The Last Day

Feldman noticed that Jeza had also closed her eyes in silent meditation. Not having much alternative, Feldman and the rest of the party maintained their positions, patiently awaiting what was to come next. A few rows behind Feldman, Hunter was busy zooming his camera in on points of interest around the basilica, and Cissy occupied herself with adjusting sound levels of the choir on her portable, digital recorder.

When the choir suddenly fell silent, Feldman took this as a good sign something significant was imminent. In a few moments, tall bronze double doors from a side sacristy opened wide with a heavy metallic bong. The choir erupted in a joyous hymn, the huge audience rose, turning as one in excited reverence, and the media pressed in as close as the cordons and stationed Swiss Guards would allow.

First to emerge through the bronze doors was the papal master of ceremonies in white and black robe, flanked by the procurators of the ecclesiastical colleges and two Swiss Guards. Behind them followed the Capuchin preacher to the Holy See, clad in dark brown. Then the papal father-confessor, dressed in jet black; after him, a series of monsignors in deep purple; a group of protonotary apostolics in white; and a chaplain bearing the papal mitre.

Next were six judges of the Rota and legal officials carrying candles, followed by two deacons, one Western, one Eastern; then abbots, bishops, archbishops and patriarchs, succeeded by two clergy with flower-bedecked staves; next came the entire College of Cardinals in brilliant crimson robes; after them, the prince assistant at the pontifical throne, dressed in black with silk hose and white lace fichu.

And finally, in gala uniforms of the court, came the papal chamberlains, who bore upon their shoulders the sedia gestatoria-the royal sedan chair-bearing His Holiness the Vicar of Rome, the two hundred sixty-ninth successor of Saint Peter, Pope Nicholas VI.

The pontiff was spectacularly arrayed in a flowing white robe of the finest silk, with short shoulder mozzetta of crimson velvet. Towering atop his head was a magnificent, three-tiered papal tiara, once the property of his predecessor namesake, Nicholas V. It gleamed of burnished gold, set off by nearly one thousand rubies, emeralds, sapphires, diamonds and pearls.

Floating above the tiara was a white, mobile canopy, held aloft by eight monsignori, as two privy chamberlains walked alongside with white, ostrich-plumed flabelli on long poles. Behind the caravan, following with a satin pillow, was the dean of the Rota, whose responsibility it was to bear the heavy papal tiara, when not in use. Bringing up the rear was the papal majordomo, then a selection of other papal officials and, finally, the high generals of all the noble religious orders.

The elaborate, regal train maneuvered slowly toward the High Altar as the pope magnanimously bestowed blessings upon his adoring faithful and saluted them with small, wristy waves of both hands. As the sedan chair glided up to the altar, a mendicant scurried in from nowhere with golden-carpeted, portable steps which he placed at the side of the carriage. Removing his unwieldy tiara, the pope handed it down to the dean of the Rota for safekeeping and awkwardly exited his sedan. The choir continued its glorious chants until the pope had ascended the altar and seated himself in his throne.

There was a full three minutes of applause and subdued cheering before the pope lifted his left hand slightly from the armrest and called for silence. Breck Hunter, with Cissy at his elbow, moved with impunity directly up to the side of the High Altar for an acolyte's-eye view.

As soon as the great cathedral had quieted, the papal master of ceremonies strode up the steps of the altar and bowed slightly to Nicholas.

“Holy Father, may we ask for your blessings upon our assembly?”

To which the pontiff made an aerial sign of the cross in front of his heart and whispered Latin words.

“Holy Father,” the master of ceremonies continued, “may I present to you Silvio Cardinal Santorini, who marshals today's delegation.”

Santorini mounted the steps and dropped to one knee before the throne as Nicholas extended his hand. Kissing the Ring of Peter, Santorini rose and descended on the right to the base of the steps, taking up a mirror reflection of his former position.

Standing next to the pope, di Concerci's face was implacable. But behind his back, his clasped hands were locked in a tight grip. The pope's state of mind was evidenced in the steady creasing of his brow.

“May I present to you Alphonse Cardinal Litti, escort,” the presiding master announced, and the stout cardinal made his way energetically up to the throne.

Just as di Concerci had predicted, Litti genuflected and kissed his pope's ring. Nicholas gave him a slight wink, and Litti rose with a broad smile on his face, descending to join Santorini. Over among the pope's entourage, a chamberlain was readying an armchair, presumably for Jeza. He held off installing the chair on the altar until after the prophetess could be announced.

“Your Holiness,” the master of ceremonies spoke again, “may I petition for your audience the Lady Jeza of Israel.”

So far, the Messiah had been indifferent to the ceremony, her head cast downward and off to the side, as if preoccupied. Di Concerci unclenched his hands behind him and lowered them slowly to his side. The pope anxiously edged forward in his chair, his ring hand at the ready.

Watching all this develop, Feldman had wondered how Jeza would respond to this overwhelming display of pomp and power. He did not have long to wait.

Having chosen her moment, the prophetess slowly ascended the stairs. The pontiff leaned forward expectantly, extending his arm at full length to the oncoming woman. Video cameras rolled and flashbulbs popped as the historic union impended.

Raising her eyes as she climbed, the Messiah fixed them, for the first time, on those of the pope. There was blue fire in her glare and she unleashed its flame with full force. Despite di Concerci's warning, Nicholas was ill prepared for the searing effect He was startled, gasped, and reflexively retracted his arm, averting his face, flinching and splaying his hands defensively in front of his eyes.

To the crowd of amazed onlookers, the pope appeared intimidated, his reaction submissive. Instinctively, di Concerci moved forward to assist his pope, but Nicholas was recovering. The pontiff took a furtive glance through his fingers at the prophetess as she reached the top level of the High Altar, pulling up short of the throne. Standing but a few feet away from the stricken pope, Jeza looked down upon him, her head tilted slightly to the side as if carefully studying him.

The basilica had grown as quiet as the catacombs that moldered beneath it.

“I do not come to venerate the Ring of Peter,” she exclaimed in a loud voice, placing her hands defiantly on her hips. “In the name of the living God, I come to reclaim it!”

The pope was taken completely aback. Alphonse Litti, anxious and distraught, had dropped to his knees at the base of the altar.

With a look of outrage, di Concerci attempted to intervene, but it was obvious Jeza wasn't going to yield the floor. Her eyes flashing with passion, she cautioned the prefect back with an upraised palm, and with her other hand, aimed an accusing finger at the confounded pope.

“Your Church has broken faith with Almighty God,” she declared. “It has betrayed the consecrated covenant of Peter. For two millennia has it abused the sacred trust of Christ. Through the centuries has it corrupted the Holy Scripture to its own selfish purposes in its lust for power and control. In its hypocrisy has it ruled its followers one way, yet secretly lived another. In its jealousy and intolerance has it muted and destroyed the holy men and women God has sent to enlighten it. In its arrogance has it ignored the Father's messages and warnings.

“And in its greed and pursuit of worldly materialism has it accumulated vast wealth at the expense of the destitute it was ordained to cherish and nurture.” She lowered her accusing finger slightly to target the pope's hand.

“Of what value is this gold ring you would have me kiss?”

The pope could not answer, he could only stare vapidly up at her.

“And of what value is a life?” she asked, but he failed to answer. “If selling this ring would feed but one person, save but one life, would not its value increase a thousandfold? And if this ring would feed a thousand, would not its worth increase a thousand times a thousand?

“Has Christ not said in Matthew nineteen, verse twenty-one: ‘If thou wilt be perfect, go sell what thou hast and give to the poor, and thou shall have treasure in heaven?’

“Yet you, who call yourselves ‘God's chosen on earth,’ and ‘the One, Holy and Apostolic Church,’ have