"Alright, return home now. Quickly! The surgeons are ready in the operating room."
"I have the Italian Air Force on the NATO emergency channel, Sir. They want us to land immediately."
"Disregard the order, and fly back here. We will take care of the Pope, if he is still alive."
"Aye, Sir."
Bill Murdoch immediately called the Pentagon. This time, Skip Ross had joined the team.
"Gentlemen, the Pope is on the verge of death and Italian authorities are asking us to land the helicopters. There is a high chance that in this case the Marines would all be detained and charged with the massacre of protesters. You saw the footage, there are hundreds of casualties. On the other hand, refusing to obey the request might lead to worse political consequences that I am not in a position to assess. I need your guidance here."
The Secretary of Defense and the National Security Advisor kept silent.
"Was the President aware?" Bill thought "Damn, for sure he was aware. The attack had been broadcasted all over the world. Why was Paul Moreno not in this bloody meeting?"
"It turns out that the only entity we might have to listen to is the Vatican," Skip interrupted the silence. "All these unfortunate events took place on Vatican territory, the Pope is the Vatican head of State, yet we did not receive any request from some high ranking Vatican officer to return the body or anything."
"To return the body?" Bill thought, "Skip speaks as if the Pope was dead. Yet his advice was clear. Better, it was the only advice." Bill waited a few seconds after Skip finished his statement, as no one of the others was commenting he drew the conclusion.
"Understood," he snapped back, "We won't change course until we receive a specific request from the Vatican."
He switched the hologram projector off without waiting for the acknowledgement from the Pentagon and called back Bravo 1.
"Kaminski, any updates? By the way, stay on your route to home."
"I was about to call you, Sir. The Pope just died."
Chapter 13
Colonel Fabrizio Nardini and his wingman, Captain Paolo Caponecchi, received the order to take off with their two Eurofighter jets from the Italian Air Force base of Grosseto at exactly the same time that the three Marines’ helicopters entered Italy’s territorial waters. The scramble flight was code-named Tango Zulu.
Launched at full speed, it took the interceptors less than ten minutes to cover the one-hundred miles to Rome. From one thousand feet of altitude, the two pilots could see firsthand what was going on in the Square. They reached for the radio, asking the Ministry of Defense for instructions as they circled above the city. Below them, the crowd that had been decimated by the Marines’ guns, was starting to disperse into multiple groups fleeing and letting out their rage. Fires kept popping up, setting Rome ablaze.
The voice of the Italian Air Force Chief of Staff eventually reached Fabrizio.
“Tango Zulu, the order is to intercept the helicopters and signal them to land immediately. Do not fire, repeat, do not fire. Copy, Tango Zulu.”
“Roger, Sir. Calculating the intercept route now. We do not fire, copied.”
Fabrizio then addressed his wingman, who he knew was a fervent Catholic.
“Paolo, we close in from both sides, I fly in from the right of the Marines’ formation, you go in from the left, copy.”
A short second of silence passed, then he heard the voice of the wingman.
“Copy, Colonel, I follow you.”
“Paolo, are you all right?” Fabrizio asked bluntly, “We have no time for emotions, we just have to follow orders.” Fabrizio hoped this would be enough to have Paolo back in full control. In any case, Fabrizio could not ask for a replacement wingman.
“Yes, Sir. I follow you.”
“Good. Let’s go.” Fabrizio pushed the throttle forwards and ordered his fighter to follow the intercept course. The computer showed it would take less than one minute to reach the Marines. The display also showed that the two US Navy F-35s were patrolling just outside of Italian waters, about thirty miles away. With some luck, they could make the helicopters land before engaging with the Navy fighters.
On the USS Lincoln, Bill Murdoch was watching the two Italian fighters approach the helicopters. He would think about the dead Pope on board later, now he had to take his team home. He called the Chief of Air Operations, who, without waiting for the order, put the Rear Admiral in contact with the Navy planes.
“Commander Jamie Foster, Bill Murdoch speaking. You see the two Italian fighters on your radar? They will intercept the group of Bravo 1 just off the Italian coast, but still in territorial waters. I do not think they will fire on our boys. At least not immediately, but they will try to put pressure on them. Here is what I want you to do: you follow from a distance and as soon as Bravo 1 is in international waters you sandwich the Italians between you and the helicopters until they give up. Copy that, please.”
“Copied, Sir, we put pressure on the Italians as soon as they are in international waters. Are we allowed to open fire?”
The answer came immediately.
“Do not fire until fired upon. Good luck, Commander.”
The two Eurofighters reached the three helicopters when there were still two miles to reach the coast. Fabrizio made sure Paolo was on the other side of the formation, then he called on the NATO emergency channel.
“US Marines flight, this is Colonel Nardini of the Italian Air Force. Please land immediately.”
The helicopters continued, Fabrizio repeated the order. No answer. The group overflew the coast, there were still twelve miles of sea before the international waters.
“US Marines flight, I repeat, please return back to land now.”
Since the Marines’ pilot was ignoring his order, Fabrizio rapidly thought of a way to increase the pressure in the last six miles he had left before they reached international waters. He moved closer with his plane, overtaking the helicopters. The wake of the jet sent the helicopters in heavy turbulence, so that they had to open the formation to avoid colliding into each other. On board Bravo 2, to the left of the formation, one of the Marines reached for the machine guns to stay firm on board.
Paolo Caponecchi saw the sudden move of the soldier, and briskly decelerated to get out of the line of fire. No fire came out from the gun, but by the time he realized it, he had already armed the weapons systems of his plane.
From Bravo 1, Kaminski was shouting to his crew in the intercom.
“Do not open fire, repeat, do not open fire! In one minute we are in safe waters.”
The arming of the Eurofighter missiles was detected by the sensors of the Navy F-35, that sent alarms through the head display of Commander Foster. The images projected on his retina by the battle control computer gave him three seconds to decide whether to arm the attack system in response, or do nothing and risk being shot down.
He armed the system and told the computer to lock the nearest target, which was the plane of Colonel Nardini.
Fabrizio checked the battle map, showing there were six miles left to scare the Marines back to the coast. He armed the systems, and saw that his wingman was now trailing the three helicopters, about one thousand yards behind him. He called Paolo on the encrypted channel.
“Paolo, fire a short salvo to the left as I slow down to keep them in our waters. It’s our last chance.”
Paolo had been eagerly waiting for that command, and immediately let a one-second round go.
Aboard Bravo 1, Kaminski saw the bullet lines in the sky and bursted out loud on the NATO emergency channel,
“Fucking bastards, stop firing, stop firing!”
He had not even finished his sentence when Commander Foster released the fire button on his missiles, aiming them at the two Italian fighters.
The flashes of the missiles leaving the US Navy F-35 were the last thing that Fabrizio and Paolo saw in their life. Less than one second later, their planes exploded above the Tyrrhenian Sea.
In the O
perations Control Center of the USS Lincoln, officers and servicemen alike could not help gasping both in fear and relief. Bill Murdoch waited a couple of minutes for the emotions in the room to subsume. Once he was sure all eyes were on him, he spoke softly.
“As soon as the Marines are back on board, we will head back to Norfolk, Virginia, by means of the Sardinia Channel, in order to stay as far away as possible from Italian waters. I want everybody in battle order, and air patrols on duty around the clock, until we reach the Atlantic Ocean. We will also go in emission control, which means radio silence.”
He then turned to his second in command.
“Mark, I need a break. You take charge. I will be back in one hour.”
“What if the Pentagon calls, Bill?”
“Tell those idiots to watch all the recordings and wait for me to be back. Just do not change the ship’s course for any reason.”
“What if the Italians try to intercept us?”
“I do not think they still want to challenge us. The problem is no longer with us, now it is in Washington. In any case, we stick to the golden rule; do not fire until fired upon.”
Chapter 14
Dora entered the room where Louis was trying to communicate with Helena. She was holding a tablet, as she had been doing for the past six weeks.
"Dora, isn't it time to stop watching that?" Louis said, without even looking at her, "We are all trying to move forward. If only I could get this damn conference started..."
Dora did not answer, she sat next to Louis and swiped her finger across the screen. A video of Valerio appeared. It was shot from his smartwatch. Valerio spoke with a soft voice, and in the blurred background behind him one could hardly recognize the columns of St.Peter's Square.
"Louis, Tarek....and Dora, Helena....I have been hit. I do not know by whom..." Valerio tried to smile, but his face could only express pain. "I do not have much time left...I just wanted to let you know that my desire has been fulfilled.....to see history unfolding...and to see...."
The camera turned up to the sky. Valerio's voice was drowned out by the noise of the helicopters, the shots, and the screams.
"Dora, you have been watching that video repeatedly. What's the use of it? It won't bring Valerio back." Louis sighed. He had not yet come to terms with the loss. He had watched the video several times too, but he had now made a point to move forward. Dora instead kept watching it, as if she was in search of something.
"He was trying to tell us something," Dora rebuffed, "you have not caught it and now you refuse to listen. I just keep my ears open."
"I thought a long time about it....he is referring to the conversations we had back in the Nineties, at "Le Jardin" in Passoy...he had always hoped to find the hidden track that shapes history. He got right in the middle of it, and it was not a healthy idea at all."
"We all know this. It's the missing piece after that we have to guess, Louis!"
"The missing piece...the missing piece....he was dying, perhaps he wanted to repeat the first piece of the sentence, and...hang on! We got the communication with London up!"
Helena appeared on the screen. The international lines were congested for weeks, so the system had scaled down from the holographic display to an old-style high-definition videoconference.
"Hi Louis, I wish I were with you all down there in Brazil, but I have to be here. Markets have been going crazy for a while now, and Guillermo's friends are getting more and more nervous. They have more than two hundred billion dollars in legal assets that they do not know how to protect from the financial storm triggered by Rome."
"Unlike Dora, Helena has overcome the loss of Valerio," Louis thought, "it was just two months ago, but it seemed like eternity." He briefly recapped the events in his mind.
The Netherlands had fully legalized Telomerax, pushed by the emotion of the death of Kees Ortega, the anti-prohibition leader, in the Rome massacre. Many other European nations followed, opening a vast rift in the prohibition front led by the US.
In the aftermath of the disaster, the center-right Italian government had resigned, and a new national unity coalition led by a revived Matteo Renzi had stepped in. Under strong pressure from both the far right and the far left, Mr. Renzi had suspended Italy's participation to all NATO activities until the US handed over all the military to the Italian justice, from the fleet commander to the crews of the Marines helicopters. The US had obviously refused, and the stalemate that followed put a big question mark on the stability of the Alliance.
President Paul Moreno had then decided to put pressure on Italy from the financial side, using the Federal Reserve to persuade all major US funds and banks to stop buying Italian treasury bonds and securities.
In a matter of days, the interest rates on Italian debt had skyrocketed and the risk of an Italian default had cast a shadow on all the Euro-denominated bond markets, putting Europe in the middle of a financial storm.
"Helena, what’s the mood up there in London? Do you think the Italians will give up eventually?”
“I don’t think so. Tomorrow the Italian government will try to raise at least ten billion dollars by selling bonds, if they fail they won’t be able to service their debt nor pay salaries to public employees. This will mean death to the euro, with trillions flying away from European markets. The problem is, no one really knows where they will end up.”
“What do you mean?” Louis asked, “money cannot just disappear.”
“Actually, yes it can,” Helena interrupted, “if you ditch Italian bonds, you are getting euros back, and a lot less than you paid for by the way. Then, you want to buy something else. But what? Dollars might be just as risky as euros, given the great performance of the US leadership. All other currencies and assets are one way or another linked to the dollar and the euro. It’s just like in 2008. Everybody believed in the value of real estate, until all of the sudden people realized the trust was misplaced.”
“It’s a bit worse than 2008, Helena,” Dora burst, “this time it is not about the trust in the banks or in the real estate market. It’s about the trust in just about anything.”
Helena paused then sighed.
“You are right. If rumors from the trading floors here in the City are correct, there is going to be a big rush to buy assets linked to all kind of commodities, from oil to soybeans. This will automatically translate into huge inflation and further social and political commotion. We all better go live on a desert island for the next few years because it’s going to be horrible beyond imagination.”
“It’s not easy to tell your teenager boy that he has to leave the life of Rio to relocate to some cast away spot,” Louis commented, “I think you have the same problem with Aurora, Helena, don’t you?”
“Well, yes, but I thought about it and found a good solution. We are going to follow the example of Francis II, the new Pope, and move to Sardinia.”
“Sardinia?” repeated Dora, glancing at Louis in disbelief.
“Think about it,” Louis explained, “after the massacre of Rome, the Italian government could no longer guarantee the security of the Vatican. Soon, it will be the case of every major city on this planet. So the Church chose Sardinia as a temporary seat for the newly elected Pope - an island in the middle of the Mediterranean. It is big enough to be self-sufficient, yet small enough to control access to it, and within easy reach of all major European cities. I think it is worth looking into this idea of Helena.”
“Indeed,” Helena was now smiling into the camera, “Believe me, the Italian government will be more than happy to host the owners of major agricultural and energy assets of Brazil. The move will also reduce our dependency on Yaakov and his Mossad friends.”
After hearing this, Louis’ face turned pale.
“Helena,” he said briskly, “Thanks for reminding me of the other reason for my call, beyond the financial situation update. We need to talk quite urgently to those guys, but in a safe place. I have the biogenetic simulations results to share with th
em. It’s quite serious.” Louis noticed that Helena’s attention had been caught by something on a screen close to her. He cleared his throat, and then asked “Helena, what are you looking at?”
Helena glanced back from the lower left corner of the screen, and pointed at Dora and Louis again.
“A safe place, you said? I do not know how many we are going to find.” Helena replied, “I am just reading the last piece of news from Reuters. Russia has pledged to fully underwrite Italy’s bond offer tomorrow, in exchange for access to some of Italy’s military bases in Sicily. You know what that means? NATO, game over.”
“This makes me wonder if Italy is a good choice. Maybe we should hold on and think about leaving Brazil more carefully,” Dora said, trying to enter the conversation but she was met by the indifference of Helena and the embarrassment of Louis.
“Well, we certainly don’t have to leave tomorrow,” Louis finally responded. He proceeded to try and make up a compromise. “I think we can wait for the kids to end their year in school…but the situation is changing rapidly, and we have to be ready..”
In London, Helena cut the conversation short, her face got closer to the camera and she lowered her voice,
“Louis, Dora, I have to leave for a meeting now. I think it is a matter of when, not if. I will send you a detailed proposal by mail. Cheers,”
The screen went black. Dora set her tablet aside on the desk and kept staring at the blank screen, then she whispered,
“I know Helena and you have already made the decision to leave.”
“Guillermo and Helena have been seriously thinking about it for a while, you know. They need to be in Europe. Liberalization is opening up enormous possibilities and it is still a relatively safe place to be. Now they are asking us to join.” Louis tried to contain his irritation.
“Louis, I am fed up with this. Thirty years ago, we were planning to change the world for good. Then we had to flee and the world has started to change us instead. Now that I am achieving something here, in the favela, I have to flee again. I did not sign up for this.”
The Last Enemy - A history of the present future - 1934-2084 Page 28
