At first, Zsidiv said, the Committee tried to keep a close watch on those left-leaning priests surreptitiously undertaking pro-Soviet activities in the Old World. Nevertheless, in the last several years, the organization had gained the Supreme Pontiff’s confidence by uncovering a pair of high-level assassination attempts planned against him.
Baldi looked startled.
“And what does this have to do with Saint Matthew?”
“A great deal,” Zsidiv said. “In those years the Committee did not limit itself simply to political activities. It also took an interest in our research programs, especially Chronovision. They informed us that one of their organizations, INSCOM, had years ago created a division whose goal was to train people with highly developed extrasensory abilities, whose minds were able to cross the barriers of space and time. They intended to integrate them into a unit they called ‘psychic espionage.’ Somehow they found out that we were working toward a similar goal with the help of sacred music and your studies in pre-polyphony. So they sent a man to work with us, a representative with whom we could exchange points of interest about our mutual findings.”
“One of their men. A spy.”
“Call him whatever you like. In any case, they sent him to the head of our team in Rome so that he could work hand in hand with Saint Matthew, whom we knew as Father Corso. Little more than a month ago both sides unearthed the file on the Lady in Blue. They believed they had come across something important.”
“The Lady in Blue?”
Baldi had never heard the name before.
“That’s right, you haven’t heard that story yet.”
Monsignor Zsidiv turned around, a benevolent look on his face directed at Father Baldi, his hands folded on his chest over his burnished gold cross. He walked back to his desk.
“Let me give you the full explanation, Giuseppe. In the archives of the Holy Office, Father Luigi Corso and the American discovered several written accounts that spoke of a Spanish nun who had undergone bilocation experiences of a spectacular nature.”
“What kind of written accounts?”
“They are known as Benavides’s Memorial. They refer to certain incidents that took place in 1629 in New Mexico, which were recorded by a Franciscan of the same name. He states, among other things, that this woman had succeeded in transporting herself physically from one part of the world to another, with God’s mysterious assistance. In his report, Father Benavides attributed to her the evangelization of various American Indian tribes in what is now the southwestern United States. She was known as ‘the Lady in Blue’ when she appeared in that part of the world. That was what interested the Americans.”
“Since when did the CIA take any interest in its country’s history?”
“They weren’t interested in history.” A malicious smile played across Zsidiv’s gaunt face. “In my opinion, Langley cannot tell the difference between 1629 and 1929. All of that is out of their league.”
“And so?”
“What awakened their inquisitiveness was the possibility of being able to send men instantaneously to any part of the world, by proceeding down the road opened by that nun. Just imagine it. With a technique like that at their disposal, the military would have access to state secrets, be able to steal compromising documents, eliminate potential enemies, or move things from one place to another, without leaving any evidence of their presence. In short, if they could successfully reproduce what Benavides had set out in his report, they would have the perfect weapon in their hands. Discreet and undetectable.”
“They wanted to militarize a divine gift?”
Baldi was perplexed.
“Yes, with the help of the music that provoked the ecstasies and bilocations of that blue lady. Isn’t that what you spent so much time studying, Giuseppe?”
“But no known acoustical frequency exists that will allow for anything like that!” Baldi protested.
“That is exactly what the other two evangelists said. In fact, none of the documents relating to the nun provide convincing proof that she was in fact the party responsible for the visits to those Indians.”
“What then?”
“Perhaps what the Indians saw was something far more important.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“That perhaps the Lady in Blue was something other than a nun in a cloister with a gift for bilocation, that perhaps we find ourselves facing something greater, and far more sublime: a manifestation of the Holy Mother, for example. A manifestation of the Virgin. The Pope takes this possibility seriously, and he believes that no one other than she would have been able to appear in such glory and majesty before those Indians, setting the stage for the evangelization of America.”
“A manifestation . . .” The idea sent Baldi into a long train of thought.
“Nevertheless, Saint Matthew and his American assistant never agreed with the Marian hypothesis, and they stuck to their guns, compiling every scrap of information they could find in an attempt to be certain.”
“Do you believe this obsession had something to do with Father Corso’s death?”
“I’m certain of it . . . beyond any doubt after the disappearance of his files. It is as if someone had taken possession of his research and had gone to the trouble of erasing every file from the map. Maybe he had discovered something. Something that brought about his death.”
“And Father Corso’s assistant? The American representative has yet to provide the police with any solid leads?”
Monsignor Zsidiv was sliding a silver letter opener between his fingers.
“No. And that, too, fails to surprise me. Look, Giuseppe, this man is hardly above suspicion. I believe INSCOM inserted him in our project simply to get wind of any advances the First Evangelist might make. Although I have to say that he made contributions to Chronovision as well.”
“Meaning?”
“Well, you know better than anyone exactly how delicate this project is. Science on the one hand, faith on the other. Which is where our conflicts originate. From a certain point of view, one can only accept Chronovision if one is also willing to believe in prophets and the great men of the past upon whom God bestowed the gift of defying the laws of time. Which is why we are building a machine powerful enough to overcome that dimension, a machine that arbitrarily stimulates visionary states similar to those of the ancient patriarchs, converting normal persons, men and women of flesh and blood, into prophets. Or, it attempts to do so for short periods of time . . .”
“You can dispense with the long introductions, Your Eminence.”
“Very well, Giuseppe.” Zsidiv’s smile was indulgent. “It was you who gave the evangelists the idea, and you were quite right, that certain notes in sacred music allowed our mystics to overcome the barriers of time. Do you recall? You also insinuated that the key to opening that inner region of the mind was sound. You compared it to Ali Baba’s ‘Open sesame.’ ”
“Everything is contained in the word. Sound is merely its acoustic manifestation.”
“Very well,” Zsidiv said, rubbing his hands. “This American was acquainted with a system even more efficient than yours, but of the same ilk.”
Father Baldi removed his glasses and, trying to mask his surprise, began cleaning them with a little piece of cotton cloth. Had someone in the United States developed a system to provoke altered states of consciousness using musical frequencies?
“What sort of system is this, Your Eminence?” he asked after a long period of silence.
“It went like this: when this new partner in our project arrived, we entered all the material he brought with him into our files, and copied it as well. In the notebooks he kept on the job he mentioned the innovations of one Robert Monroe, a North American businessman who owned and developed radio stations, and who pioneered a method by which he could teach people to ‘fly’ outside their bodies to whatever destination they chose.”
“Should I take this seriously?” asked Baldi, unnerved by everything
he was hearing.
“We were surprised, too. At first we thought this was another charade, one of those New Age gurus. But as soon as we took a closer look, we realized our error.”
“Robert Monroe? I never heard of him.”
“It seems that in the years after the Second World War this man suffered various involuntary out-of-body experiences, and instead of turning them into an interesting story, as had so many before him, he wanted to understand the inner workings of the experience. Those notebooks explained how Monroe discovered that his ‘voyages’ were directly related to particular wavelengths inside of which the human brain functioned. In fact, his notes detail how similar wavelengths could be artificially induced through the use of hypnosis, or even better, by introducing certain synthetic sounds into the ears.”
“This is nothing new for us.”
“No, it’s not, in theory. We later learned that this individual was so convinced of his hypothesis that, in the 1970s, he set up the Monroe Institute in Virginia, whose goal was to provoke ‘astral voyages’ at will. He developed a revolutionary technology of sound that he christened Hemi-Sync. And it was a success!”
“Hemi-Sync?”
“Short for hemisphere synchronization. It seems that his method consisted of equalizing the frequency in which the two sides of the human brain function, by augmenting or reducing their vibrations to a unison, elevating the subject to the furthest threshold of perception when he hears particular sounds.”
“Not without reason, Your Eminence. We know that sound, rhythm, and vibration penetrate directly into the brain.”
“From what we understand, Monroe even developed a system of acoustic charts that mapped exactly where you will go based on different frequencies.”
“How did these charts work?”
Monsignor Zsidiv went through his papers. In a matter of seconds he found the material he was looking for.
“Here they are,” he said. “Monroe discovered that if a patient was listening through earphones to a vibration of one hundred hertz (or cycles per second) in one ear, and a vibration of one hundred twenty-five hertz in the other, the sound the brain ‘understood’ turns out to be the mathematical difference between the two. To put it another way, the whole brain ‘hears’ a nonexistent sound of twenty-five hertz.”
“Amazing.”
“This spectral sound ends up dominating both hemispheres, neutralizing any sounds from outside. Monroe christened it ‘binaural’ and insisted that only such frequencies were capable of successfully generating altered states of consciousness. In the final analysis, it was a vibration created by the brain, a vibration that he believed aided the free movement of the astral body.”
“How did his findings change our project?”
“Think about it! We have gone from training sensitive people to see things far off in time and space, to giving serious consideration to the possibility of projecting them out of their bodies.” Zsidiv was smiling.
“Something like what the Lady in Blue did, no?”
“Exactly! And that is what Father Corso and his assistant believed. Which is why I think they persisted. Perhaps they thought that if they investigated every bit of information in the Blue Lady dossier, they would uncover new clues that would enable them to project people into the past. And not just the soul but the body as well.”
“And at that moment, Saint Matthew dies.”
The Cardinal lowered his eyes.
“Father Corso was a good friend to both of us.”
“I understand, Your Eminence. I know I’ve bungled things recently, but perhaps now I have the opportunity to atone for my errors. If you deem it advisable,” he said, addressing the Cardinal formally. “You could put me in charge of the First Evangelist’s laboratories, where I could try to get a handle on his assistant, to see if he knows more than he’s letting on.”
Zsidiv cleared his throat and spoke in a less formal tone.
“That is exactly what I wanted to propose to you. Take charge of Saint Matthew’s investigations. That way you will continue as part of the team, at least until the Holy Office decides to intervene on some other occasion. And that way I can keep an eye on you.”
“Regarding my reintegration into the team, what happens with tomorrow’s hearing?”
“Don’t worry. I will see to it that it is canceled. If you keep your mouth closed, they will never miss your appearance. The Holy Father will understand.”
“Thank you, Your Eminence. I will do as I am bidden.”
“Take care, Giuseppe,” Zsidiv warned. He was already standing in the doorway to his office. “We still don’t know whether Father Corso actually killed himself.”
“Where do you think I should begin to look?”
“Go tomorrow to Saint Matthew’s studio at Vatican Radio. That’s where he did all his work this past year. Have you already arranged for a place to stay while you’re in Rome?”
Baldi shook his head. He had not planned on staying more than a day.
“Near the Esquilino, on the Via Bixio, there’s a residence for pilgrims run by the Conceptionist sisters. Ask for Sister Micaela. She’ll give you a room for a few days. And the first thing tomorrow morning go to Vatican Radio. Ask for Father Corso’s assistant.”
“What is his name?” Baldi asked, grateful for his friend’s help.
“Doctor Alberto. His real name, however, is Albert Ferrell. Special Agent Albert Ferrell.”
TWENTY-FIVE
SAN ANTONIO MISSION, NEW MEXICO
SUMMER 1629
Less than an hour on foot from Friar Perea’s expedition, within a building that stood beneath two imposing towers of whitewashed adobe, Friar Juan de Salas was listening raptly to what the Indian Pentiwa had to say to him. A solitary missionary well along in years but with a sharp intellect, Friar Juan was known as el adelantado or “the advanced one,” for having established his presence in those lands without the customary recourse to conquest. Pentiwa, “he who makes masks,” was a venerated figure in the settlement. Famed as a witch doctor, he had, since Salas’s arrival at that remote mission some sixteen years before, endeavored to ingratiate himself with Salas, inviting him to share power over the Indians. To you belongs the cleansing of souls, he would say to the curate; to me, the cleansing of bodies. Pentiwa was a shaman, a medicine man.
Friar Juan had received him in his modest sacristy. It was the intention of the Indian to bring the friar up to date on a matter of “great urgency.”
“I had a dream last night.”
The Indian, seated cross-legged on the ground, was laconic as usual. He had learned the Spanish language quickly, and was able to express himself with admirable fluency.
“And so?”
“I woke up after midnight last night, and remembered what I had heard from my grandfather; what he had heard from his grandfather many years ago. Then I realized that I must tell you as soon as possible.”
The shaman augmented his words with lofty gestures for emphasis.
“My ancestors told me that, one day, in the time before the arrival of the Spaniards, the inhabitants of Tenochtitlán were visited by a man the likes of whom they had never seen before.”
“Are you going to tell me another of your stories, Pentiwa?”
The shaman barely paused. He acted as if he had not heard Friar Salas, and went on.
“He had an enormous red beard and a long, sad face. He wore clothes from head to foot and when he had an audience with the powerful, he told them he was sent by a ‘Child of the great Sun.’ He announced that their kingdom was at an end, that another would arrive from far away, and that their bloodthirsty gods would disappear . . .”
“And where is this leading, Pentiwa?”
The friar’s grave expression, heightened by a deeply lined face that conveyed the wisdom he had achieved, encouraged the Indian to get to the point.
“Very well, Friar. This prophecy was also given to my people.”
“What do you mean?”
/> “It is something that no man in my tribe will ever tell you explicitly. And not out of fear. But I give you my word that we, too, were visited by a ‘Daughter of the Sun.’ She was as beautiful as the moon and knew how to make herself understood by everyone she encountered.”
“Here? In Isleta?” Friar Salas, who had baptized Pentiwa with his own hands, was astonished.
“This seems strange to you? This land belongs to the spirits of our ancestors; they watch over it and protect it until the day that we inherit it. That sacred order was changed by the arrival of the Spaniards who placed us in settlements, and we lost the one thing that we possessed.”
“Why are you telling me this now, Pentiwa?”
“It is not hard to understand, Father. My people have always enjoyed the protection of our spirits. Beings the same blue as the heavens, who watch over our well-being, and who can still be seen in the plains, or in our dreams; who protect us from any ruin that may come.”
Friar Salas stroked his beard as he took the measure of the Indian’s words.
“You are telling me about your guardian angels, son,” he said after a long delay. “They, like the one who appeared to Mary before she conceived Jesus, reveal themselves to men in order to tell them what is to come. Would not that ‘Daughter of the Sun’ be a guardian angel?”
The shaman fixed his eyes on the Spaniard.
“Friar,” he said. “I have seen her again.”
“The ‘Daughter of the Sun’?”
Pentiwa nodded.
“And she told me that men like you were coming. They will arrive soon. Men wearing long clothes such as those who visited Tenochtitlán, men with long beards like yourself.”
“Have you seen anyone besides her?”
“You do not have to believe me, but listen to what she says,” he said pointedly to the Spaniard. “Men are coming who will try to force us to tell the secrets of those visitations. Although, I warn you, they will not be successful.”
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