God's Lions: The Secret Chapel (45 page)

The angelic visitation came to an end as suddenly as it began. All of the angels except for Gabriel slowly began to drift upward through the ceiling of the chapel, where they disappeared in a star-like burst of blue light too bright to look at. Leo shielded his eyes before looking at the ceiling in sad fascination, wishing they were still there, when he noticed Gabriel above him. “I have a message for you, Leo.” Gabriel was speaking to him.

Leo was unable to respond. He could only listen and squint upward into the eyes of the dazzling winged figure of the angel above him. Gabriel spoke again.
“He who will heal the world will soon come, but for those who do not believe in Him, existence will be darker before that day arrives.”

Leo had just received a prophetic angelic message, one he knew was meant not just for him, but for the whole world. This was a sacred communication from God, and Leo was humbled that the archangel had entrusted it to him.

His message delivered, Gabriel drifted back toward the front of the chapel, where he touched the stone of the altar and gently caressed the cross on the wall with his glowing hand before looking upward and slowly disappearing from sight. All the archangels were gone. The sweet smell of roses was all that was left to remind those present of what had just occurred. They had blessed and sanctified the chapel, thus keeping the Devil’s Bible forever beyond his reach. Leo knew in his heart that, even though he could not see them, the angels would always be close-by and that he could still talk to them in his prayers.

Cardinal Lundahl knelt down and retrieved the Devil’s Bible from the floor, holding it at arm’s length like a venomous snake that could strike him at any moment. He glanced back at Leo and Morelli, and with a grim look of determination, he turned to face the altar and began walking forward with the book. The cardinal walked slowly, his scarlet robes brushing the still-warm stone floor of the ancient chapel. When he had reached the end of the room, he gingerly placed the book on the altar below the carved cross on the wall and backed away.

The smell of rotting flesh again filled the room as the book smoldered and then erupted in flames. Blue, yellow, and red fire burned brightly on the altar until only ashes remained. For a brief moment, Leo saw the golden sword of Saint Michael hanging in the air before it slowly faded from sight and the smell of roses once again dominated the chapel.

They had all just seen a miracle. Even if no one ever believed them, everyone present knew that what they had just witnessed was evidence of God’s presence in the world. What they had seen with their own eyes would remain in their hearts and affect the rest of their lives forever.

The skies above the city had cleared, and the demonic wind was gone. The people of Rome peered out from the protection of their shops, restaurants, and homes. The sudden vicious storm had been accompanied by howls heard throughout the city, filling thousands with the certainty that the end of the world was at hand. Many had suffered from a form of demonic possession, falling to the ground in twisted shapes, growling and speaking in ancient languages they had no knowledge of. As the darkness lifted, the people affected by the presence of the demons found themselves wandering aimlessly through the streets in a daze with no memory of what had happened to them. It was as if they had just awakened from a very bad dream, but when they tried to remember, the details were too horrible for their subconscious to recall.

Inside the Basilica, the throngs of people who had crowded together to be closer to God had felt his presence in the face of a terrible storm, the likes of which no one in Rome had ever seen before. They had fallen to their knees and prayed aloud behind the massive doors protecting them from the wind and flying debris outside. The pope himself had rushed from his quarters to the altar in Saint Peter’s, where he had prayed for the salvation of mankind.

The drama of the miracle below Saint Peter’s Basilica was still unknown to the rest of the world. None of Rome’s citizens knew why the mysterious events that had occurred in and around the city ended as suddenly as they had begun. With the sun setting over the Eternal City, the bewildered mass of people who had gathered inside the colossal church began to flow outside into the square. Together, they walked out into the piazza toward the obelisk in the center, their eyes filled with wonder at the damage caused by the storm. Broken statues, glass, chairs, and other debris littered the ground around them, but despite the terror and damage caused by the storm, an unexplained sense of peace had settled over the city.

Cardinal Lundahl staggered from the ancient chapel and collapsed into the outstretched arms of the priests and cardinals in the tunnel. His skin was pale—his breathing rapid and shallow.

“Shouldn’t we be getting him to a hospital?” Leo asked.

“No,” Morelli said. “He’s totally exhausted. I’ve seen this before after exorcisms. We will take him to his apartment and let the Vatican doctor look after him. He needs spiritual as well as physical healing now.”

“What about you, Father?” John said. “You took a pretty good hit on the head.”

Morelli smiled and pointed to his head for the others to see. The gash was gone. It had disappeared when he was translating what the archangels were saying. With evidence of miracles all around them, they realized that God was now working openly among modern man to show his presence in the world, and only fools or those hopelessly lost to his words would fail to heed his message of love.

Alon and John helped the priests carry the cardinal’s limp figure, snaking their way through the tunnel until they reached some ancient hand-hewn steps leading out of the catacombs to the grotto above.

John suddenly remembered the radio transmission they had received earlier from the yacht. “Do you think the rocket hit Jerusalem, Father Leo?”

“After what we just saw in the chapel, any miracle is possible, John.”

Everyone was still in a state of detachment following the supernatural events of the past hour. Their expressions were vacant. The physical world around them was slowly coming back into focus as they concentrated on going through the motions of living. They were functioning in the present, but their minds were still filled with the angelic vision they had just witnessed.
Angels really did exist.

They continued upward through a doorway and out of the dank necropolis into the fresh air of the grotto beneath the basilica. The Swiss Guards loyal to the cardinal were everywhere as Francois guided Leo and the others through the doorway. A crew of paramedics and security officers carefully lifted the cardinal and placed him on a stretcher. Surrounded now by the light and splendor of the marble crypt, Lundahl opened his eyes and looked at Morelli as if he had just awakened from a dream. “Did we succeed, Father?”

Morelli took his hand. “Yes, Your Eminence, you placed the unholy book on the altar, and it was destroyed. Nothing remains but ashes now.”

“Good... good. Has anything else happened in the world since we were down in the chapel?”

Leo glanced at Morelli but was met by a look that indicated the cardinal shouldn’t be burdened with any further news at the moment. Paramedics lifted the stretcher and headed off toward the cardinal’s apartment followed by an entourage of priests and other cardinals. The Vatican’s chief of security trotted along, never leaving the cardinal’s side, while Leo and the others struggled as they climbed the final series of polished steps into the Basilica.

The enormous open doors of the Basilica and the fresh breeze from outside beckoned the group toward the entrance. Their walk turned to a jog before they noticed the bronze pillars surrounding the main altar, causing them to stop with the knowledge that they could never leave this church without offering a prayer of thanks to God for His intervention in the chapel.

When they were finished with their prayers, everyone turned and ran outside where they breathed in the exquisite Roman air tinged with the aroma of spring flowers that bloomed in the Vatican gardens. Especially the roses.

Lev looked up into the fading sky and marveled at the stars that seemed to be switching on one by one in the growing darkness. “I have a strong feeling that Jerusalem is still intact and that somehow the rocket was stopped.”

Leo shot John a glance. He then turned to the newly resurrected Father Morelli. “Is there somewhere we can find a television set and tune in to the news?”

Morelli was about to speak when Alon’s radio crackled to life. “Alon, come in. This is the Carmela. Do you read us?” Alon grabbed the mike and keyed it. “Yes, Carmela, come in. We read you.”

“Where are you?” It was Alex. “Is everyone alright? Did you complete your mission?”

Alon smiled at the others. “Yes, we’re OK. Our mission was a success. Have you heard any news from Jerusalem?”

There was silence. Standing in the middle of Saint Peter’s Square, they looked down at the ground in the gathering twilight listening for words to return through the air over the still radio. The tension was palpable—they all wondered if their worst fears had been realized. The sound of Alex’s voice broke the stillness. “There’s been a miracle in the Holy Land. The missile headed for Jerusalem disappeared over the city about half an hour ago.”

Leo exhaled. Exactly the same time as the Devil’s Bible burst into flames.

Shouts of relief filled the air as they all embraced one another. Alon broke into a huge grin and physically lifted John off the pavement, causing Ariella to shriek with laughter. People around them looked on in amusement as the group danced around, hugging and clapping each other on the back.

Alex’s voice came back over the radio. “Gabriella was flying over the city when it happened. Her unit was scrambled from their base in Tel Aviv, and when their helicopters arrived on the outskirts of Jerusalem, the incoming warhead just vanished in midair. They all saw the image of a giant golden sword appear in the sky overhead ... it lit up the entire city before it slowly faded away.”

The group was hushed as they realized that two miracles had occurred on this day. It was a jubilant moment worthy of celebration. The Devil’s Bible had finally been destroyed, and Jerusalem had been spared a nuclear holocaust.

Houston hadn’t been so lucky. If they had been looking at a giant celestial scoreboard, it would have read God 3, Satan 1. Leo thought about the message that had been delivered to him by Gabriel. Men were still in possession of weapons of immense power, and he was not naïve enough to think that, in the realm of geopolitical affairs, the attack on Houston would go unanswered.

He knew that, even now, plans were being made by some in the United States to exact revenge on those they believed not only planned and committed the act, but also on those who sponsored it. That could mean a mindless nuclear attack on a city filled with people who did not share the vision of radical Islam and had no knowledge of what the evil attackers had planned. God had protected His holy city, but the world was still at risk.

Leo looked around at the other members of the team. They had been through so much together since they all met, and he feared they would face even darker days ahead. He looked forward to the day when man would not have to keep score between good and evil and wondered if mankind was truly living in a time when only God’s intervention could save the world. Globally, people would have to someday throw off the shackles of nationalism and religious radicalism. They would have to come together without the presence of misguided super elders telling them what to do and who to hate.

Morelli broke the silence. “We need to get something to eat and drink. In my case, the drink comes first.”

Leo had already forgiven Morelli for making him believe he was dead, but he couldn’t resist one final jab at him now as he put his arm around the shoulder of his old, dear friend. “You’ve read my mind, Anthony. But since you died and left all your money to me, I’ll buy dinner tonight.”

The others roared with laughter as Morelli stood there speechless, his eyes squinting at Leo. Their laughter had barely died down when Morelli’s red BMW sped up beside them. “My car!”

“No, my car,” Leo said, enjoying the moment.

Morelli peered into the car after it screeched to a stop. “Is that you, Moshe?”

“Father Morelli? I thought you were—”

“It’s a long story. What are you doing here with my car?”

“I’ve got to get back to the yacht. Our van was damaged in the storm, so Arnolfo told me to take this car and leave it at the dock. I didn’t know it was yours.”

“That’s OK. It’s all for a good cause. I’ll pick it up later.”

Lev rushed over to the passenger side and jumped in. “I’m coming with you. I need to get back to the boat and call home to see if everything is alright at the villa.” Lev looked over the group. “When will you all be coming back to the yacht?”

“As soon as we have a few drinks and a bite to eat,” Leo said. “Don’t worry, we’ll keep an eye on Ariella and make sure she gets home on time.”

Lev laughed out loud. “Good luck with that.”

Ariella threw her head forward and blew her father a kiss. “Bye, Daddy.”

With a wave from Moshe, the car sped off into the streets of Rome, headed for the harbor. The group turned and walked together out of the piazza through Bernini’s columns onto the
Via della Conciliazione
. They strolled along the wide street to the
Castel Sant’ Angelo
, where they stopped and stood for a moment, gazing up at the lighted statue of Michael the Archangel. They marveled at how they had actually seen this very real angel just a short time ago. It was surreal.

They continued to gaze up at the statue as small groups of people strolled by, going about their daily lives and not really understanding the mystical power that surrounded them. Leo pondered the miracle he had witnessed this day, knowing that sometime in the future, he would have to reach deep within himself to discover why he had been chosen to be a part of it.

Fittingly, they crossed the river Tiber over the
Ponte Sant’ Angelo
, the bridge created by Bernini in the seventeenth century and lined with spectacular statues of angels sculpted by him. Leo never wanted to leave this wonderful city again.
Maybe he would transfer here someday.