by Nick Thacker
“How well-protected is it?” Julie asked.
“It’s not just how well-protected it is,” Archie said. “It’s where it’s protected.”
Ben frowned.
“There are guards — the Vatican Swiss Guards — like there are guards everywhere else in the Vatican. And there are secret police who work for the Catholic Church hovering about. But it is not the guards that worry me.”
“You said there was a way,” Ben said. Julie nodded.
There was a pause, then the sound of coughing. “I said I was thinking of a solution. But let me start at the beginning — it will all make more sense that way.
“First, what many people believe the Vatican Secret Archives to be is wrong. The original plan for the Archives, established by Pope Paul the V, called the ‘Archivum Secretum Apostolicum Vaticanum,’ was simply a ‘private’ or ‘personal’ — hence the word ‘secretum’ — archive for the papal letters. It was meant as a repository for the sensitive yet crucial collections of decrees and papers the Pope was involved in, either as an author or recipient.
“Over time, it became the perfect place to maintain a living history of the papal seat, as well as the histories of the world itself. It became more broad, accepting anything and everything, and then it became a library of information — anything related to the Vatican, of course, had a place. But eventually anything related to the world at large, deemed to be important by the Pope and his council, had a home in the Archives.
“So anything that the early church deemed ‘important’ ended up in the Archives.”
“Exactly. Some people theorize that copies of ancient manuscripts, long since lost, may be in the Archives.”
“Like books written by Plato.”
“That is my thought. Of course, if there were anything inside of that nature, it almost certainly would be under far more scrutiny than the rest of the Archives. Some people even postulate that there are documents — correspondence — between Mussolini and the Pope. Documents that could corroborate a famous rumor that the Vatican was complicit in certain war crimes against the Jewish populace during World War II.”
“Wow,” Julie said. Ben whistled. “That’s some serious stuff.”
“It is. And that is precisely why I believe it is impossible to gain access to the Archives if the Pope does not wish it.”
“Can’t we just get access to a ‘less secure’ area?” Ben asked. “Then sneak around and see if there’s anything they’re not telling us? Mr. E would have the technology to ensure we’re running silent, and any cameras —”
“It is not the cameras, nor the guards, that I am truly worried about.”
Ben stopped.
“I assure you both, I have analyzed the potential security flaws in the design of the Archives, at least the building that exists now. But it is more complicated than that. First, the Vatican only grants access to ‘legitimate’ scholars. Those they deem worthy. It is explicitly and without question off-limits to journalists, students, and anyone else.
“And if they grant access, that access takes place by walking through the Cortile del Belvedere, surrounded by guards and police. One entrance, one exit.”
“Could you gain access?” Julie asked. “You are, after all, neither a student nor a journalist. You’re still publicly listed on your university’s website.”
“Yes, that is true. And perhaps I could. But that is the true reason I called. I do not believe that in-person access is possible.”
“We can’t overcome the security issues?” Ben asked.
“We may be able to. But there is one major problem with that plan, and that problem is one I am not sure we can overcome: I am not sure exactly where the Archives are.”
“Wait,” Ben said. “What? You just said it’s accessible through the… Corteel del Belva-something, right? In Rome?”
“That is correct. That is the publicly listed location of the Archives. But I am not entirely convinced the Archives are in any one location.”
Ben’s jaw dropped. Of course, he thought. If the pope wanted to hide some documents, why have them all in the same place?
“Since 1881, the Pope has allowed access to his private archives, if you meet the credentials I mentioned before. But why should we believe that those people have access to all the Archives? Why should we expect that the Pope would not hide a few thousand documents — or more — in another location?”
“You think there’s more than one Archive?” Julie asked.
“I do not. However, I believe there is not only one location for the Archives. It is all one network, but I believe there are many access points across the Vatican, depending on the level of clearance.”
“Okay, so we need to find out how to gain access to the most secret one?”
“No. The problem with that is the Archives do not operate like a traditional library. One does not access the Archives, then freely browse. There is no centralized database that can access the Archives — computer or otherwise.
“To find a text, the scholar may request up to three items per day, and only three. If they request something that does not exist, or nothing at all, they are asked to leave, and must start again the next day.”
“Sounds rude.”
“And to request a document, they must choose from a catalog written in Latin. If the title they desire is not exactly what it lists on the catalog, they may never find what they are after.”
“So if Plato’s original title, translated to Latin, was not The Book of Bones, we may be out of luck?”
“Precisely.”
“Okay,” Ben said. “So what are you proposing? You said you had thought of something.”
“I did,” Archibald said. “And while it is a risk, I think it is the best opportunity we have. Furthermore, it keeps our names and faces out of the system.”
“I’m a fan of that,” Julie said. “All we need is for another country to permanently revoke our visitation rights.”
“And we won’t have to break in to the Archives?” Ben asked.
“No,” Archie said. “Not the Archives.”
Ben sensed this mission was about to get more difficult.
“Instead, you will need to gain access to the Papal Chambers.”
“I’m sorry — what?” Julie asked.
“The Papal Chambers. The private quarters of the Pope.”
27
Ben
“Sounds impossible,” Ben snorted. He took a sip from his rum and Coke, then flashed a glance out the window. There was nothing but white — clouds for miles. They were thirty-thousand feet above the ocean, flying 450 miles per hour. The pilot had given them the update a half-hour ago — still ten hours to Rome — and as much as he tried to ignore the truth, he couldn’t help but think of the fact that they were defying the laws of physics, hurtling through the air in a huge, heavy metal tube.
Ben had always had an aversion to flying. He wasn’t sure when it had started. Or why. But for as long as he could remember, he’d hated being totally, utterly out of control. It wasn’t a trust issue; he knew pilots were well-trained, and that flying was, statistically, one of the safest modes of transportation.
But there was still something unnerving about it. Over the years he’d known Julie, he’d had to travel cross-country, as well as inter-continentally, and he had gotten better at it all. He no longer felt the need to throw back a shot of whiskey and a Dramamine or Xanax, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t constantly checking the windows for any sign of catastrophic engine failure. Any turbulence they experienced caused him to grip the arms of his chair with all the strength he had.
Julie helped. Having a relationship with a woman who was, in just about every way, his equal, yet still somehow all the good things he was not, was one of the most miraculous things he’d ever experienced. How they had fallen in love was still a mystery to him, but he wasn’t about to question a good thing, especially when he needed that good thing to keep his mind off the day-long flight.
> Julie had moved over from across the aisle to the seat next to Ben’s and ordered a glass of white wine from the flight attendant. After their conversation with Archibald Quinones, Ben had checked in with Mrs. E., who had received an update from her husband.
The helicopter, registered as N942FY, had stopped in Juneau, Alaska, where it had refueled and continued southward to Portland, Oregon. From there, it had flown to Sacramento, California, refueled, then taken off again and was headed south, destination unknown. Mr. E had informed his wife that he had an MLAT, or multilateration, track on the chopper, but that because of the extended time of the last refueling, as well as the fact that the helicopter was far slower than a plane, he believed it was possible that Garza and his captives had been moved into a faster jet. The chopper hadn’t yet left the airport in Sacramento.
Mrs. E was still under the impression that Garza was heading south, and there was, in fact, a single aircraft, tracked with the newer ADS-B system, had logged a direct flight to Lima, Peru. There was no public information about the flight, nor was there any logged records of the flight, which led Mr. and Mrs. E to believe that the flight was a private charter. Mr. E was still working on retrieving that data, if it existed.
The key was that Mrs. E believed the flight to Peru was Garza, on a private charter, and he was making up for lost time. Further, she believed — and Ben had to agree, based on the information they had at the moment — that Garza wanted them to know where they were. He hadn’t come out and told them, but Ben knew all too well that the man, if he chose to, could completely disappear.
The fact that he had flown through three airports, kept his transponders working, abided by all flight regulations, and hadn’t tried to conceal his steps, essentially meant that he wanted to be found.
It was almost a mystery to Ben why he hadn’t just told them outright that he was heading to Peru. Maybe Garza wasn’t sure, either. Peru could be a piece to the puzzle, or it just as likely could be nothing more than a base of operations. Or a place far enough away to keep Reggie and Sarah safely out of reach.
But where in Peru? What was his goal?
As far as Ben knew, Ravenshadow’s headquarters was in Philadelphia — or at least it had been. Had they moved? Having an international office could benefit Garza, but Ben wasn’t sure if he would have chosen South America as his base of operations.
So was there something else there? Was there a reason they were heading to Peru?
And after thinking about it for a few minutes, Ben had to wonder: Are they actually going there? Mrs. E, after all, wasn’t at all certain — their data wasn’t complete, and their analysis was, at best, preliminary. There was really no way to know where Reggie and Sarah would end up, but they had to decide.
Archibald Quinones was on the screen in front of him and Julie, who had opened her laptop and connected to the in-flight WIFI. The picture and video was crisp, and Ben knew that the same feat would be impossible on a 300-passenger commercial flight. He couldn’t help but feel pampered. Free drinks, unlimited in-flight food, and no one else jostling through the aisles.
Fifteen years ago I was scraping poop from privies in a national park, he told himself. Fifteen years ago, I was alone. Fifteen years ago, I was scared. Fifteen years ago…
He looked at Julie. For a moment he was drawn back to the past, back to when he was by himself at Yellowstone, then Rocky Mountain National Park as an exchange ranger, then back at Yellowstone. The years of solitude, barely interacting with his fellow staff and rangers.
Then… her. She had descended into his life like a tornado, nonstop and incessant, forcing him to accompany her through the twists and turns of her life. He was pulled in, consumed, infatuated by her. But if there were such a thing as love at first sight… what they’d experienced was not it.
He smiled when he remembered their first month together. Driving around the United States together, staying in hotels and bed and breakfasts, arguing about the best way to save the nation. And yet, through the harrowing experience of losing his mother and countless other souls, he and Julie had been drawn closer together. They had somehow pushed aside their differences and stuck it out, and when the dust had settled, they’d realized that their differences weren’t as drastic as they’d thought.
In fact, they’d realized that their differences were precisely the things that drew them toward one another. Julie’s outgoing, extroverted nature was a perfect complement to Ben’s more withdrawn, introverted nature. She pulled him to a world he never thought he’d be a part of, and through it all he was her rock, a solid, unmoving structure on which they could build their future.
And while the picture of that future was constantly changing, sometimes a bit out of focus and other times opaque, Ben knew Julie was the center of it for him. No matter what happened, they were in this together.
28
Reggie
The box above Reggie’s head cracked open, as if split from above. He gasped as new, fresh air rushed inside, and he felt the cool, dry air pushing the sticky wetness off of his face.
His eyes adjusted, but it was difficult to make out where they were now. It was dark, but they were inside. A building — but not a modern-looking structure. Reggie rolled his head side to side and saw a low ceiling, cracked and uneven. Stone. The light hitting it was coming from somewhere else.
A shadow appeared over Reggie’s casket. A man, not a giant.
“Mr. Red,” the man’s voice said. Garza.
He rolled his tongue around in his mouth, trying to generate some saliva. “Wh — where the hell am I?”
“This is a secure location my team established late last year,” Garza said. “It’s remote, so I don’t need to maintain a full staff.”
“Remote where?”
Garza smiled as he leaned down to unbuckle Reggie’s arms and legs from the bindings. “Well, I could give you the coordinates, but I believe you would come to the same conclusion I have — we are in the middle of nowhere. A vast nowhere.”
“What do you want with me?”
Before his left leg and arm were free, Reggie saw two soldiers — normal sized — step up behind Garza. They were both holding rifles, and Reggie didn’t need to feel the weight of them to know they were fully loaded.
“I want to know everything you know about the Book of Bones.”
Reggie sat up and tried to get a look at his surroundings. He wanted to keep Garza talking, to buy time. He needed to escape, to find a way out of… wherever he was.
“Okay,” Reggie said. He shrugged. “Fine. It’s a book, written by Plato. Long time ago.”
Garza’s face betrayed no emotion. The two men near him stepped closer as Reggie’s left leg was finally freed. Garza stepped back, joining his men.
The room they were in was dark, the only light provided by a single construction lamp that had been set up on the far wall, and it cast a yellowish glow to the space in front of Reggie. That space was filled with the three men in front of him, and behind them a long, empty wall. The ceiling wasn’t as low as he’d initially thought, or it was sloping upward.
The entire space felt subterranean, as if they were in a stone-walled structure that had been sunken into the ground.
“So… can I go now?”
Garza smiled again. “Mr. Red, the more you tell us, the less pain you cause yourself.”
It was Reggie’s turn to smile. “Ah, got it. Torture. You think you’re going to get some information from me by causing physical pain. Well, that’s fine. Wouldn’t be my first bout with that sort of intimate touching.”
Garza raised an eyebrow.
“Plus, I think you and I are on the same page — everything I know about the Book of Bones you know as well.”
He was sitting on the edge of the casket now, and he pushed himself forward and stood up. The two soldiers watching him tensed, but he had no intentions of escape.
Yet.
He cracked his neck, taking another chance to look around. The space behi
nd him stretched back about twenty feet, and the lamp was standing in the center of the opposite wall. He couldn’t see anything beyond it.
Other than the men, the casket, and the light, it seemed like the room was empty.
“Tell us about your girlfriend, Red.”
Reggie flicked his eyes back to Garza.
“Sarah? What about her? I thought you guys had like special technology and stuff. Like Facebook. You guys have Facebook?”
“I don’t want to know what she ate for breakfast, Red. I want to know what she knows.”
“About the Book of Bones? Same as me. Nothing useful.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Believe whatever the hell you want,” Reggie shot back. “I don’t know a damn thing about that stupid book, and I don’t want to. Rachel Rascher killed a lot of people because of it, and if I ever find it, I’ll burn it.”
“That would be an unfortunate choice, Red.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I need it.”
“In that case I’ll burn both of you.”
Garza stared at Red for a moment, then turned on a heel and started walking toward the side of the room. His soldiers followed, both men tracking Reggie as they left. He followed Garza as he neared the corner of the darkest of the space, then was surprised as he suddenly seemed to levitate.
Stairs.
He hadn’t noticed it before because of the light, but there appeared to be a set of stairs in the room's corner. But they weren’t normal-sized stairs. Each was about two feet tall, maybe two-and-a-half deep. He watched as Garza and the men slowly made their way up the six stairs and waited against the wall. One man tapped the butt of his rifle against the wall and it immediately shifted. Cracked open.
It was a door, also nearly invisible, also large. Standing about ten feet from floor to ceiling, he guessed. Wood or stone, Reggie couldn’t tell from here. But it was a door. So that’s the way out, he thought. He watched as the door slid open on hidden hinges, trying to see into the darker space beyond.