Apocalypsis 1.03 Thoth (2 page)

XXV

May 12, 2011, Rome

H
e’s coming to.«

A voice from the darkness. English with an American accent.

»Mr. Adam? Can you hear me?«

Someone yanked his head up. Drifting streaks of light broke through the darkness. Shadows of movement.

»Give him another moment and we’ll get started.«

A second voice. Female. English with an indeterminable accent.

»Mr. Adam!«

The darkness was followed by nausea. Overwhelming nausea. Peter vomited out the entire contents of his stomach. The acid in his throat made him retch and twitch. But at least the darkness continued to lift and the streaks slowly gathered to form a picture that rolled up and down with unsettling velocity. A room. Two people. Three.

»Mr. Adam, we need to talk.«

»I don’t want to talk,« he heard someone croak.

Is this me?

Slowly but surely the picture stopped rolling and Peter made out some kind of windowless basement room.

Of course. What else did you expect?

He could not move. Absolutely impossible. The distress of not being able to move. The horror of being tied to a chair in a basement and freezing.

»I am … cold.«

»That will pass.« Again the female voice. Where did it come from?

At that moment, he could only see the two men in shirt-sleeves who were standing right in front of him. Tall and proper-looking men with small noses and wide cheekbones, the typical physiognomy of Americans from the Midwest. They looked at him with calm, hard eyes and appraised him with as much emotion as a slaughterer appraising his cattle.

Peter fought desperately against a new wave of nausea and tried to get his bearings.

»He is ready,« said the shorter of the two men.

The woman entered his field of vision. The woman whose name was Alessia Bertoni. She sat down on a chair in front of him.

»Mr. Adam, can you understand what I am saying?«

Peter nodded.

»Good. I will briefly explain to you how this is going to work. I will ask you a few questions and you will answer them. If I am satisfied with your answers, it might not even take long. Do you understand what I mean?«

Peter nodded. She was still wearing the same suit.

No Italian accent. She’s not even Roman.

»Good. Let’s start with something easy. Did you kill Loretta Hooper?«

Peter tore his eyes open and looked at the woman.

»No,« he croaked.

She seemed disappointed.

»Think again. Did you kill Loretta Hooper?«

»Who are you? Where am I?«

Alessia Bertoni nodded towards one of the men. Swiftly but without any haste, they pulled a small cotton bag over his head and knocked him and the chair backwards onto the floor. Before Peter could scream, one of the men had placed a towel over his head, which was immediately soaked with water. The entire world began to soak with water. With water and panic, overwhelming panic. Instinctively, Peter held his breath. But the pressure on his lungs combined with his panic only increased the drowning feeling. As he was still firmly tied to the chair, Peter’s panic became so intense that he began to twitch and tense up while the fear ate away at him. At the whole world, at everything. He could no longer think, not a single thought was possible, only fear and the water surrounding him, filling everything. His lungs screamed for air as the men continued to pour water on the towel. Peter breathed water and choked and he tensed up so badly that breathing became altogether impossible.

Then they pulled the towel and the cotton bag from his face and lifted him and the chair back up off the ground.

Peter retched and coughed and gasped for air.

»That was only a few seconds, Mr. Adam,« said Alessia Bertoni in a calm voice, »and time is really not our concern right now. So let me ask you again: did you kill Loretta Hooper?«

Peter stared at the young woman’s face.

»I don’t know.«

»Better, but not the ideal answer. How long have you known that Mrs. Hooper worked for the United States Secret Service?«

»What?«

»You should not disappoint me again, Mr. Adam. Loretta Hooper was assigned to gather intelligence about the disappearance and the current whereabouts of the Pope. And she used you to help her. But it’s obvious that she underestimated you. We will not make the same mistake, trust me.«

»Loretta worked for the CIA? Jesus! I didn’t know that.«

»What are the current whereabouts of Pope John Paul III?«

»Do you work for the CIA too?«

Not that this question would have been of any relevance at this point. But Peter wanted to gain some time. He knew that they would »treat« him again with the towel and the water, but he wanted to delay the »treatment« for as long as possible. Because Peter Adam suddenly doubted that he would leave this room alive.

She saw through his tactics, of course she did. Nonetheless, she answered his question. »These two gentlemen do,« she said. »I work for another international agency. The world is rattled by terror attacks and the lead agencies have decided that this crisis can only be overcome if we all work together.«

Mossad! She speaks with an Israeli accent.

»Where is Pope John Paul III, Mr. Adam? And don’t tell me he’s hiding in some monastery in Sicily. We checked that already.«

»But that’s where he was! And that’s all I know.«

Again, the two CIA men grabbed him and subjected him to the horrific waterboarding procedure. Death was a water creature. Death was the excruciating and endless process of drowning. Peter had always known it. All that swimming had never done anything to conquer this fear.

As soon as Peter was sitting once again in front of Alessia Bertoni, she continued: »We are convinced that there is a direct connection between the ISS disaster and the Pope’s resignation,« she said. His gasping did not faze her in the least. »One of the astronauts aboard was a Jesuit priest.«

»Loretta told me about that.«

»Shortly before the disaster, he sent off a radio message through a secure line. What was the content of this message?«

»How should I know?«

»Because you are part of a worldwide terror network, Mr. Adam.« Now her voice sounded sharp.

»This is absurd,« Peter screamed, »I’m a journalist. You can check it out!«

»We did.«

She pulled a file from underneath her chair.

»We’ve learned quite a lot about you, Mr. Adam. We know that your parents died in a car accident when you were four years old. We know that you grew up with adoptive parents in Cologne. And that you were trained by the military.«

»I served my time in the Bundeswehr. So what?«

»No, Mr. Adam. You were trained as an Army Special Forces Officer and you even made the grade as a combat swimmer. Afterwards you left the Bundeswehr but continued to serve as an embedded journalist with the German forces during combat operations in Afghanistan. Quite strange, isn’t it? In Afghanistan, the Taliban lured you into an ambush and kidnapped you. A friend of yours, a journalist by the name of Heiner Degner, was killed in the process. After two days, special commando forces rescued you from a dugout. Since that time, you’ve been suffering from regular migraines.«

»How do you know all these things?«

Alessia Bertoni shook her head irritably and continued. »Last year you lost your girlfriend, Ellen Frank, under mysterious circumstances during a work-related trip to Central Asia. According to your statements, Mr. Adam, she was murdered by a British archaeologist by the name of Edward Kelly.«

Edward Kelly, you filthy rat. I’ll kill you.

»However, this Edward was never found, not the slightest trace of him. Even though it could never be proven, there is a strong suggestion that you killed your girlfriend, Mr. Adam. Probably in the course of one of your migraine attacks. Just like you killed Loretta Hooper. Which brings us back to the issue at hand.«

Peter saw that the two Americans were getting ready again.

»I don’t know what happened. But why would I have killed Loretta?«

»Perhaps because she found out that you’re planning an attack on the Vatican?«

XXVI
ONE YEAR EARLIER …

May 8, 2010, Apostolic Palace, Vatican City

H
e had never wanted to be Pope. God knew that he had never aspired to the papacy. But God had placed this burden on him and so now he had to carry it for the good of the Church that he loved and that was his home.

His life.

Pope John Paul III remembered how he had groaned after the tenth round of voting, as Cardinal Nguyen began to read aloud the names on the ballots and it became more and more evident with every ballot he unfolded that he would be the one to be elected. He remembered vividly the brief moment when rage washed over Cardinal Menendez’s face, as Cardinal Nguyen asked the elected candidate whether he would accept the office.

During the past five years, Laurenz had gradually gotten used to his office and the burden and he had even found a certain satisfaction in the strength of his authority. The diplomatic skills, sangfroid and mulishness of his predecessor had turned the Vatican into a global player in world politics. The most important government leaders requested personal audiences and asked the Pope to act as mediator in delicate diplomatic missions.

Nonetheless, John Paul III did not see himself as a politician. He was a man of faith. And, as such, his most important duty was the protection of the Church.

And in its two-thousand-year history the Church had never been in greater danger than it was now. Nobody knew this better than John Paul III.

As always, the Pope’s working day began at seven in the morning with a mass in the private chapel of the
appartamento
. His predecessor had liked to celebrate mass with invited guests. John Paul III preferred a small gathering with his two private secretaries, the four housekeepers from the movement
Comunione e Liberazione
, and his Camerlengo. Just as every morning, John Paul III took a few minutes for himself after breakfast to meditate, and then Alexander Duncker and Franco DiLuca presented him with the daily press releases and with certificates of Episcopal ordinations that he needed to sign. The papal routine.

Around eleven o’clock, he and his two secretaries took the old wood-paneled elevator down to the
Seconda Loggia
, where the offices of the Holy See were located. Down here, the decisions of the Pope were transformed into files, handouts and memos. It was the realm of the office clerks and secretaries, of the counselors and chamberlains, and it was the realm of the Latin translators who transcribed each and every piece of correspondence into the official language of the Vatican. With a little imagination, there was not a single modern word that could not be translated into Latin. A center-forward became a
campus
medius
and a condom a
tegumentum
; vodka turned into
valida potio slavica
and the weekend into
exiens hebdomada
. It was quiet in the hallways. The Curial employees scuttled over the 500-year-old floor tiles as employees elsewhere scuttled over linoleum floors, and they communicated with each other in Latin in a curial jargon that had developed over centuries and was about as comprehensible as the NATO-English of fighter pilots. There were, for instance, dozens of ways of saying no. The meaning of
reponatur
was: will be put on ice for now.
Non expedire
meant: might work out but is not appropriate right now, and
in decisis et amplius
was unequivocal: the decision is final; period.

Normally, the Pope met with bishops or heads of state in the mornings. This morning, however, two special guests were waiting for him in the reception hall. Delicate guests.

»How long have they been waiting?« John Paul III asked his private secretary in the elevator.

»They’ve only just arrived, Your Holiness. Monsignore Benini is taking care of them.«

»Good. It will be a battle. So let’s go in and win it.«

John Paul III wiped his hands on his cassock, a bad habit that he tried to hide as often as he could.

Three men were sitting in the armchairs of the hall. One of them was Monsignore Benini, a long-time Vatican diplomat, a paragon of discretion, and a man with plenty of experience in the field of international politics. He was sitting between two men who were ignoring each other to the best of their abilities: Sheik Abdullah ibn Abd al Husseini, the Grand Mufti of Saudi Arabia, and Chaim Kaplan, the Chief Rabbi of the Ashkenazi Jews of Jerusalem. As John Paul III entered the room he could literally feel it on his skin, not only the hatred that brewed between these two men but also the distrust that they both fostered against him. He realized at that moment that everything was going to be even more difficult than he had expected. One of the Sheik’s predecessors had been an admirer of Hitler, supporting him in his determination to exterminate the Jews. The parents of the Rabbi had been murdered in Birkenau. And John Paul III knew how much Kaplan hated the Germans. In his eyes, a German Pope had to be the ultimate historical cynicism and the greatest imaginable danger to Judaism. At the same time, both religious leaders had the reputation of being pragmatic and modern. And therein resided the spark of hope.

Monsignore Benini displayed his usual tact, rising from his chair and leaving the two guests alone with the Pope.

»Gentlemen!« John Paul III said buoyantly, welcoming them in English and shaking their hands cordially. »I’m very pleased that you accepted my invitation.«

»What’s the deal with all this secretiveness?« the Rabbi began in an annoyed tone. »As long as the sheiks finance Hamas terror, we will not sit down at a table with murderers. Even less when the sitting-down is arranged by a German Pope.«

The Sheik’s face contorted in rage. »As we speak, Israel is organizing the genocide of the Palestinian people. And you, Jew, dare to call me a murderer?«

»There is no such thing as a Palestinian people!« Kaplan hissed back. »The Palestinians are an anti-Zionist invention of the Sheik.«

Abdullah ibn Abd al Husseini shot from his chair. »That’s enough.« He turned towards John Paul III. »Listen, Christian, your attempt to mediate was honorable, but you will have to find yourself another pet project to make your name in history.«

With gentle force, John Paul III pushed Sheik Abdullah back into his seat.

»You will not leave before you hear me out, Sheik Abdullah.«

Obviously, the Sheik was so bewildered by the strength of the papal hands that he obeyed.

»Please stay,« the Pope added in a more conciliatory voice and turned towards the Rabbi. »This is a strictly informal meeting; we have complete privacy. We have one hour and I am kindly asking you not to waste this hour with further mutual accusations. As far as I am concerned you can continue with that as soon as you have left the Vatican. But I doubt that you will be in the proper mood.«

A mere assertion, but it hit home.

»You are making me curious, Christian.«

»Keep it brief,« was the Chief Rabbi’s cold retort.

John Paul III gathered himself for a moment before he began. »First, I would like to ask you to keep this conversation confidential. I did not invite you to distinguish myself as a mediator between Islam and Judaism. We are sitting here as the representatives of the three Abrahamic religions. Our religions are based on the same roots, the Patriarch Abraham. We have much more in common than there is that separates us. I don’t need to give you a full picture of the global crisis that the world is experiencing today. I know that you suffer from powerlessness as much as I do; unable to do anything to stop the world from being on the brink of collapse from wars, climate change, and an inhumane economic system.«

»Spare me the sermon, Christian.«

»Yes, cut to the chase.«

»The world needs faith. Faith and peace. And we are responsible for providing mankind with this peace.«

»Big words, Christian.«

»Cut to the chase. Or are you planning on holding one of your seminars?«

»I am planning on establishing a new congregation for interfaith dialogue.«

»How very honorable of you, Christian,« the Sheik mocked him, adding, »but we are already talking with you crusaders.«

Chaim Kaplan greeted this remark with an annoyed sigh.

»I do not mean bilateral talks. The new congregation will only be the first step. My goal is a general assembly of all world religions.«

»This is absurd,« Kaplan called out. »I’d never have thought that you, of all people, would indulge in such romantic notions. The United Nations of Religions?
Shmontses
!«

»Just for a change, I have to agree with the Zionist, Christian. What is this? Another badly disguised attempt by the Catholic Church to proselytize the world? Come on, Christian, you want your exclusive salvation back. You want to run us down, destroy and extinguish us. You want power!«

»No,« said the Pope, »the only thing I want is peace. If we want to prevent mankind from perishing – soon, very soon – we will have to stand united for the first time in the history of our religions and stand up to our mutual enemy.«

»And who would that be, Christian?«

»Yes, I am very eager to hear that, too,« said the Rabbi in a decidedly amused tone.

John Paul III looked at the two men sitting before him. »Satan,« he said. »He is already on his way.«