"I realize that many in the modern world, even many within our own church, do not believe that authority to be valid. If there are any of you on this Curia who share that view, you are free to resign immediately.” He allowed his hard gaze to meet the eyes of each man at the table. No one spoke in protest.
"Very well.” He continued. “Gentlemen, please believe me when I tell you these are serious and dangerous times, not only for the church but for mankind. There are forces, which must be dealt with carefully. All Popes from Peter forward have had this knowledge. For all Popes through John Paul II, it has been knowledge of the time to come. For this Pope...” he paused. “...for this Pope, it is the knowledge of the time that has come."
Cardinal MacArthur looked across the table into the face of his old friend. It was a face he had learned to read well over the decades, almost without knowing he could. He saw something he had never seen before. It wasn't exactly fear. It was something more profound; it was a melancholy acceptance of doom.
* * * *
THOUGH SHE HAD been expecting it, the knock on the door made Susan jump. Get a grip, girl. She almost pulled the door open, but then remembered Angelino's instructions.
"Who is it?” she yelled through the thick wooden door.
A male voice answered her, “Your meal awaits you, ma'am."
"Good, I am hungry,” she was following the script and feeling damn silly doing it.
"Let us feast."
With that, she opened the door. She wasn't sure exactly what she had expected to see, but she was surprised nonetheless when the man who stood outside the door turned out to be a rather ordinary-looking man in his mid-forties, dressed in a simple beige shirt and brown pants. His attire gave no clue to his social standing. She was almost disappointed, half expecting to find a tall, hooded figure standing across the threshold.
"Ms. Morgan. Come with me please.” He reached down and picked up her camera bag without a word, turned and headed toward the stairs of the hotel. All of this happened with the swift smoothness of a man who had done this many times before. Susan closed the door behind her and followed the man silently down the stairs.
Outside her hotel, the man led her to a rather ordinary mid-size automobile. It was a foreign make she could not identify. He opened the trunk and placed her bag in it. Then he opened the door to the back seat for her. She started to get in but the man stopped her and produced a blindfold. “I'm sorry, ma'am. But I cannot let you see where we are going."
It was then she realized that in her haste to follow him out of the hotel, she had left her purse, containing the derringer, sitting on the bed. Damn! She wished she had not had so much to drink. The man started to place the blindfold over her eyes, but she put her hand up to stop him and jerked her head away.
"Ms. Morgan. You must understand. Angelino has many enemies and his location must be kept secret. He apologizes for this, but he hopes you will understand his need to keep his whereabouts unknown."
Susan thought for a moment and realized she really had no choice if she wanted the story ... and she really wanted this story. Reluctantly, she nodded her assent and fought back a surge of panic as the blindfold was tied behind her head. She felt vulnerable as the man guided her into the back seat, shut the door and took his place behind the wheel. She felt the car lurch forward and resigned herself to the journey.
"How far are we going?” she called out to the driver.
"Not far, ma'am."
She noticed the driver made several left and right turns, almost at random, undoubtedly to prevent her from attempting to memorize the route by counting the number of turns. She had attempted to do just that, in fact, but with her head confused by the bourbon, eventually had to give up. Her mind was distracted with questions and her heart was pounding with excitement.
She must have dozed off because suddenly she became aware the car was no longer moving. She sensed more than heard the car door open and felt the man's hands gently guiding her out of the car. She reached to take off the blindfold but was stopped by him.
"Please leave the blindfold on until we are inside, Ms. Morgan."
She nodded and allowed him to lead her down what felt like a cobblestone walkway.
"Watch your step, ma'am. Step up, please. One step."
Susan complied, and stepped up onto what she guessed was a porch or concrete slab outside a doorway. She heard a door open in front of her and she was led inside a room. From there, the man led her up a long, winding staircase, then down a long hallway, before he turned her left through yet another doorway. She was seated in a comfortable stuffed chair. The man's footsteps retreated behind her, and she heard the door close ... and lock.
"Good evening, Ms. Morgan.” She recognized the voice from the phone conversation. “You may remove your blindfold now."
She took off the blindfold. Her eyes had trouble focusing. Yes, having drunk so much was foolish, but she deserved it, didn't she? As her eyes began to work again, she saw she was in a huge candle-lit room decorated more like a museum than a home. To her right was a large marble fireplace with a small fire burning in it. Above the fireplace was a long mantle that contained a pendulum mantle clock and two golden candlesticks. A very large portrait of a man she did not recognize hung above the mantle, the shadows of the candlelight dancing eerily off it, accenting a face of kindness. She guessed the portrait was of an early Pope, but she could not be sure.
The rest of the room contained old furniture, which appeared to be from the 17th or 18th century. It was then she saw the man seated in a large stuffed wingback chair directly in front of her.
"Father Angelino?"
"Yes, Ma'am. I am Anthony Angelino Sabbatini. Thank you for coming, Ms. Morgan."
Her eyes were finally adjusting to the dimness of the room and she was able to make out Angelino's features. She was startled by the youthfulness of his face. She knew he was approximately the same age as Pope Timothy, which made him about seventy. Yet the face was that of a man no older than forty. Immediately, she liked him. She observed his face seemed to contain the perpetual trace of a contented smile. His eyes were blue and vital. His hair, although thinning, still covered his entire head and was cut short in a modern style. She glanced down at his hands and noticed they, too, were the hands of a man much younger than his years. She realized she had never seen a photo of him ... indeed it was said no photo had been taken of him in nearly 50 years ... yet somehow she had painted a mental picture of a bent, graying, and aged man with a bitter, dour demeanor. Instead, before her sat a man of youthful vigor and vitality with a face that conveyed contentment and peacefulness. How could such a man be a common thief?
"Please forgive the intrigue, Ms. Morgan. There are many who would seek to prevent that which I am charged with doing and I cannot allow my whereabouts to become known ... yet. I must tell you before we continue, that if you stay, if you hear what I have to say—you, too, will be in danger. My enemies are ruthless and brutal and they do not much care how they achieve their objectives, or who they may have to harm to do so. That is why we went to such pains to make sure no one knew you were here tonight. My man will be just as careful no one sees you return. Knowing that, if you wish to leave now, Ms. Morgan, I will have you taken back to your hotel, and we can forget we have ever met."
Somehow the inconvenience and apprehension of the blindfold and the road trip to where she sat no longer seemed as forbidding as it had just a moment ago. Angelino gave off an aura of ... she realized there was no word to describe the sublime peace which emanated from this man, who had generated such hatred from those in power within the Holy Catholic Church.
What the hell. I'm already here, and I'm a reporter. Do your job, Susan.
"Its OK, Angelino. I understand."
His eyes seemed to see through her into her soul and she found she could not maintain eye contact with him. She found herself wondering if he could detect the wooziness brought on by the bourbon. To ease her discomfort, she stood up and walked
over to the portrait above the fireplace.
"Who is that?” she asked.
"That is Saint Francis of Assisi. There are some, you know, who believe that he was the reincarnation of Jesus."
"Really? I didn't know that. Do you believe that?"
"I try not to believe too much of anything, Susan. I find beliefs tend to get in the way of knowledge ... even when that which we believe coincides with truth. Saint Francis is a man who I greatly relate to. We have a lot in common."
Susan decided to shift the topic to business. “You said you wanted to talk to me. I am here. What is it you want to tell me?"
"You brought your video equipment?"
Susan nodded.
"Very good. Set it up and I will tell the world all I need to say."
"Angelino?"
"Yes, Ms. Morgan?"
"You said you had the Shroud. May I see it?"
"Yes, Ms. Morgan, you may. But first, we must record. Set up your equipment and I will prepare myself for what I have to say."
She began setting up the equipment while Angelino appeared to enter some sort of meditation. She had done this perhaps a thousand times over the years, but she found herself fumbling with the equipment. She'd drunk more than she realized. She looked over at Angelino and was relieved to see him still deep within his meditation. She didn't know why, but she did not want him to see her weakness for alcohol.
When she had the camera mounted, she noticed the light was too dim to allow a good recording.
"Angelino?” she almost whispered it, not enjoying having to disturb his meditation. He did not respond.
She walked over to him and gently shook him. “Angelino. I'm sorry to disturb you, but I need more light."
Without opening his eyes, he nodded in understanding, took a deep breath, and exhaled it slowly. Immediately the lighting in the room brightened.
Susan gasped in astonishment. “How ... how did you do that?"
Angelino opened his eyes and smiled. “You strike me as a woman who is accustomed to getting what she wants. Am I right?"
Susan smiled, “Well, you've got me there, Angelino. Guilty as charged."
"And are you in the habit of questioning how you get what you want?"
"Again, you've got me. No, I just expect it."
"Then why question it now? You asked for more light and you got more light."
Susan laughed, “You're not going to tell me how you did it, are you?"
"Ah, but Susan, I already have told you. You just aren't listening.” He closed his eyes to continue his meditation. She looked at him quizzically and decided to drop the matter for now. Angelino was right. She was used to getting her way, and she wasn't in the habit of asking how or apologizing afterward.
In about ten more minutes, the tripod and video camera were all set up and ready to record.
"Father Angelino. We're all set to go here."
Angelino opened his eyes and winked at her. “Wonderful. Where would you like me to sit?"
"I thought we'd put you in front of the fire, under the portrait of Saint Francis.” Then she realized something. “Oh, but wait. That might be a clue to others know where we are."
"That will not matter, my dear. After you and I finish and you are safely returned to your hotel, the Shroud and I will begin a journey together. I will never be returning to this place again. Having the portrait of Saint Francis in the background is a nice touch. It appeals to my sense of the dramatic."
"Oh.” Not quite knowing what to say next, she went back to work. “Ok, Father Angelino. Let's sit you down right here. Give me just a moment, and I will signal you when to begin."
Angelino sat in the wingback chair, which they had positioned in front of the fireplace. Susan stepped behind the camera, and he saw the red light go on, as she pointed at him and said, “Now."
Angelino began, “My name is Anthony Angelino Sabbatini. You may know me merely as Angelino. I bring to you a message of warning ... and, if mankind so chooses, a message of hope...."
* * * *
STEVEN HAMILTON LED John Barber over to a large cage that sat on a long table off to the side of the laboratory. As he had anticipated, this experiment had gone just as successfully as the first. To really push their process, however, they had challenged themselves by attempting to clone the most genetically advanced species known after man ... the chimpanzee. Only a couple chromosome separated man from chimp. Steven mused sometimes he wasn't sure the difference was even that great. The monumental significance of the similarity could not be minimized by even the most skeptical critic. He had figured as long as he had to repeat the experiment anyway, he might as well shoot the moon.
In the cage was a chimp whom he had named Gracie. Gracie was well known to him and other members of the research staff, having been brought in by the psychology department to be taught sign language. She had learned it quite well, communicating at about the same level as a three-year-old child. Gracie was not too pleased with being caged, having taken for granted having the run of the laboratory. But for this experiment, Steven had to ensure neither subject had any contact with the other. Steven guessed the gestures she was waving at him were her way of expressing that displeasure in the strongest means possible. Her constant screeching filled in whatever blanks her sign language may have been too inadequate to communicate.
Steven had learned a few basic signing phrases so as to be able to at least communicate with Gracie at a perfunctory level. He signed “hello” to her. She signed the same back. Gracie was particularly fond of the signing gestures that meant “Me Gracie.” She never tired of introducing herself, much to the amusement of the rest of the staff. She began repeating that gesture over and over again. He smiled. It didn't take long for a person to stop seeing Gracie as a chimpanzee and begin seeing her as a small child. Communication was a great equalizer, even between species. He was no less susceptible to that than anyone else, and had grown quite fond of her.
"Young lady, you are about to make history, do you know that?"
The door behind him opened and John entered. “How is she doing?"
"Which ‘she’ are you referring to, John?"
"Little Gracie,” he answered.
"Come see for yourself. We have a new development.” Steven led John into an adjacent room. Another chimpanzee was caged here ... the clone of Gracie. It had just been a hunch, but Steven had decided to keep the two Gracies isolated from each other. It had been something he thought he detected with Lucy and Little Lucy—something that seemed impossible. Had he not isolated the two Gracies from each other, he would not be able to make the announcement of the discovery he was about to demonstrate to his colleague ... an announcement that would rock the scientific community perhaps even more than their discovery of exact duplicate cloning itself.
Little Gracie, as they had dubbed her, sat in her cage, just as irritated at her confinement as her namesake.
"Do you see what she's doing, John?"
"My, God, Steven. She's ... she's signing."
"Yep. But that's not all."
"What do you mean?"
"Don't you recognize what she's saying?"
"No. What?"
"'Me Gracie'."
John said excitedly, “Steven, do you know what this means?"
"Of course I do. It appears that the process not only duplicates the physical body ... it duplicates memory as well."
"I trust you have documented all of this thoroughly."
"You bet your ass I have. The data is good. The controls are impeccable. It's solid as it is possible to make it. I also videotaped everything."
John was still in shock over the magnitude of what he had just seen. This was not only unexpected, but thought to be totally impossible.
"Steven, you know if any other scientist but you had shown me this, I would have called him a liar."
"Well, I'm sure we can expect some of our colleagues to react that way at first. But they won't be able to hold out forever. Data is data
, and facts are facts. No scientist worthy of the name can ignore that very long, no matter how strong their prejudices might be."
"But how ... how did this happen?"
"John,” Steven said thoughtfully, “I don't know. I was hoping you might have some theories about it. I have to call David."
* * * *
"...AND WITH THAT hope and wish, I bid you all God's speed in the coming days ahead, which are certain to challenge the heart and soul of Man as it has never been challenged before. Thank you for hearing me out. Libertus Kristos est, Kristos Libertus est.” He provided the translation, “Freedom is Christ, Christ is Freedom."
Susan almost forgot she was taping, so engrossed had she been in Angelino's statement. It took Angelino gesturing toward the camera to remind her to turn it off. Then she dropped down into the chair behind her and tried to absorb all she had just heard.
"They will never believe you, Father Angelino. You know that, don't you?"
"Perhaps not at first. But they will believe when they can no longer afford not to believe. Besides, remember what I told you about beliefs earlier. They get in the way of knowledge. At some level, everyone will know the truth of what I have told them, although they will resist it ferociously. Mankind is riding a tiger and doesn't quite know how to gracefully dismount it."
"If what you say is true, you have put yourself in grave danger, Father.” She did not know why that concerned her as deeply as it did. A few short hours ago, she had not even known the man. Now, she knew her life had been changed forever by her short contact with him, although she did not know why or how that could possibly be. Yet she knew it was true.
"One is never in danger as long as they carry God in their heart, my dear."
She studied his sparkling eyes intently. “You truly believe that, don't you?"
"No, Ms. Morgan, I don't believe it. I know it."
"What will you do now? Where will you go?"
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