God's Lions - House of Acerbi

by John Lyman

The weather had turned unseasonably cool as the three men exited the Apostolic Palace to find a blue-suited man with a short-cropped, military style haircut waiting for them by the entrance. All three were relieved to see Francois Leander, the legendary head of the Swiss Guard.

  “Good morning, Gentleman. Father Enzo just called. I have a vehicle waiting for you.” Francois led the men through a darkened medieval passageway into a second courtyard that fronted the Swiss Guard’s barracks. “I’ve just placed my men on high alert. They haven’t been formally advised of the biological threat yet, but everyone knows what happened in America, so they put two and two together. They’re good men and they’ll follow orders, but I’ve never seen them so frightened.”

  “Can’t say I blame them,” Lev said, brushing the sleeve of his coat, as though he were trying to brush away an invisible alien invader that had just landed and was burrowing into the fibers of his jacket. “Soldiers would much rather face an enemy they can see.”

  “From a security standpoint, a biological attack has always been one of our worst fears,” Francois said. “Men, women ... even children. This invisible thing from hell doesn’t care what it kills!”

  Walking next to the Swiss Guard chief, Leo was watching a line of dark clouds flowing in over the Eternal City. “Unfortunately, Francois, a virus has no soul, and thus no conscience. In fact, a virus is barely considered a life form.”

  “Good. Then we shall have no guilt when we kill it, Cardinal.”

  Walking into the center of the courtyard, they spotted an ominous-looking, black Chevy SUV with a small forest of antennas sprouting from its roof.

  “I’ll be driving and monitoring the radios,” Francois continued. “We’ll be in constant contact with the Swiss Guard units that have been moved into position along our route. They’ll be able to get to us relatively quickly should the need arise. I also stocked a few supplies in the back.”

  “It seems like you’ve thought of everything ... as usual,” Leo said.

  Francois forced a tight smile as Morelli jumped into the front passenger seat and Leo and Lev slid into the back. Gunning the engine, he threw a departing wave to a group of uniformed Swiss Guards standing in front of their barracks before speeding through the tightly guarded Porta Sant’ Anna and squealing out onto a narrow street known as the Via Di Porta Angelica—the street of angels.

  Behind them, Vatican City was still filling with people, leaving the medieval hodgepodge of alley-like streets in this section of Rome practically empty. The absence of people in the usually teaming streets was eerie as the SUV crossed the river Tiber and continued up the Via Pinciana, a wide boulevard that ran along the eastern border of a huge park that surrounded the famous Villa Borghese.

  The Villa and the grounds around it were constructed in 1613 for the hedonistic Cardinal Scipione Borghese, nephew of Pope Paul V. It had been the first park of its kind in Rome, containing foreign academies and a school of archaeology, plus museums, art galleries, fountains, and even a zoo. Usually filled with gelato-slurping tourists, on this day the park stood virtually empty. Looking out over the beautiful grounds, Leo was once again struck by the duality between those who dedicated themselves to creating objects of beauty and those who seemed equally dedicated to depraved acts of cruelty.

  Scipione’s villa was now known as the Galleria Borghese, a world-class art gallery filled with sculpture, including an especially beautiful marble version of a recumbent and semi-nude Venus. It was said that the model for the sculpture was none other than Pauline Borghese, Napoleon’s sister, but as soon as the brilliant work of art had been completed, her jealous husband locked it away. Even its famous sculptor, Canova, was never permitted to lay eyes on it again, and so it remained in darkness until long after Pauline Borghese and her husband had died.

  As the tree-lined grounds of the magnificent park flashed by the left side of the SUV, Leo leaned over the front seat and peered through the front windshield. “Now that we’re away from the Vatican, does anyone care to share with me where we’re headed?”

  “Spain,” Morelli replied.

  “Spain! Why Spain?”

  “A private jet on a mission for the Vatican crashed there yesterday.”

  Leo and Lev traded looks.

  “Could you elaborate on that, Anthony?”

  “I’m afraid I have some bad news, Leo. Cardinal Orsini was onboard.”

  “Orsini? The Vatican’s Secretary of State?” Leo paused as the news sank in. “Were there any survivors?”

  “Sadly, no ... the cardinal is dead, Leo.”

  Leo pulled a small, wooden rosary from his pocket and ran his fingers over the beads. “Orsini was one of the brightest, most insightful men I’ve ever known. Why wasn’t I informed of this earlier?”

  “His Holiness didn’t want the news of his death to be made public yet. With everything else that’s happening, I couldn’t seem to find the right time to tell you. For now, that’s all the information we have. The Spanish authorities have cordoned off the area as a precaution.”

  Francois turned the speeding SUV onto the Via Salaria and continued on through the seemingly deserted city until they passed under Rome’s ring freeway and headed north on the A-1 highway. Sitting back in his seat, Leo stared out through his window at the ruins of an ancient aqueduct in the distance. The rapidly vanishing campagna, the countryside around Rome, was filled with reminders of a glorious past, but as the city continued to grow, it was becoming obvious that the encroaching urban landscape would soon envelope them and dilute their solitary glory. At least they would still be there, Leo thought. Man needed his monuments to remind him of what had been before. Orsini’s final monument would surely be less grand, but he would be remembered just the same.

  “A precaution against what?” Leo asked, shaking off his thoughts about distant ruins and monuments to men long gone.

  “I beg your pardon?” Morelli said.

  “You said the Spanish authorities had cordoned off the crash site as a precaution ... a precaution against what?”

  “Probably against whatever killed all those people in America. Did I mention the plane was returning from New York? Undoubtedly there’s some concern from the Spanish authorities that the people onboard could have been infected.”

  “That’s a good point, which makes me wonder why the pope is sending us there. We could be headed right into a biological hot zone.”

  “We thought of that, so we called some experts at the CDC in Atlanta this morning. They believe the Spanish authorities are being overly cautious. They informed us that, if there was a danger from an unknown pathogen at the site of the crash, it has long since passed. Whatever killed all of those people in America quickly flamed out and hasn’t reappeared. Also, the wreckage of the aircraft was apparently consumed by a very hot fireball that would have virtually sterilized the wreckage.”

  “That still doesn’t answer the question of why the Holy Father is sending us to a crash site, a site where, in most likelihood, nothing recognizable remains.”

  Morelli breathed in deeply before reaching into his cassock. He removed a folded sheet of paper and handed it over his shoulder into the back seat. “Here, Leo ... this might help clear things up for you.”

  Leo’s eyes narrowed at the back of Morelli’s head as he reached for the paper. For some reason, Morelli was holding back. He wasn’t sharing everything he knew, and as a ranking cardinal, especially one who was in line to replace Orsini, Leo should have been informed of Orsini’s death right away.

  Without warning, Francois braked and swerved the SUV to avoid hitting a wild-eyed man who had just run out onto the highway in front of the vehicle. Looking outside, Leo and the others could see other wild-eyed people running out onto the road from a nearby field. In a matter of seconds, a large mob had surrounded the SUV after Francois had been forced to stop to avoid running them over.

  The people around the vehicle were screaming something at the men inside, but their speech was garbled and unin
telligible. Shockingly, their hands appeared to be covered in blood, and as they reached out to touch the windows, they left behind wide swaths of brownish-red streaks.

  Shrieking and groaning in a primitive litany of pain and hopelessness, the mob began to rock the vehicle back and forth, almost tipping it on its side. The men inside braced themselves, their hearts racing as they peered from behind their windows at even more panicked-looking people streaming toward them from the fields.

  Their way forward was now blocked, as was the road behind them. The occupants of the SUV were totally surrounded by a growing mob that had been driven stark-raving mad by something, and they seemed intent on getting at the men inside the big Chevy.

  Francois frantically motioned to the crowd and laid on the horn as he tried to inch the vehicle forward, but the crowd refused to move. Some began beating on the vehicle, while others began pushing against it, lifting it up on two wheels. With more and more crazed people flooding onto the highway, Francois realized that, within seconds, the SUV would be on its side, its occupants doomed.

  The Swiss Guard chief had been tagged as their driver for a reason. He was intimately familiar with the defensive capabilities of this very special SUV. Reaching under the dash, he pulled a lever, releasing a cloud of tear gas that spurted from hidden vents running under both sides and at the rear of the vehicle.

  The people pushing on the sides immediately fell back. Reaching up, they covered their burning eyes with their bloody hands just as a whitish foam spewed from their mouths and their bodies began to shake with fits of coughing. Only those in the front of the vehicle had not felt the effects of the teargas, and after a brief retreat, they returned and began jumping on the bumper and crawling up on the hood. Francois quickly reached under the dash and pulled a second lever. Immediately, an invisible wall of focused sound hit the people in front, causing them to grab their ears and back away to escape the ear-shattering sound that seemed to pierce their bodies.

  Without waiting, Francois stepped on the gas and smoked the tires. The crowd in front of the vehicle screamed and cursed as the SUV shot forward, narrowly missing some who were still trying to block their way forward. From out of nowhere, a rock smashed against a side window just as a man jumped on the hood and pressed his twisted face against the windshield. For a brief moment, the crazed man’s eyes locked with those of the occupants inside as he clawed at the glass. Francois made the sign of the cross and pushed the accelerator all the way down. He swerved the vehicle from side-to-side as their speed increased, until finally, the man on the hood lost his grip and slipped over the side, crashing against the pavement with a thud.

  Peering into the vehicle’s side mirrors and back through the blood-streaked rear window, the stunned men inside the SUV shuddered at the sight behind them as the mob began to turn on itself. In a bizarre scene that could have been taken from the pages of Dante’s Inferno, the crazed and shrieking victims were now tearing at one another in a horrific and mindless tableau of bloodthirsty mayhem.

  Lev tried to calm himself by taking deep breaths as he leaned back in his seat. “My God! What just happened back there?”

  Francois increased their speed. “I’m afraid the pathogen has arrived in Italy.”

  CHAPTER 10

  The Villa in Israel

  Reclining in a weathered beach chair, the blinding reflection off the white sand dunes caused Ariella to squint as she looked out at the contrasting blue of the Mediterranean Sea and stroked her husband’s tanned arm. The two had just returned to their little beach house from a morning swim after John had speared a sizeable string of red snapper for supper.

  She smiled to herself as she studied his calm face in the chair beside hers and thought back to his first attempt at spear fishing, when he had proudly captured a five-inch-long mackerel. “Would you like some orange juice?”

  John opened his eyes. “That would be great ... thanks.”

  Turning his head, he observed the lithe form of his lovely wife as she stood and walked toward the small, wood-shingled beach house her father had given them the year before as a wedding present. After she disappeared past the transparent curtains blowing from the sides of the open French doors, he turned his attention back to the sea, causing him to marvel at how much his life had changed in less than a year.

  For a mile in either direction, the land along this stretch of coastline belonged to his father-in-law, Lev Wasserman. Shortly after Ariella was born, Lev and his late wife, Carmela, had purchased two hundred acres here along the beach with the intention of building a small farming cooperative safe from the constant terrorist bombings that plagued Israel’s cities.

  From his seat on the beach, John could see the dim outline of his father-in-law’s immense house in the distance. Set at the end of a long paved driveway, the enormous Mediterranean-styled villa was the centerpiece of the farm. Three stories high, with white stucco walls and a red-tiled roof, the villa was set back from the beach, connected to the sea by a rickety boardwalk that ran through sugar-white sand dunes and tall palm trees to a sparkling blue swimming pool at the back of the house.

  The entire compound was run much like the communal kibbutz Lev had been raised on, except in this case he retained ownership of the land. Scattered around the property, twenty smaller houses were tucked in among the vineyards, orchards, and planted fields that made up the farm. These single-family dwellings were used mostly by professors and graduate students, who lived there free of charge in exchange for providing security, growing the community’s food, and taking care of the villa. The community also owned several vehicles that were available for everyone. They were used mostly for going to school or shopping or just a night out on the town.

  People of various ages could be seen walking around the property, the most noticeable being the young men and women of the villa’s security force dressed in olive-colored shirts and matching shorts. From the beachfront to the gatehouse to the fields, these dedicated young people could be seen everywhere, patrolling the property with radios and automatic weapons slung over their shoulders.

  It was on this very beach the year before that John had first laid eyes on his wife after he and Father Leo had escaped from Rome when they were being chased by a group of rogue Vatican security men led by an evil priest who had long since disappeared.

  Returning from the house with the orange juice, Ariella settled into the chair next to John. The breeze from the sea whipped strands of long brown hair across her face and over her eyes, forcing her to pull it back and hold it off to the side as she fixed her young husband with a look that made it obvious to him that her next words had been planned out in advance.

  “So, John, when are we going to have a baby?”

  John continued staring out to sea as he sat his glass of orange juice on the small table beside him.

  He’s not getting off that easily, Ariella told herself. She twisted around in her seat and faced him full on. “Did you hear what I just said?”

  John reached up and scratched his beard before adjusting his sun glasses with both hands.

  Ariella leaned in closer. She had to give him credit for his ability to feign deafness.

  He’s good—but so am I.

  “How do you like the new futon we bought in Tel Aviv?”

  “What?”

  “I asked what you thought of the new futon.”

  “It’s great. I love the red color.” An intuitive sense of dread was working its way up from his stomach into his throat. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because if you don’t answer my question right now, you’ll be sleeping on it tonight.”

  There it was.

  “I thought we discussed this last month. Didn’t we both agree to wait at least two more years before we made an attempt at parenthood?”

  “You know it’s what I want.”

  “Oh ... now I’m a mind reader.” John instantly regretted his words. Sarcasm—a sure ticket to the futon.

  He glanced over at a pair of
liquid brown eyes blinking back at him ... eyes he had fallen in love with the moment he had first noticed them that day on the beach in front of the villa.

  “I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to sound like a jerk. It’s just that I still have another year of graduate school. I’d kind of like to keep any outside distractions down until I graduate.”

  Ariella’s eyes narrowed at him.

  Oh man, I’ve really stepped in it now.

  “Did I just hear you refer to our future children as distractions?”

  Just take me now.

  “You know very well what I meant, Ariella.”

  “There are always going to be distractions, John. Life is full of distractions. My father always told me that managing them successfully is the key to success. You’re the ultimate boss. You rule the distractions. They don’t rule you.”

  “Your father is a very wise man, and I think he’d agree that now is not the time to be bringing a new baby into the world.”

  “You’re worried about the virus. That’s it. Am I right? You think we’re all going to die?”

  “From everything we’ve heard, it could grow into a worldwide epidemic. This could very well be the big one they’ve been predicting for so long.”

  “Do you really think it’s coming our way?”

  “No way to tell. With the speed of modern jet travel, it could already be here in Israel. That’s why your father told us to stay on the compound until he gets back from Rome. We should be safe as long as we don’t go into the city. We have the advantage of being totally self-sufficient here on the farm, and I have the internet for all the research I need to finish my thesis. At least that eliminates the need to drive into Jerusalem for classes.”

  “Daniel told me this new virus was acting strange. Some people weren’t affected at all, while others died within hours.”

  “I know ... it’s horrible. Even your father’s friends in the government don’t seem to have a clear picture of what’s going on. Worst case scenario, it could be a mutation of a type of flu that’s turned super deadly. I’m more worried about my folks back in New Mexico, but at least out on the ranch they’re away from any major population areas. Mom cans fruit and vegetables every year, so they should have enough food stored to keep them from having to go to the store in town, and dad was smart enough to convert over to solar and wind power after they came here for the wedding last year and saw what your father had done on the compound with the new technology.”