by Alex Thomas
Abel was not only a fan of antiquity, he was also a computer freak, which was the reason Ben was there to visit him. The priest was a former hacker. Truth be told, "former" was a loose definition. It wasn’t official, but Ben was pretty sure that Abel worked for His Eminence Cardinal Ciban every now and then. And now he had to take the risk.
"Father Darius is dead?" Abel repeated in disbelief.
He had been the last student Darius had taught at the Roman Lux Domini headquarters before he retired. Ben had no idea what Abel’s gift was. Lux didn’t blare out the individual abilities of its members. Neither Ben nor Catherine knew what Darius’ gift was even though he had instructed them over a course of many years. Abel’s computer talent was most likely merely a marginal phenomenon of his actual abilities.
Ben nodded. "Yes. But that’s just between us. If you say a word about it, I won’t be worth a scrap."
Abel continued as if he hadn’t heard what he said: "How did he die?"
"Let’s just say it wasn’t from natural causes. I need your help."
"I’d prefer if you took the official channels."
"I don’t have time for that."
"But without Cardinal Ciban’s backing, it won’t only be your head on the platter. You know I am dependent on his grace."
"And he on yours. It’s about Darius," replied Ben.
The priest sighed with resignation. "I sense it’s not good. Okay. Tell me."
"I want you to get your hands on a file for me. One from Darius."
"I should hack into Lux Domini’s computer system?" Abel turned pale. "That’s like asking me to break into Cardinal Ciban’s office while he’s in there. I can’t do it. Besides, he threw me out of the CIA thing."
"Darius was murdered, Abel. I have to know why. I have to find his murderer."
"I don’t understand any of this. You are one of Ciban’s agents. You need to ask him. He’s the one to give you access to the files."
"He has stopped the investigation."
"What?"
"I’m out. He took the case away from me."
"Then he must have good reason for it."
"Perhaps. But what exactly?"
"Partiality. You know yourself that Darius was like a father to you. To us all."
Ben took a deep breath. "He was murdered and that’s why I need your help. Now!"
Abel’s face revealed his deep sense of discomfort with Ben’s request. The conversation made him turn another shade of pale anyway. The young man with the steel-rimmed glasses and closely shorn hair stood there as if Ben had just asked him to take out red hot coals from the oven with his bare hands.
"Please," said Ben.
The priest sighed. "Alright, alright. But let’s take it slowly. We’ll need some time."
Ben took the chair over which the senator’s robe lay and sat next to his friend at the computer from which multiple cables hung. Abel’s fingers danced on the keyboard as he made his way into the Lux’ computer network, creating a chain to conceal his tracks as he went along. He connected his PC with hundreds of others through which he built a thick firewall for his opponent behind which he hid his own computer. He would only access the Lux Domini network through the very last computer with which he was connected.
"They are going to notice that we have crossed their defence line and send the dogs on us. I’ll buy us as much time as possible under the current circumstances."
Ben understood the principles behind it. At least in theory. The higher number of computers that Abel put between the Lux network and his own computer, the more time they had to research. It would also take Lux’s defence programmes longer to trace back to Abel. When they were connected, each connected computer could only detect the name of its immediate predecessor. If Abel disrupted the connection before Lux’s server could locate him through the chain, they would be out of danger. Should the dogs be faster, he still had the red emergency button that cut not only Abel’s computer, but the entire flat from the Internet within milliseconds. Ben thought it was a bit over the top, but knowing that Lux would come out empty-handed if his friend pushed the button even if it was just one computer away from Abel’s was somewhat comforting. He did ask himself why a programme couldn’t just take over the job of the emergency button and monitor the pursuers. It took him quite some time to learn to accept Abel’s slight schizophrenia in this regard.
Ben observed the world map on a neighbouring screen. More and more illuminated points distributed amongst all continents appeared. They represented the computers that Abel had used as springboards and that ran twenty-four hours a day as his connectivity log showed him. The list included both private computers as well as commercial ones from insurance companies, banks and law firms. The young priest worked tirelessly. After an hour of "building his firewall," he finally said: "Okay. We’re ready."
"How much time do we have?" asked Ben.
"Two minutes before they discover us. Then Lux’s security server will be notified and the dogs will be unleashed. We’re in."
A warning pop-up window showed up on the screen and an alarm went off. Abel turned off the acoustic signal. "That was easier than I thought. Let’s go."
The young priest entered the Lux’s personal files and a list of names appeared. Thousands of entries. He punched in "Darius". No dice. He filtered the names according to job title: researcher and lecturers, then priesthood. But Darius didn’t show up there either.
"Try his birthdate," said Ben and gave Abel the information, but once again they found nothing. It was as if Darius had never existed for Lux. A quick glance at the neighbouring screen revealed that the dogs had already raced through half of the chain concealing their tracks already. One spot of light went out after the other on the blue world map.
"I have something," said Abel suddenly. "But I can’t get direct access. At least not in the time we have left."
"What is it?"
"Some kind of coded file that has to do with Darius. I don’t know."
Ben said spontaneously: "Punch in Benelli."
"Cardinal Benelli?"
"Do it!"
Abel typed in the cardinal’s name and his file magically appeared. But it only contained the typical biographical data: School. Studies. PhD. Further career moves until he was named cardinal. Not a word about what had made Benelli a Lux member.
"Look for a connection between him and Darius," asked Ben. Perhaps the search would yield something, even though they had yet to find anything on the priest himself.
Abel did as he asked. Ben’s adrenaline shot through the roof as he once again looked at the world map. The seconds raced by so quickly, eating away at the lights point by point.
"Darn. If there was indeed a connection between Benelli and Darius, I can’t find it…or...wait a minute."
Both stared at the screen.
LUKE.
LUKE? Who the hell was that?
But before Ben could even begin to think about the name, Abel pressed the panic button. The entire flat fell into darkness. It was pitch black. He could hear his friend’s hectic breathing.
"That was close. They almost had us."
23
DeRossi sat in the car and watched as the light in the second floor of the apartment building that Hawlett had entered suddenly went out in every window. He would have loved to know what the cause of the blackout in the flat was. One thing was for certain: Hawlett was with the little chicken with the glasses who had evoked a pretty heavy confrontation between the Vatican and the CIA with his hacking activities.
DeRossi waited, not letting the apartment building’s entrance or the second-floor flat out of the his sight. Fifteen minutes later the lights went back on. His greatest virtue was patience. And he had an unmistakable instinct for when it was appropriate to use it. That Hawlett had spent over an hour with the young cleric meant one thing and one thing only: they were concocting something. The Monsignor was not at all interested in the young pimple-faced man. The secret truth was that Cather
ine Bell was too close to his heart for that.
Another fifteen minutes passed before Hawlett left Abel’s flat. DeRossi carefully followed him with his eye as the young man got into his car and peeled away onto a side street. What interested deRossi most was what Hawlett had wanted from Abel. Did it have to do with illegal computer research? It could certainly explain the blackout in Abel’s flat. And if that were so, was Cardinal Ciban behind it?
DeRossi sat motionless in his car for a minute or two and thought about it. It was a chance of a lifetime to find out what Hawlett had learned. He quite possibly could have learned something about Benelli’s plan through his research. The only thing was little Abel wouldn’t survive the interrogation.
DeRossi started his car and parked it a few streets down. He opened the glove compartment and pulled out a pair of latex gloves. When he returned to the apartment building, the street was dark and empty before him. Not a soul to be seen.
He entered the entranceway and pressed the doorbell. With vigour. It took almost a full minute before the young cleric answered.
"Yes," deRossi could hear his voice of the intercom. Apparently, Abel had already fallen asleep.
"It’s me, Ben," deRossi imitated Hawlett’s voice as best he could. If he wasn’t quite on the mark, Abel would hardly notice given he was half-asleep and listening through an intercom. "I forgot my car keys at your place."
"Great," the priest yawned with annoyance.
The door buzzed open and deRossi entered the front lobby that led to the lift. He passed it and took the stairs instead. When he got to the top of the stairs, he saw that Abel had left his door open.
"Come in," he could hear the young man call. "I can’t find your bloody car keys anywhere. Help me look for them, for God’s sake."
With pleasure, thought deRossi as he locked the door.
24
Catherine awoke with a panic, gasping for breath like someone drowning. Her mouth was dry, her tongue wooden. Her body was feverish as if she had taken a stroll through Death Valley at midday. It took a while for the panic and paralysis to subside until she finally realised that she wasn’t in some desert dying of thirst somewhere but rather on her hotel room bed in Rome.
Catherine’s gaze swept across the room. She had no idea what she expected. Order? Chaos? Had she really looked behind the veil of death? She teetered into the bathroom and held her head beneath the shower’s cool water stream. She dried her hair and fell back into bed exhausted.
She slowly remembered her dream as she put together the random pieces like those of a crazy puzzle. She had sat outdoors beneath a foreign radiant starlit sky. Dozens of fires were ablaze around her. Hundreds of people came to see and hear him. An old white-haired man sat next to her. He wore a grey cloak and was completely peaceful and concentrated. She thought she might know him, but couldn’t remember where.
Then she heard a voice in the distance. His voice. It had the most unbelievably hypnotic power.
"You are the salt of the Earth. If it grows stale, what shall we use to salt it? It is only worth tossing out and being stomped on by people. You are the light of the world. A city that rests on the mountain cannot remain hidden. One does not ignite a lamp and place it under a bushel, but rather atop a lantern so that it can shine for everyone who is in the house…"
She looked carefully about her. More and more people flocked to hear the voice and its words. They listened with such intensity as if they were one knowledge-thirsty people.
"Do not think that I have come to revoke the law or the prophets. I have not come to revoke, but to fulfil. Verily I tell you that not a single iota or line of the law will vanish until heaven and Earth vanish, until everything has come to pass…"
"Are you surprised?" the old man asked Catherine.
She looked at him in bewilderment. Goodness, she did know this man, but she couldn’t place him.
"They say he is the anointed," he continued. "What do you think?"
What did he mean by that? There was no doubt. Not for her. Nor for any of the people there either. Not in this moment. Still she was afraid and she said it.
"Afraid? Of what?" asked the old man. "The cup that he was given will pass you by. You have not yet even been born."
Catherine stared at the old man with his wide eyes and snow-white hair anew. "I know you. I have seen you somewhere before."
The old man smiled. "Yes, but that is in the distant future."
Catherine turned to him with confusion and listened once again to the words coming from the mountain.
"But I tell you, do not resist the one who is evil. But if anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also."
The old man stated: "The priests call him a liar. But they fear nothing more than that he actually does speak in heaven’s name. You know that John baptised him in heaven’s name."
Catherine somehow split her attention between the sermon and the old man’s words. "You speak as if you had already experienced all of it."
The old man nodded knowingly. "Three crosses stood on Golgotha. One of the crosses held him. As his blood dripped from the cross, the rock shattered. Then came the earthquake."
Catherine leaned over to the old man in the increasing darkness, but just as she was on the verge of recalling who he was, the scene around her changed.
She was suddenly looking at a church tower clock as she stood on the top step of a three centuries old fountain on the Piazza of the Basilica of Santa Maria in Trastevere, Rome. The heat and humidity were oppressive. Hordes of tourists rushed in and out of the medieval basilica armed with cameras and handy travel guides. The four papal statues that decorated the balustrade over the main entrance seemed to greet the masses of visitors.
Catherine knew that, according to legend, the basilica had been built by Pope Callixtus I. It had been erected over a place of worship where the early Christians persecuted by Emperor Nero had secretly gathered. But at this late afternoon hour she barely even noticed the medieval splendour of the sacred building with its twelfth-century belfry and its elaborate mosaic facades. She took a deep breath and pulled the straw hat she was using as sun protection down over her eyes. And now? What would happen now that the old man had placed her here? She sighed and cast a look at the basilica’s clock. It was much too late for her liking.
Something pulled at her jeans. She turned around and asked herself if one of the young guys sitting on the steps of the octagonal pedestal was cheeky enough to try to get into her pants. A little boy about ten years old pressed a note in her hand and disappeared back into the crowd faster than she could realise.
Catherine unfolded the note. A floor plan. No, it was more than a floor plan. It was a detailed multidimensional plan of the basilica with a single mark. A red cross. Cardinal Pietro Stefaneschi’s tomb. The next meeting point?
She folded the plan in half, descended the fountain steps and moved through the crowd of people from various countries. The whole time she kept an eye on the entrance to make sure no pickpockets would come too close. The papal statues seemed to look down at her as if they knew exactly what was going on.
When Catherine entered the vestibule from outside, she had to take a moment to adjust her eyes to the new light conditions. The church’s interior was pleasantly cool and the dimmer light felt good. She made the sign of the cross with holy water, then glanced back at the plan more out of nervousness than out of necessity. Cardinal Stefaneschi’s tomb was located at the back of the church to the left of the semi-circular apse with its twelfth-century mosaic. The Virgin Mary sat there surrounded by saints to the right of Christ.
Catherine got in line with the murmuring stream of people that spilled over the magnificent mosaic on the ground, past the granite columns of the main nave that was constructed from the ruins of ancient Roman structures. Although she knew that this place was extremely unusual even by Roman standards and that its aura spread over other historic buildings and monuments, the atmosphere left her feeling utterly i
ndifferent at the moment.
The crowd kept moving forward painfully slowly, quietly chatting. Catherine made certain not to leave the flow of people. It protected her, yet she still felt oddly vulnerable. She looked upward across the valuable gold-leafed wooden ceiling and stopped briefly to view one of the cameras that hung on the walls high above the visitors’ heads, keeping a watchful eye on the basilica’s interior.
Was the old man watching her?
Catherine stopped for a moment to the right beneath the semi-circular apse, directly in front of the Cavallini mosaic and took a close look at the details of the scenes from life of the Virgin Mary. Normally she felt how the awe-inspiring aura of the medieval art mysteriously reverberated through every air molecule. But at the moment she could have just as easily been studying circuitry sketches. Was the old man somewhere in the crowd?
She finally found herself standing on the small pedestal in front of the tomb that seemed to be made of crimson and marble and looked at the stony image of the church dignitary. His hands were folded over his chest and the insignias of his clerical standing were etched there: the robe and the cardinal’s red hat. Catherine took a quick look at the Latin epigraph. As she once again peered at the cardinal’s noble pale face, she suddenly had the feeling that she was no longer alone.
"Isn’t this place magnificent?" The voice seemed to be coming from the tomb, just loud enough that the young woman could hear it above the din of the clicking cameras. "I love it. I was baptised here. And I always return to recharge my batteries."
"Who are you?" Catherine looked around, but she couldn’t see the old man anywhere. What was going on? Why was she here?