Chase Baker and the Spear of Destiny

by Vincent Zandri

  Cal and I make our way through the chaotic crowd on our way to the square, the now brightly lit, white marble-sided Saint Peter’s Basilica looming ever larger on the horizon with each step we take.

  “I’m beginning to think your crazy plan to pose as Vatican priests might work,” Cal comments after a time. “The place is so crazy right now, no one’s gonna pay any special attention to us.”

  “Let’s hope that’s the case,” I say, as we make our way up to the temporary metal barricades that now separate the square from the general public.

  By the looks of it, there are three different entrances through the barricades, each of them manned by four ballistic gear outfitted Swiss Guard. Each entrance is equipped with a conveyor belted, airport style X-Ray and metal detection security apparatus. The Swiss Guard are ready for anything with their shoulder harnessed automatic rifles and 9mm semi-automatics attached to black utility belts.

  Queues have formed at each of the entrances with people dressed in civilian clothing mixed in with priests and nuns. All three queues are about the same length.

  “Which line you think we should wait in, Cal?” I pose.

  “You gonna do that eeny meeny miney moe thing again, lad?”

  “I was considering it.”

  “How about we just go to the one on the far right,” he suggests. “It’s a little shorter than the others, and we can always make a beeline for the parking lot on the other side of the walkway if things don’t go down the way we want them to.”

  “I like your logic, Cal,” I say. “Glad you decided to join the cause.”

  “I’m the one with the purse strings remember, Baker?”

  “When we’ve finally delivered the Pope and the spear to the proper authorities, they will be only too happy to cut us a nice big fat check.”

  “A holy check,” Cal adds, “blessed by his most holy papal father.”

  “Amen to that, pal.”

  We make our way to the queue on the far right, take our place behind two nuns, both of whom wear identical laminated ID badges which are attached to bright red Vatican-issued lanyards that hang from their necks. They are young nuns, their habits dark blue, their veils shoulder length and their skirts wide and very long.

  When we take our place behind them, they each glance at us over their respective shoulders, offering us a quick but friendly a smile. The smiles come as a nice surprise considering how everyone in the area seems to be so on edge. And for good reason.

  My focus shifts to the Swiss Guard who are meticulously checking each and every person being admitted into the square. Just like boarding an international flight, all metal objects must be emptied from the pockets, all belts removed from the waist, all bags and baggage subject to thorough inspection via the X-Ray scanner.

  My heart sinks.

  As if reading my mind, Cal turns to me, peers at the case in my hand.

  “What is it you lads say in the States?” he asks, somewhat under his breath. “We got a problem Houston?”

  “Not only are we not going to make it through the line with this case,” I say, “they will detain us and then arrest us.” My palm now feeling moist with sweat as I take hold of the case with both hands, thumb both locks open. I then open the case just enough to pull out the fabric straps that will allow me to wear the case on my back like a backpack. “Ideas?” I ask, closing the case, back up and strapping it to my shoulders.

  The line moves forward. That’s when an idea comes to me.

  “Cal,” I whisper, “when I give you the go ahead, I want you to pull the nun directly in front of you down onto the pavement.”

  He gives me a horrified look.

  “Aayyy,” he says, “she’s a nun. A sister of God. And a nice lady to boot. You want me to lay her out on the pavement? What kind of man are ya?”

  “Just do it,” I insist. “It’s for a good cause. I’ll take care of the rest.”

  A few more people are inspected and allowed to pass. Then comes the nun’s turn.

  “Hands up, Sisters,” the lead inspector orders.

  “Have they any word on the Holy Father’s whereabouts?” the first nun asks, as she raises her hands as though surrendering to the guard.

  “That’s not for me to say, Sister,” Lead Guard offers.

  “Such a terrible tragedy,” she adds. “Our Pope kidnapped in broad daylight. The world is coming to an end.”

  That’s when I hold out my free hand, index finger extended, pointing at the first nun’s skirt.

  “Soldier,” I state sharply, “there’s something under her skirt.”

  Cal turns to me quick.

  “Hell you doing, Chase, lad?”

  “Don’t you see it, Father?” I state. “Something under the skirt. An object.”

  Cal’s face lights up. Finally, he gets what I’m up to.

  “Yes, Father,” he says suddenly alarmed. “I do see it. In fact, it looks like an IED.”

  Lead Guard, holds out both his hands.

  “Step back!” he shouts. “Everyone, step back!”

  The entire square is on edge. All of Italy is on edge. The world is on edge. Screams erupt from the men and women who occupy the queue beside me and the one beside that one.

  “A bomb!” someone shouts. “There’s a bomb in the square!”

  “Run!” another person shouts. “Run for your lives!”

  The Swiss Guard assume combat stance, shouldering their automatic rifles.

  Cal places his left foot strategically under the first nun’s left foot. Standing up against her, I shove her hard, and she goes down. May God forgive me.

  “Get down!” I shout.

  The Swiss Guard manning the entry station pounce on the nun, tearing off her skirt. The second nun accompanying her screams like she’s witnessing a murder. She claws at the Swiss Guard’s faces. It’s total mayhem and confusion.

  “Now, Cal!” I utter, my voice a forced whisper.

  The aluminum case secured over my shoulders, we step over the prone nun, while the Swiss Guard fight off the second nun who is punching and clawing at them. We’re at least ten feet inside the plaza when someone finally takes notice of our entry.

  “You!” shouts a Swiss Army Guard. “Stop, or I’ll shoot.”

  “Just keep walking, Cal,” I insist. “Into the dark shadows.”

  Up ahead to the right, the above-ground corridors that lead to Saint Peter’s Basilica are lit up in bright LED spotlight. We head for the dark spaces, our black Roman Catholic Priest uniforms providing much-needed camouflage.

  As soon as we enter the corridor, I relay one simple order to Cal.

  “Run,” I say. “Run for the basilica doors. Run like hell and don’t stop.”

  We do it.

  Once again, we run like hell.

  Chapter 47

  We can only follow the corridor so far before we’re forced to exit under the cover of darkness while entering back into the brightly lit piazza. Providence must be on our side since no Swiss Guards stand between the two of us and the Basilica. Which means we’re free to scale the marble staircase that runs perpendicular to the church façade and that leads directly to the series of giant wood doors that access the five-hundred-year-old house of God.

  Stepping inside the enormous marble cavern, it’s as if we’ve been suddenly transported to another planet altogether. The noise, the fear, and the confusion that taint the atmosphere right outside the doors is now replaced with calm and quiet. But that doesn’t mean we can rest in peace, so to speak. Instead, I take the center corridor at jogging speed around the center altar to the back of the Basilica where the staircase that leads down into the facility caverns is located. Curiously, the staircase is situated directly beside the giant marble statue of Longinus, the Roman Legionnaire looking majestic and bearded as he grips his now famous holy spear, his now healed eyes peering up at heaven.

  “Grant us success, Saint Longinus,” I say as I begin descending the stairs.

  “Never took
you for the praying kind,” Cal says, right on my tail.

  “I can pray with the best of them,” I say as I make it to the bottom of the first level of stairs. “Especially when I have guns pointed at me.”

  Cal joins me on the marble landing. The underground chamber is long and brightly lit. It contains the many tombs and coffins of former popes going back to the first millennia.

  “So, where’s the door that will lead us to the castle basement?” Cal asks.

  “This is the part of the underground that the public gets to see, Father Cal,” I say. “If Saint Peter’s wasn’t closed off right now because of an emergency, the entire hall would be filled with tourists and worshippers on pilgrimage. The door we’re interested in isn’t exactly a door. It’s more like a hole.”

  “A hole?” Cal asks.

  “Observe.”

  I descend the second set of stairs that accesses a long, narrow subterranean necropolis. The soles on our black shoes click clack on the marble floor as we make our way past the long dead Papal Fathers many of whom personally oversaw the execution of supposed heretics who challenged the Pope’s ultimate authority by burning them at the stake.

  Coming to the end of the corridor we reach a solid wall of marble.

  “It’s just a wall,” Cal says. “Now what?”

  “According to the archaeologists I’ve consulted with, we need to seek out a prayer that opens the door, or in this case, a hole.”

  “What prayer?” Cal asks.

  “The most famous prayer of all, Cal,” I say. “The Lord’s prayer.”

  Chapter 48

  “Not the entire prayer,” I stress. “But a portion of the prayer.”

  I’m no longer standing at the wall, examining the tomb closest to me.

  “What we’re interested in are the words, the kingdom, the power, and the glory. Apparently, we find the devices on these tombs that match those words, all we have to do is flip the switch and the answer, or the hole, will reveal itself.”

  “Easy peasy, right?” Cal says. “Are you kidding me, lad? At any moment, the entire Swiss Guard is going to be rushing down into this basement necropolis with their guns locked and loaded, and we’re looking for devices and switches on some one-thousand-year-old tomb.”

  I stand up straight, look him in the eye.

  “You got a better idea?”

  I go to the first marble tomb closest to the wall. The chiseled inscription reads, Saint Gregory the Great, 590-604.

  “There it is,” I say. “The first of the trilogy. Saint Gregory who considered himself the great one who presided over the Kingdom of God on earth.” I feel around the backside of the tomb until I feel something that resembles a kind of switch. Using my fingertips, I manage to push the small switch an inch or more along a very narrow track hewn into the stone to the right.

  “How do you know this stuff?” Cal says. “I thought you were just a sand hog?”

  “I double-majored in Biblical History and English before going to the war and then onto writing school. Plus, it’s like I told you, I’ve spoken with a lot of archaeologists who know this hole in the ground like their own basement man caves.”

  “You’re kind of geek, then.” Cal laughs.

  I go to the tomb located directly across from Saint Gregory. This one belongs to John VII who was Pope from 705-707.

  “Pope John the Seventh,” I say. “He’s the one who built the Church of St. Maria Antiqua at the foot of the Palatine Hill in order to glorify his papal tenure.” I feel myself smiling while I find the switch on the back of the tomb, and push it into the on positon. “He would represent the Glory.” Stepping back out into the aisle in between the rows of tombs. “Now for the power portion of our program.” Gazing at Cal. “Look for the power, Cal lad.”

  We both start looking at more tombs until Cal calls out my name.

  “What is it?” I say.

  “Look up,” he says.

  Attached to the curved ceiling is a brilliant, full color mosaic of a white bearded and white haired St. Peter holding out his right hand, index finger pointed directly at the heavens, a kind of powerful yellow beam shooting out from it. It’s almost like his arm does not belong to a human being at all, but is instead a weapon. A powerful laser beam-like weapon.

  “You did it, Cal,” I say. “You’ve discovered the power.”

  “Now how do we make it work?” Cal says. “How do the three signs come together to reveal the opening to the secret tunnel? It’s not like your gonna find a switch to flick on the ceiling.”

  “Maybe I don’t need to find one,” I say.

  Then, a bang, like solid wood smashing against stone.

  “Jesus,” I say. “The Swiss Guard. Here they come.”

  “We gotta find that opening Chase, or we’re fucked.” Realizing what he just said, and the holy basilica in which he said it. “Forgive me, Jesus,” he says, making a quick sign of the cross.

  “Now who’s the praying man?” I say.

  “Let’s just figure this out,” Cal goes on, while overhead, we make out the sound of jackboots slapping on the basilica floor. “Can’t we at least kill those overhead lights? Hide under the cover of darkness?”

  Cal’s words hit me like a two-by-four to the head.

  “Brilliant, pal,” I say. “Look for a wall switch or electrical panel switches. Something that controls the lighting. They gotta be here.”

  “Go back to the stair landing,” Cal insists. “Two to one, that’s where the power panel is located. Behind the staircase. Trust me, I was electrical engineering when I was in the army.”

  “I thought you were a killer in the army.”

  “That too.”

  We run the length of the necropolis corridor back in the direction of the staircase. Coming to the staircase, we peer around back.

  “Metal access panel,” Cal says. “Crap, I don’t have any tools.”

  I reach under my jacket, pull out my Gerber multitool instrument.

  “May wonders never cease, Baker,” Cal says.

  “Yup, it’s a miracle. I’m a geek and a Boy Scout.”

  Opening the tool, I retrieve the Philips head screwdriver and immediately begin unscrewing the first of four screws. Up above the boot steps are getting louder. Shouts reverberate throughout the mammoth basilica. My guess is they think we’re hiding under the pews. But it won’t take them very long to realize we’re down inside the Vatican Necropolis.

  The first screw comes out. I go to the second, begin turning it counter-clockwise. That screw comes out. I drop it, begin on the third. More shouts. I make out the word “Necropolis.” More boot-steps on the marble floor. Louder than ever. Boot-steps directly overhead.

  “They’re coming, Cal,” I say, the sweat now building up on my forehead, dripping down into my eyes. The third screw comes lose, falls to the floor.

  “Hurry, Chase,” Cal insists, his breathing shallow and fast. “Hurry, man, hurry.”

  I start on the fourth screw, turning as fast as I can. Until the screw head breaks off.

  “Oh, for the love of God,” I say, staring at the broken screw. “What the hell did I just do?”

  Footsteps and shouting voices coming close to the top of the necropolis staircase.

  “Get back,” Cal insists. “Get back . . . back.”

  I throw myself back while the big man shoves his fingers under the now loosened sheet metal. He yanks the panel outward and utilizing his sheer brute strength, tears it off the staircase wall.

  “That’s one way of doing it, Cal.”

  “I see the electrical panel,” he says. “Get ready.”

  He opens the box and pulls down on several breakers. Not only does the Necropolis suddenly go black. So does the entire basilica. Looking up at the top of the stairs, I see only blackness—a blackness so thick, it seems as though it’s made of fabric.

  The Swiss Guard bellows more orders. That’s when I make out round white beams of flashlight bouncing off the walls.

&nb
sp; “Chase,” Cal whispers, poking me in the arm. “Look at that.”

  I turn in the direction of the necropolis corridor and what I witness amazes me. It’s a triangle created out of brilliant laser light, and in its center is a circle.

  The circle is our way out the basilica and into the secret castle tunnel.

  Chapter 49

  We sprint the length of the corridor and arrive at the triangle. What’s even more amazing, if not miraculous, is how the triangle shifts the closer we come to it, so that by the time we make it to the end, the circular center of the triangle is located directly on the floor.

  “Feel for the edges,” I say, dropping to my knees.

  Cal takes a knee and begins running his fingertips along the portion of circle closest to him, while I run my fingers along the portion closest to me. Meanwhile, coming from the far opposite end of the corridor, the never still beams of bright Maglite shining into the space.

  “Go quick,” I push.

  Then, I feel it. A small crack or fissure in the marble floor. Something that would be entirely unnoticeable to the naked eye for someone standing over it. I push my index finger down into the fissure and feel for a latch. I find the brass latch and pull on it.

  The circle moves.

  It heaves up and out of the floor. Cal’s and my instinct is to thrust ourselves backward as the circular floor panel shifts itself to the side, as though operating on a twistable hinge, revealing an opening.

  Pulling out my Maglite, I shine the bright LED light down into the opening. The light reveals a circular metal staircase.