Now he was about to confront the leader of a billion Catholics, uncertain as to whether this pope was a follower of the Catholic Church, or an imposter for a Satanic cause. Kevin prayed for the wisdom to know the truth.
At the train station, Kevin grabbed a cab and rode to the Vatican, and his apartment. Once inside, he changed into his finest black suit and turned white collar. At the appointed time, he arrived at the gate to the Apostolic Palace. The Swiss guard snapped to attention while a clerk verified his identity. A male secretary dressed in a blue suit greeted him at the bottom of the stairs and led him up the wide marble staircase to the second floor. He was escorted into an antechamber and instructed to sit and wait.
At first, Kevin was too anxious to sit. He scanned the whole room, admiring the frescoes on the wall and the marble fireplace. Eighteenth-century oil paintings of religious themes adorned the high walls. The painted ceiling depicted clouds and angels floating in the sky. It was evident that the upper tiers of the Vatican hierarchy lived in lavish style.
Nervous for a few moments, he paced the floor, then sat in a Louis XVI chair.
Suddenly, a hidden door on one side of the room opened, and a young man, dressed in a blue suit, came toward him. He spoke in nearly perfect English, “His Holiness is ready for you, Father.”
Kevin followed the attendant into the library attached to the pope’s personal quarters, where the pope gave his Sunday blessing to those in St. Peter’s Square. Kevin glanced around. There were shelves of leather tomes in bookcases, comfortably worn down chairs, and plumped sofas. Oil paintings of austere looking prelates, accented with picture lights, lined the walls. Kevin imagined they were the popes of centuries past.
Kevin stood quietly, waiting.
A few moments later, a chamberlain walked in and announced, “His Holiness, Linus the Second.”
The tall figure of John Porter, dressed in papal white with the gold cross and chain around his neck, entered the room, smiling broadly.
Somehow, to Kevin, the reality of Porter as pope, and the setting, caused the whole scene to seem surreal, reminding him of Hollywood, red carpets, and the Academy Awards. “The award for best portrayal of a pope goes to …”
“Thanks for coming, Kevin,” the pontiff said.
“Your Holiness,” Kevin said while going through the motions of Church protocol and falling to one knee. He took the pontiff’s extended hand and kissed the ring. It all still seemed unreal, like a dream. Porter, the pope. Porter, his mentor and friend, the pope?
“Let’s sit over here.” The pope gestured to a plumped sofa flanked by an equally plumped chair. Kevin followed him and sat down.
His Holiness waved his hand at the young man in the blue suit, who bowed, backing out of the room.
“I know you’re surprised,” the pope began, sounding like himself, “and you’re not the only one.”
“I don’t know if congratulations is the appropriate thing to say, Holiness,” Kevin said.
Porter smiled. “It’ll do just fine. Would you like a coffee?”
“No, thank you.”
“Then let’s get down to business. Your mission. I need a progress report. Now that I’ve been elected, it’s assumed an even greater importance.”
The moment of truth. Kevin had wondered what he’d do if it came to this. And he was ready, for better or worse.
“Holiness, I’ve got a problem. We’ve made some progress in learning about Opus Mundi, but one of the things we learned has to do with their plans for leadership.”
His Holiness looked at Kevin. With surprise.
Kevin spoke deliberately. “We understand Opus Mundi had planned to insinuate their leader into office as the newly elected pope.”
Porter’s face froze. Kevin held his breath. This powerful man could summon his security police and put Kevin in the dungeons forever. The Vatican was its own sovereign state. The pope was its universal, omnipotent leader.
Suddenly, Porter—Pope Linus the Second—began laughing. He continued for a moment, wiping his eyes, laughing even louder.
Kevin was spooked, witnessing the new pope laughing hysterically. Was he missing something?
The pope’s laughing turned into a smile, and he stopped. Finally, Kevin smiled.
“That’s the best laugh I’ve had all day! You thought I might be the puppet pope?” The pope pointed to his chest, wiping the tears from his eyes.
“I’m sorry, Holiness. It wasn’t about doubting you. It was about observing the wiles of Opus Mundi. I had no choice.”
“Well, let me help you out. You’re partially right. There was a candidate who nearly got the votes—I’m not going to expose him because I’m not one hundred percent certain—but I believe he was the candidate you’re concerned about, Kevin.” Porter leaned across the table and stared directly at Kevin. “But it’s not me.”
“Sorry I even had to ask.” Kevin still wasn’t one hundred percent convinced.
“I know you’ll want proof. We need to get this out of the way and get on with our mission. The Church is still in danger.”
“I’m very aware of that, Holiness.”
“Let’s think through this logically. I’m the one who recommended hiring you. I know you better than anyone; you’re the best for the job, Kevin. If I were the culprit, would I have done that, picked the best man for the job?”
“Thank you, Eminence … er … a … Your Holiness.” Good, Kevin thought. But it still wasn’t enough to ease his mind.
“Opus Mundi put the world on edge by starting the Israeli-Iran War. Now we’re on the verge of a nuclear holocaust. We can’t let that happen.”
Kevin nodded. “I agree.”
“So I have a plan, and I’m telling you first. I intend to call for a peace conference here at the Vatican. I will invite the Iranian, Israeli, and American leadership to attend. With God’s help, we can work this out, cease the hostilities, the war, and whatever else could happen.”
“Will they attend?” Kevin asked.
Porter smiled. “I’m not naïve, son. I sent feelers out this morning through diplomatic channels and have already received promising responses from Iran and the U.S. Haven’t heard from Israel yet, but if the U.S. applies pressure, I expect they’ll come. The Iranians won’t meet directly with the Israelis—that’s one of their conditions—but that we can work around.”
Kevin felt an immediate sense of relief. This was major news, and if true, enough confirmation of whose side Porter was on. “That’s wonderful news, Holiness.”
“I’ve ordered Vatican security doubled and we’re getting help from the United States Secret Service. I haven’t forgotten my predecessor’s fate.” Porter took a deep breath. “But this isn’t why I called you here.”
The pope rose and walked to the window overlooking St. Peter’s Square. He stared out at the crowds below as they milled around the Bernini fountains. “I want to talk about the secret of Fatima and Opus Mundi’s interest in it.”
Kevin thought that Porter had made a pretty convincing case of why he wasn’t involved with OM; still, he’d reserve judgment. “Holiness, I’ve made some progress,” Kevin said. He went on to say there were two missing pages to the secret and that there was something in those two missing pages that Opus Mundi feared most of all.
“What’s more,” Kevin said, “I have a hunch where the pages are.”
The pontiff nodded and folded his hands. For a moment, he closed his eyes. “Strange. I’ve heard rumors over the years about those missing pages. This is the first confirmation of those rumors. You sure about this, Kevin?”
Kevin nodded. “I had the CIA go over the original secret, revealed in 2000. It’s astonishing that it predicted the assassination attempt on Pope John Paul II, but mysteriously, what’s got us tearing our hair out, is that there’s nothing either coded or stated outright in those pages that’s an apocalyptic prediction.”
“Yet, you believe Opus Mundi sees something there.”
“Not there
, Holiness,” said Kevin. “The answer came when I spoke to the priest who helped Sister Lucia transcribe the secret back in 1944. He told me there were six pages to the secret, and the one released in 2000 had only four pages. Hence the real secret must be on the missing two pages.”
“If, by the grace of God, you find the pages, please keep in mind that I alone am authorized to read them,” Porter said.
“Understood, Holiness.”
“I asked for you to meet me today because I wanted an updated progress report.” The pontiff smiled. “Well, I got one. Now, it’s late and I have much to do. Kevin, I wish you Godspeed, and I will pray for your continued success.”
Kevin rose and knelt before the Holy Father. Porter blessed him, making the Sign of the Cross above Kevin’s head, a traditional gesture. Yet this was a time when things were unfolding that weren’t traditional.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Rome, Italy
Kevin lay stretched out on his bed, staring idly up at the ceiling, his heart racing. Sweat beaded his forehead. Anxiety was getting the best of him. He’d coped with multiple stressful events in his life. But how had it all come to this? He came to Italy for a small assignment, and now here he was in the middle of a world war, espionage entanglements, satanic plots, and the looming mystery of the secret of Fatima.
Never had Kevin doubted his calling as a priest, but often he’d wondered why he’d been called. Given his military background, he knew he wasn’t a typical candidate by any measure. Now, perhaps, his mission was coming into focus. Kevin was becoming increasingly certain his calling and the fabled secret of Fatima somehow were divinely intertwined.
When his phone buzzed, Kevin found a text from Toby and MC. They were in Seville, at the elegant Alfonso XIII Hotel. Years ago, Kevin had been there. The hotel was nothing short of a palace. Commissioned by King Alfonso XIII for special guests of the Iber-American Exposition in Seville, it was built in the late twenties. It dazzled the senses with its majestic arches, colorful ceramics, brickwork, and ornamental towers.
Entering the hotel, Toby informed the desk clerk that he’d reserved a suite with two bedrooms. He and Kevin would share one room, MC would have the other, and Max could sleep on the couch and enjoy the wide screen TV in the palatial living room. So much for travelling on a budget, Kevin thought, smiling. Thank you, Uncle Sam.
When someone rapped on the door, Kevin rose from the bed, checked the security monitor, and opened it. There was good ol’ Max, dressed for civilian travel: casual sport jacket, shirt, and slacks.
“Ready to go?” asked Max. He carried a small carry-on bag in one hand and rolled a large suitcase behind him with the other.
“Almost. We’ve got some more packing to do,” Kevin said, referring to the pistols he’d stow in the one bag that’d be checked in at the airport.
“This one is Toby’s,” Max announced, motioning to the wheelie. “I got it from his room at his hotel after he called the manager.”
“Mmm, good.” Kevin was wary of smuggling the pistols through airport security, but knew it should go off without a hitch.
“How did it go with His Holiness?” Max asked as he stepped into the apartment.
“OK. Actually, good. The bottom line is I think I was wrong. In fact, if I ever suspected he was part of Opus Mundi, I was wrong. He wants us to find the missing pages of the secret and give them to him.”
“Why are you so sure he’s not working for the other side?” Max asked.
“Intuition. It was just something I felt. Besides, he’s about to announce a new initiative that underscores his stance. I can’t give you details, but we’ll hear about it very soon.”
Max smiled. “Sometimes, my dear friend, you seem to forget how well connected I am in the Vatican. His Holiness Pope Linus the Second is going to announce his decision to host a peace conference to settle the Middle East crisis. The announcement will come this afternoon.”
“How’d you know? Your downstairs eyes in the Vatican kitchen?”
Max shook his head. “I have higher sources than the kitchen help, my friend.”
“I understand Israel isn’t yet on board,” Kevin added.
Max smirked. “They came through an hour ago.”
Kevin shook his head. “Our new leader is a powerful negotiator, after all.”
“Something like that,” Max said.
“C’mon, Max.” Kevin looked at his watch. “Let’s get some lunch. I’m starved. We don’t have a lot of time. We need to leave for the airport in an hour.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Seville, Spain
News of the papal peace initiative flooded the media worldwide. Fox News broke the story first with a tip from an unnamed Vatican official. Kevin smiled and wondered if Max had been the source of the tip. The Vatican hadn’t wanted news of the initiative released for another couple of days, until all the participants had prepared their own announcements.
Word spread quickly that parties in Iran, Israel, and the United States had agreed to take part in the papal peace initiative. Russia, France, and the Arab League would also attend and participate as needed. The initiative would personally be hosted by His Holiness in the Apostolic Palace in the Vatican.
Just another media circus at the Vatican, Kevin thought. After the irregularities of the recent papal election, he was glad he wouldn’t be there for it.
On CNBC, the financial analysts reported that after the announcement, stock markets in Europe, the United States, and Asia rose nearly three percent during the day. Gold and oil fell as the prospect of peace reduced worldwide fear that a nuclear calamity was imminent. Now the chances of an oil blockade in the Persian Gulf seemed slim and the fear associated with a rise in the price of gold had abated. Leaders of the three countries participating in the peace initiative thanked the pontiff for convening the conference. Each leader claimed emphatically that his constituency wanted only a peaceful resolution to the conflict.
Nice start to your papacy, Your Holiness, Kevin thought.
During all this goodwill, Max and Kevin boarded the plane to Seville. Kevin had ensured his anti-tailing measures were in place, and now was relieved to know he wasn’t being followed.
But something was bothering Kevin. He felt certain Opus Mundi had moved on to the action phase of their plan. He only wished he knew what that was.
To Kevin, Seville was the most beautiful, elegant, manicured city in Spain. The city sat on the banks of the Guadalquivir River, which flowed through the town. The town’s history, some say, dated back to its founding by Hercules. Seville was one of Kevin’s favorite cities in the world. He enjoyed its charm and cultural diversity. He was an avid student of the city’s rich history.
From the early eighth century to the twelfth century, Seville was occupied by the Moors and under their rule the city entered its age of splendor. The cultural influences of the Moors, typified by the renowned Alcazar, still survived and were a stellar example of the Mudejar architecture and designs of Aragon and Castile.
But of all the visual wonders of Seville, it was the magnificent fifteenth century cathedral that Kevin loved most. The largest Gothic cathedral in the world, the interior of this holy place mirrored the majesty and power of God. The cathedral was built on the foundation of a Moorish mosque, which accounted for its unorthodox design. The nave of the cathedral soared skyward to a height of over 130 feet, higher even than the magnificent cathedral of Chartres.
And now, Kevin was excited to visit it again.
When talking about the secret document, MC had overheard the OM people mention the cathedral. The connection intrigued Kevin.
The flight to Seville was short. Soon, Kevin and Max found themselves in a cab riding from the Seville airport to Toby’s hotel.
“Well, well,” said Max as Toby opened the door, welcoming them. “This is beautiful.” Max and Kevin stepped into a spacious suite where a Venetian crystal chandelier hung in the center of the living room.
“Glad you
like it! Good flight?” asked Toby.
“Better than the taxi ride,” Kevin said.
Toby said, “Hey, Max, go ahead and put your bag in the closet. You can use the bathroom in the hallway. I think you’ll find the sofa comfortable for sleeping.”
Max looked at the sprawling leather sofa and sat down to test it out. “Yes, it feels just right,” he said.
Kevin and Max dropped their bags in Toby’s bedroom, then came back out to the living area.
“Where’s MC?” Kevin asked.
Toby grinned sheepishly. “In the spa … the girl likes luxury.”
“All women like spas,” said Max dryly. “Even nuns.”
“Well, no matter. We don’t need her for the operational planning. We need to get to work,” said Kevin. “What’ve you got for us, Toby?”
Toby unzipped his leather portfolio and removed a large folded map of the city. He pointed to a red circle he’d made. “Here’s the location of the cell tower where the calls were made. It’s a neighborhood known as El Arenal, not far from here. I reconnoitered a bit and these are the four blocks we want.” Toby traced lines with a pencil near the towers. “It’s a mixed-use neighborhood, a few shops, a couple of cafés. I counted only four or five residential buildings. Of those, only three are multi-family. I suspect that’s what we’re after. These guys aren’t likely to be living in a big villa.”
“Too conspicuous,” said Max.
Kevin and Max scrutinized the map.
“Let’s find a vantage point,” Kevin said.
“Right,” Toby replied. “And we’d usually use a car. But we need all four of us. Kevin, you and I do the heavy lifting, you know, the contact stuff. Max can do surveillance, so nobody comes in after us.”
“What’s MC doing?” Max asked.
“She’ll be identifying her former colleagues. We’re looking to pinpoint who to go after,” Kevin said.
“So with MC, we’re back to four people,” Toby continued. “And we can’t have four people sitting endlessly in a parked car.”
The Secret of Fatima Page 21