“Cloe, plug this into the USB port in the table hub,” he said.
Cloe quickly connected the cable to her computer and then to a built-in AV hub. The page appeared in large characters on the wall screen. They looked up at the strange markings.
“This is absolutely incredible,” the monsignor finally said.
“What the heck?” added J.E. “It looks like a bunch of tiny insects organized in some strange colony—a little like small platoons of ants forming up on a parade ground.”
“Why did you say ‘organized,’ J.E.?” asked the monsignor.
“I don’t know. It just hit me that it didn’t seem random,” he replied. “Organized, structured.”
“Very observant, young man,” said the curator.
The monsignor turned quickly to the priest. “Father Curator, I think you have something to tell us.”
“Perhaps,” said the curator. “I have seen this before.”
“Where?” asked J.E. “What’s the code?”
The curator stepped back, scrutinized the screen, and said, “It’s not insects, not ants, and it’s definitely not a code.”
CHAPTER
39
They gathered in the living room of Doris’s family’s home. The room was old school with traditional, overstuffed furniture all grouped around a now cold fireplace. Zack knew the Leneaus did not fully understand what was happening. Still, they were willing to put up with all of them, along with Robby’s mother and of course Doris, who was somehow involved.
“In the coffee shop, the hoodlums said they knew us and our mission,” said Zoe. “What can that mean?”
“I can’t say,” replied Zack. “We don’t even know our mission. I do know we are here for a purpose, but I haven’t thought of it as a mission.”
“How could they know anything about us?” asked Mel.
Doris’s mother and father had joined the group, and Mr. Leneau puffed on his pipe as he listened carefully to the conversation.
“Have you seen any of these boys before?” asked Mr. Leneau.
“No, sir,” said Zack. “We don’t know them.”
“But how could they know our mission?” queried Rey.
“They were there to stop us from doing something that we don’t even know we are doing,” said Louie, now more vocal. “This is BS!”
“And how did we repel them?” questioned Zoe. “What was that all about?”
“They were dead set on hurting us or worse,” said Zack. “They were crazy.”
“Yes, but somehow we ran them off,” said Rey.
“One thing I would say is this group has courage,” said Mr. Leneau. “From what you have said, Zack, Louie, and Rey stepped forward to meet the threat.”
“Don’t forget Bully,” said Zack. “We all rallied around Bully.” The huge bulldog chuffed with pleasure at the mention of his name.
“True, but nothing happened until Robby came forward and grabbed Zack’s hand,” said Rey. “Then we began to feel the power.”
“Yes, but the girls were the clincher,” observed Louie. “When they closed the circle, it seemed we could do anything.”
“It’s plain that you together possess some sort of power or you can somehow call upon a power,” said Mrs. Leneau. “I’ve never heard anything like this. Is … is this for good?”
There it was. Zack considered Doris’s mother’s question. Was it good? How could they know for sure? He himself thought it was for good. He looked around at the group and believed them to be good.
“Yes!” he said finally. “Somehow, we are a force for good arrayed against someone or something bad.”
“But why me? Where did I sign up for this?” said Louie. “I’m just a petty thief from New York.”
“No one knows any of that,” said Mel. “But can you deny the power you felt in the circle?”
“No,” replied Louie.
“Then you are in it whether you like it or not,” said Mel. “You are in it to the finish.”
“But what does that mean?” asked Louie. “We all know things are going to hell in a handbasket out there. The cities are a mess with violence that is exploding. It makes the way I make my living look like Sunday school. What do we do? What can we do?”
“It is under such circumstances that evil arises,” said Mr. Leneau.
“Evil?” asked Zack. “What do you mean by evil?”
“In my line of work, I read a lot. I have explored the Bible and other religious works. The book of Revelation says the devil was cast into the abyss for a thousand years. That was two thousand years ago. Is this the cycle of evil? Is there a thousand-year cycle and are we on the precipice of the second cycle?”
“Wow, the thugs at the coffee shop mentioned the thousand-year thing and that it was their time,” Zack said in surprise.
“My God, you can’t believe that,” blurted Robby’s mom, who had been listening to everything.
Everyone turned to her and then back to Mr. Leneau. The old house groaned and creaked.
Zoe shivered and said, “This is so far above me I don’t really know what to believe.”
“Well, sooner or later, the same force that brought us here will make known what we are to do,” said Mel. “We must have faith.”
“Faith?” said Louie. “I’m not even religious.”
“Still, can you deny that you have been chosen?” asked Zack.
“No …” said Louie. “But I don’t feel all that chosen.”
“No one else does either,” said Zack. “But until we know what this is all about, we hide and we wait.”
CHAPTER
40
“Father Curator, it’s got to be some sort of code,” said Cloe. “I’m familiar with many of the old languages—even ones no longer spoken—and this is not one of them.”
“Ah, but it is just that—an ancient language,” said the old priest. “However, it was never a spoken language. If I’m correct, it may be far older than anything you might have worked with. In fact, it may be one of the earliest known forms of writing.”
“Well, that could only be one thing,” mused Cloe.
“Yes, cuneiform,” said the curator. “It’s cuneiform.”
“What the heck is cuneiform?” asked J.E. “I’ve heard the word somewhere before, but what does it mean?”
“Cuneiform itself means having the shape of a wedge or wedge-like,” replied the curator. “If you look closely, the tiny shapes you characterized as insects or ants are actually small wedges.”
“I have seen examples of cuneiform before in my studies, but this is unlike anything I’ve ever seen,” remarked Cloe.
“You mean someone can read this stuff?” asked J.E., staring at the odd shapes on the screen.
“Yes, the wedges are arranged into various patterns, and those patterns make words, phrases, or sometimes small pictures. It’s really quite amazing,” said the curator. “We have samples of cuneiform that were used by ancient civilizations in our Vatican library.”
“I wonder if there’s much left to the library after the destruction of the Vatican by the mob,” said Cloe.
The old curator paused. Cloe thought she saw a hint of moisture in his eyes.
“I’m sorry, Father,” said Cloe, realizing she had been insensitive.
“A great deal of our library had been digitalized and put on computer. A good deal of it is actually underground and hidden. Even if the ancient manuscripts are gone, the knowledge may still survive,” said the priest, with great sadness.
“Do you have any idea what it says or which people may have used this language?” asked the monsignor.
“I have no idea what it says,” said the curator. “But I believe it’s from the ancient Middle East, somewhere in Mesopotamia.”
They sat pondering the strange symbols on the screen, seemi
ngly at an end.
“Cloe, do you think Mike, the supercomputer at Louisiana State University, might be able to analyze these markings and provide some answers?” asked the monsignor.
Cloe thought about her time at LSU and the opening of the first jar, the Judas jar, the computer figuring out the chemical composition in the jar and then some of the verbiage. The supercomputer had also played a critical role in deciphering the biblical clues in the second jar.
“Yes, it’s worth a try if we can’t get access to the Vatican’s information,” said Cloe.
“Can’t get access to what Vatican information?” came a booming voice from the doorway.
They all turned to face the vicar general Antonio Sigliori, head of Vatican special operations.
“Tony!” cried the monsignor. “How can you be here? I heard you were in Africa.”
The priest stepped through the doorway, and the others crowded around him, greeting him with hugs and a tear or two.
“Father Anton, the last time I saw you was at Masada,” said J.E. “Where have you been?”
“Well, I went to America to get your mother, and then the pope sent me for a quick trip to Africa to assess the situation. I have only just returned, and I was told you were here,” said Father Anton. “So here I am.”
“What’s happening in Africa?” asked J.E., taking a serious tone with his military colleague.
“It’s bad, J.E.,” said the priest. “It’s no longer just tribal violence in pockets. It’s young versus old, rich versus poor, and more, all seemingly inflamed by this mysterious Icar. Whole cities have been looted and are on fire. The people are desperate. The world seems to be coming apart at the seams. We’ve had to evacuate the religious from all but the most stable areas. In all our years in overseas missions, this has never happened.”
Cloe watched Father Anton as he spoke. He looked more fatigued than when she had last seen him in New Orleans and in Rome. His was a terrible responsibility. While the Vatican was the head of the Catholic Church worldwide, it was also a small country and needed to protect its own from time to time. Father Anton, as head of special operations, was that protector along with the Swiss Guard.
“Hello, Tony,” said Cloe. “We need to bring you up to speed on all that has happened since you came to New Orleans.”
“Good, but what do you need from Vatican sources? Maybe I can help,” he said.
“We have a mystery language we believe to be cuneiform. Father Curator believes the Vatican library may have had examples of such writing to which we want to compare our sample,” she said. “We need to learn what it says or at least which civilization produced the writing. However, we know the library was largely destroyed in the looting of the Vatican.”
“True, but some materials have been saved, and most of the knowledge was put on our computer servers, and we have those. If we can get the sample to the monks in the special operations center, they may be able to help,” replied Father Anton.
“Are you saying Father Emilio and the special opts monks are here?” asked J.E. “They saved our skins in the fight with the Karik and Michael, giving us critical intel that gave us an edge.”
“They are not physically at Castel Gandolfo, but they are safe in a special bunker near here with all the Vatican computer servers,” replied Father Anton. “I can send them an image of the cuneiform, and we’ll see what they find.”
The priest sat at Cloe’s laptop, copied the strange icons, and forwarded them to the monks. Cloe had been amazed that the Vatican had an order of monks manning its special opts intelligence center, but they had proved their worth and their mettle in previous battles. If anyone could find the meaning or source of the cuneiform, they would.
“Okay, that’s it,” said Father Anton, turning from the computer to face Cloe and the others. “The pope has assigned me to protect you for as long as you are here. Of course, my duties with respect to His Holiness and his household will also continue.”
“Thank God, Tony,” declared the monsignor. “I have no idea where we are going or what we will be doing, but I feel much better with you helping us.”
“Indeed, what do we do?” asked the curator. “Where do we start?”
“A fair question, Father Curator,” responded Cloe. “Right now we know only three things: the world is in chaos with evil plainly ascending; a man named Icar is either causing it or exploiting it; and an indecipherable passage in the long-lost journal may tell us what to do about this. That’s what we have, so that’s where we start.”
CHAPTER
41
Later, in her room, Cloe tossed and turned: sleep eluded her. Her mind was going in a hundred directions still trying to answer the old curator’s question. Where do we start? It was a three-legged stool. One leg consisted of the terrible signs and events in the world and the pope’s assertion of evil itself being among them. Could this be true? What is evil? Some said it was the absence of good. Recently, she had heard a learned priest say it was the opposite of good. She had pondered the distinction but had reached no conclusions. Still …
The phone rang with a terrible jangling sound, slapping her awake. Cloe glanced at the window as she reached for the phone on the bedside table. The soft, low glow of early morning came through the curtained glass. At least she hadn’t overslept.
“Hello,” she said.
“Hi, Mom,” said J.E. “I’m sorry to wake you so early, but the overnight intelligence is not good. The pope has asked us to meet in his conference room in forty minutes.”
***
The heady aroma of rich coffee enveloped her like a pleasant veil. The nuns had also laid out handmade pastries on a serving piece adjacent to the table.
“Please,” said the pope. “Have some breakfast and hot coffee.”
Cloe helped herself. J.E., the monsignor, and Father Curator were already there and seated around the table. She was just sitting down as Father Anton entered, bustling with a number of papers and reports in his hands. He laid his burden down and quickly grabbed a cup of coffee.
The pope blessed the meal and paused for a moment of silent prayer. He then looked at Father Anton and said, “Father, what do you have for us?”
“The Opts Center has been processing reports from all over the world. As you know, we still have contacts in numerous places, and we remain connected to the intelligence resources of many countries.”
“Yes?” responded the pope.
“The news is very bad, Holiness,” Tony began. “You are aware of the riots in most major cities. Many governments have fallen. Mob rule has replaced most of them. Industries have shut down. There are no jobs and no money. There are terrible food shortages, and where civilian authority has broken down there is a scarcity of clean water, heat, and other essentials. Countless hundreds of thousands have died or have been killed. Bodies litter many cities.”
“My God!” cried the pope.
“Tony, is there more?” asked the monsignor.
“Unfortunately, there is more,” he replied. “Plague has broken out on several continents and is being fanned by the unsanitary conditions and the widespread famine.”
“Plague?” asked Cloe. “What kind of plague? I thought most of the really aggressive bugs had been eliminated.”
“True, but there are facilities in several countries where even the worst bacteria and viruses have been stored for study or for military purposes,” said Father Anton. “A number of these facilities have been overrun and sacked in India, Russia, and in several other countries.”
“Oh no!” said J.E. “The people looting those places will make perfect hosts to carry the diseases into the general population.”
“Exactly,” said Father Anton. “That’s just what is happening. In India, thousands have a bacterial plague that is defying exact identification and is resistant to available antibiotics. The same is true in Ru
ssia, except it seems to be a type of flu similar to that Spanish flu strain that killed millions in the last century.”
“Experts believe fifty to one hundred million people may have died in the flu pandemic near the time of World War I; in fact, war conditions may have contributed to the death toll,” said Cloe. “If we are talking about independent plagues on several continents, fueled by terrible hygienic conditions and shortages of food and medicines, the deaths could be in the millions—maybe much higher.”
“The very existence of the human race may be at risk,” said the pope. “We must act. Father Anton, what else do you have?”
“The United States sits on the sidelines,” said Father Anton. “Its ships and planes guard its shores, but, in spite of many pleas, it has not reached out to help. The US must add its wealth and great industrial might to the international resources available to address the plagues. We believe that if medicines could be designed, the US and others could manufacture enough to eventually stop the diseases.”
“Cloe, do you have any insight on what is happening in your country?” asked the monsignor. “We have never known the United States not to help in times of disaster.”
“Albert, it’s a product of decisions we have made over the last few years,” replied Cloe. “Some say we have kicked the can down the road instead of making hard decisions. We have moved away from the can-do attitude of the last century and have turned inward in a narcissistic, selfish way trying to equal outcomes for all, squandering entrepreneurism and energy. The leadership at the highest levels has championed a lawlessness that has corrupted the rule of law. Now, I’m not sure the US has the will to mount the effort that will be necessary.”
No one spoke as Cloe’s words sank in.
After a while, the pope cleared his throat and said, “Our Father will provide what we need to win this battle.”
Father Anton’s phone rang. He picked it up and listened. When he hung up, his face had a puzzled look.
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