Pentecost (17 page)

 
Joseph spoke louder, his words a challenge with the backdrop of the raging fire behind him.

 
“Fire is a cruel mistress, taking to itself as much as it would have before dying out when there is nothing left to consume. Fire is elemental, it is the key to life, but it also burns, destroying whatever it touches. Fire feeds the soul and spirit. The saints died by fire and the smoke from candle flames take the prayers of the faithful to heaven, crossing the boundary between earth and spirit.”

 
Joseph stood straight, taking the stance of a preacher before his church. Faye cowered beneath his upraised arms. He knew what a powerful image this would make on the film he would send to Morgan and ARKANE and he reveled in the feeling of authority.

 
“Fire has ever been the basis of myth. Prometheus brought fire to humans from the Gods. He stole it from Zeus and with it transformed humanity from bestial needs to higher thought. Fire was such a precious and secret gift that he was punished for his crime by being tied to a rock while a great eagle ate his liver every day, only to have it grow back overnight and be eaten again the next day, for all Eternity. From fire mankind’s highest purpose was born and is fed to greater heights.”

 
Wheeling around, he pointed into the kiln itself, where the blackened body was burning still.

 
“Volcanoes brim with fire and Vulcan works there, shaping weapons for the gods from the flames. Fire goes down to the center of the earth, an ever shifting core of molten element that waits to overtake us with destruction. Then the phoenix rises from the flames, a mythical fire spirit with wings of flame gold and scarlet. It is a sign of resurrection, the being that rises again from destruction, a continuing cycle of rebirth from the ancient to ancient again.”

 
He broke off and pointed dramatically at Faye sobbing with her eyes shut.

 
“The Pentecost stones will bring resurrection to my brother and the beginning of a renaissance in faith and miracles. Bring them to me or she will be my sacrifice to the gods of flame.”

 
Joseph fell silent then and stared into the fiery kiln as the sound of Faye’s sobbing and the roar of the flames filled the air. There were no angels in the fire today, only djinn of dirty smoke. He knew the glaze today would be stained with dark red, russet like the desert earth and the blood of men.

May 22

St Peter’s Basilica.
Vatican City, Italy.
 
May 22, 8.40am

 
Morgan and Jake stood on the Ponte de Castel St Angelo, looking over the Tiber towards the cupola of St Peter’s. Neither had slept on the plane from Iran to Italy, not after Marietti had sent them the video. Morgan’s mind was still filled with the images of the flames consuming that body, petrified it had been Faye and then seeing her, terrified, tied to a chair and gagged, the reflection of flames flickering in her eyes as the madman Everett ranted at the screen. They both held steaming cups of black coffee, deep dark circles under their eyes.
Now Morgan cradled her cellphone under one ear, listening as David cried and then screamed at her, venting his rage and helplessness. She turned away so Jake couldn’t hear their conversation, as her voice broke with the anguish she felt.
 

“I’m trying David, I truly am. I’m so sorry. We’ll get them back. I promise.”
 

After Tabriz, Morgan had thought that the four stones they already had would be enough to start bargaining for the lives of her sister and niece, but the video made it clear that she needed to get all of them. There would be no bargaining. With no other leads, they had decided to refocus on the places where the Apostles’ bones were known to be kept. Rome, the parish of the Holy Father, home of the Catholic Church, was the obvious next step. The stone of St Peter would surely be kept near the Popes in the basilica named after the saint. It was just a question of narrowing down the potential locations. The myths of the stones emphasized one of the spiritual gifts was an enhanced creativity, a stunning ability to render the earthly as divine and surely this place was the pinnacle of artistic creative expression.
 

 
Morgan gazed up at the Papal fortress and the tomb of the Roman Emperor Hadrian towering above them. The castle was linked to the Vatican by the Passetto di Borgo, a covered, fortified tunnel but today they would not be secretly stealing in a back entrance. They would be walking straight in the front door. People came from all over the world to see Il Papa, and twice a week he performed an early Mass in the magnificent church. Lines to enter the Basilica only started around ten when day trippers made their way there, so to get a seat in a service before that time was easy enough, and this would be their way in.
 

Jake was speaking on his cell phone, making last minute plans for their pickup. If they were to take something from the Vatican, they would need a quick exit. Morgan stood beneath the replica of Bernini’s Angel with the Crown of Thorns. It gazed down at her with blank eyes, holding one of the instruments of Christ’s passion. Bernini was the final architect of St Peter’s, his works were all over the cathedral. It was his vision that finished the dome after Bramante, Raphael, and Michelangelo and he was also known as a creative genius, perhaps touched by divine power so Bernini’s fingerprint would be the one they sought in the basilica.

 
Martin Klein had been analyzing the potential location of the stone of St Peter, and it made sense for it to have been kept in Rome for millennia. Morgan knew that Peter was ‘The Rock’ of the Church and the iconography of stone was deeply bound into the Vatican, a persistent theme in the art and architecture of the ancient city within a city. Martin had proposed a theory that the Apostle’s stone had been handed down by Keepers within the Vatican who were touched by the power of the stone, a blessing of creativity. He had traced the potential Keepers down to Bernini, the sculptor, artist and architect, but then the trail had disappeared. Their best chance was to follow Bernini’s creations, and they were all over the Vatican, culminating in St Peter’s Basilica itself.

 
They walked the short distance from the bridge up the Via della Conciliazione to the grand oval of Piazza San Pietro. Morgan looked up to the top of the colonnades surrounding the Piazza, to the saints who watched over the pilgrims. One hundred and forty saints sat atop the colonnades, men and women of faith throughout the ages, many martyred and standing here as testimony to the power of their God. Bernini had designed these colonnades along with the fountain in the forecourt, but it was the ancient red granite obelisk that dominated the piazza. It dated back to the fifth dynasty of ancient Egypt, brought to Rome by the Emperor Augustus, and was the only obelisk not to have toppled since ancient Roman times.
 

 
Jake and Morgan walked over to the tourist entrance, waited in line for a short time and passed easily through security at the gates. They walked through the colonnade, past the Swiss Guards in their red, yellow and blue striped tunics. Their primary job was to protect Il Papa and that’s what Jake and Morgan were counting on today. Once the Pope was in the cathedral, all attention would be on making sure he was safe and they could act while backs were turned.
 

They filed into the church with the other worshippers, past the statue of Moses with the Ten Commandments, up the steps and into the imposing Basilica. There was a palpable sense of expectation in the air. Pilgrims to the Basilica were praying and weeping at the culmination of their journey to this center of the Christian world. The scent of incense filled the air, dispersing in clouds towards the dome of Michelangelo and Morgan was vividly reminded of the cathedral in Santiago. A smile crossed Jake’s face and she could see he was thinking about it too but there would be no attention-drawing stunts here. This time it was all about remaining unnoticed.

 
They walked into the main nave of the church, past the groups of people waiting for seats while others thronged the aisles trying to get into a good position to see the Pope when he entered. Morgan looked around her. The overwhelming color in the Basilica was gold, reflecting light from the high up windows. Even in the gloom, gold shone from the statues and decorations. From her study of ancient religion, she could see the influence of ancient Roman polytheism incorporated into the Catholic Church. The statues of previous Popes sat as gods on podiums with the faithful at their feet, praying for intercession. The cadavers of great Popes lay embalmed behind glass so the believers could look upon them and pray for their eternal souls. Morgan’s favorite part of the Basilica was Michelangelo’s
Pieta
, set in a niche by the door. The lips of the Virgin were soft, almost pliant, lifelike even in marble. She barely looked the age of her dead son.

 
Just then, the choir begin to sing the Magnificat, filling the church with spiritual balm. It was the beginning of the pre-service, aimed at calming the crowd and instilling a sense of devotion before the Pope himself entered. Morgan loved the singing. It was a peace she often sought within the walls of Blackfriars although Father Ben seemed a long way away right now. She wanted to stop by one of the soaring columns and listen for just a minute, but Jake motioned for her to follow. They had two places to check for the stone and little time to do it in. Morgan looked at her watch. Eleven minutes until the Pope entered for Mass.

 
They made their way through the praying crowd to the tomb of Pope Pius X, his body lying behind glass near the front of the basilica in the Eastern arm of the cross. His body had been disinterred and was remarkably well preserved despite not being embalmed. It was said to be a miracle and other wonders had apparently occurred at the tomb so it was possible that this Pope had been a Keeper of the stone. Morgan and Jake knelt in front of the tomb and bent their heads to pray, looking through their fingers into the glass and bronze sarcophagus. Perhaps it was buried with him as miracles were said to have occurred here.

 
“There’s something around his neck,” Morgan whispered, glancing up at the Swiss Guard at his nearby post. “But I can’t tell from here. How can we get closer?”

 
“You need to be more religious,” he whispered back, before flinging himself at the sainted figure, prostrating himself in a fit of simulated enthusiastic prayer. He managed to press his face close to the glass before he was hauled back from it by the Swiss Guards on duty near the shrine.

 
“Scusi, scusi.”

 
Jake apologized, his hands out in supplication. They let him go but watched warily as he knelt back down.
 

 
“It’s an amulet of sorts but not the Pentecost stone. If it’s in there with him, we’d need better access anyway. There’s no way to break the glass. Let’s try the Alexander monument.”

 
Making the sign of the cross as they backed away, Jake and Morgan moved slowly across the church to Bernini’s final masterpiece in St Peter’s, the mausoleum of Pope Alexander VII. His statue sat in a niche on the western side, over a door to the outer church. Their focus was the huge bronze skeleton that supported the pink mottled marble, its arm uplifted, holding an hourglass. It was a homage to the end of time, certainly the end of Alexander’s and perhaps Bernini’s as well, as he died soon after it was finished. His family had worked in the church for many years, so he could have found and hidden the stone again. If he was a Keeper, Morgan wondered, what would he have done with it? They now had two minutes until the Pope entered.

 
“This is it, I’m sure. If Bernini had the stone, he would have left it here. The symbolism fits,” Morgan whispered, as she stood near the statue, facing into the Basilica, as if watching for the Pope. “This will be our only chance. We have to take it.”

 
Jake looked up at the hourglass held by the skeletal figure of death, whatever it contained was obscured by dust and time. It was also firmly attached to the skeleton’s hand.

 
“Get ready to run. I’m going to try and break it.”

 
A respectful hush fell on the cathedral and then the choir broke into song. All faces turned to the back of the church. The organ pealed and the sound of a thousand cameras clicked as the Pope walked into his parish, a rock star priest amongst a flock of fans. All eyes were upon him, including those of the Swiss Guard nearest them.
 

No one saw as Jake quickly climbed up onto the statue, wrapped a cloth around the hourglass and smashed it with his ultra-hard cell phone case, catching the splinters of glass in the cloth. The sound was masked by the adoration of the choir, but the Pope was swiftly nearing the front of the church and soon eyes would look forward again and they would be seen.

 
“There’s nothing here,” Jake said as he slid back down, the wrapped fragments in his hand. “It’s empty. We need to go, right now.”

 
They ducked out of the side door under the looming skeleton. Morgan felt a shiver of fear as she went under it, the face of Death staring at her as she passed. The failure to find the stone put her family one step closer to that monster.

***

 
They walked quickly away from the Basilica and out into the streets of Rome, stopping at a café to gather their thoughts.