7

by Van R. Mayhall Jr.

“Robby, the man at the park gave you this?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said contritely.

  “Did he say anything?” she continued.

  “No, ma’am. He just walked off.”

  Robby’s mom looked at her son, the dog, and then back at the card and focused again on the simple inscription: “4.”

  CHAPTER

  16

  The papal jet headed east into the gathering dusk. Cloe was seated in the executive lounge in the plane’s midsection, reflecting on her day thus far. Father Anton had delivered the message he was sent to deliver. Now she was on her way to Rome—but to what?

  Cloe had packed a suitcase and brought her laptop, along with her research findings backed up on a flash drive. As she opened the laptop and inserted the flash drive, she watched as the priest consulted with their escort, the Swiss Guard. Cloe smiled at the Swiss. They had been with her in her fight against the Kolektor and then against the Karik. They were great soldiers, and she was glad to have them with her again.

  She looked down at the dull glow of the computer screen. Even as she began to review her notes, she had the strangest premonition that she somehow had the answers to the current troubles in front of her. Discernment, as the priests liked to say, was what she needed.

  “Cloe,” said Father Anton, leaning over in his seat. “I have been on the phone with our Opts Center. The Vatican is being sacked and burned as we speak.”

  At that, his voice broke, and he could not continue. Cloe watched as unfathomable emotions rolled over the cleric. The Vatican sacked. How is that possible? What could it mean?

  “Tony, what do you know?” asked Cloe.

  The cleric sat up in his seat and struggled with his composure.

  “The center of Catholic life and the Catholic Church is being overrun by a mob of thousands of crazed youths,” said the priest. “They are destroying everything. The monks and other religious are saving what they can, but it is a disaster of terrible proportions.”

  “Oh, no!” said Cloe, leaning back.

  “Tony, that can’t be correct,” she continued, thinking. “The Swiss Guard would never permit this, and the Italian government would defend the Vatican. It must be wrong.”

  “It’s wrong all right but not for the reasons you are suggesting,” the cleric said bitterly. “Most of the Swiss are with the pope at Gandolfo, and the Italian government is in such disarray that it cannot protect Rome, much less come to the rescue of the Vatican. It seems a number of its institutions are also under attack.”

  “Surely the Germans, the French, or even the American government will come and save the Vatican,” Cloe reasoned.

  “No one,” said the priest. “This is the logical extension of secularism. From their perspective, the Vatican, as a country, must solve its own problems, and as to being a religious center, the nations are indifferent. Indeed, there are elements in every country that actually support the destruction of Christianity. I’m afraid we are largely on our own.”

  “Is there no one?” asked Cloe.

  “Strangely, the only people or institutions who have raised their voices against the persecution of Christians in the past are some of the other religions: Buddhists, Hindus, and other Christians, Protestants. Also, some elements of Islam have protested,” replied the priest. “What their reactions will be now I don’t know, but none have the actual resources to make a difference.”

  Cloe considered this and said, “Still, it’s important that there are people who will stand against evil. Everything cannot be lost as long as there is hope.”

  “You are courageous,” responded the priest, scrutinizing her. “And what we will need before all this is over will be moral leadership and people of courage.”

  “Without a doubt,” said Cloe, smiling. “My research leads me to believe that we have been given the answer to these persecutions and the other troubles. The problem is we don’t yet quite understand what the answer is. This will take more time and more work.”

  “I’m not sure how much more time we have,” replied Father Anton.

  “I just feel if we can get these last few paragraphs properly translated, then we will know,” she said.

  “Then we must solve this mystery.” The cleric turned toward her. “You must solve the mystery.”

  CHAPTER

  17

  As the plane neared Italian airspace, Father Anton went forward to confer with the pilot. He returned and now sat across from Cloe at the small conference table. Cloe could see the flare of fire against the clouds and the plumes of smoke from below.

  “We are about thirty minutes from the airport,” said the priest.

  “Where are we going to land with all this violence and confusion?” she asked.

  “We are going to Ciampino Airport, which I’m sure you will remember from our last trip together to Rome,” said Father Anton.

  Father Anton, J.E., and the monsignor had stopped there for supplies on the way to try to rescue her from the Karik’s hideout in the mountains on the Turkish-Armenian border. Tears came to her eyes as she thought of the young camerlengo, Father Sergio, who had been part of that mission. The pope had assigned “Serge” to them when he had given Cloe and friends the task of finding her father’s, Thib’s, cave of jars and keeping them out of the hands of the Karik. Serge was brutally executed by the Kolektor’s only son, Michael. Michael, the man she might have loved.

  Cloe shrank back into her seat as she processed thoughts from that terrible time. She thought about Michael, now dead these years, killed by a mine planted by J.E. in the battle at Masada. Michael, how could you? As from a far distance, she saw Tony’s mouth moving.

  “Cloe, Cloe? Are you all right?” pressed the priest, leaning forward over the table, reaching out to her.

  “Tony, I’m fine. I was just thinking of Sergio and the last time I came to Rome.”

  “That was a difficult time,” said the cleric after a short pause.

  “I’m not sure ‘difficult’ covers it,” she replied, sitting up. “J.E., Albert, and I were all almost killed by the Karik and Michael at Masada. All the remaining members of the Sicarii, a two-thousand-year-old alliance dedicated to the preservation of ancient Christian writings, were annihilated. Serge was a hero but ended up dead. God, I miss his face, his intelligence, and his wit. I wish he were with us.”

  “We all wish he were here,” the cleric quietly responded.

  “Oh dear! I’m sorry, Tony. I didn’t mean anything by what I said,” uttered Cloe. “It’s just that—”

  “I know, Cloe. I understand,” said the priest.

  There was silence between them for a few moments, and then Cloe heard the engines begin to wind down and felt the jet start its descent into the darkness surrounding Rome. As they swept through the low clouds, she looked out a window and was awestruck by what she saw. All she could think of was the image of hell portrayed in Dante’s Inferno. The holy city was ablaze, and Rome itself was burning.

  “No!” she cried.

  At the low altitude, in the light of the fires, she could make out the hordes of scavengers burning, looting, destroying man’s greatest treasures. The streets surrounding the Vatican were clogged with people. Either fires had spread beyond the walls of Vatican City or more had been set outside. Plumes of smoke and ash rose from the formerly pristine papal campus. Rome itself might be destroyed in the conflagration. The people in the streets seemed to be celebrating. As the jet flew lower, she could see mostly young people apparently singing and clearly drinking. But for the other circumstances, it could have been Mardi Gras in New Orleans.

  “Where are the fire crews?” she asked. “There is no one trying to put out the fires. We can’t lose the Vatican!”

  “Look! There are some fire trucks down there, but it looks like the crews have been savagely attacked,” said the priest. “I can make out
the bodies of men in firefighting gear. Nobody else is coming.”

  “If these fires are not contained, it will be the end of Rome and certainly the end of the holy city.”

  “It would take the army to stop this, and the way these lunatics are behaving, they might very well fight the soldiers. Thousands would be killed, and the people behind this would have a huge PR event,” replied the priest.

  “People behind this? PR event? What are you talking about?” sputtered Cloe, her thoughts flashing to their discussion on Icar. “Are you saying this has all been organized, that there is someone who expects to profit from all this destruction?”

  Tony’s face closed—he had said too much.

  “Tony, tell me what you know,” demanded Cloe.

  As the wheels touched down, he looked at her apologetically and said, “The pope will tell you what we know.”

  CHAPTER

  18

  “I think the question is whether there are others like us,” said Zack as he piloted the Saab across the Louisiana state line and continued toward New Orleans. He stretched his back and looked at his watch; it was after midnight.

  “Oh, I can think of a lot of other questions besides just that one,” said Mel in response. “Why the hell are we going to New Orleans? Who was the big guy with the card? How did you know to pick me up hitching outside of Saint Louis? And these are just a few that roll quickly off the tip of my tongue.”

  “Well, I’m just here to get the hell out of that diner,” Doris chimed in from the backseat.

  Zack smiled at Mel and said, “Doris, I think with all that’s happened, there might be a deeper reason you’re with us. You’re somehow here to help us. Mel and I don’t know anything about New Orleans, but you grew up there and know everything. We’re driven by something we can’t identify, to go somewhere we know nothing about, to do something that has not yet been revealed to us. If anybody needed a guide, we do.”

  “Whoa!” cried Doris. “I’m the guide? In the movies, you know what that makes me when the going gets tough?”

  “What?” asked Mel.

  “Expendable! That’s what!” spouted Doris. “I’m no guide, no sidekick, and I’m not going out in the dark looking for the fuse box.”

  Zack tried to keep his eyes on the interstate as he and Mel doubled over laughing.

  “Yeah, I’ve already seen the movie. I know how that role always ends. I’m not dumb, you know. I go to college,” said Doris. “I’m getting educated … I’m going to be somebody, someday.”

  “Well, this isn’t a movie,” laughed Mel, responding to the intensity in Doris’s voice. She turned in her seat to face the girl. “You’ll be fine. Zack’s right. We need help. We need someone who knows New Orleans. That would be you.”

  “But what about all the other questions?” asked Doris. “What are y’all doing? Why are you going to New Orleans in the first place?”

  “We’ve racked our brains to try to figure that out,” said Zack.

  “Do you think the big man might be waiting in New Orleans for you?” asked Doris.

  “Maybe,” said Mel, “but what could he say to us in New Orleans that he couldn’t say in Guam or in Des Moines where he gave us our cards?”

  “Good question,” responded Doris.

  “I think the big guy’s mission may be over,” said Zack. “His job was to give us the cards. Somehow, their purpose was to urge us to go to New Orleans. Someone wants us in New Orleans, so something will happen there.”

  “But what?” asked Doris.

  “Maybe it gets back to what Zack asked about first. Are there others like us?” observed Mel. “If the giant gave out cards to others, New Orleans is as good as any place to gather.”

  “You mean New Orleans is random, just the place to meet?” asked Doris.

  “It does seem like it would be more,” said Zack. “But what?”

  “How about this?” Doris piped up, trying to contain her excitement. “Ya’ll are going to New Orleans to meet the giant, and when you’re all together, you’ll get some kind of secret mission.”

  “Doris, you may be closer than you know,” replied Zack. “I think it’s clear that if there are others, we will get with them in New Orleans.”

  “Yes, and we’ll find out whatever it is we’re supposed to do in the city,” added Mel.

  Zack glanced at the big green reflective sign as they sped past, noting its announcement of “Hammond, Louisiana” in about ten miles. All they could see from the road now were the fast-food restaurants clustered at the various interchanges.

  “Anybody hungry?” asked Zack, his stomach grumbling from having lost the last meal at Smyth. “Maybe we can find a twenty-four-hour place along here somewhere.”

  ***

  As Zack piloted the Saab back onto the interstate headed south, Mel handed a Diet Coke and a BLT to Doris and then unwrapped Zack’s burger so he could eat and drive. Soon he had all the essential foods groups arrayed before him: fries, a chocolate malt, and, of course, a bacon double cheeseburger.

  As they ate, the car was quiet except for the wind rushing by. There were fewer and fewer cars on the road in the early morning hours. After the incident at Smyth, they had decided to drive straight through to New Orleans.

  They had taken the interstate east to Mandeville and were now approaching the Lake Pontchartrain Causeway. It was a twenty-four-mile ribbon of concrete over open water, leading into the soft underbelly of New Orleans.

  “Well, we’re almost there,” said Mel.

  “And, we still don’t know why,” replied Zack.

  “No, but I do know one thing,” said Mel.

  “What?” asked Doris.

  “What we’re doing is important … maybe the most important thing in our lives.”

  CHAPTER

  19

  Several members of the Swiss Guard were waiting as the plane coasted to a stop at the general aviation terminal at Ciampino. They were dressed in battle fatigues rather than their ceremonial costumes. On high alert, they repeatedly scanned the perimeter. It was near midnight, but the light of the conflagration from Rome lit up the sky. Cloe stood and moved forward as the copilot opened the door of the plane.

  “Not yet, Cloe,” cautioned Father Anton.

  Cloe watched as Father Anton exited and spoke with the soldier in charge of the detail, all the while scanning the area for signs of trouble. Apparently satisfied, he nodded, and the soldier gave a sign. Immediately, three Range Rovers rushed around the edge of the terminal and pulled up sharply next to the jet. There were four soldiers with machine pistols in the first and third vehicles. In the middle SUV, there was a driver and a soldier riding shotgun. However, this time the rider was armed to the teeth.

  “Tony, is all this really necessary?” asked Cloe, assessing the tight security as Father Anton ran back to the plane and climbed the boarding steps two at a time.

  “Cloe, I assure you it is. Once off the airport’s fenced and secured grounds, we will be on our own,” replied the priest.

  The bags were transferred, and the soldiers formed a sort of human cordon from the jet to the middle vehicle.

  “Let’s go,” said Father Anton, leading Cloe down the steps. They ran quickly to the waiting backseat of the middle SUV. The soldiers boarded their vehicles, and they were off.

  “Should I hunker down on the floor?” Cloe smiled.

  “No need,” said the cleric, studying the surroundings. “The Range Rovers are armored and will stop any ordnance short of an antitank shell.”

  “Tony, I was only kidding.”

  The priest turned toward her with real worry on his face.

  “Regrettably, I was not,” he said.

  ***

  Forty minutes later, seated in a small conference room in the pope’s quarters, she and Father Anton awaited Pope Francis. It was very
late, but they were told the pope had left orders that he be awakened when they arrived. His reign had begun well with a number of highly publicized trips, including one to Brazil where upwards of three million people attended a Mass over which he presided. Some Mardi Gras crowds in New Orleans topped a million souls, but three million all at one Mass boggled the mind.

  In spite of the security and precautions—or maybe because of them—they had rushed through the streets from the airport to Castel Gandolfo and arrived without incident. During the trip, Father Anton had pointed out some of the visible features of the area. She learned Castel Gandolfo was a village of about eight thousand people located in the Alban Hills on the shore of Lake Albano, a few miles southeast of Rome. The area was ancient with archeological findings as early as 1600 BC. For many years, it had served as a retreat for the wealthy. The Apostolic Palace had been used as a summer home for various popes, with at least two popes dying there.

  Tony said the palace itself was not designed as a fortress, so it could not be easily defended. The Swiss had blocked off its few access ways, the strategy being to prevent anyone from getting near the residence. Cloe and her group had been waved through by the night guard.

  She walked to the window overlooking what she thought might be Lake Albano. Being pope now had to be very difficult, considering the worldwide attacks on the Church and on Christianity in general. Everywhere, the Church seemed to be under attack and in retreat.

  Cloe could see only darkness as she gazed down the hillside.

  Crack! The window before her shattered. The concussion against the window slammed her back onto the floor. The lights went out as she landed hard. Father Anton grabbed her and dragged her out of the line of fire.

  “Tony, what happened?” she asked, dazed.

  “A sniper, I think, but the glass is bulletproof, and while it partially fragmented, the bullet did not penetrate it,” replied the priest. “You were silhouetted against the light inside. Were you cut by the glass splinters?”

  “No, but the lights went out,” said Cloe, brushing at the tiny glass fragments.