Chapter IV

It was quiet and calm, and the air from the car’s air conditioning was cool.

“THE MUSIC LED ME to it,” Thomas said, continuing to explain his enlightenment. He had been telling them about how he was having trouble with the translations of the Prophecies. There were new symbols and words that the early forms of Aramaic didn’t possess. So he had to basically start with a rough outline of the scripture and hope that the gaps would fill themselves in. And one night, while he was napping in the Translation Chamber, it came to him like music.

“It was so funny because I was really having very little success with the Prophecies. None of the other translators were getting it either, and there was even some speculation that it was a hoax, or . . . I don’t know, like a kind of prank on religion. Although the prankster would have been alive at the time of Jesus, so it would make it the best joke of all time.”

“Yeah,” Marco said, “With a two-thousand year old punch-line.”

As they drove the buildings started to become more scarce.

They had changed cars, as planned, before they got out of Rome. Pena had insisted, and they had all agreed that it would be important to switch vehicles frequently as they made their trek back to Spain. They didn’t dare taking a flight, as the Vatican’s security would have that covered and teaming with guards. The traffic was light, and the dark water to their left seemed to merge with the sky. It was a surreal backdrop for their discussion.

“So, as I laid there, kind of in between sleep and dream, I realized that I had been looking too hard at the particular symbols, and neglecting the basic melody of the scriptures. Once I got back to the music of the language, it all started to fall into place. Just a song waiting to be played.”

“And you played it,” Diego said patting Thomas on the shoulder. “You did the impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible, It Pena said. “Given enough time, everything that can happen . . . will happen.”

“Yes,” Thomas said, and then he seemed to become more somber.

“The impossible is about to happen. I know some things now that nobody knows about the Prophecies. Not even the Pope, himself.”

“How’s that?” Marco asked.

“I had the translations almost finished and then these killings started. I noticed that the translations were quite accurate, you know . . . not in a vague, religious way like most scripture. This was different. It was like Jesus was had written me a coded message. So I made some alterations.”

“And what did Jesus tell you to do?” Pena asked, seemingly non-pulsed by all of this.

“Jesus wrote the location of the murders, not by their country names, obviously, but by their geographic orientations. I checked it all out, and it’s accurate. He specified the time of the killings, using a different calendar, and again I made the calculations and he was correct. Each frame I got—”

“Frame?” Pena questioned, now a bit more interested than before.

Marco turned to Pena, “The scrolls and other delicate documents are protected in these climate controlled metal frames. It keeps them from deteriorating and taking on moisture. They are stored deep underneath the Vatican.”

“Yes,” Thomas agreed. “That’s correct. Well, the last two frames were given to me in sequential order. They never do that. That would be a huge mistake, you see, because they don’t want any one translator to know what they’re working on. But they got hasty, I suppose. Perhaps the other translators weren’t making the progress like I was. Also, they didn’t know that I had the others committed to memory. Whatever the case, I translated the last two frames and then changed my translations . . . the ones that were filed.”

Thomas slapped his right hand with his left, “Perhaps that was dishonest of me, but I had bigger worries to contend with. I figured that they were going to kill me if they found out what was about to happen.”

Everyone in the car was deadly silent, urging Thomas through their silence to continue. Pena was actually getting into all of this. It was like some great adventure. Something that he had not had in his life before all of this began.

“Thomas, don’t make us crazy,” Pena pressed.

“Right now, they should be down in the bowels of the Vault, probably tearing everything to pieces. They have no idea what it really going on. On the surface, this all looks like some clever little deception. Pictures of the Prophecies were making their way to the Black Market. People were hiding in shadows . . .” Thomas stopped talking for a second, considering his words. “That was the one.”

“Thomas,” Marco said, bringing him back. “Shadows?”

“Yes,” Thomas took a few seconds to fit it together. “Shadows, and light and dark, and mixing. The thing that was most difficult for me to put together was what was about to happen . . . right now . . . before the End of Days. It is very close you know.”

“Decades, centuries?” Diego asked.

“Years, or months even,” Thomas replied. “Do you remember when Lucifer was cast from Heaven?” He looked around the car at the curious eyes. “No?”

“Enlighten me, please,” Pena said. “What do you mean about the Shadows?”

Thomas nodded, his voice low and prophetic, “When Lucifer was cast from Heaven he wasn’t alone. There were thousands of Angels that were cast out with him. But they did not all end up in Hades. No, many of them disappeared. There is no talk of them in the Bible. No mention of them in the various other religious scriptures and texts . . . and believe me, I’ve seen them all. No, there is nothing. It’s like the world just forgot about them. Or, perhaps, because they planned it that way.”

Thomas held his hands, palms up, as if he had the documents right in front of them, “But in the Prophecies of Jesus Christ, at the very end, the last two frames, they are mentioned. And this is what I only recently understood, and that is what those mysterious symbols were. Three had eluded me.” Thomas was now speaking very passionately, his heart rate increasing.

“Cool down there, Thomas,” Diego advised.

Thomas nodded, “The first was a symbol for something shadowy. I couldn’t get it, but then it hit me. I was thinking that they were talking about shadows the way we see shadows. No, they were referring to a group of beings. The Shadows, as I refer to them are the other angels that were cast from heaven, but didn’t join Lucifer. They are hiding, here, on earth, waiting for the End of Days to make their bid for the Kingdom. But they have no leader. You know, Heaven has God, Hades has Lucifer . . . Shadows have nobody.”

“So there are three factions fighting for our souls?” Pena asked.

“Yes, Antonio. Well, of course, this changes everything. But there is more. Then the second symbol I was having trouble with came to me as I swallowed more water. It was a symbol for mixing, or melting. I couldn’t get it settled, exactly. But now I have it. Jesus was telling me that there is a creature that can mix and melt his own body—”

“Like a super mutant,” Pena said.

Thomas kind of quasi-nodded, “Not exactly, but . . .”

“Like a kind of caterpillar who changes into a butterfly?” Marco tried.

Thomas’s eyes lit up, “Yes, only much faster. He would be a form changing, or a shape-shifting creature. And this one was born in Hades. He is a monster . . . a hunter of Angels.”

“So the Devil wants to hunt an Angel?” Diego said, a bit unsure if he was getting it right.

“Precisely.”

“Is there a bad angel, or is the devil trying to find an angel? I’m confused,” Pena asked.

“An Angel of Death, sent from Heaven to clean up a mess. An Archangel sent to kill specific humans on this earth.”

“Catholics . . .” Pena added, as it strangely added up in his mind. “The angel wants to kill Catholics?”

“That’s correct. Certain religious figures have been targeted. But he is rogue, now. Heaven has lost control, and they cannot put their hands on him. He is a predator stalking the earth, looking for something.”

Before they had to ask, he continued, “And that is where the third symbol—that of the light and dark angel—comes together. That rogue Angel of Death is no longer part of Heaven. He is something different. He has an agenda.”

“Thomas,” Pena said with a pause, “did Jesus get around to telling you where all of these interesting creatures happen to be hanging out? Is there a bar where we can find them? A clubhouse in a tree somewhere? Anything.”

“They are standing about five-hundred feet from St. Peter’s tomb, several stories underground, in a large vault.”

“Right now,” Pena asked, “this second?”

“As the words rollout of my mouth,” Thomas answered.

“What do we do?” Marco said.

Diego answered that question, “We keep driving. We’re doing our part right now. When they find out that Thomas is the only one with the real answers, they will come looking for him. That is when our battle will begin.”

Thomas sat back, quietly, like a small child lost in his thoughts.

Pena drove on, this time a bit more cautious than before. Something about all of this was eerily right. It felt true, and he didn’t know what to do but go on. Marco was next to him, eyeing him nervously.

“What?” Pena asked.

“It’s going to be a hot time in the old town, tonight.”