The Click

The Coalition United for Theocratic Oversight sat just outside the walls of

Ecclesia opposite the Square on Via Dei Corridori. The large stone building was older than the Cūtocracy itself by at least a half century and its location was no coincidence. Being within the shadows of Ecclesian power allowed the partnership between the Church and political arm of theocratic thought to both blossom and fester out of public view. In fact, early in their relationship, a tunnel was constructed between the Cūtocratic headquarters and the Casina of Pius I, a building to the northwest of the majestic Basilica of Ecclesia, The Casina had been serving as the Academy of Sciences but became a private house for secret liaisons between the Church and the Cūtocrats after the tunnel was completed.

High Minister Robert McGivney knew the tunnel well. As the Chief Counsel for the Ecclesian Church and chief political adviser to the present Supreme Minister of the Ecclesia, Smotec Pius V, he spent much time traversing its ancient cracked walls and dank stone path. At that moment he hiked unnoticed through the dimly lit tunnel from Ecclesia to the Cūtocracy wearing his usual black Cassock and matching skull cap. It took him approximately thirty-five minutes at his measured pace. There was no secrecy involved in his rendezvous. He could have easily driven or taken an Ecclesian shuttle but wanted to walk, to think. His sources told him Innocent’s Smotecal Decretum had surfaced after more than a century. For what reason exactly? To harm the Church … the Cūtocracy? Did he even believe in Innocent’s Decretum? Of course not. Nevertheless there were cynics who would use the fairytale to malign the Church. He could just imagine the PR disaster he would have to cope with until the lies were put to rest. That doesn’t take into account the revenues lost every Sunday. “Mary, mother of God!” he heard slip from his lips and echo around him.

The tunnel ended in the basement of the Cūtocratic headquarters. The High Minister, a tall man with a slight limp, climbed one flight up to an elevator in what appeared to be a large janitorial closet. He took the elevator from there to a similar closet off the private quarters devoted to the Ecclesian Church for its use only and accessible only by the right set of keys. Those quarters included several comfortable chairs and a small conference table. General Edmond Rosewall, the Cūtocracy’s highest military officer and director of VAMA’s para-military, was waiting in uniform next to the table. He was alone and biting his nails.

“Your Eminence, I …” the general said standing erect upon seeing the Minister enter. Rosewall was a short ugly man with a scarred face and a mustache that extended well beyond his cheeks.

“Don’t give me that ‘Your Eminence’ crap, Rosewall. The smotec is on my ass and now I’m on yours. Do you have any more on that fucking Decretum that supposedly surfaced?” McGivney was in Rosewall’s face.

“I have our best man on it, Your … Rousseau. Her name is Rousseau. She’s a bull dog. If anybody can …

“So the answer’s no! Get on it now, God Damn it, and remember who’s paying to keep your Coalition solvent.” The Minister stepped back having made his point, then sat down and lit up a cigar. “In the meantime, we have other business that needs attending.” He blew out a puff of smoke and continued. “I want weekly updates on this Decretum matter, Rosewall. … Weekly!