by John Lyman
As Morelli stood contemplating the future of the Church, Leo entered the Hotel Amalfi and inhaled the aromas of coffee and freshly baked bread. Following the sounds of laughter coming from the back of the hotel, he looked around the deserted lobby and headed past the elevator and down a narrow hallway before stepping into a small kitchen that still retained the charm of a bygone era. There, standing before him in front of a blackened, wood-burning stove, Pope Michael was busily shredding crab meat for seafood omelets as he entertained Arnolfo and his family with stories of his first days at the Vatican as a young priest.
“I had just arrived at the train station in Rome and was totally lost,” the pope explained, waving a spatula in the air. “I had no idea the young lady was a hooker. I thought she was just being nice. She walked me from the train station all the way to the Vatican, so I decided to give her some money for her trouble. Then she kissed me on the cheek in front of some nuns and walked away. Father Corelli later informed me that I had been the talk of the curia. Apparently they were incensed because they thought I was paying a prostitute for her services right in front of everyone on my first day at the Vatican.”
Arnolfo and his family were laughing so hard they had tears streaming down their faces as Leo grinned at the sight of the pope cooking breakfast and telling stories to an enthralled audience.
“Ah, Cardinal ... I see you’re back. You must be starving. Grab a seat and I’ll crack open a few more eggs.”
“Smells delicious in here, Your Holiness. I didn’t know you cooked.”
“Sister Marcella used to catch me in the kitchen in the middle of the night. My limited cooking ability left a lot to be desired, so she took me under her wing and taught me a few of her culinary skills. I actually find it very relaxing. Many of my dinner guests at the Vatican would be very surprised to hear that I had been the one who had prepared their meals. It’s kind of an inside joke with my staff.”
“Those crab-meat omelets look delicious,” Leo said, rubbing his hands together. “I can’t wait to try them.”
“My nephew caught the crabs in the harbor last night,” Arnolfo said proudly, pointing to a basket on the floor filled with pink boiled crabs.
“Too bad Morelli’s not here. He loves crab.”
The pope’s expression turned somber. “I’ll be interested to hear what you two found out after we’re finished with breakfast.”
The pope flipped an expertly-cooked omelet onto a plate and handed it to Leo, and for the next hour everyone downed Arnolfo’s famous coffee and devoured the pope’s seafood omelets until they were forced to hold up their hands in surrender to the culinary onslaught.
Clearing the dishes from the table, the pope smiled when Arnolfo’s wife playfully slapped his hand. “I might let you cook in my kitchen,” she said, “but I will never allow the Holy Father to do the dishes.”
Amidst more laughter, Leo and the pope made their way upstairs. As soon as they were alone in Pope Michael’s room, Leo handed the pontiff a set of digital pictures. “These are the photos taken by the Jesuit astronomers of the dark star. I wanted you to see them as soon as possible.”
The pope squinted as he thumbed through the photos. “I can barely make it out.”
Leo pointed to the halo-like outline around the edge. “What you’re seeing is the reflection of the sun’s light off the star’s dark surface. That’s why it appears to shimmer like that. It also blots out all the stars behind it. The astronomers told me that’s how they knew for sure something was there.”
“What else did they say?”
“They’re still not sure just exactly what it is, but they told me it came close to the Earth yesterday. Apparently, it hovered just outside our atmosphere for almost an hour.”
Pope Michael’s eyes grew wide. “Are you trying to tell me this thing traveled all the way across the solar system in a single day? That sounds impossible.”
“The Jesuit astronomers at the observatory thought the same thing until they took a look at the data. They followed the gamma ray trail the star left behind as it traveled through space. As soon as it arrived it stopped just outside our atmosphere and hovered for almost an hour before it returned to its original position.”
The pope slapped the pictures down on the table. “Nothing can travel that fast. I mean, that’s impossible ... isn’t it?”
“According to the astronomers it is,” Leo said. “Morelli and I learned quite a bit from our Jesuit brethren at the observatory. The dark star is located at the very edge of our solar system, in an area known as the Oort cloud. The Oort cloud is approximately one light year away from Earth, which means that, even if the object was traveling at the speed of light, it would have taken it at least a year to get here. According to the astrophysicist’s calculations, its movement violates every known mathematical concept of the universe, because apparently the star’s transit time was almost instantaneous. In other words, it did something that was theoretically impossible.”
The pope began pacing the blue carpet. “And they claim this star or whatever it is hovered above the Earth’s atmosphere for almost an hour?”
“Yes, another event they said was theoretically impossible. From what we learned, a dark star is a precursor to a black hole. It’s extremely dense and has such a tremendous gravitational pull that the Earth should have been ripped to shreds when it approached us, yet the planet remained totally unscathed. They have no idea what happened when it touched the edge of our atmosphere, but everything appeared normal after it left.”
The pope stopped his pacing and stared out over the city through the French doors leading out onto his balcony. “Unfortunately for the world, everything is not normal, Leopold. Theoretical physics won’t answer our questions about the dark star. I don’t know what it contains, or how it moves about the cosmos, or even what purpose it serves, but there’s one thing I do know. The dark star comes from Lucifer, and he is using it to announce his presence to the world. I believe Adrian Acerbi’s transition into the Antichrist is now complete, and we must prepare for what is to come.”
Leo blinked in the sunlight as he approached the glass doors and joined the pope in his silent vigil over the city. Both men now shared the same conclusion that the dark star had signaled Adrian Acerbi’s transition into the Beast prophesized by Revelation, and the time for intervention had passed.
Turning away from the view outside to pour himself a glass of wine, Leo noticed that Pope Michael’s expression had taken on the look of a battlefield commander. “What do we do now, Marcus?”
“We wait for his next move.”
Lost in their private thoughts, the two Jesuit warriors continued to stare across the room at one another until a knock on the door shook them from their reverie. As soon as Leo opened the door, Arnolfo rushed into the room. “Excuse me, Your Holiness, but I thought you should know right away.”
“What is it, my friend?”
“The power, Your Holiness. It is back on!”
CHAPTER 47
TWO DAYS LATER
In the afternoon, Leo, along with Morelli, Francois, Cardinal McCulley, and Father Vespa, had all gathered in Pope Michael’s hotel room to watch the news reports on television as they flooded in from all over the world.
The terror that had plagued every major city around the globe was already beginning to subside after the power had suddenly been restored and the internet had sprung back to life. People everywhere were stunned by the suddenness of the event. Many had actually shed tears when their television and computer screens had flickered back on, returning them to a world of normalcy. Reporters standing in front of oil refineries were telling viewers that the workers were already bringing the plants back online, and that soon gas and diesel fuel would begin flowing into waiting trucks and ships so that they could deliver much-needed food and supplies to cities all over the world.
Almost overnight, people were beginning to pick back up where they had left off. To many reporters, it reminded them of watchin
g society returning to normal in the aftermath of a hurricane, when people left their shelters and walked out into the sunshine to survey the damage before beginning to rebuild. And just like those who had survived a storm, very few people gave much thought to the next storm that might be lying off the horizon, because the power was back on—and that was all that mattered.
For many it had been nothing more than a bad dream, only this dream had been real—as were its consequences. In the lawlessness and rioting that had followed the shutdown of the power grid, people had died—victims of marauding bands of thieves who had scoured the land like locusts, taking anything they wanted while leaving a trail of bodies in their wake. Only those who were well-armed and had put up a fight had been able to protect their homes, while the rest had either hidden in abandoned buildings or fled the cities altogether where they had roamed the open countryside searching for food at the mercy of the elements and roving gangs.
As airports and train stations began to reopen, everything looked like it was returning to normal, until the message appeared. Early that morning, as people were making coffee and tuning in to their favorite morning news shows, a strange message had appeared on televisions and computer screens all over the world. The message had been brief, stating only that the computers that ran the world were now functioning, but that they would only continue to function if the leaders of every country on Earth agreed to meet with the man responsible for fixing the problem.
Having just awakened from a global nightmare, people were puzzled. They were anxious to see the man responsible for restoring order to their lives. Who was he? Did it really matter? He had restored normalcy to their lives and they should be grateful. The future looked bright once again. That was enough, wasn’t it? The people now had a savior to thank, and woe be it to the leader of a country who failed to attend the meeting, for the people had already made up their minds that they weren’t about to return to the nightmare that had just interrupted their lives.
Standing, the pope switched off the television. “I believe the time has come to return to my flock.”
“I beg your pardon?” Leo asked.
“I’m returning to the Vatican today, Cardinal. As I mentioned two days ago, I was waiting for Adrian to make his next move, and I believe he has just made it.”
“But there are still security issues, Your Holiness,” Francois protested. “We still have to ...
“I can’t delay my return any longer. Call your men and have my secretary open up the Papal Apartments. Oh, and have someone notify the press. I’d like to make a little announcement when I return.”
Two hours later, a black SUV carrying the pope pulled up in front of the Apostolic Palace. As his long white robes brushed the pavement of the San Damaso courtyard, Pope Michael was greeted by exuberant shouts of joy coming from a long line of cardinals who had gathered at the entrance after word of his return had spread through Vatican City—all that is except for Cardinal Acone, his rage barely concealed as he hung back behind the others with a dark, sulking look on his face.
Sweeping into his apartments, the pope embraced Father Corelli and Sister Marcella before heading off down the marble hallway to his private chapel. When he was finished with his prayers, he proceeded to the window of this study and flung open the shutters, eliciting shouts of glee from the thousands of people who had gathered below in Saint Peter’s Square.
Flanked by Leo and Morelli, he blessed the crowd and began to read from the notes he had written the night before. In his address, the pope remained vague about the reason behind his sudden disappearance. Parsed in the vague language of diplomacy, his only statement on the matter revealed that he and the Vatican’s Secretary of State had each been on separate missions for the Church relating to the current world situation, and that in time the necessity for keeping their movements a secret would become evident in light of other events he believed were about to transpire.
When he was finished, he joined the others for lunch in his private dining room, and together, as they huddled over an Italian feast prepared in honor of his return by Sister Marcella, Leo, Morelli, Vespa, McCulley, and Francois began to discuss their plan of action.
In reality there wasn’t really much doubt in any of their minds as to who had summoned the world’s leaders to a meeting. They knew it had to be Adrian Acerbi. The location for the meeting had been set at the United Nations building in New York City, a very appropriate venue for one seeking to take over the world—and then there was the thinly veiled threat that hinted at another world-wide computer shut-down if the world’s leaders failed to attend the meeting. This was not an invitation to be taken lightly.
It was quickly becoming evident that Lev Wasserman and Danny Zamir had been right in their assessment that Adrian had other quantum computers scattered about the world in hidden locations, for that was the only obvious explanation for his sudden boldness. Everyone sitting around the table in the pope’s dining room knew that his invitation to world leaders had undoubtedly been orchestrated to dictate his terms to the rest of the world.
“Are you planning on attending the meeting at the UN, Your Holiness?” Leo asked between mouthfuls of veal piccata.
“No, Cardinal. As the Vatican’s Secretary of State this pleasure falls to you. I have every confidence in your ability to deal with this threat and report back to me.” The pope’s blue eyes zeroed in on Leo. “He will come at you with the most charismatic and beguiling personality you have ever encountered, and despite the fact that you will still be able to discern his black heart, he will attempt to hypnotize you with his charm. You must fight back with all of your strength, Leopold. Try to expose him for what he is in front of others. He may be unable to conceal his true feelings in the presence of a Jesuit warrior who challenges his authority.”
“I know what he is, Your Holiness,” Leo said. “I used to box in high school, and half the battle is staring down your opponent before you ever enter the ring.”
“Well put, Cardinal, but be careful. Once he knows there’s no chance of bringing you into the fold, he will begin seeking ways to destroy you. He will stop at nothing to take control of this Church, and he knows you are well-liked. If I’m eliminated, he would like to see you in my place, but if he senses that you are resistant to his threats, he will settle for Acone.”
“I wonder what he looks like,” Morelli said.
The pope paused as he looked across the table. “I beg your pardon, Bishop?”
“I was just wondering what he looks like now following his transition. I can’t imagine he’ll be appearing as a teenager in front of the world.”
“We’ll soon find out. The cardinal’s plane leaves for New York first thing in the morning.”
* *
Weaving the little black Fiat through the early morning Roman traffic, Bishop Anthony Morelli turned on the windshield wipers as a light rain began to wash the freeway leading to the airport. “Don’t worry ... we’ll get there in time.”
Sitting in the seat beside him, Leo was locked in silence as he stared through the rain-streaked windows at the darkening skies hovering over the city he loved. Lost in his thoughts, he barely noticed when Morelli pulled to the curb in front of the modernist-inspired International Terminal at Rome’s Fiumicino Airport. “Looks like we made it in time, Leo. Got everything you need?”
“I’m only spending one night,” Leo muttered, staring at the terminal like a man going off to war. “I’ll be flying back right after the meeting.”
“Good. I’ll pick you up right here.” Morelli attempted a smile, but it was obvious to Leo that his good friend was overwhelmed with anxiety. “Wish I were going with you, but the Holy Father insisted that you go alone for some reason.”
“I noticed. See you the day after tomorrow, Anthony, and make sure Francois keeps a good eye on the pope. We can’t afford to lose him right now.”
“Francois is well aware of that. He’s doubled the guards around the pope’s apartments and McCulley has put s
ome undercover people inside the Apostolic Palace.”
“This may sound cliché, Anthony, but I have a bad feeling about all of this. Be careful, my friend.” Without looking back, Leo reluctantly opened the door and stepped out into the rain before retrieving his small suitcase from the trunk and heading off into the terminal. Once inside, he found he was catching stares from people who had seen his picture in every newspaper and magazine around the world. Keeping his head down, he stepped up his pace. He missed the days when he had been a simple Jesuit priest teaching history at Boston College. Anonymity had provided its own rewards, and right now he had too much on his mind to make polite small talk with well-meaning people who had no idea that he was heading to one of the most important meetings he or anyone else would ever attend.
Approaching the ticket counter, Leo looked up and saw Francois Leander standing in his path. “Just what do you think you’re doing, Cardinal?”
Leo smiled. “Catching a flight to New York. What are you doing here?”
“How many times do I have to tell you? You are the Vatican’s Secretary of State. You don’t go anywhere without a Swiss Guard escort, and you don’t stand in line at a ticket counter. Come on, Cardinal. Follow me.”
Looking around at all the surprised faces staring in his direction, Leo turned and saw a little electric cart with flashing lights pulling up behind them. Three minutes later, after bidding Francois farewell, he was walking through the departure lounge into the waiting jet where two flight attendants took over and guided him to a private room in the front of the aircraft.