pope’s hitwoman. When Bishop McGinty gets out of hand with the altar boys, Sister Jacobine is sent to Philadelphia to deliver “greetings” from His Holiness.

  In Philadelphia, she meets Rachel Rafferty and her world is turned upside-down. Now, her only possible confidante is Rachel’s brother, the Philadelphia Police Detective that has arrested her for murder.

  A Nun With A Gun is a series of short stories and novelettes about Sister Jacobine, the Pope’s hitwoman. They are best read in order.

  1.0 Feet of Clay

  2.0 A Port in the Storm

  3.0 Excommunication

  4.0 Requiem Mass

  5.0 Den of Lions

  6.0 The Narrow Gate

  Thriller Short Story

  Praise for Mark Posey’s Thrillers

  Well-fleshed out characters to really care about, and a deep state plot that is very timely given current world affairs.

  All in all, an enjoyable page-turner!

  FEET OF CLAY

  “So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” – Isaiah 41:10

  The stillness in the sitting room would have been eerie had Alice not sat waiting to kill a man countless times before.

  What would he have done differently if he had known today was his last day on earth?

  A car pulled up to the curb in front of the brownstone. The headlights shut off and the lone occupant stepped out.

  Her left hand moved from the arm of the chair to the butt of the 10mm Tanfoglio Force resting in her lap. The suppressor screwed to the end of the barrel would help the neighbors presume someone had merely slammed a door.

  McGinty strode up the walkway to the front door.

  Alice could barely think of him as Bishop McGinty, now. His continued dalliances with pre-teen members of congregations in the archdiocese had left His Holiness no alternative.

  She remained still. Any movement might attract his attention. He stepped inside, flicked on the foyer light and shut and locked the door.

  He turned from the door, took one step into the sitting room, and froze.

  She leveled the Tanfoglio at him. “Bishop McGinty.” The title emerged like a swear word.

  His gaze swept over her and paused on the black veil with the white band. He swallowed, his jaw sagged, and he licked his lips.

  The weakest ones always wept and begged for their lives. Some would try to bargain their way out of trouble. A very few waited defiantly, their false bravado doing them as little good as begging or bargaining.

  McGinty surprised her. She could see acceptance on his face, and fear. He knew exactly why she was here and the uselessness of trying to avoid his fate.

  She gestured with the Tanfoglio. “I bring you greetings from His Holiness.”

  A wet spot appeared on the front of his pants.

  Now, it would start. It would also end. She was not in the mood.

  He took a hesitant step forward and she squeezed the trigger. The Tanfoglio bucked in her hand, giving off a loud pop despite the suppressor. A 10mm spot of red appeared in the center of McGinty’s forehead.

  The back of his skull and half his brain splattered across the wall behind him.

  She slid the Tanfoglio into her tan Gucci handbag. She used the bag just for these occasions. It had always done its part.

  She rose and knelt beside the body. With the thumb of her right hand she drew a cross on his forehead in blood, the bullet hole at the center.

  She bowed her head. “Lord Jesus Christ, Saviour of the world, we pray for your servant, McGinty, and commend him to your mercy. For his sake you came down from heaven; receive him now into the joy of your kingdom. For though he has sinned, he has not denied the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, but has believed in God and has worshipped his Creator. Amen.”

  She was glad the requirement of wearing a habit had been done away with years ago. Although she did prefer to wear the traditional black veil with white banding, the long and flowing robes always snagged on the barrel of the gun and the blood stained them. Knives and short broadswords had also been a problem. The habit had often ended up torn, in addition to bloody.

  The grey Armani tweed suit she had chosen to wear tonight would not get in the way. Just to be safe, she had worn the suit pants rather than the pencil skirt. Along with the sensible, low-heeled shoes, better for her if she had any chasing or running to do. Although, chasing a target down and shooting them in the street was problematic, no matter the outfit.

  She stood, adjusted the lay of the veil across her shoulders, picked up her Gucci bag and stepped out into the night, locking the door behind her.

  * * * * *

  She did not make it back to her rental car. She had parked it two blocks from McGinty’s brownstone, in a quiet, residential cul de sac. No one would notice it and no one, in this neighborhood at least, would bother a nun walking alone at night.

  Yet two cars sped toward her from opposite directions, the flashing blue lights on their dashboards giving the street an otherworldly feel.

  The car in front of her lurched onto the sidewalk to halt her progress. She stood with her feet together, clasped her hands one over the other, her purse hanging from her right elbow, and waited with her head bowed. Her veil moved with the cool breeze.

  The two men in the car opened their doors, stepped out and, she assumed, trained their weapons on her.

  She heard the doors of the car behind her open. She made no attempt to look over her shoulder. She could hear they were there and that was enough. She did not want to spook them. They would be on edge enough already.

  The command came from behind her, as footsteps approached. “Sister? I’m Detective Rafferty of the Philadelphia Police Department. I’m going to ask you to put your hands on your head, fingers locked together.”

  It occurred to her that there was only four of them. She could take them out, continue to her car and catch her flight back to Italy without problems. She only appeared to be twenty-five. They would not suspect, nor would they believe her experience.

  His Holiness would be displeased if she raised her hand to the police, though.

  The detectives had their guns trained on her. The two in front of her would not shoot for fear of hitting Detective Rafferty. The same went for the second man at the car behind her.

  Detective Rafferty would be the one to shoot. Odds were good that he was taller than her. His gun would be level with her head. She had never been shot in the head before and was not sure what that would feel like.

  “Sister?” Rafferty prompted when she remained still.

  “Certainly, Constable. May I set my bag on the ground first?”

  “Slowly, Sister.” She heard the click-clack of a hammer being cocked.

  She unfolded her hands and straightened her right arm until the handles of her bag slid to
her hand. She bent her knees until the bag settled on the ground. She let go, straightened, and moved her hands to the top of her head as instructed.

  She heard Rafferty step closer. He grasped her left wrist. The handcuff ratcheted as it was squeezed in place.

  “That won’t be necessary, Constable.”

  Her left arm was pulled down behind her back, followed by her right. Her wrists were cuffed together.

  “It’s Detective, Sister. And it’s just procedure. It doesn’t mean anything.” Rafferty’s voice was above and behind her, very close to her left ear.

  “I only mean I will offer no resistance, Constable. Even if I did, there’s four of you and there’s only me—one very small nun.”

  Rafferty stepped around her. He was at least a head taller than her and large around the middle. The moustache didn’t suit him. He met her gaze. “One very small nun I’ve got on video breaking into Bishop McGinty’s home, then killing him. It’s a shame, someone as young as you, throwing your whole life away like that.”

  She returned his gaze steadily and then smiled at him. “Very well, Constable. Are you taking me downtown, as they say?”

  “It’s Detective and yes, I’m taking you downtown.”

  He informed her exactly what she was being arrested for, read her the Miranda rights card from his wallet and confirmed that she understood those rights. Then he snatched up her bag from the sidewalk, took her by the elbow and led her over to the rear passenger door of his car. His partner held the door open while Rafferty put her inside.

  His similarly-sized partner was the one who needed the moustache. It would at least give him some character.

  “I do hope this will not take too long,” she said to the two detectives as the car pulled away from the curb. “I’ve a flight to catch in the morning.”

  Rafferty and his partner both laughed.

  “I wouldn’t count on making that flight, Sister,” Rafferty said.

  “Oh, but I do count on it, Constable Rafferty.”

  Rafferty blew out his breath and wrenched around in his seat to glare at her. “It’s. Detective. Rafferty.”

  She smiled at him, anticipating the experience. “Downtown we go.”

  * * * * *

  The uniformed officer manning the police station’s front desk laughed when he saw four large men march one very small nun in the door. “Catch yourselves a real dangerous one, boys?”

  Rafferty glanced down at Alice, then scowled at the officer. “We got a room open?”

  “Yeah, put her in six.”

  She savored all the goings-on at the front desk as Rafferty handed her bag to his partner. She was led down a long, squalid hallway. The cracked and peeling paint on the doors and casings was an appalling shade of olive green.

  They stopped by the door at the end of the hallway. Rafferty shoved it open. “After you, Sister.”

  She smiled at him and stepped inside, scanning the room. It was just as dingy as the hallway. A table and two chairs sat in the middle. Stale body odor lingered.

  Rafferty removed the cuffs. She brought her hands around and clasped them, one atop the other.

  Rafferty considered her for a moment. “Make yourself comfortable.”

  “Thank you, Constable.”

  Rafferty growled deep in his throat. “What the hell is with this ‘constable’ crap?”

  She focused upon him. “You are a member of the constabulary of this city, are you not? Where I come from, a constable is a deeply respected member of the community.”

  Rafferty’s eyes narrowed and she thought she saw a hint of amusement. “Uh-huh, sure.”

  He stepped to the open door, one hand resting on the knob. “Sit down and be glad I don’t cuff you to the table.” He shut the door.

  She stared at the door for a moment after he had gone and then let her gaze sweep the room once more. The red light on the video camera in the corner near the ceiling blinked at her. The mirror on the wall was, she presumed, one way. She wondered if anyone watched her.

  “No matter,” she said to the mirror, “You may watch me all you would like.”

  She moved to the chair facing the mirror and sat, feet together, back straight, her hands folded in her lap.

  * * * * *

  An hour later, Rafferty threw open the door and stepped in. He had obviously been working hard. He had removed his jacket and loosened his tie. He carried a file folder and a cup of coffee. He set both down on the table, opened the file and looked down at her. “Not only do you talk like Queen Elizabeth, you sit like her, too.”

  She smiled at him. “You sound just like the Archbishop of Canterbury.”

  “Do I? Is that a good thing?”

  “It is neither good nor bad. It simply is.”

  Rafferty turned the chair around and sat with his forearms resting on the back.

  “I would get a cane across the back when I slouched,” she said, her gaze on the table. “You quickly learn to sit straight.”

  “I can relate to that.”

  She raised a brow. “Oh?”

  He met her gaze. “The nuns in elementary school would rap my knuckles with a ruler when I wrote with my left hand.”

  “Ah. Quite right.”

  He held her gaze for a moment. Then he took the top sheet from the file, turned it, and placed it in front of her. He took a pen out of his shirt and set it on the sheet. “Sign the bottom to acknowledge you’ve been read your rights and don’t want to retain council.”

  She looked at the sheet, then sat back and smiled at him.

  For a long moment, they watched each other.

  Then she picked up the pen and signed on the line.

  Rafferty turned his head towards the mirror. “Kill the feed, Mike.”

  The red light on the camera blinked out.

  Rafferty put the signed paper in the file, sat forward and took a deep breath. “So, Alice Fisher.”

  “Yes. You don’t want to record my confession, Constable?”

  “That’s your name, Alice Fisher?”

  “Quite correct. You can call me by my ordained name if you prefer. Sister Jacobine.”

  Rafferty’s eyes went wide. “Sist… Is this some kind of joke?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You’re Sister Jacobine?”

  “I am.”

  He stared at her and chewed his lip. His gaze dropped to the file and he gave his head a shake. “So, clearly, you weren’t a fan of Bishop McGinty. Based on the mileage from your rental, you went straight from the airport to his house.”

  She considered for a moment. “Whether I liked him or not was immaterial, Constable. Until tonight, I had never laid eyes on him, except for a photograph.”

  “Would that be the picture in your bag?”

  “Yes.”

  “Also in your bag was a gun with a silencer. A Tanfoglio Force, ten millimeter. The murder weapon. That’s a big gun for such a little girl.”

  She just smiled at him.

  “We also found a Vatican passport with your photo, in the name of Alice Fisher.”

  “Constable, I know what is in my own bag.”

  Rafferty frowned. “We’ve got you dead to rights, Sister,” he mocked. “Frankly, you did us all a favor. Now there’s no need to waste money on a trial for the pervert. But it’ll go much easier for you if you just tell us what happened.”

  “I thought you had it on video.”

  “We do.”

  “Then you know what happened.”

  “I’d like to hear it from you. If there are any mitigating circumstances, the D.A. might take them into account.”

  She considered. “Constable, do you go to church?”

  Rafferty pursed his lips. “Every Christmas Eve.”

  She glanced at the wedding ring on his left hand. “To make your wife happy?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Then you know one’s sins can only be confessed in a proper confessional.” She glanc
ed around. “This room hardly qualifies as a confessional.”

  Rafferty frowned. He stood and picked up the file and the coffee. “Okay, Alice, you had your chance. We’re checking the validity of your passport and we’re running your prints from the Tanfoglio through the system. Once I leave this room and it comes back that the passport’s a phony and your prints give us your real name, we’ll find what I’m sure is a very long rap sheet. You won’t have any wiggle room.” He paused, seemingly for dramatic effect. “Anything you want to say before I go, Alice?”

  She considered and looked up at him. “Could I possibly get a cup of tea while I wait? It is ever so dry in here.”

  He seemed befuddled.

  “Turn the feed back on, Mike,” he said as he left the room and slammed the door.

  * * * * *

  Less than half-an-hour later, he barged back in, wearing a triumphant look. He shoved the door shut and stepped to the corner of the table. The camera’s red light shone over his right shoulder.

  “Now we have a problem, Alice.”

  “Oh dear, Constable. Are you out of tea?”

  His jaw dropped. “Tea? Are you kidding me?”

  “I assure you, Constable, I’m quite--”

  “Your prints came back, from three other homicides.”

  “Really?” She dragged the word out. “How interesting. And what were these homicides?”

  “I’d like to you to explain to me--”

  Pounding sounded on the door before it was thrust open. It was Rafferty’s partner. He caught Rafferty’s gaze. “You better take a look at this.”

  Rafferty strode silently to the door, stepped out and closed it behind him. A couple of minutes later, he stepped back in, a file in his hand. “Looks like it’s going to be a little longer than I thought, Alice. I’ll have someone bring you some tea.”

  She smiled at him. “Thank you, Constable.”

  Rafferty shook his head in frustration and left.

  He was back barely five minutes later, holding her bag. “I just got off the phone with the Chief of Police for the City of Philadelphia. He spoke with a Giovanni something-or-other.”