The Hand of Christ

by Joseph Nagle

  Without an order given, every officer, both Vatican and Roman, opened fire; the assassin was thrown violently through the air and onto his back. He was dead before hitting the ground, his body riddled with bullets.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  The Resurrection

  The Vatican

  The Square was in a spinning swirl of uncontrolled chaos. Detective Dante left the Pope to the care of the arriving medics and ran to the fallen Colonel whilst Vatican Police and Carabinieri could be seen running in nearly every direction. In the distance, a small fleet of ambulances raced to the scene.

  Jimmy screamed out to his friend, “Michael!” and easily freed himself from the two stunned Swiss guards and ran to where he lay. Michael was on his front with his back to Jimmy and wasn’t moving. Jimmy grabbed him by his shoulder gently turning him over.

  “Michael, are you alright!” Jimmy sounded frantic.

  To Jimmy’s relief, a slight groan came from Michael, “I am so damn sick of getting shot at!” he said, while holding his shoulder. A small amount of blood filled the tiny gaps between his fingers.

  “You’re bleeding, Michael!”

  Michael restated the obvious, “I know that I am bleeding, I’ve been shot; blood usually comes with bullet holes. I am alright, Jimmy, it just hurts like hell!”

  Jimmy looked at the other side of his shoulder, “There’s an exit wound close to the entry. The bullet made its way through your shoulder; you should get bandaged up.”

  Michael sat up, “Don’t worry about me, it’s a flesh wound. What about the Pope? Is the Pope dead?”

  Jimmy had nearly forgotten about the Holy Father. He looked over to where a flurry of men worked on the Pope and said, “I don’t know. He went down, he’s not moving. It doesn’t look good, Michael; they are taking him away right now, but I can’t see anything. His guards are blocking my view. One of the tourists went down, too, looked like she got hit badly with whatever the assassin used.”

  Michael looked over at where the Pontiff fell to the earth. He was surrounded by security officials and medics who were carrying him quickly away on a stretcher. A number of Vatican Police were holding up blankets shielding the rest of onlookers from what was going on behind the impromptu curtains. They were heading toward the Apostolic Palace.

  The stricken Vatican guard was sitting at the back of an ambulance in its opened door. The medic was breaking what looked like some sort of ampoule between a couple pieces of gauze pads. The guard was wearing an oxygen mask within which the medic shoved the pads.

  Where the Pope had fallen, a crowd of frantic medics in a much smaller group were attending to the already dead tourist. Barely able to stand, her husband was being held by a Swiss Guard and desperately pleaded for her to live.

  “Help me up, Jimmy,” Michael said wanting to stand in order to regain his bearings.

  Once Michael was up, the two plain clothed Swiss Guards that Jimmy had run from grabbed both men. A voice in the distance shouted out, “Bring them both here!” The two Swiss Guards were shocked at what they saw, neither man was able to heed to the command. One made the sign of the cross.

  “NOW!” boomed the Colonel.

  The two Swiss Guards obediently grabbed the two Americans and headed toward the Colonel. Michael staggered under their control somewhat. Both, Jimmy and Michael wore the faces of unabated disbelief as they stared at the man who, only moments ago, they had thought was dead.

  Colonel Camini was himself standing now; Detective Dante was at his side looking upon the head of the Swiss Guard as if he were a spirit. Buried deep into the center of the Colonel’s chest was Michael’s knife exposed only by its handle.

  Michael and Jimmy were standing in front of the Colonel; both were unable to fathom what they were witnessing.

  He made no indication that he was distracted by or even aware of the knife embedded in him and continued his commands. First he pointed at a few of the Vatican Policemen that had moved closer to their leader and then at the dead assassin, “You four; get that man from the Square. Take his body to a holding cell, and cover him up, get it done now! The rest of you; put all of the tourists along the South wall, no one leaves! Confiscate their phones and cameras; jam the cellular towers and the switchboard. Not one phone call or photo gets out from these walls!”

  The Colonel was firmly in control, the four men complied without question. He then pointed to the fallen woman and said to no one in particular, “Instruct the medics to take her with her husband to the Vatican hospital! You two,” the Colonel motioned to the two Swiss Guards next to Jimmy and Michael, “go with her body. Guard the room they put her in; do not let anyone in that room except for one doctor, a priest, and her husband; not one person more. Any one that comes in any contact with that woman’s medical information is to neither leave the hospital nor be allowed to speak to anyone until they have first spoken with me. That includes those trying to use the phones. Are my instructions clear?”

  Both men shouted, “Yes, sir!” in unison and moved with expedience to the fallen woman both believing they just witnessed a miracle.

  The Colonel was clearly in control; like a magician, everywhere he waved his wand of orders a smoke of compliance materialized. He conducted damage control; it was obvious that he didn’t want any un-sanitized or unapproved information leaving the small nation.

  Angrily the Colonel stepped close to the faces of both Americans with his nostrils flared; he said, “I do not take kindly to armed American agents wandering around this sovereign nation, as if it belonged to them, while conducting secret operations. I also do not react favorably to American agents assaulting fellow Roman officers before having locked them into trash cans and then impersonating them! The number of laws that you two have broken would put you both in a small cell for the better part of your lives!”

  The Colonel stepped so close to Michael that the butt of the knife that protruded from the Colonel’s chest was pressed against Michael’s. He reached up to Michael’s ear and pulled out the small radio receiver. He dropped it to the ground and crushed it with his right heel. A bout of high-pitched feedback squealed in Jimmy’s ear. Jimmy let out a loud howl, and snatched his own radio out of his ear.

  The Colonel glared at Jimmy, and then growled at both agents as he addressed them, “Dr. Sterling; James.”

  The man knows our names!

  Colonel Camini’s vitriol continued, “Make one attempt to flee and I will personally shoot you dead, and then ask you why you ran later. The only reason that you have not already been arrested and shackled is that I believe that you know more about the planned assassination of the Holy Father than I do, information that you will share with me and without hesitation.”

  “Colonel? Sir?” A very tentative look was washed over the face of one of the remaining Swiss Guard.

  Fuming at the interruption, the Colonel snapped his head toward the young man and fired out, “What is it!”

  Reeling from the Colonel, the Swiss Guard pointed at his chest, “Sir, you have a knife in your chest! We should get you to a doctor!”

  Suddenly aware of how he appeared, the Colonel took a few steps back and cracked a small smile, “So it appears.”

  Reaching to the handle he slowly pulled the knife from his chest; Michael cringed at what he witnessed.

  The blade was as clean as the hole from which it emerged. Neither blade nor wound showed any signs of blood. The Colonel reached up and undid the top three buttons of his shirt and exposed the black exterior of the thick protective vest he was wearing.

  “Detective Dante, your Carabinieri need you out here in the public and at the gates of the Piazza; Rome needs your leadership. I trust that you will offer nothing to the buzzards of the press.”

  He then pointed at Michael and Jimmy and instructed, “You two follow me.”

  The Colonel turned and walked with purpose toward the Apostolic Palace.

  Michael looked quizzically at Jimmy, both men followed without question.
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  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Near Saxon Mountain

  Colorado

  Sonia nursed a cup of coffee that had long ago gone cold. From the kitchen, a not so pleasant smell wafted into the room where she sat. Michael’s father had been cooking up something that he called his “specialty.”

  Concerned for her husband, she paid the cold of her drink little attention and certainly wasn’t interested in what was behind that smell.

  Sonia sat in what would be considered the small living room of their second home. Straddled between two rising rocky mountain faces, the cabin was the place that Sonia and Michael went to eliminate the built up tensions from every day life. Michael loved sitting on the back deck, which overlooked the icy mountain creek, with his binoculars glued to his eyes. They were a well received birthday gift from her.

  He would scan the face of the mountain for hours hoping to see any sign of wildlife. Every so often she would come running to his shrieks of excitement when he spotted a herd of big horned sheep, or mountain goats, or the occasional sighting of a black bear. To this day he still hasn’t spotted his long sought after prize: the secretive and elusive mountain lion.

  Sonia now realized why Michael didn’t want a TV or internet in their cabin; he truly wanted to escape every reminder of his real job. He was always so happy when he was there enjoying the thin mountain air at an elevation of 8512 feet.

  Sonia stared at the CNN broadcast and felt a bit ashamed that she had fought Michael so hard to put in the satellite dish and TV, but was thankful that she had them. She had been sitting in front of the television for hours; the glare from the screen had started to strain her eyes. Persistently she stared – her eyes locked onto it – and was hoping to see anything that might give her a clue about her husband.

  Hour after hour, it had been the same news looped over and over again. She was even beginning to be able to predict when certain commercials would come on.

  Then it happened. The sound of shattering porcelain and an earsplitting scream brought Michael Sr. running from the kitchen, “Sonia! What is it? Are you okay?”

  Her face was white, and drained of its blood; she pointed to the man on the TV.

  Across the bottom of the broadcast, a thick bright red bar with the words “Breaking News” flashing on it beamed into their cabin.

  A male anchor wearing a solemn face was speaking, “CNN is the first to bring you this breaking news from the Vatican. There are reports of multiple shots fired in St. Peter’s Square. I must caution that the reports are spotty and unconfirmed. What we can tell you is that the Vatican has confirmed that the Pope collapsed earlier today during his daily walk in the middle of the historic square. At this point no word has been given telling us if the Pope is dead or alive. I repeat: no official announcement of the Pope’s death has been released.”

  “Oh my God, it’s happening!” Michael Sr. was staring at the screen in disbelief. Sonia ran to him for comfort burying her face into his chest as he put his arm around her.

  The CNN anchor continued, “There are additional reports from the Vatican that a female tourist died upon witnessing the Pope’s demise, apparently the Holy Father had been blessing her at the moment of his collapse. Presumably her death was due to the shock of seeing the Pontiff’s fall before her very eyes. The Vatican has strongly denied that any shots have been fired saying that young children often play with fireworks nearby, and urged caution and responsibility on the reporting of any unconfirmed details.”

  But you bastards will still report it won’t you! Michael’s father was perpetually disgusted by the press and their reckless need to keep all eyes glued on them by tapping into the morbid curiosity of man.

  The broadcaster continued, “An official spokesperson from the Holy See released information that Pope Leo XIV has been undergoing treatment for his weakened cardiovascular system and was preparing for an upcoming procedure on his heart.”

  In the background, an image of the Pope Leo XIV appeared, and the anchor read from the teleprompter, “At this point the Holy See is not saying if the Pope’s collapse is related to his heart condition. Please stay tuned, CNN will bring you any additional details the moment unfold.”

  “Heart condition my ass,” blurted out Michael Sr., “why does everything have to be a big secret?”

  Sonia turned to her father-in-law and looked upon him, not with the face of a hardened doctor, but as a wife terrified for her husband’s life. Michael Sr. immediately recognized her fear and held her tighter, “He will be alright Sonia; I know my son. He’s coming home alive.”

  Elsewhere, the President of the United States was sitting with a number of senior officials watching the same breaking news.

  Closing his eyes and dropping his head the only thing he said was a quiet, “Damn.”

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  St. Peter’s Square

  Rome, Italy

  Colonel Camini was walking fast. Each step seemed to come quicker than the last. The gold necklace he wore bounced up over his shoulder and its small medallion repeatedly slapped his back. Without skipping a beat or a step, he grabbed it and tucked it back into his front while fastening the three buttons that he had undone earlier. The Portone di Bronzo is the main entrance to the Apostolic Palace and to the papal apartments, and was in the direction they were headed.

  Placed by Bernini in 1663, the twenty-five foot Bronze Door had undergone a painstaking but required restoration. The original wood had become so weak that the massive six-ton doors rested precariously on their hinges threatening anyone who walked through them. Reinforced with steel braces that impregnated the wood, they were solidly set back on their hinges.

  “My God! No!” shouted Michael as he nearly ran into the back of the Colonel who was frozen at the front of the granite steps that lead to the Bronze door. The Colonel stared at the massive door with a look of fear.

  “What is it, Michael?” Jimmy first looked at Michael than at the door, “Oh crap!” Jimmy understood.

  In front of the door were four Swiss Guards where normally there are two. Striking in their blue and yellow Renaissance uniforms and holding large halberds, the chiseled faces of the soldiers reflected pain. One of them appeared distraught but stood his ground stoically. During the daylight hours the Bronze Door is to remain open. Upon the passing of the head of the household – the death of the Pope – the doors are closed symbolizing that the Pontiff is no longer living.

  The sun was breaking through the clouds. There was still daylight. The Bronze Door was closed.

  The Swiss Guards looked knowingly to their commander. Colonel Camini stepped forward. He placed a comforting hand on one the shoulder of one of the men, “Who gave the order to close this door?”

  “Monsignor Hauptmann did, Colonel.”

  “Not the Camerlengo?”

  “No, Colonel. It was the Monsignor. He ordered us to close the door.”

  “Only the Camerlengo can make such an order! Open these doors! Leave them open unless the Camerlengo orders otherwise! Let us through!”

  The Swiss Guard jumped and responded with fast compliance and turned to the enormous gilded handles of the door. Turning one, he pushed. Slowly the heavy door opened; on the other side was a throng of Swiss Guards looking just as solemn, but as equally surprised.

  Colonel Camini looked at Michael and Jimmy and only nodded toward the Bronze door. The two men followed without debate. Rushing past the Scala Pia, Michael came to a halt and shouted out to the Colonel, “Aren’t these stairs the fastest way to the Pope’s apartments?”

  The Colonel stopped and faced Michael. With deadpan eyes, he looked squarely into Michael’s, “Those stairs belong only to the Pope. You will not climb them.”

  “But it will get us to him quicker!”

  “Dr. Sterling, his life or death will not be determined by how fast we get to him. He is in God’s hands now. Follow me as I have instructed.”

  They were moving at a blur through the Corridor of B
ernini. There were streaks of baroque and slivers of colonnades flashing by the fast moving men. Soon, the three of them were towered over by a massive statue of Constantine the Great. The carved marvel showed Constantine rising up on his steed, and it looked ready to jump from its pedestal to trample them.

  Michael glanced up toward the vaulted ceiling. He was astounded by the impressive giant coat of arms of Alexander VII that was protected on either side by two large angels. Up the marble Scala Reggia, two stairs at a time, the three men ascended the Royal Staircase.

  They stole through rooms of the Vatican that most visitors would salivate to see: the Salas Regia and Ducale; then into Bramante. Through the different and richly appointed rooms they ran until they hit a dead end. Over his shoulder and barely showing the aerobic effects of their jaunt, Camini quickly glanced at the two men and then recast his attention to the wall. He pushed onto a small ornate protrusion that was indistinguishable amongst the many others to the left and right of it. It moved inward slightly. The Colonel twisted it counterclockwise a half turn and then clockwise two full turns. Then he pushed. The wall opened in the same manner that Jimmy’s had at the safe house.

  He beckoned the men inside.

  Stepping through the hidden doorway, Michael was overcome. It wasn’t a room but a long hallway into which they had entered. The vaulted thirteen-arched Loggia was sixty-five meters long and four meters wide. Every color known to man, including some that he sure that he had never seen before, seemed to have been used in the hallway’s details. To his left, right, and every way that he looked, his vision was clouded with a menagerie of brilliance. Fifty-two biblical scenes were painted above him. Michael knew instantly what it was: Raphael’s Bible.

  There was no time to enjoy it; Camini motioned to the men, “Let’s move!”

  Through the Cortile di San Damaso, the Colonel, Michael, and Jimmy headed toward the Scala Nobile; to the stairs that would take the men to the Pope. Without haste, they moved through Sala Clementina, the antechamber to the Pope’s reception rooms; Michael stole a look skywards. Above him was a large fresco of a benevolent mother that sprayed her breast milk downward to the open mouths and outstretched tongues of horses, birds, and beasts.