by John Lyman
“I’m kidding, my friend. This cross once belonged to a pope when he was a cardinal. It’s my gift to you.”
“I can’t possibly accept-”
Morelli shoved the cross into Leo’s hand. “Yes, you can. I insist. Besides, I have a feeling it might come in handy someday, Father.”
Leo turned the large cross over and admired the magnificent workmanship. “It… it’s beautiful. I don’t know what to say. Thank you, Anthony.”
“Just be sure to wear it under your shirt, at least until you become a cardinal.”
“Chances of that happening are slim to none, but thank you anyway. I’ve never owned anything like this in my life.”
“Wow,” John said. “That really belonged to a pope?”
“Yes,” Morelli said, “a very special pope.”
Walking toward the door, Morelli clasped Leo’s shoulder in farewell. An expression of sadness clouded his face.
“You know, Leo, I’ve been waiting all my life for a discovery like the one we made today. I just never expected that it would make my faith even stronger. The more we learn, the more we realize that the code in the Bible is not as reliable as we first thought for making predictions. I believe the real purpose of the code is to authenticate the Bible as a book of divine and supernatural origin. The most beautiful thing about all of this is that it will announce to the whole world that, yes, God does exist, and He is still talking to us today using modern methods.”
“Maybe that’s His intention, Father.”
“Get some rest, my friend,” Morelli said. “You’ve got a lot ahead of you in the days to come.”
“You mean we don’t you, Anthony?”
Father Morelli paused as if he had misspoken. “Of course. We have a lot to do in the days ahead.”
Leo closed the door and thought for a moment before walking back out onto the balcony. Looking down at the street, he saw Morelli and John descend the hotel stairs and climb into the BMW. In the quiet night air, he could hear their voices clearly before Morelli revved the car’s engine in a prelude to his signature high-speed departure. Father Morelli glanced over his shoulder and spotted Leo standing on the balcony. His ever-present smile was absent as he waved and let his foot off the clutch before roaring off into the night.
Leo sat alone on the balcony for another hour, drinking his wine and looking across the street at the Vatican. He breathed in deeply before finally getting up and walking back into his room. The priest sat on the bed and grabbed the TV remote. He thought the distraction of a little Italian television would help to clear his mind, but it was no use. Father Leo Amodeo knew deep down inside that something was very, very wrong.
Chapter 9
The ringing phone jarred Leo awake.
“Hello?”
“Father Leo, buon giorno. Mi dispiace to awaken you. It is me, Arnolfo, at the front desk.”
“Buon giorno, Arnolfo. A che ora?”
“Sei, Father. Six in the morning. You have a call from the Vatican. It is from a cardinal, and he wants most urgently to speak with you.”
Leo could tell from Arnolfo’s voice that he was close to being hysterical at having to put a cardinal on hold.
“That’s fine, Arnolfo. Grazie. Put him through.”
“Hello… Leopold?” Leo knew that only Lundahl called him Leopold.
“Yes. Good morning, Cardinal. How-”
“You need to come to the Vatican right away, Leopold. I have some bad news. Very bad, I’m afraid.”
Leo felt a tightening in his stomach. “What is it, Your Eminence? What’s happened?”
“It concerns Father Morelli. I hate to tell you like this on the phone, Leopold, but he passed away last night. I know how close you two were, and I thought you would like to know right away.”
Leo felt the room sway. His mind went immediately to that place where it rested in a state of denial one experiences upon hearing the final, awful news that death has come to someone close. He crossed himself and began to pray.
“Leopold? Are you there?”
“Yes, sorry.” Leo began to gather himself. All he could picture at the moment was Father Morelli driving away in his red sports car the night before.
“I realize this must be a terrible shock to you, Father. We will be gathering in his room to pray for his departed soul. Can you come to the residence hall as soon as possible?”
“I’m on my way, Eminence. Give me twenty minutes.”
Leo was just reaching for his clothes when the phone rang again.
“Yes?”
“Leo, it’s me, John. Have you heard the news about Father Morelli?”
“Yes, I just talked to Cardinal Lundahl.”
“I still can’t believe it. What a horrible time for this to happen. I know he is with God in heaven, but he had so much more he wanted to do here on earth. He told me just last night that we must be very cautious, especially now, at this time in history. Before he went upstairs to his room, he warned me again about dark forces at work that will try to keep us from learning the secret of the chapel. Now this. The timing is eerie.”
Leo looked at the clock next to the bed. “I’m on my way to the residence hall now.”
“Good,” John said. “We need to talk. Something’s not right. The cardinal’s assistant has ordered a search of the residence hall, and the plain-clothes men from the Swiss Guard are all over the place.”
“The entire building?”
“Every room. When you get here, be sure not to mention the chapel or yesterday’s discovery. I’ll explain everything to you later. Right now, I need to pray for Father Anthony. I know he’s looking down on us now. He’s undoubtedly getting used to his new wings and telling the angels some of his favorite jokes.”
Leo had to pause for a moment. “Does anyone else know about our discovery yesterday?”
“As far as I know, only Lev Wasserman and his team in Israel.”
“Well, that kind of narrows it down then. We need time to think.”
“I know I’m probably overreacting, Leo. It’s just the timing and the shock of losing Father Morelli.”
“I’ll see you in a few minutes. Anthony was fortunate to have a friend like you, John.”
Leo hung up the phone and quickly dressed in the standard uniform of a Roman Catholic priest. Looking in the mirror, he brushed his teeth and combed his hair as the mental picture of Morelli’s smiling face caused a lump to form in his throat. The sudden loss of his best friend was a shock, but he was comforted by the knowledge that Father Morelli had prepared all of his life for the journey he had just taken.
Leo stepped from the elevator into the hotel lobby just as Arnolfo rushed up and handed the priest a tiny porcelain cup filled with dark, steaming espresso.
“I know you are in a hurry, Father. My wife and I, we pray for Father Morelli.”
“Thank you, Arnolfo. God bless you, my friend.”
Leo gulped down the thick, dark coffee and handed the empty cup back to Arnolfo before running outside and crossing the street to the Vatican.
The residence hall was located inside the main gate to the right. It was basically a large five-story apartment building for priests living at the Vatican. The rooms were sparse but comfortable, with private baths and small kitchenettes. The building included over one hundred apartments, plus a library, computer room, meeting spaces, and a small but ornate chapel. The fact that Lundahl’s assistant was having the whole building searched was raising all kinds of red flags to Leo, especially on the heels of the death of Father Morelli.
Arriving in front of the residence hall, Leo noticed a number of uniformed police officers milling about outside. Once inside the lobby area, he saw several Swiss Guard security men stationed in front of the staircase and talking on their radios.
The Swiss Guard dated back to the Renaissance when, in 1506, one hundred fifty fearless Swiss mercenaries under the leadership of the warrior-pope, Julius II, marched into Rome to protect the Vatican. For over five h
undred years, the elite corps had protected the pope and had evolved into a force resembling the U.S. Secret Service.
Leo began walking toward the main stairway but found his path blocked by a large security man dressed in a suit.
“I’m sorry, Father, but the residence is temporarily closed. Do you live here?”
“No. I’m Father Leopold Amodeo. Father Morelli was a close friend of mine. Cardinal Lundahl called and requested that I come over here immediately.”
With the mention of Cardinal Lundahl’s name, the man stepped aside.
“One of my officers will escort you to Father Morelli’s apartment on the third floor. We are all sorry to hear of his death. He was much loved by everyone.”
A uniformed guard snapped to attention and led Leo up the marble staircase past several medieval paintings and statues to the third floor. They turned onto a wide hallway, where Leo noticed several men going in and out of the various rooms, apparently searching for something. A guard stationed at Morelli’s partially open door held his hand out in front of Leo, blocking the entrance to his room. “Excuse me, sir, but the cardinal has given me strict orders not to let anyone inside. He said you would be allowed to watch the last rites from the doorway.”
Leo was mystified. “But I was Father Morelli’s best friend.”
“Orders from the cardinal, Father. Please try to understand.”
Leo was unable to summon any anger at this strange turn of events; the sorrow of losing his friend was forcing him to hold all his emotions in check.
He peered through the doorway into Morelli’s tiny apartment. The curtains were pulled tightly over the closed windows, making the room especially dark and airless. Two priests, along with an older and very seasoned-looking security man, were also in attendance, while Emilo, the cardinal’s assistant who seemed to follow him everywhere, was strangely absent. The security man inside the door blocked most of Leo’s view, and he could barely see Father Morelli lying on his bed.
Cardinal Lundahl stood on the opposite side of the bed by the window, looking across the room and through the door at Leo with unblinking eyes. He was an imposing figure dressed in a black floor-length cassock with red piping and a scarlet watered silk fascia draped around his waist. The bright red skull cap of a cardinal crowned his short blond hair, while a large, gold pectoral cross hung from his neck at the level of his chest, hence the name, pectoral.
The room was clean and neat, reflecting Morelli’s need for order in his life. Leo saw that he was lying on top of the bedspread with his shoes off, as if he had just stretched out for a quick nap. He was still clothed in the simple black shirt and trousers of a priest, with the Roman collar draped open for comfort. His red hair was still neatly combed, and from a distance, it appeared that he was just sleeping. Leo felt a sudden rush of relief as he realized that Father Morelli had obviously died of what appeared to be a natural death in his sleep. With all the police presence, the thought had occurred to him that his friend had been the victim of some crime or act of violence. Unbelievable as it may seem, murders had occurred in the Vatican.
Without speaking, Cardinal Lundahl took a purple surplice from one of the priests and placed it around his neck, kissing each end before letting it fall to the front of his cassock. He then took a small bottle of holy water and poured it on a silver cross before using it to anoint the forehead and hands of Father Morelli. The last rites of the dead had begun.
In truth, there really are no so-called last rites in the Catholic Church. What most people refer to as the last rites is actually the sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick. This sacrament is used for healing, both spiritual and physical, and is performed by a priest when a person requests divine intervention. It is meant to save souls here on earth before they cross over, for once they are dead, the soul is no longer here but with God and beyond a priest’s intervention. All that any priest can do at that point is offer prayers for the soul.
Following the ritual, the two priests covered the body in a white sheet and placed a plain wooden crucifix on his chest. Leo turned away from the door and gave a silent prayer for the gentle soul of his friend. Wiping the tears from his face, he stood in the hallway as Lundahl and the others exited the apartment. It was only then that Leo realized John was nowhere to be seen.
A strong hand clasped Leo’s shoulder from behind. He turned to see the cardinal looking at him with a mixture of questioning and sympathy. “I’m glad you could be here for him, Leopold. Our dear brother is now in heaven. We are all deeply saddened by the loss of such a good and noble man. I’m sorry that we could not allow you into the room, but it was a request from Father Morelli himself. He gave instructions that, in the event of his death, he didn’t want any of his friends to stand around and look down on his earthly body. I suppose he wanted to preserve your memory of him in life.”
“Thank you, Eminence.” Leo was touched by the apparent sincerity of the cardinal’s words. Lundahl clasped his hands together and stood silently for a moment before continuing. “Father Morelli was one of a kind. Out of all our classmates at seminary, he was the most intriguing, a true Renaissance man. I only wish the Church had more soldiers of the cross like him. I know we had our disagreements, but he was a special and valuable member of a dwindling community.”
Leo took a deep breath. “The Church is like a big family, Cardinal, and families sometimes disagree. I never felt that Father Morelli took your differing views personally.”
“You’re very wise, Leopold. I hope you will stay close to us in the days to come.”
“I plan to stay until after the funeral, Eminence, longer if you need me.”
The cardinal paused for a moment, looking down at the floor. He then lifted his gaze and fixed Leo with what could only be called a look of total exhaustion. “I fear I must cancel our lunch appointment today. I have something of a situation on my hands, and I’m sure you need some time for solitary reflection.”
Leo’s concern and curiosity was getting the best of him. “Can I be of any assistance, Eminence? I noticed all the security men around. Is everything alright?”
Lundahl’s look of exhaustion disappeared. “Oh…yes…of course. Coincidentally, Father Emilio was notified that some valuable historical papers went missing from the Vatican library last night and our security people are looking for them. Sometimes scholars studying manuscripts take them to their apartments by mistake.”
The stern-looking security man took the cardinal’s statement as his cue to speak. “Yes, it has nothing to do with the death of Father Morelli.”
Leo watched Lundahl stiffen noticeably. The cardinal was staring at the man with the expression one gives a child who is misbehaving in public. The security man immediately realized he had spoken out of turn and made a hasty retreat down the hall, where he began shouting orders to the guards searching the rooms.
Leo saw that the cardinal’s gaze had shifted back to him.
“Please give my secretary a call tomorrow, Leopold. I’ll instruct him to set up a lunch meeting for just the two of us. I need to talk with you about some matters of great importance. God bless you, and also Father Morelli.” With that, Lundahl turned and strode down the hall, his black and scarlet cassock flowing out behind him.
Chapter 10
Father Leo exited the building into the din of early morning traffic. Crowds of tourists were streaming into the holy city. Most were heading toward the Sistine Chapel to view Michelangelo’s magnificent ceiling, while others circled Saint Peter’s Square, hoping for a glimpse of the pope. Distraught with the terrible news of Father Morelli’s death, Leo had no appetite for breakfast. What he really needed now was a drink. As a priest, a man of faith, he should feel joy for a soul now in heaven. But he was also a mortal man and, as such, was grieving for a friend he had known most of his adult life. Yes, what he needed now more than anything was a drink.
Leo walked out of Vatican City, numb to the brilliant sunshine and rows of multicolored flowers springing to lif
e in nearby flowerbeds. His ears were deaf to the birds singing from the rooftops. He kept his head down, not wanting to acknowledge a smile from anyone crossing his path. He crossed the Ponte Vittorio Emanuele II over the river Tiber and continued along the Via Giulia, one of the first Renaissance streets to cut through Rome’s hodgepodge of medieval alleys. Turning left onto the Via Del Pellegrino, he walked slowly until he found himself in the Piazza Campo de’ Fiori. He crossed the piazza, finally coming to rest under one of several green umbrella-covered tables located in front of a traditional family-owned trattoria. Father Morelli and Leo had come here often. Together, they would share a bottle of wine and eat pasta in the afternoon, talking and laughing with friends and students about the day’s events.
Leo ordered a glass of wine and sat staring out into the piazza. The tables around him were full of customers bound together in the time-honored Roman tradition of people watching. This activity usually relaxed him when he was tense or stressed, but despite the pleasant surroundings, questions nagged at the periphery of his thoughts.
Why wasn’t John at the residence hall this morning? Were there really “evil forces” at work against them? If this were true, had something happened to John? Who were the archaeological priests who had uncovered the tunnel at the Mamertine Prison? And finally, why did Anthony summon him to Rome? He was pummeled by questions, like the punches he received years ago when he fought in high school boxing matches under the gaze of his father and brothers. Morelli could have found the chapel without his help, but he had wanted Leo to come to Rome for a reason, even if Leo still had no clear idea what the true motive really was. One thing he knew for sure: Father Morelli’s work was not finished, and time had run out for him. Whatever the rationale, Leo knew he was now committed to learning more about the code and the ancient chapel under the Vatican.
A waiter hustled around the table. “Another glass of wine, Father?”
“No, grazie.”
Opening his wallet, Leo saw that it was still empty and remembered that he had again forgotten to get cash.
