by John Lyman
Leo showered and changed into a light-blue polo shirt and gray slacks. They would be going to a favorite restaurant this evening, catching up on old news and probably drinking a little too much. He didn’t want to wear “the uniform.”
Even though the wine and beauty of Rome had softened his mood, he felt a vague twinge of apprehension. The contents of Father Morelli’s file continued to fill his mind with disturbing images. Why did this information, as frightening and controversial as it was, need to be kept from official prying eyes? The priest looked down on the street below as Father Anthony’s bright red car pulled up to the hotel entrance. Leo would have his answers tonight. No more stalling from the good Father Morelli.
It was still drizzling outside when Leo bounded down the steps of the hotel and squeezed into the passenger seat. “Why didn’t you buy the large sedan?”
“Not as much fun. Anyway, I’m usually by myself, and this car is perfect for those narrow, twisting roads when I drive to my house in the country.” Father Morelli stepped on the gas and spun the tires as he left the hotel and raced through the narrow streets, missing parked cars by inches.
Leo tightened his seatbelt. “You should have been a Grand Prix driver.”
“I used to daydream about being a racecar driver when we were in seminary. I do some of my best praying when I drive this car to the Italian Grand Prix near Milan every year.”
“What a coincidence,” Leo said. “I also pray when you drive.”
The sight of an Italian police motorcycle in the rearview mirror prompted Morelli to drop his speed for the remainder of their drive to the center of the city.
Civitas was a small restaurant located across the river Tiber on a side street close to the Spanish Steps. The rain had ceased, so the two priests had decided to take a table outside, where they were finishing off their first course of crostini di polenta con pure di fungi porcini e tarufo, polenta squares with a puree of porcini and truffles. This would be followed by rabbit roasted with tomatoes, onions, and garlic and accompanied by a dark, rich Morellino di Scansano wine.
A warm breeze ruffled the white tablecloth as Leo looked across at Morelli and decided that his friend had stalled enough. “So, Anthony, care to let me in on what all this is about? The subject matter in that folder you sent me was a tad disturbing, especially coming from someone as pragmatic as you.
“Got your attention, didn’t it, Father.”
“That’s an understatement. A hidden code in the Bible ... a secret chapel connected to the end of days as prophesized in the Book of Revelation. Do you seriously believe any of this?”
“I’m now convinced of it, Leo.” Morelli passed the glass of wine beneath his nose, inhaling the aroma as he tried to think of where to begin with this fellow Jesuit he had known for most of his adult life. “Do you know of my work with Professor Lev Wasserman?”
Leo had to think for a moment. “The famous mathematician in Jerusalem?”
“Yes. He’s also one of the world’s leading experts in group theory, a field of mathematics that underlies quantum physics. A few years ago, he was reading about the Genius of Vilna, an eighteenth-century Jewish sage in Lithuania who predicted 9/11 to the day and spoke about the possibility of a code being embedded within the Torah. Lev became fascinated with the idea and learned that, throughout history, many Bible scholars had been trying to prove that there was a secret code in the Old Testament. He convinced a group of scientists at the university in Jerusalem that they could find it using modern code breaking methods, and to their surprise, they did. Their work has been replicated by the code breakers at the National Security Administration in the United States, using their most powerful computers, and Lev Wasserman’s paper on the subject has passed academic peer review and has been published in leading scientific journals.”
“He’s Jewish, isn’t he? I mean, how did a Catholic priest become involved in all of this? Why not a rabbi?”
“He was born Jewish but converted to Christianity several years ago, before his American wife died. Believe it or not, Lev’s also an archaeologist, and our paths have crossed many times over the years on various projects. He invited me to spend all of last summer with his team in Israel as their resident expert on biblical prophecy.”
“Biblical prophecy? Is that what all of this is about? You think this code in the Bible has the power to predict the future?”
“It’s complicated,” Morelli said. He poured some more wine into Leo’s glass. “Lev said the first evidence of the encoding was discovered in the Pentateuch, the original five books of the Old Testament, otherwise known as the Torah. The code only exists in Hebrew, because that was the original language of the Bible as it was first written. Evidently, sixty years ago, a rabbi from Eastern Europe noticed that, if he skipped fifty letters and then another fifty and then another fifty, the word Torah was spelled out at the beginning of the Book of Genesis. He then used that same skip sequence again and spelled out the word Torah in the Book of Exodus. To his amazement, the word Torah was also embedded at the beginning of the books of Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy.”
“That’s interesting, Anthony, but even in biblical times it would have been relatively easy to embed a word in the text of any written work, and it doesn’t predict the future.”
“That’s what most people thought until modern technology came along. Lev and his team found additional hidden messages by using computers to alter the sequencing and then scanning the pages both horizontally and vertically, like a crossword puzzle. That’s when they found words grouped together on the same page that mentioned historical events that occurred after the Bible was written. For instance, words like airplane and Wright brothers would appear together with sentences like they will fly and first flight at Kitty Hawk.”
Leo stared across the table at Morelli and breathed in the fresh air washed clean by the recent rain. As a college professor, why hadn’t he heard about any of this before? The whole subject smacked of pop religion.
Morelli took a piece of crusty bread and broke it in half. “Did you know Sir Isaac Newton believed there was a hidden code in the Bible that would reveal the future?”
“You’re kidding! I never knew that about him.”
“When Newton’s biographer went through his papers at Cambridge, he was amazed to find that the father of modern physics was obsessed with the subject. Newton even learned Hebrew and spent most of his life trying to find it. For centuries, many have suspected there was some kind of code in the Bible, but now, Leo, with the advent of computers, we can finally see what many have suspected was there all along.”
Leo pushed his plate away. “Now that I think back on it, I remember hearing somewhere that the assassination of Yitzhak Rabin, the Israeli prime minister, was predicted by some kind of code recently discovered in the Bible.”
“The encoded message not only foretold his assassination, but the year he would be murdered. The name of the assassin, Amir, was spelled out on the same page of the Bible above Rabin’s name. The Prime Minister had been warned beforehand by the researchers who found the encoded message, but he shook them off when they presented the evidence to him. He refused to believe it. We also found the name of every American president and the years they were in office. Lev’s team knew who was going to win the last presidential election before it was even held. Hundreds of other events are also encoded in the Bible. Both World Wars, the Holocaust, men landing on the moon, 9/11, the Gulf War, even the exact date of the collision of the Shoemaker-Levi comet with Jupiter. All are encoded in the Bible.”
Both priests reclined in their chairs and sipped their wine as the waiter arrived with the second course. The perfectly cooked rabbit was swimming in a rich, dark sauce that Father Leo had been trying to duplicate for years with little success. Leo savored the tender meat along with the sauce he had coveted for so long. He had been thinking about this meal ever since he stepped off the plane.
“So,” Leo said, “what about this mysterious cha
pel that you mentioned in the letter? Have you found any proof that it actually exists?”
“The first indication of the chapel’s existence surfaced a year ago when we found a single reference in the code to a very holy Christian chapel buried for almost two thousand years. Then, the day before I sent for you, Lev’s team discovered two additional encoded passages. The first passage placed the chapel right here in Rome, but the second passage had more chilling implications. It linked this secret chapel to the end of days as prophesized in Revelation.”
“What’s the Church’s position in all of this?”
“I have no idea.”
“Haven’t you discussed it with anyone at the Vatican?”
“Only a few trusted friends know about my work, and I’ve asked them not to discuss it with anyone else for now.”
“That sounds a little ominous. Why not?”
“Because there are powers, maybe even evil ones, that don’t want us to know about the chapel’s existence.”
Father Leo stopped eating. “Did you really just say evil powers?”
“There is a section encoded in the Book of Genesis with the words against mankind written in Hebrew. It appears vertically on the page. The word Satan is spelled out horizontally over it two thirds of the way down, forming an upside-down cross in the middle of the page. You would not be able see this in the English version of the Bible. You can only see it in the original Hebrew. Lev Wasserman and I believe this finding is a clear indication that there are forces aligned against those of us who work in God’s name. We also found another encoded message in a different section that clearly states this malevolent force is now embedded within our own church.”
Leo sat back in his chair and tried to make sense of everything Morelli had just told him. The implications were frightening but tantalizing at the same time. A code in the Bible that foretold the future could be considered secular proof of God’s existence.
Morelli looked around before leaning over the table so that only Leo could hear him. “Things are beginning to happen quickly now, Leo. A few hours ago, we found a reference to an ancient Christian seal that apparently points to the chapel’s location under the Basilica.”
“A seal? Where?”
“Not a clue, but according to what we read in the code, it’s very special and we’ll have no trouble recognizing it when we see it. The team in Israel has gone to a twenty-four hour schedule in their search for a description. Everyone on the team, including myself, has encrypted software installed in their computers that searches for coded words and sentences hidden within the Bible. I’ve entered the words seal, chapel, seal under the Vatican, plus hundreds of other combinations, but nothing has surfaced yet. It can be an exhaustive process, Leo, but if you use the computer program and let it run through all the various sequences, the code soon reveals itself.”
Leo took a sip of wine and gazed across the piazza over Morelli’s shoulder. In the distance, he spotted a tall man dressed in a black cassock and wearing the crimson skull cap of a cardinal. It was Marcus Lundahl, and he was walking in their direction. The cardinal was accompanied by his ever-present assistant, Father Emilio, a short, quiet man with thinning hair that contrasted with heavy dark eyebrows.
Following Leo’s gaze, Morelli swiveled in his chair and swore a silent oath before turning back toward Leo.
“What’s wrong, Anthony?”
“No one’s supposed to know you’re here.”
“What?”
Morelli shot Leo a cautionary look as they both dropped their napkins and stood to greet the cardinal. “I didn’t tell anyone I sent for you. Just follow my lead and remember not to mention anything about the chapel.”
The cardinal stopped in front of their table and, without a word, extended his hand. Ritual and etiquette required lower-ranking priests to kiss the ring of a cardinal out of respect for his rank as a Prince of the Church. He studied the two priests like a cat watching a doomed insect run across a carpet as they bent to kiss the large gold ring. “Good evening, Fathers. I apologize for interrupting your meal.”
“Good evening, Your Eminence. Won’t you join us?” Morelli cast a sideways glance at Leo. “You remember our old classmate, Father Leo, don’t you, sir?”
“Yes, of course. It’s nice to see you back in Rome, Father. I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I can’t stay. I’m late for a meeting. Why don’t you come by my office the day after tomorrow, Leopold? We can have lunch, and I can catch up on news from America.”
“That is most kind, sir. I look forward to it.”
The tension generated by the unexpected encounter with the cardinal and his assistant was as thick as the rain-induced humidity hanging in the warm air.
“A pleasure as always to see you too, Father Morelli. I hear you have been busy under my feet lately.”
“I beg your pardon, Eminence?”
“I’m referring to your recent excavation under the Basilica. Father Emilio likes to keep me posted on your work.” The cardinal smiled at Morelli. “See to it you don’t knock anything loose that would cause the entire church to cave in.”
Morelli glanced at Emilio before turning back toward Lundahl. “Oh, no, sir. I’m very careful in my digging, Eminence.”
“I’m sure that you are, Father,” Lundahl’s expression was like a blank canvas.
The cardinal’s usually stone-faced assistant was now glaring at Leo. “I didn’t realize you had business in Rome, Father. You usually notify us before you come.”
“He wanted to surprise me,” Morelli said quickly.
The assistant’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, it is a surprise.”
“We’re just happy to see you again, Leopold,” the cardinal said, raising his hand in front of Emilio. “Call my secretary and put yourself on my schedule.”
“I will, sir. It was good seeing you again.”
With that, Lundahl was off, taking long steps as he crossed the cobblestoned piazza while his assistant tried to keep up.
“What is it about that man that makes me so uncomfortable?” Morelli wondered aloud. “It’s like he thinks he’s better than us. Did you notice the way his eyes move?”
“You know how Marcus is, Anthony. Even in seminary, he seemed distant. I always thought it was just because he graduated at the top of our class. Now that he’s a cardinal, we’ll just have to adjust.”
Morelli shook his head. “It wasn’t Marcus I was referring to. I was talking about Emilio. He’s the reason I didn’t want you to say anything about the chapel. I have to get permission every time I want to do any archaeological work under the Vatican, and all my requests go through him. He’s one of those small-minded men who believe we shouldn’t be poking around under the Basilica, and he has the ear of the cardinal. Finding the chapel is too important to be stopped by some prejudicial bureaucratic nonsense, so for now he needs to be kept out of the loop.”
Leo took another sip of wine and observed the people at nearby tables. It was good to be back in Rome, even though the politics at the Vatican never seemed to change. Father Anthony’s frequent clashes with Lundahl and his staff were no secret around the Vatican. The competition between the cardinal and Morelli had been fierce throughout their arduous fourteen-year climb from novices to the day they took their final vows as Jesuit priests.
Norwegian by birth, Cardinal Marcus Lundahl usually received amused responses when he informed friends that his first name had actually been chosen by his parents from a list of acceptable Norwegian names. Norway’s strict name law dates from the 1800s and was intended to protect Norwegian children from any name that sounded or looked strange to the government.
He was tall and blond with probing blue eyes and the stride and grace of an athlete. Marcus had been a track star in school. In fact, he had made it to the Olympic trials as a distance runner but failed to make the Norwegian team by seconds in his final race. In his late fifties now, his blond hair was turning white at the temples, highlighting his Nordic features.
; At the age of eighteen, Lundahl left home for America to study theology at Georgetown University. There he met Leo and Morelli before all three moved on to Woodstock College in Woodstock, Maryland, the oldest Jesuit seminary in the United States before it closed its doors in 1974 due to decreasing candidates. Lundahl went on to become an expert in Canon Law and was a rising star at the Vatican, becoming one of the youngest cardinals in church history.
Father Leo was feeling the fatigue of the past twenty-four hours as they finished their wine and lifted themselves slowly from their chairs before heading for the parked car along a narrow street filled with brightly lit shops. Leo watched the Gelato-slurping tourists peering into the store windows and thumbing through their Italian-English translation handbooks while the local populace took advantage of the break in the rain to venture outside and visit with neighbors.
The BMW was surrounded by admiring teenagers who were startled to see a Roman Catholic priest hop behind the wheel. Morelli revved the engine for their benefit before driving away slowly through the pedestrian-filled streets. He wound his way back to the Amalfi as the rain again began to fall, causing the pavement to take on a shine that caught the reflection from the lighted dome of Saint Peter’s Basilica across the way.
Pulling to a stop in front of Leo’s hotel, Morelli glanced at his watch. “I’ll meet you for Mass in the morning. Six o’clock in front of the Basilica.”
“Sounds good,” Leo said, crawling from the ground-hugging car.
“Welcome back to Rome, my friend.” Morelli grinned at Leo and waved before roaring off down the wet street and sending a rooster-tail of spray in his wake.
Leo turned to see a fashionably dressed young couple locked in a passionate embrace inside the hotel’s entranceway before they descended the aged stone steps. They smiled at the priest before walking hand-in-hand down the wet sidewalk, oblivious to the rain as they stared into each other’s eyes. Father Leo watched them round the corner before looking up at the darkened window to his empty room. A familiar feeling of loneliness crept into his soul.
