Apocalypsis I

by Mario Giordano

  »But there has to be a connection between the symbol and the hieroglyph.«

  »That’s also what I believe. But we would need experts to know for certain. For now, I have been focusing on the texts. They are a strange assortment of fragments. Some of them also appear to be very old. Among them is a fragment of the Nag Hammadi Codice with an excerpt from the Gospel of Thomas from the Apocryphal New Testament. The documents on this table are Egyptian texts, alchemical treatises and mysterious scripts in a language that is completely unfamiliar to me. I have searched everywhere online but couldn’t find anything comparable. However, the fact that these texts were written on papyrus suggests a connection to Egyptian high culture. I don’t know, though, to which era.«

  Don Luigi showed him the texts in the unfamiliar language and Peter froze. All of a sudden he saw two faces in his mind’s eye, Ellen’s face and the face of a man.

  Kelly. You lousy jerk.

  »Peter? Are you okay?«

  »I’m fine. It’s just that… I’ve seen this kind of lettering before.«

  »What? Where?«

  »A year ago. In Turkmenistan. When a man by the name of Edward Kelly showed me a manuscript that was written in similar letters. But I can’t be certain.«

  »How did that man get his hands on such a manuscript?« the Padre asked inquisitively.

  »He was an archaeologist,« was Peter’s succinct reply. »But that’s not important right now.«

  He had to force himself to tear his eyes away from the text. »Maria said one of the texts was written in Coptic.«

  »Correct! Exactly. And this is where it all gets exciting. I have also found Greek texts and some of the parchments are even written in Latin, thankfully. They are probably from the 9th century.«

  Don Luigi pushed the documents in question towards Peter. He looked at them and saw a handwritten script, some sort of tract set out in precise stages with occasional headings.

  »The text is the work of a Byzantine monk by the name of George Syncellus. This document here is an excerpt from a translation of the ›Book of Sothis‹. Have you ever heard about it?«

  Peter shook his head.

  »The ›Book of Sothis‹ was written by Manetho, an Egyptian priest who lived in the 3rd century before Christ. In the book, Manetho describes the life and work of a godlike man – Hermes Trismegistus. A mystic figure, to whom hermeticism owes its name.«

  Peter gave the Padre a skeptical look. »Do you mean to tell me that the Pope was hiding old hermetic scriptures in his apartment? That the supreme head of the Catholic Church is an esoteric?«

  Don Luigi shrugged his shoulders. »I don’t mean to tell you anything. Actually, I’m trying to refrain from drawing any inferences. It’s much too early for that. But please keep in mind that the history of the Catholic Church was shaped by mystics – take, for instance, Meister Eckhart – who were very close to hermeticism.«

  »What else do you know about this Hermes Trismegistus?«

  »Hermes Trismegistus is a myth. There exist no original writings. There is actually reason to doubt whether he ever existed. In ancient times, he was sometimes compared to the Egyptian deity Thoth. From late antiquity to the early modern age, Trismegistus was known as the author of a series of writings about philosophy, astrology, magic and alchemy. As he was put on one level with Thoth, his writings were regarded as testimonies of an ancient knowledge, which are dated back at least to the times of Moses. It is alleged that during the 14th century the alchemist Nicolas Flamel used one of the books by Trismegistus and that with the help of this book he found the Philosopher’s Stone and the key to eternal life.«

  »I see. And to confirm the find and leave a receipt, he scratched the djet hieroglyph into the amulet!« Peter called out sarcastically. »Come on, Padre, this sounds like complete hokum. Don’t tell me you believe in stuff like that.«

  Don Luigi leveled a stern look at Peter. »I believe in my faith, Peter, and my faith belongs to the Holy Mother Church. Hermeticism, esotericism and occultism are all works of Satan. But we can only fight Satan if we understand him.«

  Peter stared at the old documents. He tapped on the papyrus scroll with the unknown characters.

  »Could it be that this one here is an original writing by Trismegistus?«

  Don Luigi shrugged his shoulders. »It is possible. But it is also very possible that it is just a work of pure fiction. A meaningless prank.«

  A suspicion flashed across Peter’s mind and wouldn’t budge. »Would you deem it possible that these texts conceal a dangerous knowledge that the Church wanted to keep, by all means, under lock and key?«

  Don Luigi gave a loud sigh. All of a sudden, he seemed distraught. »I told you already that it is too early to draw any inferences or conclusions. But yes, that is a possible hypothesis. It is possible that these texts open gates for Satan to enter our world, and the Church was well advised to hide them for centuries in the safest and holiest of all places. It is possible that we burdened our souls with a huge sin by bringing them to light. I pray that I am wrong. Give me a little more time. Later today, I will go back to the Secret Archives. So by tonight, we might know more.«

  XXI

  May 11, 2011, Vatican City

  Loretta Hooper had her connections. Very good connections. So she knew by now where Peter Adam was. She knew why she had not heard from him in two days. She knew that he had screwed her over – big time. She knew that he had gone by car to Sicily and that he had returned by plane. She knew that afterwards he had stayed at the Padre’s house and that he had left the Vatican around noon, undetected, despite the heightened security measures. Loretta assumed that Peter’s friend, the exorcist, knew secret ways to get past the Swiss Guards. And she strongly suspected that Peter had somehow been involved in the break-in at the papal apartment, which had yet to be mentioned in the press. What she did not know, was what Peter had done in Sicily and in the papal apartment. But she didn’t intend to give him another chance to make a fool of her.

  She passed the security checkpoint at the St. Anna Gate without any trouble and disappeared for thirty minutes into the barracks of the Swiss Guards. When she came out again, her face was red from anger. She rushed through the Vatican Museums, crossed the Cortile della Pigna, and headed towards the side wing that housed the Secret Archives of the Vatican. According to the information she had, the exorcist had been there for the last hour.

  She passed the security check in the Secret Archives – again, without any trouble – and walked to the reading rooms to search for the Padre. When she couldn’t find him, she made a brief phone call and shortly afterwards a pale librarian showed up who escorted her to the bunker-like basement, which contained the archives’ real treasures. Only very select people had access to this area. Correspondents for the Washington Post were usually not included, BUT: Loretta Hooper had her connections.

  It was cool down here, cool and dry. The metal shelves were tightly packed with rows of thick folios and gray boxes, which were meticulously labeled. The long and low hallways were lit by the dim light of energy-saving bulbs. All in all, the archives looked more like the file-storage room of a government agency than one of the greatest memory preservers of mankind.

  Finally, Loretta spotted Don Luigi between two metal shelves. He was sitting at a small wooden table, bent over some old documents and taking notes. Loretta watched the Padre through the shelves. She didn’t want to rush it. She wanted to play it safe. And she had time.

  She had to wait two hours. Don Luigi seemed very excited. Time and again, he went through different documents and checked them against each other. Suddenly she saw him crossing himself, several times. He bundled the documents together, tucked them into an old briefcase, and hurried towards the exit. Loretta followed him.

  No one at the exit dared to check Don Luigi’s briefcase. Without being bothered by anyone, the Padre rushed out of the archives and back into his little house. Loretta waited another five minutes. Then she knocked at the door.r />
  »Yes?«

  Now, standing so close to him, she could see that the Padre looked very distraught. Loretta offered her most winning smile, a smile that was always well received by heterosexual members of the Curia, especially when served together with her décolleté.

  »Don Luigi? Buon giorno. My name is Loretta Hooper and I am a friend of Peter Adam. I would like to talk to you.«

  »About what?« the Padre asked harshly and looked around to see whether she was alone. Loretta knew that a Swiss Guardsman was watching the house, not far from here. So she needed to get in.

  »Perhaps we could talk about this inside? It is very important.«

  »I am sorry, Signora, but I have no time.«

  He was about to close the door on her.

  »It won’t take long« Loretta said, and pushed past him into the house.

  »Hey, Signora,« Don Luigi shouted as he tried to grab her by the arm. At that moment, Loretta pulled the taser out of her purse and pressed it against the Padre’s neck.

  A muffled sound, some severe muscle contractions, then the chief exorcist of the Vatican was lying unconscious on the floor, and Loretta closed the door.

  XXII

  May 11, 2011, Rome

  Once he was back at the hotel, Peter Adam suddenly realized how exhausted he was. He had barely slept over the past two days. The experiences and events at Don Luigi’s, the hours in the Sicilian well, and breaking into the Pope’s apartment had affected him much more than he had admitted to himself until now. He briefly considered calling Maria to apologize to her, but in the end he didn’t. On his way to the hotel, he had stopped by her monastery under the pretense that he wanted to give her the amulet for safekeeping. She had been reluctant to take it and seemed irritated by Peter’s surprise visit. Realizing that he had compromised her, Peter had quickly said good-bye. No, he didn’t want to flirt with her. He really didn’t.

  However, he didn’t want to sleep either.

  Time for a hot shower.

  He got out of his clothes and had just turned the water on when the migraine hit him. The monster attacked him with even more malice and violence than the last time. The last thing that Peter felt was nausea and a raging pain shooting from his head all the way down into his abdomen. Then he was plunged into darkness.

  The first thing he noticed when he woke up again was the cold. He was trembling in every limb, freezing miserably.

  He was shocked when he realized that he was lying naked on his hotel bed. And that the water in the bathroom wasn’t running anymore. So he must somehow have been able to shut off the shower and lie down on the bed. Peter moaned and rolled on his side to look at the clock radio.

  »Holy shit!«

  Four hours. He had been unconscious for four whole hours without having the slightest memory of what had happened during that time. By now, it was long dark outside. Peter struggled to get out of bed and staggered towards the desk. The amulet was still where he had put it. A fact that calmed him. He tried to remember anything from the last four hours, but the last memory he had was feeling nauseous in the shower. Between this feeling and the moment he awoke on the bed was a desert of blackness and numbness interspersed with flashing images of horribly slashed bodies and the smell of death.

  Peter groaned as he fumbled his replacement SIM card into a brand-new cell phone that he had bought on the way. He saw that he had two new voicemails. The first message was from Don Luigi. »Peter, you need to come right away! I’ve found something that I think confirms my fears. Jesus Christ, Peter, where are you? Please call me back as soon as you get this – no, actually, come straight here. Wait a second, there’s someone at the door…«

  Peter heard a knocking in the background. Then the line went dead.

  The second message was from Loretta and was equally disturbing. Her voice sounded frightened and pleading.

  »Peter? Where are you now, Peter? Peter? Please, Peter, call me right back or come to my hotel. It’s urgent. Don’t go to Don Luigi, come straight here. I need to tell you something very important. It has to do with those documents you found in the papal apartment. Yes, I know you were there. Please come right away. Please!«

  Peter was worried and played both messages again. He thought for awhile and then he made his decision and called Loretta. The call went straight to her voicemail.

  Twenty minutes later, Peter arrived at Loretta’s hotel, which belonged to the Nakashima chain and was a favorite place for Americans. He asked for her room number and took the elevator to the fifth floor. When he saw that the door to her room was ajar, he already had a premonition of what he was about to see.

  His friend from the Washington Post was lying in a pool of blood in front of the bed. The blood was still gushing from a gunshot wound in her chest.

  But she was alive. Still alive.

  Her breath rattled as she stared at Peter with dying eyes. Peter darted to her side and took her hand.

  »Stay calm, Loretta, I’ll call for help.«

  He wanted to leave again but she held on to him and with the last strength she had, she pulled him down to her, close to her mouth.

  »The list,« she whispered, weakly and barely audible.

  »Which list, Loretta?«

  »The list! … It does exist! … Prophetia de summis … pontificibus. … Apocalypsis … I would have loved … to …«.

  She looked at him with glassy eyes and her lips formed another word… then her hand went limp.

  Peter was devastated as he looked at the dead body of the beautiful and vivacious American woman. Numbly, he stood up and looked around. Only then did he discover that Loretta had written something on the floor in her own blood. It was barely legible. But just as he wanted to take a closer look at the three smudged numbers, Peter heard the voice of a man behind him, yelling something in Italian. Even before Peter could turn around, two carabinieri threw themselves on top of him and pushed him violently to the ground.

  EPISODE 3

  THOTH

  Lübbe Webnovel is an imprint of Bastei Lübbe GmbH & Co. KG

  Copyright © 2011 by Bastei Lübbe GmbH & Co. KG, Cologne, Germany

  Written by Mario Giordano, Cologne

  Translated by Diana Beate Hellmann, Los Angeles

  English version edited by Charlotte Ryland, London

  Editors: Friederike Achilles/Jan F. Wielpütz

  Artwork: © Dino Franke, Hajo Müller

  E-Book-Production: Dörlemann Satz, Lemförde

  ISBN 978-3-8387-1445-5

  All rights reserved

  No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole, or in part, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Visit us at

  www.apocalypsis.de

  www.facebook.com/apocalypsis.de

  XXIII

  May 12, 2011, Rome

  What was your relationship with Mrs. Hooper?«

  »What was it she wanted to show you?«

  »Where is the gun?«

  »Why did you kill her?«

  Time and again the same questions. For hours on end. He always gave the same answers but they didn’t seem to get tired because they saw how tired he was. At some point, they figured, he would talk.

  Peter Adam sat at a table in a bleak interrogation room. Close behind him stood the younger of the two commissarios taking turns questioning him. A pale guy in a blue vest. They had offered him coffee and cigarettes but he’d declined both and just asked for some water. The entire time he saw Loretta in his mind’s eye, Loretta lying in her own blood. The hole in her chest, the bloody sign on the floor, the fright in her eyes as she recognized him. Peter was desperately trying to understand what Loretta had meant by her last words.

  Which list existed? Prophetia de summis pontificibus. Apocalypsis.

  However, what worried him most at this point was the statement from the hotel concierge. He claimed to have se
en him not only shortly before the police arrived but also two hours earlier.

  That can’t be! It’s simply not possible.

  But this was exactly the time that he couldn’t recall, because there was a gaping hole of four hours in his memory. The police didn’t believe his migraine story; of course they didn’t.

  In fact, they didn’t believe a single word he said.

  »I want to talk to a lawyer,« he mumbled for the umpteenth time.

  »Were you having an affair with Mrs. Hooper?«

  Peter didn’t answer. The young commissario behind him drew in a breath sharply through his teeth. It seemed to be some sort of tic. At that moment, the door opened and his older colleague entered the room with another man whom Peter hadn’t seen before. A bullish, muscular guy with a shaven head. Early fifties, Peter guessed. The man took off his jacket and without further ado sat down at the table, right in front of Peter.

  »What now? The hard way?« Peter asked in Italian.

  »Urs Bühler,« the man introduced himself in German, »Commander of the Swiss Guards.«

  »Come on, this is completely out of your jurisdiction.«

  Bühler didn’t respond to that remark. »What were you doing in the papal apartment last night?«

  »I’ve never been to the papal apartment.«

  Bühler’s jaw muscles twitched. Peter assumed that the man was itching to beat him up. But he controlled his temper and pushed a photograph towards Peter. It was a picture of the crime scene. Loretta’s dead body. The three bloody numbers on the floor. The number in the middle was not clearly recognizable. It could have been »306« or »3x6«.

  »What does this mean?«

  »No idea. This is how I found Loretta.«

  »The first figure is a three. The last figure is a six. But what’s that in the middle? A multiplication sign or what? Three times six? What does this mean? 666? The number of the Beast?«