God's Lions - The Dark Ruin (44 page)

Sweeping into his apartments, the pope embraced Father Corelli and Sister Marcella before heading off down the marble hallway to his private chapel. When he was finished with his prayers, he proceeded to the window of this study and flung open the shutters, eliciting shouts of glee from the thousands of people who had gathered below in Saint Peter’s Square.

Flanked by Leo and Morelli, he blessed the crowd and began to read from the notes he had written the night before. In his address, the pope remained vague about the reason behind his sudden disappearance. Parsed in the vague language of diplomacy, his only statement on the matter revealed that he and the Vatican’s Secretary of State had each been on separate missions for the Church relating to the current world situation, and that in time the necessity for keeping their movements a secret would become evident in light of other events he believed were about to transpire.

When he was finished, he joined the others for lunch in his private dining room, and together, as they huddled over an Italian feast prepared in honor of his return by Sister Marcella, Leo, Morelli, Vespa, McCulley, and Francois began to discuss their plan of action.

In reality there wasn’t really much doubt in any of their minds as to who had summoned the world’s leaders to a meeting. They knew it had to be Adrian Acerbi. The location for the meeting had been set at the United Nations building in New York City, a very appropriate venue for one seeking to take over the world—and then there was the thinly veiled threat that hinted at another world-wide computer shut-down if the world’s leaders failed to attend the meeting. This was not an invitation to be taken lightly.

It was quickly becoming evident that Lev Wasserman and Danny Zamir had been right in their assessment that Adrian had other quantum computers scattered about the world in hidden locations, for that was the only obvious explanation for his sudden boldness. Everyone sitting around the table in the pope’s dining room knew that his invitation to world leaders had undoubtedly been orchestrated to dictate his terms to the rest of the world.

“Are you planning on attending the meeting at the UN, Your Holiness?” Leo asked between mouthfuls of veal piccata.

“No, Cardinal. As the Vatican’s Secretary of State this pleasure falls to you. I have every confidence in your ability to deal with this threat and report back to me.” The pope’s blue eyes zeroed in on Leo. “He will come at you with the most charismatic and beguiling personality you have ever encountered, and despite the fact that you will still be able to discern his black heart, he will attempt to hypnotize you with his charm. You must fight back with all of your strength, Leopold. Try to expose him for what he is in front of others. He may be unable to conceal his true feelings in the presence of a Jesuit warrior who challenges his authority.”

“I know what he is, Your Holiness,” Leo said. “I used to box in high school, and half the battle is staring down your opponent before you ever enter the ring.”

“Well put, Cardinal, but be careful. Once he knows there’s no chance of bringing you into the fold, he will begin seeking ways to destroy you. He will stop at nothing to take control of this Church, and he knows you are well-liked. If I’m eliminated, he would like to see you in my place, but if he senses that you are resistant to his threats, he will settle for Acone.”

“I wonder what he looks like,” Morelli said.

The pope paused as he looked across the table. “I beg your pardon, Bishop?”

“I was just wondering what he looks like now following his transition. I can’t imagine he’ll be appearing as a teenager in front of the world.”

“We’ll soon find out. The cardinal’s plane leaves for New York first thing in the morning.”

* *

Weaving the little black Fiat through the early morning Roman traffic, Bishop Anthony Morelli turned on the windshield wipers as a light rain began to wash the freeway leading to the airport. “Don’t worry ... we’ll get there in time.”

Sitting in the seat beside him, Leo was locked in silence as he stared through the rain-streaked windows at the darkening skies hovering over the city he loved. Lost in his thoughts, he barely noticed when Morelli pulled to the curb in front of the modernist-inspired International Terminal at Rome’s Fiumicino Airport. “Looks like we made it in time, Leo. Got everything you need?”

“I’m only spending one night,” Leo muttered, staring at the terminal like a man going off to war. “I’ll be flying back right after the meeting.”

“Good. I’ll pick you up right here.” Morelli attempted a smile, but it was obvious to Leo that his good friend was overwhelmed with anxiety. “Wish I were going with you, but the Holy Father insisted that you go alone for some reason.”

“I noticed. See you the day after tomorrow, Anthony, and make sure Francois keeps a good eye on the pope. We can’t afford to lose him right now.”

“Francois is well aware of that. He’s doubled the guards around the pope’s apartments and McCulley has put some undercover people inside the Apostolic Palace.”

“This may sound cliché, Anthony, but I have a bad feeling about all of this. Be careful, my friend.” Without looking back, Leo reluctantly opened the door and stepped out into the rain before retrieving his small suitcase from the trunk and heading off into the terminal. Once inside, he found he was catching stares from people who had seen his picture in every newspaper and magazine around the world. Keeping his head down, he stepped up his pace. He missed the days when he had been a simple Jesuit priest teaching history at Boston College. Anonymity had provided its own rewards, and right now he had too much on his mind to make polite small talk with well-meaning people who had no idea that he was heading to one of the most important meetings he or anyone else would ever attend.

Approaching the ticket counter, Leo looked up and saw Francois Leander standing in his path. “Just what do you think you’re doing, Cardinal?”

Leo smiled. “Catching a flight to New York. What are you doing here?”

“How many times do I have to tell you? You are the Vatican’s Secretary of State. You don’t go anywhere without a Swiss Guard escort, and you don’t stand in line at a ticket counter. Come on, Cardinal. Follow me.”

Looking around at all the surprised faces staring in his direction, Leo turned and saw a little electric cart with flashing lights pulling up behind them. Three minutes later, after bidding Francois farewell, he was walking through the departure lounge into the waiting jet where two flight attendants took over and guided him to a private room in the front of the aircraft.

After fluffing a pillow on a wide leather seat that converted to a bed, the senior flight attendant took Leo’s suitcase and squeezed it into a tiny closet. “Can I get you anything, Cardinal?”

“No ... I mean, yes. A small glass of wine ... red please.”

“Of course, sir. I’ll bring it to you as soon as we’re in the air.”

Leaning back in his seat, Leo could hear the startup of the jet’s engines. Closing his eyes, he let the hum of power lull him to sleep, and when he awoke there was only darkness outside his windows and a full glass of wine was sitting on a tray beside his seat. Peering through the glass, he could see thousands of lights below as the big jet began a long sweeping turn for its descent into New York’s JFK International Airport. He had slept for the entire flight across the Atlantic.

NEW YORK CITY

Inside his New York hotel room, Leo was watching television at four in the morning. After sleeping his way across the Atlantic, he was caught up in the vicious cycle of jet lag that made sleep at this hour impossible. Grabbing the new smart phone the pope had given him a few months earlier, he checked for messages one more time, but nothing appeared on the tiny blue screen.
I know they’re awake in Rome by now. They must think I’m still asleep.
Leo stirred restlessly. He needed to do something. Since swimming was his preferred method of exercise, he called the front desk and asked if they had a pool.

“Of course, sir. It’s on the top floor by the gym.”

“Thank you.” Hanging up the phone, Leo began rummaging through his suitcase, but he had only planned on staying one night and leaving right after the meeting. The thought of packing a swim suit had never entered his mind. Even in New York City, shopping for a swim suit at this hour would probably be hopeless in this area of town.

Dressing in a pair of jeans and a dark turtleneck shirt, he rode the elevator down to the lobby and walked out into the crisp morning air that wrapped around the towering buildings. The hotel was right across the street from Central Park, so he decided to go for a long walk before breakfast. After crossing the street, he made his way along a tree-lined pathway to a bridge that spanned a dark body of water. No one was around as he stopped to watch the spreading ripples from the ducks gliding beneath the overhead lights. The solitude was exhilarating, especially given the fact that he was surrounded by millions of people who were still sleeping soundly in artificial canyons that towered above the park. After doing a few long stretches by the railing, he turned away to continue his walk just as a cough sounded in the darkness. Peering out into the shadows he could see nothing but trees, but despite the seeming solitude it was obvious that someone was close by—someone who preferred the shadows to the light.

Without trying to appear obvious, he quickly began walking back the way he had come. Footsteps suddenly echoed behind him, and when he slowed the footsteps also slowed. Without looking back, he stopped and bent over to tie his shoelace. The footsteps behind him also stopped. Continuing on, he quickened his pace, then stopped again and jerked his head sideways to look over his shoulder. No one was behind him on the path, but he could see movement in the trees off to his right.

By now Leo was sweating in the cool air as he broke into a slow jog toward the street lights ahead. Again he heard the footsteps, and they were keeping pace. Seconds later he burst out onto the street in front of his hotel and looked back at the empty pools of light scattered inside the park. There was no one there. On the corner a half block away, he spotted a policeman and gave him a casual wave to make sure he was being watched as he crossed the street and entered a brightly lit coffee shop. Taking a seat by the window, he peered across the street into the park’s leafy darkness. The area appeared empty as the policeman walked by and tipped his hat to a pair of young women struggling home on unsteady feet following a late night out on the town.

Slapping a dog-eared menu down on the table, the waitress filled Leo’s cup to the brim with a thin brown liquid that smelled like coffee, and as she walked away, he looked back out the window and wondered about things that lay in the darkness. There was something out there— something that seemed to be draining the life force from everything around him, and it was waiting in the darkness. Waiting not just for him, but for millions, and in a few hours he would be staring that darkness right in the face.

* *

Parked in front of the United Nations building, over a hundred television trucks clogged the streets, their satellite dishes pointing skyward as reporters swarmed around the main entrance waiting to glimpse the arrival of world leaders who were flowing through the glassed entrance and into the main auditorium so they could listen to the man who had turned the power back on.

As Leo sat in a row of chairs separated by a green-carpeted aisle that sloped down to a softly lit podium below, he looked out over an audience filled with presidents, kings, queens—even a dictator or two, all waiting for a glimpse of their savior. Wiping his face with a handkerchief, he tried to keep his eyes from closing. His weariness contrasted sharply with the excitement building around him, and as he joined with those who kept glancing down at the podium for any sign of activity he felt a slight tap on his left shoulder, causing him to look up at a man in a dark suit standing over him. “Excuse me, Your Eminence, but Mr. Acerbi would like to speak with you before he addresses the assembly.”

“Mr. Acerbi?”

“Yes, sir. Mr. Adrian Acerbi.”

A prickling sensation tugged beneath the cardinal’s collar when he heard the name Adrian Acerbi coming from the lips of an unidentified man in a dark suit. He was here! Even though all of the previous signs had been unmistakable, it was not the dark star, or the Bible code, or the findings in Patmos that had pointed to this moment, it was the fact that he was here, and the leaders of the world had come to hear him speak. It was really happening. Leo began to feel as if his body was floating over his chair, and for some unexplained reason all he could think of at this moment was Adrian’s father—Eduardo Acerbi. Had the old man lived he would never have been able to forgive himself for failing to stop Adrian’s transition, even though in truth there would have been nothing he could have done to prevent it. Maybe the intelligence analysts in Gibraltar had been right all along.
Adrian’s coming had already been foretold, so why bother trying to stop it.

Bracing himself on the armrests of his seat, Leo slowly lifted himself to his feet. Bowing slightly from the waist, the dark-suited man held his hand to his earpiece and spoke into a microphone concealed in his sleeve before leading Leo down the aisle as people nearby pointed and whispered. Looking back over his shoulder at Leo, the man followed an aisle that led off to the right and ended at a heavily-guarded door at the side of the soaring auditorium. Holding the door, the man ushered the cardinal into a wide hallway filled with armed men dressed in khaki-colored uniforms.

Pushing their way through the phalanx of security personnel, Leo could feel the hostile stares as they entered a comfortably-furnished room filled with well-dressed men and women who were either talking or texting on their smart phones. Except for the armed men standing outside the door, the entire scene had the aura of a corporate boardroom, and instead of the diplomatic type’s one would expect to find in a place like the U.N., it looked to Leo like he was surrounded by a group of Wall Street bankers. Feeling out of place in his long red cassock, Leo avoided the black-tied waiters carrying trays filled with caviar and flutes of bubbly champagne, and as he scanned the room, his eyes finally settled on the back of a man sitting in a barber’s chair and talking on a satellite phone. It was Adrian Acerbi.