However, the Cardinal had overlooked the fact that the strings and threads of this web of power exuded a poison so toxic that the slightest touch corroded the soul. Like a spider that sucked on a hapless insect, leaving nothing behind but an empty black or purple cassock as bait for the next victim.
The Cardinal would not have been able to tell when and where exactly he had lost God in the Curial power structure, because in the world of the Curia, God was such an ever-present and daily invoked label in words and images, a protected patent, and such a well-maintained product with billions of users, that the Cardinal had seen many before him make the mistake of confusing the packaging with the content. When the Cardinal finally noticed that he had lost God, he at first felt nothing but anger because by then he already believed he had something like a personal right to God. As a Cardinal. As a candidate for the highest office in the Church. But wherever God was, he ignored the Cardinal and remained lost.
Admittedly, the Cardinal had not spent too much time searching for Him. In the beginning, he did not experience the loss of God as overly painful, only as painful as the loss of a lighter. So he continued to live as he had before. Everything went smoothly. Until the day when Franz Laurenz was elected Pope and the Cardinal found himself alone with no one to blame for his rage, his despair and his self-hatred. No one to hold responsible. No one to redeem him.
And now Cardinal Menendez was wandering through the narrow pathways of the catacombs, burdened with the shame of his loss, gasping for air and sweating despite the chilly temperatures, making his way past stacks of meticulously piled human remains and Latin inscriptions. The air was damp and heavy, barely breathable. The light of the few ceiling lamps was only enough to illuminate a few inches of the darkness, a fact that increased his feeling of forlornness. As Cardinal Menendez rushed through the winding pathways, cursing himself for his vanity and his voracity, he was suddenly aware that God had lost him too, a long time ago, and that God could do without him. This infuriated the Cardinal.
»I loved you!« he screamed into the darkness of the catacombs. »I sacrificed my life for you. You chose me! So be so kind and stand by my side, damn it!«
But God kept silent. Out of breath and gasping for air, Cardinal Menendez slumped down onto a step and, for the first time in years, he began to wonder whether there was anything that he could do that might bring God’s mercy upon him, so that he could humbly ask Him to come back to him.
He looked down at the plan that Crowley had given him that morning together with a suitcase, which contained items that he had to place in the marked locations. So far, he had worked his way through three locations. Now Menendez was shining his flashlight on the map and trying to get his bearings. When he got back on his feet, he had made a decision. He wanted to find God again. Here and now, in the middle of this netherworld, where Simon Peter had been buried two thousand years ago, the rock on which his Church was built. The Church that he, Antonio Menendez, had betrayed. He wanted to find God again. He really wanted to. But first, God had one more test for him.
Menendez stood up, refreshed and strengthened by his decision, and in the light of his heavy flashlight he rushed on back to the first location. It was difficult and took him quite a while, as he took the wrong path several times and had to stop and check where he was. He was alone in this netherworld. Due to the heightened security measures for the conclave, the Necropolis was closed to tourists. He was alone with only himself and the horror that he carried in his briefcase for company.
Finally he reached the first location and, out of nowhere, he was blinded by the glare of a flashlight.
»Who are you?« The unfamiliar voice sounded as startled as the Cardinal felt. Menendez aimed the beam of his flashlight at the stranger, but did not recognize him.
»I am Cardinal Menendez,« he replied in a voice as firm and sharp as possible. »Who in the name of God are you?«
The man before him lowered his flashlight. »Oh, Your Eminency, I did not recognize you right away! What in the world are you doing down here?«
Menendez took a closer look at the man who had surprised him in the subterranean world underneath the Vatican. He estimated that he was in his mid-forties. A friendly, Italian face with a full beard and fashionable spectacles. A typical Italian scholar. He was wearing jeans and a fleece sweater against the cold. Next to him on the ground, Menendez spotted a bag with tools. The man held out his hand towards the Cardinal.
»Professor Sederino from the Archaeological Institute of the University of Rome. We have met before, Your Eminency.«
The Cardinal ignored the professor’s hand and gave him a scrutinizing look. But it was true. He remembered the archaeologist’s face.
»What are you doing here, Professor?«
Sederino was visibly embarrassed and cleared his throat. »Well, I … six months ago, I started an excavation that I could not finish. But what are you doing here, Cardinal?«
The Professor shot an irritated glance at the briefcase that Menendez was carrying.
»I come here often to meditate.« This was the best excuse he could come up with, which was unfortunate because the archeologist did not look as if he believed him.
»I see.«
»Are you alone?«
»Uh… yes, of course. Listen, Cardinal, I know that I should not be here during the conclave, but Pope John Paul III had … well, he withdrew his permission to explore this part of the Necropolis further. And now, as he has resigned… well…«
»… you thought the papal prohibition would no longer apply!«
Sederino grimaced in distress. »I am a scientist, Cardinal. I hope you can understand my dilemma. Besides, I just found something here. Something extremely weird. Actually, I was on my way back to report the finding.«
Menendez was alarmed and tensed up. »What did you find?«
»Here, take a look.« Sederino handed the Cardinal a small transparent vial, which contained a thick red substance. »It was inside this thing.« The professor pointed at a little box, which would have fitted into the palm of the hand. The little box was equipped with a recess for the vial and above it was a light-emitting diode. The upper side of the lid displayed a golden circular symbol. A circle with a smaller circle in the middle. The eternal symbol of light.
»What is this supposed to be?«
»I have no idea, Your Eminency. It was sitting here. Do you see? Right here in the sepulchral niche.«
»A tourist must have left it there.«
Sederino stared at the Cardinal with a puzzled look on his face. »This? Since when have tourists carried vials with red liquids around in strange little boxes with light-emitting diodes? And besides, I was here yesterday as well. And yesterday, it was not there. No, this thing gives me the creeps. We should inform the Swiss Guards immediately.«
»Give it to me,« the Cardinal said as calmly as possible. »I will take care of this matter.«
It was at this moment that Sederino cast another glance at the Cardinal’s briefcase and Menendez knew that the professor was beginning to ask himself a whole bunch of questions. At least, he did not give him the vial.
»It might be better if I keep it for now. One never knows, and I would not want you to suffer any harm, Cardinal.«
Menendez thought for a moment and then he nodded.
»Fine, Professor. I will accompany you to the Commandant’s Office. Get your things and let’s go.«
»Of course, Cardinal.« Sederino turned around and bent over to pick up his bag.
And this was when it happened: Cardinal Menendez dismissed God from his life, completely and utterly. It was not a conscious decision, more a reflex born of despair, grown from the poison of all the evil that had long since begun to rot his soul. When the young professor turned around so that he had his back to the Cardinal, Menendez clutched his heavy flashlight more tightly, and then he lunged out and hit him with as much force as he could muster. The archaeologist made a strangled yelp before collapsing to the ground. His leg
s twitched violently. Menendez stepped closer and hit him again. Hard, with deliberate force, without blinking. And again. And again. And again. He smashed the man’s face into a bloody pulp. With every blow, he cursed his father and his God because they had never left him a choice. He kept hitting the man’s head until the skull burst open and the bloody brain tissue splattered onto his cassock, more and more, with every blow. When he finally stopped, he was panting. And when he looked at the bloodbath to his feet, Cardinal Menendez felt neither remorse nor fear. Only a horrible void and the certainty that the door to salvation had just slammed shut behind him. That God had turned away from him, definitely and for all eternity. And for the first time in his life, just for a brief moment, Cardinal Menendez felt truly free.
LXXVI
May 17, 2011, Frankfurt International Airport
What is your real name?« Peter shouted, as they ran out of the terminal building and towards a car that was heading towards them with flashing headlights, clearly exceeding the speed limit of fifteen miles per hour.
»Major Rahel Zeevi,« gasped the woman whom Peter had encountered as Alessia Bertoni.
»I thought you were C.I.A.«
»Shows how wrong you can be.«
The car came to a stop, its brakes screeching. Maria was still clutching Bahadur’s briefcase, and Peter pushed her into the back before sliding in beside her. Rahel Zeevi threw herself into the passenger seat and the car took off again and made its way back along the edge of the airfield; this time, however, sticking to the speed limit and not driving over red lines.
»What the heck is going on here?« Maria screamed.
Rahel Zeevi turned around to look at her. »Yesterday, Franz Laurenz had a conversation with Chaim Kaplan, the Chief Rabbi of Jerusalem, who immediately informed the Prime Minister. When we learned about the change in the situation, we acted without delay.«
»Is this supposed to be your excuse for almost drowning me?« Peter yelled.
»No,« the Israeli woman replied in a distant tone. »We thought you were a threat and acted accordingly. You should be glad that I am getting you out of here in time.«
Peter cursed under his breath, trying to calm down. In the meantime, the itch had spread to his entire body. The nausea was coming back, too.
What happened there? What went wrong?
But this was the wrong question. Another question was far more important. How was it possible that a super-bomb, which was packed in a briefcase that was hit by two bullets, did not explode?
»Stop the car!«
»If you want to get out of here before the German police can collar you, we have to hurry.«
»Stop the car, for fuck’s sake!«
Rahel Zeevi gave the driver a brief order and the car stopped next to an airplane passenger staircase.
Peter turned to Maria. »Give me the briefcase, please.«
She shook her head.
»Please, Maria, it is important.«
Gently but insistently, he wrested the aluminum suitcase from her hands. It was secured with a combination lock.
Of course. Shit.
»Give me your gun, Rahel! Come on, move it!«
The Israeli woman cast a suspicious look at the briefcase. »What’s in there?«
»Don’t, Peter!« Maria whispered.
»Come on, Rahel, give me your gun!«
Hesitantly, the Mossad agent gave him her Walther. »Make it quick, though!«
Peter jumped out of the car and looked around. There were no police in sight but this was soon to change. For the moment, none of the bus drivers or members of the operations staff seemed to notice the Mercedes between the passenger staircases. Peter placed the briefcase on the ground and aimed at the lock. As the bullet shattered the lock, the briefcase bounced and fell open. The interior was padded with foam. Seven small ovals, each the size of an ink cartridge, had been cut out of the gray material. Seven ovals for seven bombs made of Red Mercury. But they were all empty.
»Fuck it!« Peter moaned.
He heard the sound of police sirens in the distance.
»Get in the car!« Rahel Zeevi urged. »We have to get out of here before the German-Israeli relationship goes down the drain.«
In the military area of the airport, a four-engine Lockheed C-130 Hercules of the Israeli Air Force was awaiting them. Peter, Maria and Rahel Zeevi had barely fastened their seat belts on the hard bench along the wall when the pilot started the turboprop engines. Lazily and at what felt to Peter like a painfully slow speed, the bulky transport aircraft ground its way over the taxiways to the runway. It was only when they lifted-off that Peter breathed a sigh of relief.
Perhaps it is not too late! My God, if you exist, please help me and make it not too late.
Throughout the entire flight, Peter was fighting: against the itching, against the dizziness and against the nausea. Maria asked for a Medipack and gave him an injection.
»What is this?«
»Cortisone. This will help for a while. But you are in urgent need of a doctor!«
Peter smiled at her and shook his head. »I am in urgent need of you, Maria,« he whispered in a hoarse voice. »Just you.«
Three seemingly endless hours later, they touched down in Rome. A car from the Embassy of Israel took them past the checkpoints, out of the airport and into the city. When they arrived at the Vatican Wall, they stopped in front of the Saint Anne Gate and Rahel Zeevi got out of the car and talked to one of the Swiss Guards. Shortly afterwards, Urs Bühler showed up. Peter grabbed Maria’s hand and tensed up. But nothing happened. The Colonel bestowed a hard stare on Peter and then he waved the car through, no questions asked.
On their way to the little gardener’s house, Peter saw armed Swiss Guards everywhere and officers of the gendarmerie patrolling the premises. The area around the Domus Sanctae Marthae, the guesthouse where the cardinals taking part in the conclave would be staying tomorrow, was sealed off. Without any incidents and without having to go through any checks, they arrived in front of the familiar little gardener’s house, which looked in the midst of all the security and safety measures, like a bizarre foreign object from a long lost idyll.
»There you are!« Don Luigi was expecting them at the door and welcomed Maria and Peter with heartfelt embraces. »Praise and thanks to God that you are still alive!«
»Unfortunately, our news is not good,« Peter said.
»We will talk about that. But first come in!«
They were greeted by an orange cat that was in a good mood and purring.
»Vito!« Maria cried in delight, tucking him against her chest. For appearances’ sake, the cat began to bristle but allowed her to press her nose into his fur. »My sweet, old, fat, beloved Vito!«
For the first time in a very long time, Peter heard her laugh again. As Don Luigi was leading her into the small living room with the dingy furniture from the 1970s, Peter disappeared into the bathroom. As he was peeing, he saw that his urine had blood in it. From the living room, he heard Maria’s laughter.
What a wonderful laugh you have, Maria. Please, never ever stop laughing!
Someone was waiting for him. As Peter entered Don Luigi’s living room, Maria was embracing an elderly couple. Sophia Eichner was wearing her hair down, something that she had never done before. Franz Laurenz was not dressed in the white cassock of the pope but in a dark suit with a light-colored, open-collar shirt. He did not look at all like the erstwhile most powerful man in the Catholic Church, more like a retired politician who had just returned from his first vacation in years.
Maria extricated herself from Franz Laurenz’s embrace and cleared her throat.
»Peter,« she said. »I would like you to meet my parents.«
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Apocalypsis 1.10 The Seven Bowls Of Wrath Page 4
