Chapter IV

It was colder now in the tunnels, and the light hit of cordite drifted through the air.

IN TRANSLATION CHAMBER # 5 a small pile of ashes were still slightly warm, sitting next to the projector. Peter made his way slowly into the room so as not to disturb the scene. Just outside the door was the lifeless body of his best friend, Donnie.

And across from his fallen comrade was a former Swiss Guard who had been in charge of monitoring this project.

He had lost his head, in every since of the phrase. Peter’s eyes made their way around the room, carefully studying each and every detail. This was about detail, now. He needed to find answers to questions that would soon be asked.

His eyes immediately found the small pile of ashes. He could smell a mixture of coffee, gunshots, and burnt paper. He made his way, looking at the floor in front of him before each step, towards the counter where the black ashes lay. Around him he felt something empty, something hidden. As he leaned forward to study the black dust he realized that none of the sketches that usually adorned the walls of the chamber were still here. When he had been in the small pseudo-office watching from the wide-angle camera, he had remembered that Pablo and Thomas were racing around the room grabbing at the sketches. He had assumed that they were stolen, but it seemed as though they had been hastily destroyed, just outside of the scope of the camera.

Did Pablo know about the camera?

He must have. Yet he didn’t seem to pay it any attention as he and Thomas planned the escape. All along Pablo was helping Thomas. Neither Donnie nor Peter had seen that coming.

Peter stood up slowly and realized that the less he knew about this the better.

Even though he considered himself an important part of the Swiss

Guard, he had no misconceptions about what lengths they would go to for the preservation of the Vatican. No one man was worth the Vatican’s reputation.

In the corridor behind him he could hear people moving around, taking pictures and discussing possibilities.

Peter slowly traced his steps back out of the translation chamber. Most likely, the scene would be cleaned, the door would be sealed, and that would be that. Most likely, nobody would ever enter this room again after all of this was covered up.

Peter yelled, “Coming out,” as he peered through the doorway. He took a sad breath as the reality of gore returned. It smelt like he imagined a shark attack would smell.

Smoke and salt and copper and flesh. He walked in the opposite direction of the bodies and toggled his radio, “Peter to Ritti. Over—”

He heard static for a few seconds and then the Colonel’s familiar voice responded, “Go for Ritti. Over—”

“I think some documents were destroyed.”

“What documents?” Ritti questioned.

Peter took a moment to clear his throat. “Well, everything, as far as I can tell.”

“That’s not good news, now is it,” Ritti stated. “This is turning into a psychotic circus.”

Peter couldn’t disagree. To contain this was going to be tricky. “How would you like me to proceed, sir?”

For a moment there was silence, but Peter knew that Ritti was looking at this from above, knowing a great deal more than the men down in the tunnels. “Ok, look, I want you to seal of Translation Chamber five. Nobody gets access until I come down there myself. No exceptions. I don’t care if John Paul himself comes a knocking. Is that clear, Peter?”

“Perfectly clear, sir,” Peter replied as he turned around and watched the flashes of light explode in the dark tunnel as the digital images of the two fallen guards were captured.

“Peter, there’s one more thing,” Ritti said much more quietly.

“Sir?”

“When that room is sealed I want you to bring me your tapes from the scene camera.”

“Yes, sir.”

“All of them from that past week. Hardcopies too. I want no record of any of this. If this stuff pops up on the BBC we’re finished.”

“Roger that, sir,” Peter said, now feeling the full force of the cover up in action.

“I will get all of those items and deliver them to your position as soon as—”

“Now, Peter. Do it now,” Ritti pressed.

Gregg turned to the Pasquale, and the Pope and Cardinal Delatorre walked near. “In a rather strange turn of events, Thomas has disappeared.” He shrugged. “We’re not quite sure what had happened, but two guards are dead in the tunnel, just outside the Translation Chamber where Thomas was working.”

“Thomas is gone?” Cardinal Delatorre said, his voice skeptical and curious. “How does a man who has never been outside . . . how does he disappear? That doesn’t make any sense.”

Gregg lowered his voice so as not to let everyone in the safe chamber hear the play-by-play.

“There is some speculation that he may have escaped, but we’re not sure about anything yet.”

Pasquale turned from the group and walked a few paces. Turning on his heel he seemed to have a stronger, harder look on his face. “This has gone on long enough.”

The Pope stepped forward, “What are you talking about?”

Cardinal Delatorre crossed his arms in front of his chest, “Oh, I think we all know what is going on, John. We might as well get it all out in the open.”

Pasquale considered his options. He glanced around the safe chamber, taking note of all the clergy and other staff that were strewn about, waiting anxiously for all of this to be over. This was not going to ever be over, he thought to himself. “Here is what I think we should do: I need to explain some things, but,” his eyes motioned towards the other people in the room, “I don’t think that this is the most appropriate place to do it.”

“And what would you recommend?” Cardinal Delatorre said almost condescendingly.

“We need to go down somewhere where we will have complete privacy. We need—”

The Pope, having had as much of this tiptoeing around as he could stand, interrupted, “I’m growing tired of all of these secrets. Secrets to whom? We’re all a part of this. I have my ideas about what’s going on, though the two of you choose to keep me in the dark.”

“It is for your own protection, your Holi—” the Cardinal tried to say.

The Pope held up a warning finger, “Don’t you dare. This is still my house. I may be a withering old man, but I am still the Pope. I have my own sources. I know what’s going on. And this charade ends tonight.”

“Your Holiness, please think about what you’re saying,” Pasquale said, trying to calm the old man.

“Plausible deniability is something for politicians. Not for me. I want to know who has been smuggling out the Prophecies of Jesus Christ. I want to know why our clergy are getting assassinated allover the world. I want to know why,” he pointed to the door, “we have harmless, innocent people like Thomas thinking that he must escape the walls of the Vatican. Can any of you tell me these things?”

Neither Pasquale nor Cardinal Delatorre answered. The Pope continued, “I want to know why bits and pieces of the Prophecies are finding their way to the Black Market. And I would love to know why I had to find all of this out I on my own.”

He glared at the Cardinal. “I believe that you both have a hand in this, I’m just not sure who is who. Are you two protecting me from disease, or are you the bad fruit?”

Everyone in the safe chamber was silent, now, as the Pope’s words had brought them all to a standstill.

Gregg got on his radio, “Ritti, I think we may have a problem in the Safe Chamber.” He could just feel the Colonel rolling his eyes.

“Is it filling up with water? Is there an unstoppable poison gas spreading? Is there a fire burning out of control? Because if not, I don’t really think that there is a problem,” Ritti barked.

Gregg nodded as Ritti ranted, “I understand sir, but this could reach flash point. The Pope, the Nuncio, and Delatorre are going at it.”

“Are they boxing, yet?” Ritti quipped.

Gregg grinned, “Not just yet, sir. No.”

“Okay, well . . . call me when that happens, I’m dealing with blood out here.”

“Roger that, sir,” Gregg sighed.

The three older men were pointing fingers and shrugging shoulders. It looked like a corporate board meeting gone ugly. Rising above all of the speculation was the Pope’s words, “I want to see all of the translations . . . right now.”

“Sir, they are down in the Research Vault . . . in the tunnels, Cardinal Delatorre said, trying to dissuade him.

“Then we go to the Vault,” the Pope said sternly. “I want to see everything: the Prophecies, the translations, all of it. I want to look at the originals with my own two eyes. Let’s just see what we’re dealing with.”

“Your Holiness,” Pasquale begged, “I think that right now is not the best time for this. Perhaps after all of this—”

“Now!” the Pope said firmly. He turned to Gregg, “Make the arrangements with Colonel Ritti. We will be going to the Research Vault, in the tunnels. I want you to make that happen.”

“Yes, your Holiness,” Gregg said, not looking forward to his next discussion with Ritti.

The Pope paced back over to the couch and sat, tightening his hands into solid fists. “No more games, gentlemen. Not in God’s house.”