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  The College of Cardinals erupted. Their captive’s heresy was deplorable. They could not stand by idly as these two desecrated their faith. Justice must be done.

  Jennifer shivered. It was as if they were on trial during the time of the Spanish Inquisition.

  With only a few Helvetians to stem an onslaught of Church dignitaries, Schreider marshalled more guards to surround and protect Simon and Jennifer. As he had previously sworn to protect the Holy See, he now vowed to protect the two accused with his life.

  Santori was exhilarated. By goading his captives to reject Catholicism, he had turned the entire Holy See against them. Now all he needed was the His Holiness’ assent. Intent on keeping the moment emotionally charged, he ripped his cassock from his shoulders. His eyes imbued with darkness, he cried, ‘Simon Kepa, may the Lord have mercy on your soul!’

  ‘My soul is not in your hands,’ Simon called out above the shouts. ‘But I’ll tell you this—if you lie and kill and bear false witness, I pray for your soul.’

  ‘We have heard their blasphemy!’ Santori moaned. ‘For their sins they must suffer the worst the law prescribes.’

  Stepping into Simon’s embrace, Jennifer laid her head on his chest. What a horrifying experience! Did a cardinal hold their lives in his hands merely because they questioned Catholic dogma? Was execution at the hands of the Holy See a possibility?

  Pope Gregory rose from his throne and stamped his ferula on the dais. Appalled by the cardinals’ behavior, he cried, ‘Stop this!’

  Startled by the Holy Father’s tone and enraged glare, the cardinals fell silent.

  ‘We cannot do this,’ Pope Gregory said sternly. ‘We are bound to deliver them to the secular authorities.’

  Santori shook his head in annoyance. He would have none of it. The Holy Father had gone mad. His weakness would lead to the Church’s demise. Taking this matter beyond the Vatican’s walls was not an option. The Church could not expose the truth to the world. They might as well commit mass suicide or burn down the Basilica.

  Chapter 48

  Suddenly, Schreider had a realization: ever since the bomber had accused the Vatican of being untruthful, the colonel had had doubts about his faith. This was what the female captive had felt—doubt. He had not shared the bomber’s rage, but faith had ceased to be the anchor of his life. Now someone offered new insight, which for the colonel—until now a devout Catholic—had the ring of truth and reason.

  The Church had not been entirely honest about its past. Rather than offering a true reflection of history, it had invented traditions to suit its doctrine. Through centuries of crafty manipulation, the Church’s portrayal of events prevailed. Thus, erroneous doctrine was the basis of all Catholic belief. No wonder the cardinals were baying for blood. They were not combating heresy—they were hiding the truth. Chasing after a man and woman who had broken into the most secret parts of the Vatican and who were now propagating heresy had nothing to do with upholding the faith. It had to do with a bunch of frightened old men protecting their privileged lives from annihilation.

  Schreider’s gaze fell on the priests huddled together and contemplated his next move. The Maggiore was consulting with His Eminence Cardoni. Schreider cursed under his breath as he noticed their sardonic grins. Now he questioned his decision to bring the captives back to the Vatican. What else could he have done? There had seemed no other option. After all, he was still in the employ of the Holy See. Everything now hinged on the Holy Father. He prayed for wisdom. Could he take the law into his own hands again and make a run for it? No, it was too late for that. He would call for reinforcements. As he lifted his arm to activate the mic in his sleeve, he saw one of his lieutenants rushing in from the Royal Staircase.

  Deathly pale and clearly panicking, the officer scanned the room. On seeing Schreider, the lieutenant raced towards his commander. His words came in short gasps: ‘Oberst. We have trouble. Inspector Verretti ...’

  Schreider did not have time for a fumbling officer. And he certainly could not cope with his adversary entering the fray. ‘Not now, Lieutenant. Just keep the man at bay.’

  ‘That’s not the problem, Oberst. The Corpo dei Carabinieri. I think they’re on their way.’

  Verretti had obviously called on his family for support. With the carabinieri on their way, there was no escape. The colonel hoped Command had called Interpol as ordered, but that could be too late. Making a run for it was not possible. He had no choice but to stand his ground right there in the Apostolic Palace. Would he have to take the entire Holy See hostage? He shivered imagining the consequences.

  ‘How long before they get here?’ he asked.

  ‘Twenty, maybe thirty minutes, Oberst.’

  Schreider did not want the Italian authorities there. It would not surprise him if they charged him with treason. Well, if they did, so be it. He had no time for regrets and was listening to his conscience. There was nothing he could do but make this his final stand. ‘Do what you need to do, lieutenant,’ he ordered. ‘Ensure no one gets in. Stand your ground no matter what.’

  Schreider was about to turn to his captain to give him new orders when a corporal from the command center came running in.

  ‘Yes, Corporal?’ Schreider asked apprehensively. ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘Oberst, it’s a civilian.’ The corporal’s bottom lip trembled. ‘He insists on seeing you right away.’

  ‘It must wait,’ Schreider snapped.

  The corporal stood at attention. ‘He insists that he has proof that will free the captives, Oberst.’

  Good God! This was madness. There was no way Schreider could listen to some maniac. Lives were at stake! But then it occurred to him that it could not be some nut, otherwise the man would not know what was going on in here. Perhaps it was a miracle; Schreider did not pretend to know the designs of Providence.

  ‘Bring him here, Corporal.’

  ‘He is already here, Oberst,’ the corporal replied. ‘I brought him around the back. He’s waiting in a vehicle behind the Sistine Chapel.’

  This was not a good time to leave the Regal Room. But his duty was to prevent bloodshed. What if the stranger could help achieve that? Realizing he could sprint there and back in a couple of minutes, he gazed at the corporal. ‘If this backfires ...’

  ‘Yes, Oberst. It’s on my head.’

  ‘No, it’ll be too late. Now take me to him.’

  Schreider passed the corporal as they ran. The two Helvetians sprinted down the staircase. Passing through the exit leading to the Sistine Chapel’s courtyard, the younger man was panting; the colonel was not.

  On exiting the building, Schreider saw a Steyr Puch parked twenty meters ahead of them. He headed towards the vehicle, but on reaching it, found the door standing open. To his dismay, the passenger seat was empty.

  ‘Where is he?’ he demanded.

  ‘I don’t know, Oberst. I left him here.’

  Schreider cursed the day. ‘No, God damn it!’

  Chapter 49

  ‘These people are innocent,’ said a voice from the Sistine Chapel entrance. The voice was clear, calm and authoritative, a voice which commanded attention.

  The words startled the College of Cardinals into silence. As one they turned towards the person who had just said that.

  Surrounded by guards, their machine guns rammed into their shoulders, a stranger stood with his arms raised. Remaining still, the stranger asked if he could address the tribunal.

  At that moment, Schreider marched into the hall, sweating heavily from his sprint back up the steps. Santori demanded he arrest the intruder, but the colonel waved him off, signaling his men to stand down. He had made his mind—the cardinal would no longer command them.

  Santori was outraged by Schreider’s disobedience and ordered his captain to make the arrest. When Weber also dismissed him, the cardinal stormed towards the Sistine’s entrance.

  ‘How dare you defy me?’ he scolded Schreider. ‘I gave you a direct order to arrest this man!
’

  Pope Gregory was thoughtful, observing Santori. The man exuded uneasiness. He was a good clergyman who had applied himself excellently as Major of the Penitentiary, but his aspiration to become the next Bishop of Rome seemed to be making him overly zealous. As a counsellor, he was brilliant, but he would never make it as the spiritual leader of the Church. A changing world required a people’s person which was progressive, someone with warmth and amiability, not a dictator. The pope remembered how the fascists had behaved when he was a boy. Santori’s pompous, domineering bearing was reminiscent of Mussolini’s, whom the pope recalled hearing on the radio with his parents. The cardinal did not have the makings of an effective ambassador.

  ‘By heaven, Leonardo, stop this nonsense,’ Pope Gregory commanded. ‘Let’s first find out what’s happening here.’ Turning his attention to the stranger, he said, ‘Could you explain to us who you are and what you are doing here?’

  Cardoni stretched out to see across the hall. He had recognized the voice. Not only did it belong to a man of repute, but also someone who represented a threat to the Holy See. Cardoni recalled meeting with him at the Vatican Library’s exhibition of the Dead Sea Scrolls. His research had made him an expert on religion in first-century Levant, but had also made him an incessant threat. The Vatican had frequently anticipated disclosures from his office with apprehension.

  ‘Your Holiness, he is Professor Uri Rabin,’ Cardoni said.

  ‘From the Israeli Antiquities Authority.’ The two had never met, but Pope Gregory knew exactly who Rabin was. ‘Yes, the professor’s reputation precedes him.’

  Oddly thrilled to be meeting the professor, Pope Gregory ordered Schreider to escort the professor to his throne.

  Jennifer’s trepidation had given way to astonishment. Relieved, she leaned closer to Simon. Professor Rabin would fix this. Judging from his khakis and sun cracked loafers he had gone to work that morning and found the letter missing, then gone to the farm. She could not imagine how he must have felt finding the house broken into and blood spattered everywhere.

  Simon did not share Jennifer’s exuberance. Now he was concerned for the professor’s safety as well. He regretted having helped John steal the letter. What had he been thinking? He had never imagined this would be the result.

  Seeing the bloody lump on Simon’s temple, Rabin was aware of the danger they were facing. It saddened him that Simon had not even had time to mourn John’s death but was now a captive in the very city where that death had occurred. He feared for Jennifer as well. Her wit, liveliness and tenacity had impressed him a great deal. Seeing her and Simon in such a plight steeled his resolve to get them safely out.

  Santori approached Pope Gregory. ‘Your Holiness, this man has no business here.’

  ‘I think we should at least let the professor explain himself,’ Pope Gregory said firmly.

  ‘But this is a matter for the Vatican State,’ Santori said aghast.

  Pope Gregory waved him off. His curiosity had been aroused and he wanted to hear the man out. ‘Please Professor, continue. …’

  Having been fortunate enough to run into Giorgio, Rabin had managed to get to Rome. The entire flight he had mulled over what he would say at the Vatican. He had not been sure he would be allowed into the city and had certainly not expected an audience with the pope; he had therefore no speech prepared. Now that he was there, he had no idea what to say. After all, Simon had stolen a letter, and Jennifer had been caught trespassing in a sensitive area. Of course, this was of little consequence compared with the mystery they had stumbled upon—a secret the Vatican had obviously guarded closely for centuries. But if the Holy See was intent on protecting itself from exposure, to what lengths would it go to prevent the exposure of past corruption? They were surely fighting a losing battle. No, you could no longer enforce hypocrisy with violence. It was no longer possible to burn a few books and reinvent history. The world had changed too much for that. Today’s technology made truth less suppressible than ever. Simply tapping on a little black bit of glass and plastic that everyone kept in their pocket, they could send information whirling around the globe. Although the Holy Roman Church had, over two millennia, attracted billions of devout believers, making her the oldest, most powerful and wealthiest religious institution on Earth, every person in that room was aware she was sorely in need of renewal. The paradigm of obsolete sprang to mind. You could no longer demand obedience at sword point. If you did not like where you were living you could easily leave, and if you did not like what you were told to think, an incessant onslaught of media gave you innumerable choices. Though still quite barbaric, humanity was permanently, for better or worse, beyond the grasp of medieval superstition and suppression.

  Remaining dignified, Rabin addressed the pope, ‘Your Holiness, two people have violated your laws, and for that they should face the consequences. Of course, the penalty in question must fit their crimes—trespassing, theft, resisting arrest, fleeing a crime scene and assaulting officers of the law. No one in this room—not even the accused—will argue with that; nor would any sovereign nation on the planet. But before I go any further in this vein, let me say this—both people have come here to find closure.

  ‘I could ask you to be lenient with them and leave it at that, but that is not the true problem facing us today. What is at stake is the Church’s failure as a religious institution. For millennia, ordinary people have looked to Rome for salvation. When they sought spiritual guidance, the Church was eager to supply answers. The Catholic ideals of Christianity aimed to teach them what it takes to achieve salvation. But with all due respect, and without lodging any personal accusations, every one of us here knows that narration is not founded on truth.’

  ‘Just say what’s on your mind, Professor,’ Santori snapped, thinking that if the professor mentioned the letter he would deny it and all this apostasy would end. ‘I assume you have evidence to support these claims?’

  Ignoring the cardinal, Rabin continued addressing Pope Gregory: ‘Your Holiness, we have discovered the true remains of Apostle Peter. It was buried at the Cave Church site in Antioch.’

  Santori’s gaze fell on the Bishop of Rome, his face impassive. He had never heard anything like it. Reserved as Rabin’s words had been, the shocking news struck at the heart of the Church. It was beyond anything he had ever had to deal with in all his years as a priest, bishop or cardinal. ‘Your claim is arrogant and erroneous, Professor,’ he contested hotly. ‘You know, of course, that we have Saint Peter’s remains here in the Basilica.’

  Pope Gregory leaned forward on his throne. ‘The evidence you have is real, Professor? Are you sure?’

  Rabin was about to do something he had never done before, but the extreme nature of the situation had left him with no other choice. Focusing on the pope, he said, ‘I have confirmed the authenticity as first-century artefacts, and that, together with the location, means their authenticity is indisputable. It is not within the Church’s power to suppress their existence as Turkish authorities are at the site, recording their existence, as we speak. This discovery means that the authority of the present Church, and indeed this tribunal, is founded on an erroneous premise. Now, to be sure, I’m not lodging any direct accusations against anyone present, but I must assert that, based on the evidence I have recovered, whatever authority exists in this room, is evidently secular.’

  Rabin could not falter. The Vatican’s ongoing discovery of relics had served as a source of funding for centuries. Pilgrimages to view relics of the saints had been a lucrative business since the fourteenth century. It was in 1968, though, that Pope Paul VI had announced the discovery of Saint Peter’s relics, while Saint Paul’s sarcophagus had only surfaced in 2006 in the Basilica of Saint Paul Outside the Walls. The way in which these relics suddenly appeared had given rise to speculation and doubt amongst scholars. No one had ever seen Paul’s remains, while those of Peter turned out to be a few bone fragments that could have belonged to anyone. Professor Margherita Gua
rducci, who had led some of the excavations, discovered, by chance, the remains of Peter stored by her predecessor—the administrator of Saint Peter’s Basilica. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Monsignor Ludwig Kaas had claimed these remains to be those of Saint Peter.

  Any hint of his own misrepresentation now and the chance of saving Simon or Jennifer was over. ‘Your Holiness,’ the professor continued, ‘I was unwilling to bring the remains here, as the Vatican would have every reason to confiscate and destroy them. However, if you wish to confirm their existence through an objective third party, you need only call the Turkish authorities, who are predominantly Muslim. That said, we have found a first-century ossuary with the inscription, “Shi’mon Bar-Yonah”. As I assume you know, this is Aramaic for “Simon, son of Jonah”, the given name of the Apostle Peter before, as the Gospels claim, Jesus of Nazareth renamed him. In the ossuary, moreover, we found a complete set of remains. Both the heel bones and wrists show evidence of having been pierced by iron spikes, with rust residue on the bones, as well as a spike remaining in one heel bone.

  ‘Even more important, though, is the fact that all these bones have been forensically examined, and the examiner has concluded that they display trauma typical of an upside-down crucifixion, the manner of Apostle Peter’s execution as related by the apocryphal Acts of Saint Peter, upon which your own Church bases its understanding of the Apostle’s life. Finally, with these relics we found two keys and a sword. I need not explain the symbolism of this, but it does agree with the contents of the letter I read and can only assume the Church somehow recovered during the night without legal permission from Ankara to conduct policing activities within Turkey’s borders.

  ‘The letter itself is only secondary in this matter. Yes, its contents support the findings of our dig, but its existence is hardly necessary in the light of an imminent announcement on tonight’s evening news.’