Pandora's Ark (9 page)

CHAPTER
TWELVE

Vatican City

The sole distinction of being the smallest country in the
world belongs to Vatican City, which is roughly the size of a golf course. It
also serves as a sovereign state catering to billions across the globe as the
religious hub for Catholicism with its focal point the Basilica, which bears
the designed floor plan of a Latin cross. Beneath it lays necropolis, the
ancient city of the dead that was pioneered during Rome’s Imperial times, and
ultimately discovered by serendipity in 2003 when the earth was lifted to
create a parking lot. Thereafter excavation began, the groundwork opening a few
years later to restricted parties who were allowed to venture into the tombs by
invitation only.

Those without restriction, however, were few.

Deep within the
necropolis was the base command of the
Servizio Informazioni del Vaticano,
the SIV, or the Vatican Intelligence Service. Since the
Church had diplomatic ties with more than ninety percent of the countries
worldwide, it was recognized as one of the most esteemed agencies in the world,
rivaling Mossad and the CIA.

In a chamber beneath necropolis and south of the Egyptian
Tomb, and restricted to all parties with the exception of the SIV and certain
religious VIP’s, lay a high-tech room behind walls of reinforced glass. Against
the entire opposite wall hung large, high-definition monitors situated before
computer consoles on tiered floors. And the lighting was constantly subdued,
enabling the LED vision of the screens to be more crystalline in effect.

Those who manned the screens and tendered the consoles were
not civilians at all, but Jesuit priests who were given the sole tasks to
monitor hotspots across the world, especially the insurgencies that were
brewing in North Africa and the Middle East.

On the screen was an aerial image of Jerusalem, most
notably the Temple Mount. People milled about, their daily routine nominal
beneath the desert sun as the satellite zoomed in with such clarity and
proximity that their identities could be discerned with facial recognition
software.

“It’s as if nothing ever happened,” said Gino Auciello. The
Jesuit was tall, thin and wiry with shock-white hair that was conservatively
cut. His face was smooth and unlined, his complexion the color of tanned
leather. And though he was pious to the core, he was also a scholar from Harvard University who graduated from the School of Theology, with minors in the sciences
of politics and world studies. And it was this combination that suited him well
for the role as the assistant director of the SIV.

Beside him stood Father John Essex, a priest who got his
foothold of learning in London, and progressed into the SIV for his economical
patience regarding his penchant to gather and analyze pertinent data in regards
to Vatican interests. He was short, stocky and well conditioned, the Jesuit
often serving as a boxing coach for wayward children at the Boys’ Center in Rome. With
obsidian
hair, ruler straight teeth, a Roman nose and cerulean blue eyes, John always
drew
the
appreciable eye of the female constituency within the administration. “Nothing
seems to ever happen,” he finally answered, “because to them, nothing did.
It's unlikely the government is going to
inform them that the most jeweled treasure of our time was stolen from them
beneath their very noses
.”

Father Auciello took a step forward with his hands clasped
behind the small of his back. “Any intercepts?” he asked, his eyes remaining fixed
on the monitor.

Essex
nodded. “From the imprecise data collected from Mossad, it
appears that an Arab faction may have taken the Ark and left behind the staff
of Aaron and the golden pot of manna as proof of the true Ark. Apparently this
faction contacted Mossad, saying the Ark would open its ills against all the infidels
in the world. No further explanation was given.” 

“Do we know anything about the faction group?”

“No. From what we can surmise from the intercepts, the
Lohamah
Psichlogit
believes the
illegal excavation was conducted by al-Qaeda. But they’re basing this on an
encrypted message they received and translated from an unknown source. Keep in
mind, however, that this is nothing but inference, since the partial
communication has not been confirmed as viable. But as of three hours ago it’s
the only thing they have. And because it’s the only thing they have, it’s the
only thing
we
have.”

Auciello nodded. “Keep monitoring the channels.”

“Will do.”

For a brief moment both men eyed the monitors in silence,
both wondering if the holiest of treasures was truly in the hands of al-Qaeda.
And both wondered the same thing: What will they do with it?

As that thought hinged on their minds the access door
behind them whooshed open and a man wearing vestments stood silhouetted against
the backdrop. “Gentlemen,” he said, “how good it is to see you both once
again.”

Fathers Auciello and Essex stood rapt as the shape came
forward.

#

Cardinal
Bonasero Vessucci
lifted the hem of his robe
and carefully took the steps to the Tomb of the Egyptians. The air was dry and
cool, the smell musty and moldy as all underground chambers were. The cardinal
had ventured these steps many times in the past as the Vatican’s secretary of state. Now he ventured them as a man stripped of his hierarchy, but
a man respected by the ranks of the SIV, nonetheless.

With the alacrity of an aged man, he took the steps slowly
as he descended, the way lit by electric lanterns. When he set foot on the
bottom he noted the old stone walls and the pathways, once erected by pagans,
leading to the old burial chambers. He also took note of the trail that led to
the SIV command center, a bullet-shaped archway that gave entrance to a vaulted
doorway that had a mirror polish to it. Beside it was a keypad.

After punching in the buttons the door opened, giving
entrance to a pristine white booth where he was being scrutinized by a security
camera, which was a small globe that hung at the top of the booth’s corner marking
the landmarks on the cardinal’s face for facial recognition as he stood there.
Once done, a second set of doors opened and the cardinal was given access to a
small, rounded chamber that was so ethereal in its whiteness that it seemed to
give off a glow.

“Welcome, Cardinal Vessucci,” said the security officer
monitoring the facial recognition scanner on his console. It was a 3-D picture
of the cardinal along with a brief dossier of the man’s profile. “It’s good to
see you again.”

The cardinal smiled. In the room’s center was a single white
desk. And the officer sitting behind it wore the traditional garments of the
security staff, a pair of black pants and a scarlet jacket with the symbol of the
Vatican on the coat pocket, the crisscrossing keys of St. Peter—one gold, the
other silver—set beneath the papal tiara. The colors of the man’s uniform were in
dark contrast against the entire whiteness of the room.

“Ah, Emilio,” he said, holding out his hand. “If only the
circumstances were different.”

The officer took the cardinal’s hand and shook it. “I see you’re
part of the conclave once again.”

“Twice in six months,” he responded. “And in my book that’s
twice too many.” He looked past the officer to a smoked glass doorway. “Would
the good Fathers Auciello and Essex be in by any chance?”

“They are.”

“Would you be kind enough to give me access to the SIV
Chamber? There are matters I must discuss with them.”

“Of course, Cardinal.” The officer pressed a button and the
smoked doorway gave access to a feebly lit stairway. “Be careful,” he told him.
“The rails will guide you.”

The cardinal smiled. “I’m no stranger to the chambers, my
dear friend.”

The cardinal descended the stairway with a tight hand on the
railing. Once he reached the bottom he noted the reinforced glass, the myriad of
blinking lights and monitors, the casts of light coming from the faces of the
PC monitors sitting along the consoles. Against the opposite wall stood a massive
screen that offered a view similar to looking out a glass window. The clarity
was that exceptional.

After punching in a code to access the chamber, the door
whooshed open and a blast of cool air met the cardinal as he stepped onto the
threshold. Fathers Auciello and Essex turned and the old man could see the
surprise on their faces. 

“Gentlemen,” he said, “how good it is to see you both once
again.” And the good Cardinal Bonasero Vessucci stepped inside, the door
closing behind him.

#

Arms
were extended
and hands where shaken.
Fathers Essex and Auciello had missed their old friend, which was evident by
the genuine smiles and congenial pats on the shoulders. After the greetings
ended, the cardinal then took on a more sober look as he ushered the priests
away from the monitors so that he could pull them into close counsel, so as not
to be heard by the Jesuits.

In a tone barely above a hushed whisper, the cardinal said,
“It’s a shame about Pope Gregory.”

Both men nodded.

“So tell me, what do you know about his passing?”

Auciello took the advance and spoke for Father Essex as
well. “That it was an accident, the pontiff leaning too far beyond the
railing.”

But Bonasero’s instincts had always been quick and sharp,
his assumptions not always correct but at least close to the truth. In his
regard he had viewed Gregory as a deeply careful and prudent man who took into
account every facet of life with utmost caution, which was an embedded trait of
his polished conservatism.
So what was he doing at such an early hour on the
balcony? Was there something on the cobblestones below calling him from the
shadows of blue night like a siren? Or was it truly an accident as everyone
believed: that the man simply fell to his death?

The questions nagged at him and wouldn’t let go, a marked trait
as staunch in him as conservatism was in Pope Gregory.

“Is everything all right, Bonasero?” asked Essex.

Bonasero feigned a smile and placed a caring hand on the
Londoner’s forearm. “Everything’s fine,” he told him. “But tell me, when I
left, did the good pope inquire about the nature of the Vatican Knights?”

Auciello nodded. “He did. But only through the good Cardinal
Angullo, who wanted to know everything including the activities of the SIV.”   

“Such as?”

“Angullo wanted to be apprised about everything regarding
the Knights,” he said. “As well as all SIV matters pertaining to the Knights,
and how deep the SIV looks into on-site matters and situations across the globe.
To me it seemed as if the cardinal was acting more on his own interests rather
than that of Pope Gregory’s, since the pope already knew about the magnitude of
our responsibilities—global or otherwise. It appeared to me that the good
cardinal was gleaning knowledge for his own sake rather than the sake of the
pope.”

Bonasero nodded and listened, consuming everything with
avid interest.

“But he is the secretary of the state,” he added. “So we
could not deny him what he requested to know.”  

There was no doubt in Bonasero’s mind that Cardinal Angullo
was grooming himself to be omniscient in worldly affairs. He also knew Angullo
to be overly ambitious to fulfill his needs to achieve greater heights within
the church’s hierarchy. The man was politically skillful in negotiations, quick
with his wit and articulated well with a sharp tongue. In a power grab he also maneuvered
himself to usurp Bonasero’s position as secretary of state; better positioning
him to the papal post should it become vacant, which it had six months after
the last Electoral vote.

And in that short tenure while Gregory reigned, Cardinal
Angullo learned the secrets of the Church and placed himself in a position to
know everything, should he happen to take the papal throne.

Cardinal Bonasero found the whole scenario disturbing,
however. The power of the Church was squarely within Angullo’s grasp and his
power would have no boundaries, should he be chosen.

Bonasero took a step closer to the screens, the view of the
Middle East and Northern Africa as clear as peering out an unblemished window,
as his mind continued to roil with the thoughts of Angullo possibly garnering
the papal post. What he couldn’t let go of was the fact that there was
something deeply hidden, if not forever buried, that Cardinal Angullo ambitions
to succeed the throne outweighed his moral compass, and even considered that the
cardinal’s ambitions had become so paramount that the life of Pope Gregory was snuffed
out by the cardinal’s committing hand.