by Alex Thomas
"It is quite obvious," explained Monti like a judge for whom everything was already decided. "The apostles have a strong influence on weak Popes. It all began with John XXIII." He paused for a moment. "Did you know John is the most common name among Popes?" Then he continued jauntily: "It got worse with John Paul, despite his short papacy. And it has taken on catastrophic proportions with Leo. He is going to destroy the Church with his obscure plans and reforms. Innocence prepared me for many years to bring the Church in the right direction. And that is exactly what I intend on doing."
Catherine stared at the wizen old man through her brain’s thick fog. The entire Sistine appeared to be in a continuous flow through time and space. Almost like in her visions. "You want to initiate the apocalypse for that reason? Is that your objective? Is that what you wanted to achieve with all those murders? That humanity be placed on trial? I can’t imagine that Innocence wanted that!"
"You have no idea what is at stake here; otherwise you wouldn’t stand in the way of the Church’s survival. The whole thing was a collusion from the very beginning, a deal between heaven and hell. A deal that has suppressed humanity and the Church for two thousand years. The apostolic power must be broken once and for all!"
"Just like the times during the witch hunt?"
Monti let out a short, cawing laugh filled with contempt. "You don’t understand, Catherine. You don’t even want to! He set us up. The angels, the apostles, the martyrs, the damned, the blessed, yes even Our Saviour and the Holy Mary!"
"Who set us up?"
"God!" screamed Monti. His voice suddenly sounded as piercing as a siren to her ears. Full of hatred, full of insanity. "God!" he repeated. He then became automatically calm, examining her with his intelligent, ancient, crazy eyes as the people in the painting behind him went either to heaven or hell. "It is time that humanity grow up and stand on its own two feet. You have the choice, Catherine. Which way will you decide for yourself? For heaven or for hell?"
The young woman didn’t even need to think of her response. "I am ‘the rebel,’ Eminence. Remember?"
"If I had forgotten, we wouldn’t be standing here." He dug in his cardinal’s robe, pulled out an envelope and tossed it her way. "You have been lied to as well, Sister."
Catherine carefully bent forward to retrieve the envelope, pulled out its contents and, after briefly glancing at the picture and file note, held her breath. She could feel her whole body and soul begin to shake as a stake was rammed into her heart. Through the thick fog in her consciousness, she became clear that this letter stole the very identity she had always known. The mother she had thought was her mother her entire life wasn’t her mother at all. She, Catherine, was a foundling. And Darius had known it all those years!
For a moment, they stood in complete silence. Only the figures in the paintings moved as if to catch a glimpse at the photo. Movement everywhere and yet time stood still.
"Father Darius used you. You and your foster mother. From the very beginning!" stated Monti with contempt. "I am offering you the truth, Catherine, not a lie. I am not hiding a thing. I can help you to bring light into your past. Forget the priest and abandon this disastrous connection with Leo. Follow me instead."
The young woman looked up from the photo in a daze and shook her head. "You bastard!" Monti wasn’t right. He was trying to manipulate her to bring her over to his side. She had known Darius since childhood. She had known him better than any other person on the planet, her mother and Ben included. She had seen his soul and his soul was good. Darius never would have used her. If he had kept her in the dark about her heritage, then he had had good reason to do so. He was an apostle!
"Together we will conquer heaven," said Monti in a serious tone.
"You are insane!"
The cardinal shook his head indulgently. "It is not I who is insane, but the world, Sister. But both you and I can break through this insanity together."
Catherine could no longer hold back the tears. "Never!"
Monti scrutinised her with a look of disappointment. "Are you certain?"
Catherine gave no response.
"Well then, you have made your decision. A shame, really. Such a shame. I had hoped you would understand. I could have given you so much more."
The old cardinal gave deRossi a sign.
82
Ben ran like hell over the Vatican garden’s wet, slick grass until he came across one of the two-seater covered electric golf carts on the level of the Palazzo del Governatorato. The carts were used within the Vatican grounds instead of fuelled vehicles for fast daily transportation. So as not to create a stir, he kept the headlights off until he had reached one of the side entrances of the Sistine with the nearly silent golf cart. Inside the corridors and antechambers it was nearly pitch black.
As he entered the chapel’s antechamber, he discovered that both Swiss guards who normally kept watch lay unconscious on the marble floor. One of them was still clutching his halberd. Somewhat farther away inside the chapel, Ben could hear voices without understanding what they were saying. But he was certain he heard Catherine’s voice.
As his gaze travelled over the two unconscious men, he realised that although he was a Vatican agent, he wasn’t carrying a weapon. What was he thinking going up against a murderer like deRossi unarmed? The Monsignor most likely was carrying a weapon. A knife. A pistol. Something.
He bent over one of the guards and started to search him. Customarily the Swiss guards carried not only the traditional weaponry such as the halberd and a sword, but also a SIG 75 that the Swiss Army has used as its service weapon since 1975. Ben had often trained with members of the Swiss guards and the Vigilanza so he knew how to handle the SIG 75. For special situations the Swiss guards also carried a pepper spray. He immediately found the pepper spray on the first guard, but no SIG. So he scurried over to the other guard while he continued to hear voices coming from the Sistine. A man’s voice, an older man’s voice, he assumed. The man seemed to be rather excited.
Ben discovered the desired SIG on the second guard and retrieved it for himself. Armed with a pistol and pepper spray, he tiptoed into the chapel through the passageway of the choir screen as he heard Catherine say: "You bastard!"
"I am offering you the truth, Catherine, not a lie. I am not hiding a thing. I can help you to bring light into your past. Forget the priest and abandon this disastrous connection with Leo. Follow me instead. Together we will conquer heaven."
Ben held his breath. Monti! Sergio Cardinal Monti! The former prefect of the Congregation of the Doctrine of Faith! He was the brains behind the operation about whom Ciban had talked. And the younger priest that stood behind Catherine must be Monsignor deRossi!
"You are insane!" Ben heard Catherine say. Her voice sounded determined, but she seemed to be under shock. She stood there as if Monti had robbed her of her entire life force.
"It is not I who is insane, but the world, Sister. But both you and I can break through this insanity together."
"Never!"
"Are you certain?"
Ben couldn’t tell whether Catherine gave an answer or not.
"Well then, you have made your decision. A shame, really. Such a shame. I had hoped you would understand. I could have given you so much more."
The old cardinal gave deRossi a sign upon which he moved closer to Catherine and was about to wrap his hands around her neck.
Heavens! Ben wasn’t a second too soon!
"FREEZE!" he screamed, pulling out the SIG 75 and moving through the entrance of the artistic choir screen. His voice echoed throughout the entire room.
83
Catherine sat there numbly, holding the photo in one hand, utterly helpless as Monti gave the sign. Suddenly she heard Ben’s voice like a thunderbolt out of the blue echoing off the walls of the chapel.
"FREEZE!" Ben had a pistol in his hand and pointed it toward deRossi. She had never seen him with a weapon before. "Let the sister go at once!"
But deRossi d
id the exact opposite. He grabbed Catherine within seconds, using her as a human shield and placing a pistol to her temple.
Damn! It must be the pistol from the other Swiss guard, Ben thought. That bastard had gotten the same idea as he had.
DeRossi laughed forcefully with contempt. "Why so upset, Father? Wrong place, wrong time?" In the very next moment, he pointed the gun at Ben and pulled the trigger.
Ben had often wondered what it might be like to be shot with a nine millimetre bullet. At the moment all he felt was a sharp brutal jolt. He fell to his knees, feeling the wound…to his stomach! The Monsignor looked at him with satisfaction as he fell over like a felled tree, lying there motionless.
"Ben!" Catherine wanted to wrench free of deRossi, but he held her firmly in his grip. As she pummelled and kicked him, allowing the photo to sail to the ground, Monti went to the Monsignor covered in blood and applauded him with exaggerated superiority. Catherine boiled with anger. She could have killed both deRossi and the old church dignitary at once! Her heart cried out for revenge. But then she suddenly realised the world around her began to change and that she perceived the colours in the paintings and the auras of the three men – Ben, Monti, deRossi – with a sudden intensity that was completely new to her. Was it due to the drug or simply the extremely high level of adrenaline in her bloodstream? Or both?
The images around her were alive. There was no doubt about it. And the three men…
Monti’s aura smouldered with a deep black and fiery red from his ego, even though he was a man as old as the hills. Too old to participate in the next papal election and to get at the apostles. DeRossi’s aura looked like an absurd uncontrollable ball of fire made of red and red-orange colours. And Ben…his aura was getting weaker by the minute. He was losing blood as it seeped on the ground and glowed! Monti laughed maliciously. His despicable laughter seemed even more intolerable in Catherine’s exaggerated senses.
And then…oh no, please don’t let it be. Not now!
Catherine’s mind became clearer and sharper. As the reality around her sunk into even more abstruse images, the room in the chapel became more lively. A figure tore away from Michelangelo’s Last Judgement, floated toward her and gently took her hand; the very hand she had used to hold the photo just moments ago.
Darius!
Catherine felt his energy and pure presence. Within milliseconds she relived parts of her past. Her birth. But she couldn’t see her biological mother. Then the adoption by her foster mother who knew nothing about her gift. The first encounter with Darius in the primary school in Dr. Beverly Florena’s office where she immediately looked up to Darius as a father figure. The years at the Institute, the time in Rome, her further mental training in Lux Domini. The priest was by her side the entire time and had taught her how to be a self-confident individual and to manage her gift.
Further figures appeared next to Darius: Cardinal Benelli, Thea, Silvia, Isabella and Sylvester. But they somehow looked different than during their lifetime. An indescribable light shone around them. Catherine felt an unbelievable affection that emanated from each one of them.
It was Benelli who finally said: "I am sorry that I created so much pain for you, Catherine. But I saw no other way to stop him. Lucifer’s dark vibrations have permeated Monti’s soul. It was only after he recognised who you were that he could move to the light. We can only defy him with your help. The unbelievable power of your gift has made you my successor. But it was much too dangerous to induct you from the beginning."
Catherine understood at once what Benelli had meant back in the villa’s chapel during the reception when he told her that Darius had revealed her gift to him and that the attacks had been meant for none other than Pope Leo. The cardinal had spoken about that special community with which the Pope was connected. Shortly thereafter he had sacrificed himself at the reception so she could directly take over his legacy and to make her strong for her mission.
She observed as Thea, who was next to Benelli and Darius, floated over to Ben and touched him to stop the bleeding. Catherine had the impression that she could soar over everything that was happening and see every hidden corner of the Sistine. Ben’s aura began to regain its strength.
Thea returned to the other apostles and explained: "We can’t wait any longer. It is time."
Darius caressed Catherine’s cheek one last time, then let go of her hand and retreated with the other spiritual beings back to the altar painting where they gathered around Jesus and the Holy Mary.
By now deRossi and Monti had started to notice that something extraordinary was happening. Catherine felt the Monsignor loosen his grip ever so slightly, audibly gasping for air just like old Monti. The chapel’s atmosphere was as weighty as the air before a pending thunderstorm. It was as if the air was burning. As if they were inhaling fire.
Catherine could hear Darius’ voice in her head: "Have no fear, my child. This is the moment of truth. This is the moment in which balance will be restored. I will always be with you!"
Heavenly light glided along the Sistine’s ceiling, suddenly shooting out of the walls onto the apostles and Catherine. The apostles suddenly looked like beautiful angels of death whose auras blazed in black and gold.
A ray of energy as thick as her arm came loose from Catherine’s aura and hit Monti right in the chest. The skin beneath his robe sizzled as if someone had taken a branding iron to it. The old cardinal howled, bent over in madness and fell to his knees with a hideous scream and bloody foam oozing from his mouth. He had bitten his tongue due to the pain. DeRossi, who stood next to him as if in a trance and didn’t notice either the light or the apostles, only smelled his burnt flesh and saw how the eyes of his master turned black as oil, writhing on the ground like a madman and babbling crazily as he stared at the ceiling painting and lost his mind.
DeRossi let Catherine go for a moment, leaned over Monti and tried to help him. The young woman quickly ran over to Ben, who was lying on his side on the marble floor in a pool of blood. She carefully turned him over and examined his stomach wound. Ben was half-conscious and seemed to even recognise her. As if by a miracle, the bleeding had actually stopped.
Then something happened that she never thought possible. DeRossi had recovered from his shock and yelled at her with hatred: "What have you done to him, you devil!" He literally nailed her with his intense gaze, stood up, ran to her and pulled her up by the arm to fulfil his assignment once and for all.
Catherine grimaced in pain and looked about for the apostles, but no one else besides Ben, deRossi and herself was there. So she took her right leg and kicked the Monsignor with all her might between the legs.
Pale as a ghost, deRossi collapsed to the floor, grabbing his groin with both hands. He gasped for air as if the chapel stood in heavenly flames once again. Every single breath hurt. Catherine used the seconds left to run to Ben and search for his weapon. But she nearly slipped on the pool of blood and couldn’t find the pistol. DeRossi suddenly stood over her, his ominous face purple with rage.
"I would say it is time for you to go."
He grabbed her by the throat, pulled her up toward him as if she were a child and wanted to break her neck when his head suddenly turned to one side with an empty look and he collapsed to the floor like a marionette. Ciban had knocked deRossi’s lights out with a single blow to the temple.
Catherine’s knees buckled. The prefect caught her before she could fall to the ground. He held her close and pressed him to her.
"Have no fear. I won’t let you go."
84
The storm raged over Rome through the night and into the following day. Veritable stormy winds lashed over the city in the early morning hours and had made the waters of the Tiber swell. Catherine sat in the back of a black Vatican limousine and was on the way with Father Rinaldo to Benelli’s villa. The rain pelted against the windows, streaming in hurried rows down the glass and darkening the entire world.
An hour before she had visited Ben in the G
emelli clinic. He had not yet awoken from his coma. But what the doctors did tell her was that his wound healed astonishingly quickly and well after the operation. It had healed so well and so quickly that the doctors were greatly puzzled. It was a mystery that Catherine certainly wasn’t going to reveal. She gave Ben a kiss on the forehead and made her way with Rinaldo to an appointment with His Holiness and Ciban.
As Rinaldo steered the car through the wooded area that led up the long hill toward the villa, thoughts about last night’s events ran through Catherine’s mind. She didn’t want to think about what would have happened if Benelli’s plan had failed in the end. She and Ben would have most likely been dead and His Holiness would have become Sergio Cardinal Monti’s compliant marionette. She still couldn’t quite believe that the old Monti of all people had been behind it all.
As far as she knew, they had removed Monti – who was now more a sad heap of insanity than anything else – from the Vatican that same night and had brought him to a German monastery near Cologne that was more a psychiatric clinic for Catholic priests than a place of contemplation. A place for the worst cases. Officially, Monti had suffered an age-related stroke and was being given the best medical care possible.
DeRossi had also left the Vatican last night in the custody of the Vigilanza. Catherine didn’t know where they had brought the Monsignor. Neither Ciban nor Coelho, the commander, had said a word about it.
However, the people she thought most about after waking up from her restless sleep were Darius and her foster mother. She still couldn’t believe the priest had remained silent about her heritage all those years and that she had never noticed that her mother wasn’t her mother at all.
Monti had been right about one thing: People only see what they want to see. Even Catherine wasn’t immune to it. She had never once doubted that her foster mother had been her real biological one.
