The Last Enemy - A history of the present future - 1934-2084

by Luca Luchesini

  “This is clear,” Bill replied, “Are we authorized to open fire, if need be?”

  “Not without prior authorization from us,” this time it was the National Security Advisor who spoke, “and certainly not on Italian security forces.”

  “Under no circumstances? Not even if our Marines’ lives are at risk? Are you sure about this?”

  Bill Murdoch felt obligated to challenge the authorities in the name of his people, before accepting any deals. The National Security Advisor balked. “Well, in general, yes. Then we will see how things develop. That’s why we need to stay in constant contact.”

  “What if communications fail?” Bill thought. He had barely contemplated the option when Skip Ross chimed in, as if he had read his mind.

  “You should not worry about that; we are using the war satellite links. On the ground, all the service providers opened their data center to our probes, so we control each and every bit of Internet traffic that flows in and out of Rome. You can also see in real time our latest crowd monitoring application.”

  The image of Skip turned toward the US Navy cybersecurity officer, who nodded in agreement. Bill Murdoch looked at his other aides, waiting for further comments, but nobody spoke up.

  “I think we are done here,” the rear admiral concluded, “hopefully it will only be a very long day.”

  About two hours later, at 7.30 in the morning, Valerio approached the St. Anne Gate of the Vatican. An Italian police armored vehicle stood in front of the entrance, the policemen tried to stop him for a check but the voice of a Vatican guards officer interrupted them.

  “You can let him pass, we are waiting for him,” the officer said. He then invited Valerio to follow, grabbing his right arm and rushing past the gate into the Vatican. They did not stop at the entrance booth to record his visit but went all the way up along the Tower and turned right toward the pharmacy. Just in front of it, they entered a fascist-style building and walked downstairs. Valerio could barely read on a plate next to the door that it was the Telecom office building.

  The man kept walking him corridor after corridor, then he suddenly realized he had not introduced himself. “I beg your pardon, my name is Rudolph Schempp, I am the deputy commander of the Swiss Guards. I have received instructions from Monsignor Salvemini to take you to the control room. He will join you there shortly.”

  “The control room?” Valerio repeated in disbelief, “You mean, like the NASA ones?”

  “Oh, much better than that,” his host replied, as he checked the retina scanner.

  Valerio and his guest entered a room full of screens. On one wall on the left, there was the usual set of security camera feeds. The central wall was the most interesting. Valerio looked at some of the screens, then he turned towards his guard.

  “Can I talk to the operators?”

  “Sure,” Rudolph laughed back, “we have no secrets here!”

  Valerio approached one of the ten operators that were running the system using their goggles and touchpads, all dressed in spotless white shirts with black ties. He wondered if they belonged to some religious order, but refrained from asking and got to the point.

  “Hi, good morning, my name is Valerio. This is the social media probes, correct? What data set are you using? How much lag do you have?”

  “Hi, unfortunately I cannot give you my real name but you can call me Renato,” the operator answered. “We call the system ‘Guardian Angel’, to help prevent threats. Basically, all internet providers are feeding us a copy of their traffic. We have more than six million devices under our control, as you can see from the diagram people are now chatting in small groups. That’s basically how they came up to Rome. Average group size is fifteen, roughly four hundred thousand communities. We have about three thousand big sources with more than one thousand subscribers, counting all the main media sites, like Facebook. This we monitor to make sure uncontrolled news does not spread panic or rage.”

  “Any suspicious groups?” Valerio was looking at the blinking red column on the far side.

  “Just about one hundred. We are ready to cut them off as soon as we notice any threat.”

  “Pretty damn professional,” Valerio complimented, looking toward Monsignor Salvemini, who in return smiled cheerfully.

  “You see? We are trying to help Providence with a little prevention. In case something goes wrong, we can alert security forces and at least gain some time.”

  “Well, I hope Providence does not feel like she’s losing her job,” Valerio replied sarcastically. “She might resent it. Are we going to meet the Pope here?”

  “No, we will go to the Apartments,” Monsignor Salvemini replied. “We are scheduled in His Holiness’ agenda between one and two o’clock. After we make sure the situation is under control. And by the way we are not replacing Providence at all, just providing Her with some new tools.”

  Chapter 12

  It was an unusually clear and warm spring day, even for the mild Roman climate. By eleven o'clock, Philippa was already sweating in the enormous valley of the Circo Massimo, about three hundred yards away from the central stage. The early bands had already started the jam sessions to entertain the crowd, and Philippa was immersed in the experience, her eyes switching from the mega screens surrounding the old Roman racetrack to the menus of her active glasses. The event schedule interlaced rock groups with political activists addresses, all lasting no more than ten minutes. They were all waiting for the speech that Kees Ortega, the Dutch anti-prohibition pundit who had become the European protest leader, was due to deliver around one o’clock. Music was playing in the background. Philippa kept shooting pictures by blinking her eyes, whispered a caption and then posted them on one of the many sites she belonged to. Jason and the other million and a half people sitting there were doing the same. From time to time, Philippa turned to Jason asking for some water, some ecstasy or simply a hug. They did not really need to tell each other anything, since they could see what they were posting through the social networks. As the hours passed, they let their neighbors join in so that Philippa was browsing and contributing to the stream of consciousness of fifteen people, all acting in sync with the music and the speeches.

  At half past noon, Kees Ortega started addressing the crowd, which had grown all around the Circo Massimo, occupying all the nearby streets and squares. He spoke in unison with the beat of the music.

  "We are three million gathering here, asking for the freedom and the right to become immortals!"

  The crowd cheered back, jumping with the music.

  "Here in Rome, we ask once again for Telomerax to become available to all, and not just the privileged few who can afford Indian beauty farms!"

  The crowd chanted back, with "Free Telomerax for all."

  Then it happened. Philippa saw the newsfeed highlighted on the ‘Spread It’ page of Jason. The headline read ‘Cardinal Van Dinh arrested today in Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam, on illegal possession of Telomerax.’ She had barely finished reading the headline before forwarding the news to all her contacts.

  It took less than two seconds for ‘Guardian Angel’ to identify the electronic contagion and flag it on the control room main screen in the Vatican Telecom room. Valerio and Monsignor Salvemini rushed to the console, then the prelate called the office of the Secretary of State to verify if the news was confirmed by the Vatican ambassador.

  "Who sent out the news?" Valerio hastily asked.

  "It comes from a Vietnamese news agency, and looks authentic. That’s probably why it passed through the primary firewall chain," Renato answered.

  "Fuck," Valerio muttered, "Vietnam; at the other end of the world. No one in Europe would have ever broken this piece of news. Can we at least stop it from getting around?"

  "We have activated the filters for all the social media sites, but all we are able to do is just slow it down. People are activating bluetooth on their devices to bypass the Internet."

  "Then remove the filters on social media. There is a
risk that it might worsen things," Valerio ordered. But Renato did not move. He was waiting for the confirmation of Monsignor Salvemini, who was still on the phone.

  Valerio went back watching the news, just to hear an enthusiastic Kees Ortega calling the crowd to action.

  "You see? Cardinals are using it, and conspiring with governments worldwide to exclude us. And they want to prevent us from knowing because they know we will start talking, and take action. But now we know, and we are going to tell their boss, the Pope, that we are fed up! Benedict, we are coming! Mr. Moreno, we are going to pay a visit to your puppet!"

  The newsfeed about the arrest of the Cardinal suddenly subsumed. Now Google Maps instructions were being sent from device to device on how to reach the Vatican from the Circo Massimo. In less than three minutes, the enormous crowd started to move out of the Circo Massimo toward the bridges on the Tiberina Island. Police tried to stop the wave with tear gas, but quickly got overwhelmed. Loudspeakers were playing rave music and repeating the last sentences of Kees Ortega to go along with it.

  On the deck of USS Abraham Lincoln, the cybersecurity officer had already alerted Bill Murdoch and was now showing to the Rear Admiral the data collected by the skin chip detectors.

  "Sir, the levels of adrenaline are increasing, together with other chemicals associated with rage, and it is happening all at once. It looks like.." Bill Murdoch did not let his officer finish the sentence and addressed the US Marines commander.

  "Chip, get your company airborne now. Destination: the Vatican Gardens. Turn all the transponders on. We have to let the Italians know we are preparing to evacuate the Pope." He then activated the communication line with the Pentagon and after ten seconds, which seemed like an eternity, the faces of the Secretary of Defense and of the National Security Advisor materialized on the holosurface.

  "Gentlemen," William Murdoch managed to use his most neutral tone, "I have just launched the evacuation operation. In about thirty minutes the helicopters will be landing in the Vatican Gardens, meaning we have an advantage of about fifteen minutes over the crowd. I trust your contacts in the Vatican can rush the Pope and his aides quickly into the Gardens and onto the helicopter. Should the Marines have to face the crowd, the only option they have is to use force. Can you please acknowledge that the plan is understood and its implementation authorized?"

  A moment of silence followed, then the National Security Adviser replied.

  "Understood, William. Actually, Skip is responsible for keeping the connection with the Vatican, he will contact them right away and check back with you. Now please excuse us, the President just requested a briefing. We will call you back in ten minutes."

  "Shit," Bill thought, "I have a company of Marines flying into an unclear mission and they will check back in ten minutes because they want to show the big boss they are in control." He reflected for one minute, then called the chief of air operations on the main deck.

  "Hi Brad, Bill speaking. Please have the two F-35s on scramble alert take off now, and prepare the rest of the wing. The mission is to provide full air superiority coverage to the three choppers in case anything goes wrong." Five seconds of silence followed.

  "Brad, did you get the order right? I want the scramble fighters airborne now and the rest of the carrier wing ready in the next thirty minutes."

  "Sir, does this mean we have to be prepared to fight with the Italian Air Force?"

  "Correct, I confirm the order." Bill replied calmly.

  Philippa and Jason were running along the Lungotevere, the broad avenue along the Tiber River, with the music in their ears mixed with the slogans they were shouting in unison. From time to time, they saw flashes and bangs in front of them, the traffic of people would slow down for a while and then regain speed. They were passing police vehicles and cars set ablaze, and every hundred yards or so they saw a body on the ground. It usually belonged to a protester but some were policemen or soldiers who had not been quick enough to handle the stampede. Above them, police helicopters and drones were watching the flow of people converge at the beginning of Via della Conciliazione, the avenue leading straight to St.Peter's Square. Some drones were dropping Molotov bottles along the river of people, creating an argin of fire that kept the huge snake on track. It was like marching to hell.

  Valerio was rushing with Monsignor Salvemini through the corridors of the Vatican, after a turn he recognized the path he had travelled more than fifteen years before, with Father Bontardini. They were heading to the Pope’s apartment. During the journey, Monsignor Salvemini had verified that the news about the Vietnamese Cardinal was authentic. The Curia was aware that the Vietnamese prelate was using Telomerax but since the drug was widespread in South East Asia, they had decided to manage the case the soft way. After all, Cardinal Van Dinh’s behavior was not much of a scandal for the local Catholic community.

  "Yeah, sure," Valerio commented, "except that now he is the subject for the biggest scandal that is fueling these enraged three-million-something people."

  When they entered the Pope apartments, Valerio could spot from the windows the approaching crowd like a black wave. At the rate they were moving, Valerio calculated that they had about twenty minutes before they would reach St.Peter. That gave them enough time to flee. Then they could only hope it eventually dispersed, if there still was a police able to regain control. He was moving through a number of live media channels when the studio door opened and the Pope entered, together with Cardinal Suarez, the Secretary of State. Benedict XVII was uncomfortably calm, in stark contrast to the tension and fear that the Cardinal and Monsignor Salvemini showed. In the background, Valerio noticed a group of Swiss guards, their weapons ready.

  "Signor Orsini," the Pope opened the discussion, addressing him in decent Italian, "I wanted to have a long conversation with you, but apparently circumstances do not allow us to do so. So be it, we cannot do anything but speak with our deeds and do what is required from us..."

  The Pope paused, and turned to the Secretary of State. Valerio noticed that Cardinal Suarez was wearing a tiny, flashing headset. The Cardinal approached Benedict XVII and whispered something into his ear.

  The Pope smiled, then looked the Cardinal straight in the eyes and said aloud, "No way." This time he spoke in English. He then waved his arm to the Swiss guards platoon, and walked resolutely toward the balcony and the stairs which led to the ground floor.

  "Signor Orsini, please come along. We are taking a walk into St.Peter's Square, I have to try to stop this. One way or another."

  Valerio turned toward Monsignor Salvemini, who had gone pale and was exchanging glances with Cardinal Suarez, who was in turn petrified. The Swiss guards passed quickly by, following the Pope. The Secretary of State was hastily shouting into a microphone hidden under his vest "His Holiness is not going to the Gardens, he is going into the Square!" There was no time to question Monsignor Salvemini. Valerio rushed behind the Swiss guards. The Pope was leading them with a fast pace, one that Valerio had some trouble keeping up with. The Pope kept silent, his breath steady, then on the final flight of stairs that were leading down into the square he turned toward Valerio.

  "You see, signor Orsini, I don't need any pills to stay fit, not even your Telomerax would have prevented me from making some mistakes over the last few years."

  Valerio was confused. He could now spot the head of the crowd at the end of Via della Conciliazione.

  "Your Holiness," Valerio asked, "Why do you want to confront the crowd? It won't work, I think you should follow the advice of your aides and get in a safe place."

  "The only safe place we have, is in the hands of our Lord. You do not have to follow me, the guards will escort you back to the helicopters."

  The crowd was now just five hundred yards away and Benedict XVII accelerated in its direction. As Valerio hesitated on what he had to do, he suddenly heard the helicopters' blades. He looked up to see three large attack machines hovering less than one hundred feet above his head and mov
ing towards the Pope. Valerio could see the Marines on board, the machine guns pointing toward the ground. He then turned again toward the Pope, just to realize that Benedict XVII was now more than two hundred yards away from him. The crowd stopped. Valerio stood still in terror and awe.

  From Bravo 1, the lead helicopter, US Marines Captain Lionel Kaminski was beaming the scene back to the USS Lincoln control centre, listening to his boss' orders on the left headphone and preparing to shout orders to his crew.

  Philippa and Jason had reached the head of the pack, and they could distinctly see the Pope in front of them. They were hypnotized by the white figure and the helicopters dancing above him.

  Benedict XVII stopped and raised his hand, then a bang came from the crowd and he froze for one second, before falling onto his back.

  Captain Kaminski activated the interphone before seeing the red stain on his vestment. "Pope down, Bravo 2 and 3 open cover fire, land to rescue."

  Exactly below Bravo 1, Valerio saw the tongues of fire appearing from the side of the helicopters and instinctively threw himself on the ground.

  Philippa and Jason did not immediately realize what was going on. They saw objects popping up from the throng around them, as if people had started throwing objects up in the air. They thought about what they could throw to join the other protesters, but then Philippa realized that they were body parts, being torn apart by the machine gun bullets. She tried to duck to the ground, but it was too late, one round blew off Jason’s left shoulder and another disintegrated her womb. She died a few seconds later on the stones of St.Peter's Square.

  In the control center of USS Lincoln Bill Murdoch had not lost a moment of the carnage. Bravo 1 had barely lifted off from the square before his voice broke into the headphones of Lieutenant Kamiski.

  "Kaminski, Bill Murdoch here. How is the Pope?"

  "I am afraid he is close to death, Sir. Two shots in the chest at the right lung. The doctor here is trying to keep him alive."