Apocalypsis I

by Mario Giordano

  She pulled herself together and continued to mumble her prayers when a vast bush land suddenly opened up before her eyes. She saw a hyena, all alone, dancing around the dead body of an African shaman woman but not mauling her. Maama Empisi. Something seemed to startle the hyena because suddenly the animal looked up, straight into Maria’s face.

  »Have no fear!« said the hyena in the voice of the Blessed Virgin. »For you are not alone.«

  Maria was horrified by the blasphemy of this image that showed the Mother of God as a hyena, but she continued to pray, unwaveringly.

  »Blessed Virgin, I am begging you,« she whispered. »I know I have betrayed you and I have betrayed my faith. But I am begging you. Forgive me. Help me to find the man I love. Even if it means my death.«

  Without saying another word, the hyena turned away and trotted back into the bush. The image disappeared and suddenly she saw Nikolas again, this time rushing through the streets of Rome in darkness. Maria followed him to a building that seemed strangely familiar to her. She wanted to go after Nikolas but something inside her held her back. So she just stood there, in the middle of the street, waiting. She waited until finally she realized that she had found Peter.

  Pale and exhausted as if she had just fought an inhumane struggle, Maria left the church and took a cab.

  »To the Cimitero del Verano! Quickly! As fast as you can!«

  The driver was not surprised that the young nun wanted to get to Rome’s main cemetery. Yet he had to stop himself from asking why she was in such a hurry to get there at her young age. He ranted and raved as he steered his cab through the Roman traffic, and in between he talked at length about the election chances of the individual cardinals.

  »What do you think of Cardinal Alberti? The Turinese. The Juve-Fan. Do you think he can beat the Spaniard? Or this German guy. Schiekel. Is that how you pronounce it? Well, he’s not my cup of tea. Too much zack-zack, fast-fast. Although, I liked the old one, you know, the one who resigned. He was good. But now the world needs another Italian pope. What do you think? I hope Alberti wins. Anyone but the Spaniard. I put a hundred bucks on Cardinal Alberti.« He laughed and began to bellow a new version of Juventus Turin’s battle chant. »Juve, Juve! Alberti, Alberti!«

  »Can’t you drive faster?« Maria asked impatiently.

  »Sister, don’t you see what’s going on? Rome has gone haywire! I’m doing what I can.«

  He looked into the rear mirror and saw Maria pulling out a cell phone, pressing a number, and saying something in German.

  »Dad, it’s me! I think I know where Peter is. I need your help.«

  Forty-five agonizing minutes later, they finally reached the main entrance to Rome’s central cemetery on Via Verano. The driver shook his head as he gazed after the young nun who stormed into the cemetery as if devils were after her. He crossed himself three times and asked Saint Christopher to send him a bunch of wealthy American tourists that he could chauffeur through the entire city to mark the occasion of the conclave.

  Maria was wandering around the vast expanse of the cemetery and past the stupendous crypts of Roman Patrician families who had built real funerary monuments for themselves. She was nervous and her panic grew as she waited by the tomb of Vittorio de Sica, whom her father had admired as a young movie-goer. Suddenly a monk came walking towards her. He had pulled his hood deep over his face and was carrying a bag, which seemed to be heavy.

  »Don Luigi drove like a madman but we couldn’t make it any sooner,« her father apologized to her. »Where is he?«

  »I don’t know the exact location! All I saw was the main entrance. But I think I can make an educated guess.«

  »Okay then, let’s go!«

  A few of the people visiting the cemetery were surprised by the sight of the young nun and the older monk with the heavy bag rushing through the cemetery grounds. A group of Korean tourists took pictures of them but nobody recognized Laurenz under the hood, and nobody would have thought for a second that these two were father and daughter.

  Maria headed for the area with the burial niches, where the less wealthy Italians tended to bury their loved ones. Long aisles with high walls on either side, each of them with several rows of drawer-like recesses, which were sealed with a concrete or marble plate. The relatives placed flowers in front of the plates or decorated them with pictures of the deceased. Some of these shaft-like loculi were covered with photos, even with AC Roma fan memorabilia.

  And every loculus had a number.

  They did not have to search for long. Maria found the number 306 in an aisle with new tombs, and so far only a few of them were occupied. Loculus 306 was in the third row, just high enough for a tall man still to reach it. The tomb was occupied but the plate looked as if it had only recently been walled in.

  »This has to be it!«

  »Are you sure, Maria?«

  »For heaven’s sake, no!« she yelled at her father. »But come on, let’s get started!«

  Franz Laurenz looked over his shoulder. They were alone. At least for now.

  Filled with determination, Laurenz pulled a chisel and a heavy hammer from his bag and then, without any further ado, he tried to break the burial niche open. But despite the fact that the concrete was still fresh, he started gasping for air after a couple of blows. Maria tore the tools from his hands and started hammering against the wall as if she had lost her mind.

  »Hey, what the hell are you doing?«

  Laurenz spun around. A young cemetery custodian was running towards them. Without wasting a thought, Laurenz walked towards him and knocked him down with a short right hook to the chin.

  »Forgive me, son.« Then he turned back to his daughter. »Hurry, Maria!«

  Maria was desperate, slamming the hammer against the newly cemented wall like a maniac, until the first chunks fell off. Her father came to her aid and hammered the rest of the plate away.

  Out of the darkness an intense bluish light, which was created by some sort of light-emitting diode in one of the corners of the loculus, drifted towards them. Together with the stench of sweat and vomit, it streamed out into the radiant Roman afternoon, up into the cloudless skies. Appalled, Maria stared into the burial niche, which was just large enough for a coffin. But there was no coffin. Inside the cheap grave that was made of ready-mixed concrete and numbered 306 was a figure, shackled and gagged, moaning.

  LXXXVI

  May 18, 2011, Sistine Chapel, Vatican City

  At 4:52 pm, the Cardinal electors were sworn in. One by one, they stepped into the middle of the Sistine Chapel, placed their hands on the Book of the Gospels, and pledged to observe faithfully and scrupulously the prescriptions contained in the Apostolic Constitution, »Universi Dominici Gregis.« Each and every one of them promised and swore that, if he were elected Roman Pontiff, he would commit himself faithfully to carrying out the munus Petrinum of Pastor of the Universal Church and would not fail strenuously to affirm and defend the spiritual and temporal rights and the liberty of the Holy See. However, above all they pledged, promised, and swore to observe, with the greatest fidelity, secrecy regarding everything that in any way related to the election of the Roman Pontiff and to make their decision independently and without any interference or pressure from outside. Everybody in the Vatican knew that this part of the oath was nothing but empty rhetoric. There had never been secrecy or independence, not once in the 2000 year history of the papacy.

  For centuries, the process of the papal election had rested on three columns: the College of Cardinals, a two-thirds majority, and the conclave; and it was deemed to be one of the most stable and balanced election processes in the world. The intricate proceedings were the result of centuries of painstaking improvements. Every regulation was the response to a failure that had once endangered the unity of the Church. Every Pope had readjusted the process according to the challenges of his time.

  At 5:52 pm, the Master of Papal Liturgical Celebrations, Archbishop Arturo Cechi, gave the order »Extra omnes!« All thos
e who were not taking part in the conclave had to leave the Sistine Chapel at once. Bishop Cechi locked and sealed the door that led into the Chapel, and it would stay that way for the duration of the conclave.

  The 118 Cardinals took their seats in two rows along the side walls of the chapel. Each table had a nameplate. Next to it was a bible, the »ordo rituum conclavis,« a booklet that described the election process, white notepaper and a red leather folder with the papal crest.

  When the old gentlemen in their scarlet habits had finally taken their seats, Cardinal Giovanni Sacchi stood up to begin the election process in his role as Camerlengo.

  »Dear brothers, I welcome you to the election of our new Roman Pontiff, which we now begin with God’s help and with trust in Christ. Are there any questions in regard to the election process?«

  Nobody raised his hand.

  »Then let us proceed to the first ballot.«

  While three scrutineers, who had previously been drawn by lot from the Cardinal electors, were distributing the ballot papers, Menendez scanned the faces of the gathered cardinals. Despite the fact that campaigning and advertising were strictly prohibited and punishable by excommunication, just like a breach of the obligation of secrecy, he knew for a fact that some of them, especially Alberti and Schiekel, had left nothing untried to create a favorable climate for their election through the press and through personal conversations. He himself had talked in private to each and every one of the 117 cardinals, using open promises and hidden threats to make it clear to them that he had a right to the munus Petrinum, the Primacy of the Roman Pontiff. He had not the slightest doubt that most of the men in the room would write his name on their ballots. And this was the reason why open bribery would have been devastating. Menendez planned to demonstrate strength and to act like a leader when Seth came tonight to see him. And maybe he would even be able to receive his visit as the newly-elected Pope.

  One needed a two-thirds majority to be elected the successor to St. Peter. Menendez did not expect to obtain these 79 votes in the first ballot. However, during the last 100 years, there had not been a conclave with more than fifteen ballots. Menendez hoped for a quick election.

  Two ballots were planned for the first day of the conclave. There were no candidate lists. Every cardinal did his best to disguise his handwriting and wrote the name of his favorite candidate legibly on a prepared ballot paper with the words Eligo in Summum Pontificem at the top, »I elect as Supreme Pontiff.« The paper was folded twice. Then each Cardinal elector, in order of precedence, stood up individually and carried his ballot to the altar. Menendez watched as Cardinal Alberti, who held his ballot high so that everyone could see it, kneeled down pledging, »I call as my witness Christ the Lord who will be my judge, that my vote is given to the one who before God I think should be elected.« Then he placed his ballot onto the plate and dropped it into the receptacle.

  The other cardinals followed suit in the exact same manner. Afterwards, the first scrutineer closed the receptacle and shook it to mix the ballots. Then he and the other two scrutineers counted the votes, compared the number of ballots with the number of Cardinal electors, and finally handed the result over to the Camerlengo.

  »I hereby announce the result of the first ballot,« Cardinal Sacchi proclaimed, louder than would have been necessary because the cardinals had already stopped mumbling and muttering. There was absolute silence in the Chapel. Menendez tensed his body and caught himself grinding his teeth.

  »Cardinal Alberti: 48 votes. Cardinal Schiekel: 42 votes. Cardinal Menendez: 28 votes.«

  A collective murmur went through the scarlet rows, as the Camerlengo announced the sensation. A scandal. Only 28 votes for Menendez, the favorite. Less than one-third. A loud slap in the face. All eyes were on the Spaniard, who had turned as white as a sheet. What hurt him almost more than his personal defeat was the fact that Alberti, whom he regarded as an alcoholic populist, that Alberti of all people had almost received the two-thirds majority. On the outside, though, he remained composed and emotionless and nodded at the pot-bellied Cardinal who was sitting opposite him on the other side of the chapel, and who was as jovial as usual.

  »This means that no candidate has achieved the necessary two-thirds majority,« Cechi announced for the sake of correctness. Following an ancient tradition, the used ballots were burned in a small temporary oven in the chapel. After an unsuccessful vote, pitch and a chemical compound were added. Moments later, a disappointed murmur went through the crowd that had gathered in St. Peter’s Square, as the people and hundreds of television cameras that were glued to the plain little chimney on the rooftop of the Sistine Chapel saw the black smoke rising in the air. The fumata nera, the smoke signal.

  Inside the Sistine Chapel, the second ballot began.

  LXXXVII

  May 18, 2011, Cimitero del Verano, Rome

  They made a brief stop at one of the many drinking fountains in the cemetery, so that Peter could get some water. He choked and coughed as he drank. The strange trio caught the attention of some of the cemetery’s visitors.

  »Hurry up, Peter!« Laurenz urged him.

  »Don’t you see what bad shape he is in?« Maria hissed at her father. »Drink slowly, Peter! Nice and slowly. … And now hurry the crap up!«

  Peter looked at her from the corner of his eye as he was gulping the water from one of the faucets along the way.

  Maria. You found me, Maria.

  »You’re swearing again, Maria,« he said as he stood upright, coughing. »Where will this lead?«

  After a night of agony, gagged and buried alive in the niche, he was suffering from cramps and severe dehydration. His knuckles were scraped and bloody from his desperate attempts to break through the walls of his suffocating prison. His clothes were covered in dust and filth. But he was alive. And after drinking the water, he could feel his energy coming back. Even the itching had disappeared, and with it the nausea.

  What about the virus? Are you still sick? How much time do you have left?

  Before the young cemetery custodian whom Laurenz had knocked down could cry havoc, they were running towards Don Luigi’s Fiat that awaited them by the entrance. As the Padre merged the car into the Roman traffic, Peter gave a hasty account of what had happened.

  »He wanted to meet me here, in the cemetery.«

  »Nikolas?«

  »Yes, Nikolas. I believe he was as curious about me as I was about him. I told him about the memories that I have of our mother. I wanted to find out more about Seth and the Light-Bearers. I…« Peter paused. »I wanted to kill him,« he finally added. »But he was faster than me. I don’t know how he knocked me out, but I woke up in that loculus.«

  Maria stroked his hair, tenderly. Her father saw it but did not say anything.

  »Why didn’t he kill you right away?« she asked. »Why did he wall you into that tomb?«

  Peter rubbed his face. »I have been racking my brains about this for hours. Whether it was an act of extreme sadism or a ritual. I now believe that he never intended to kill me and that he just wanted to get me out of the way for a while. Does that remind you of anything, Laurenz?«

  Franz Laurenz ignored the innuendo. »What’s the story with that blue light?« he wanted to know. »What was that?«

  The blue light. Did the blue light heal you?

  »No idea. But I assume that it’s the light that will ignite the Red Mercury.«

  »How do you know that?«

  »It’s just my assumption. Nikolas was carrying the bombs with him in a suitcase. Each of them is stored in a small box, which is equipped with a light-emitting diode that resembles the one in the loculus. Besides, Nikolas was talking the whole time about the ›light‹ and about the purity of hatred and pain, and about Seth, the master, and then again about the light. He sounds like a complete maniac.«

  »But this would mean that the bombs are not yet inside the Vatican,« Maria said.

  »They are now,« Peter replied. »Before Nikolas put me out of comm
ission, he wanted to convince me to switch sides. He talked about the great power that Seth would bestow upon us. But first we would have to plant the bombs in the Vatican. And he still wants the amulet.«

  »Where exactly are the bombs now?« Laurenz asked.

  Peter hesitated. »Which area is still accessible from the outside and would be the best way of destroying the Vatican and killing the College of Cardinals?«

  Laurenz seemed stumped for an answer. »Bühler and his men have checked everything and are patrolling the area around the clock. It is impossible to get close to the Sistine Chapel or the adjacent buildings.«

  »Not completely impossible,« Don Luigi said all of a sudden while dodging a motorino that was coming straight towards them.

  »What do you mean?«

  »What if he plants the bombs underneath the Sistine Chapel? Inside the Necropolis?«

  »But the entries to the Necropolis are also being watched by the Swiss Guards. Nobody can get in there.«

  »And what about the access underneath the Castel Sant'Angelo?«

  »Which access underneath the Castel Sant'Angelo?« Peter asked anxiously.

  Laurenz turned in his seat and looked at him. »The Necropolis underneath the Vatican is tremendously vast and very old. Much older of course than today’s state lines. The catacombs stretch as far as the Castel Sant'Angelo. Only recently, archaeologists uncovered another access there.«

  »Damn it! Why didn’t you tell me this earlier? Take me there! Right now!«

  »Didn’t you hear what I said, Peter? The Necropolis is a giant labyrinth of caverns! If we really want to find the bombs before they explode, we will need a map! Did Nikolas say anything about where he plans to plant the bombs?«