Bank funding that financed Jennings’ archaeological expeditions to Central America had ensured Jennings’ loyalty, but it might not be enough. He also knew that an appeal to the Jesuit’s faith would be problematic. Felici had known of Jennings’ sexual proclivities for a long time, but this was the first concrete evidence he’d obtained. The papal nuncio had done well.
The Cardinal’s private secretary knocked on the double doors of the office.
‘Monsignor Jennings is here, Eminence.’
‘Show him in.’ Felici glanced at his rolled gold Rolex. ‘And order my car for 11 p.m.’
‘Certainly, Eminence.’ Father Cordona stood aside for Monsignor Jennings and then closed the door. If he questioned why the Cardinal regularly ordered his car late at night, or why Cardinal Felici maintained an apartment in the fashionable but eclectic Via del Governo Vecchio on the north side of the Tiber, he never allowed it to show.
‘ Benvenuto a Roma.’ The Cardinal extended his fine, bony hand.
‘ Grazie, Eminence.’
‘I trust it was a pleasant flight?’
‘As much as flying can be after 9/11.’
‘Of course. Well. I won’t keep you long, but something has come up. Have you come across a Dr Aleta Weizman?’ the Cardinal asked, adjusting his soutane as he sat on one of the deep-blue velvet couches in his office.
‘Unfortunately, yes. She was making a nuisance of herself during my address to the conference in Vienna.’
‘Did she mention a missing codex?’
‘She didn’t, but a journalist did,’ Jennings replied, glancing pointedly towards the cardinal’s cocktail cabinet. ‘A young bimbo from a women’s magazine. I’m not sure why she was there. Like the rest of her colleagues, she showed no interest in my latest research.’
‘Do you think Weizman suspects it exists?’ Felici asked, ignoring the Jesuit’s glances towards the whisky.
‘While I was in Guatemala City, Eminence, I discovered Weizman had recently visited the Museo Nacional de Arqueologia y Etnologia. There’s nothing unusual in that per se; she is, after all, an archaeologist. But my contact tells me she seemed particularly excited after spending some time in one of the storage areas.’
‘And do we know what might have caused her excitement?’
Monsignor Jennings shook his head. ‘The next time I’m in there, I’ll make some enquiries.’
Agitated, Felici fingered his pectoral cross. ‘The closer we get to 2012, the greater focus there will be on the ancient Maya and Guatemala… and the greater focus there will be on the Maya Codex.’
‘There’s not a lot we can do about that. I continue to play down 2012, as per your instructions.’
‘Your funding from the Vatican Bank depends on you doing just that,’ Felici reminded him.
Jennings shrugged. ‘The media love a mystery.’
‘Which means we must redouble our efforts to recover the codex before somebody else does.’
‘That’s easier said than done. The number of remaining Maya who might know the whereabouts of this codex could be counted on one hand, and all of them would be elders.’
‘Which is a closed shop.’
‘Precisely.’
‘Money talks in Guatemala, you say? How much will it take?’
‘There are still some people in this world who can’t be bought, Eminence.’
Felici masked his irritation. ‘Do you have any idea who these elders might be?’
Jennings shook his head. ‘Not really. Although the most revered elder in the highlands region is a shaman, a Dr Jose Arana, who incidentally was also at the Mayan conference.’
Felici got up and walked over to the windows affording a view towards Bernini’s columns surrounding the Piazza San Pietro. He stared out across the now-deserted piazza, hands clasped behind his soutane. The traffic past Vatican City on the Via di Porta Cavalleggeri was still heavy. The sounds of the Italians’ love affair with the horn and motor scooters filled the evening air.
‘For the good of the Holy Church,’ Felici said finally, ‘we must recover the Maya Codex for storage in the secret archives.’
‘But what if we find it and it does contain a dire warning? The scientific evidence is mounting that the ancient Maya might be right. Should we not alert the world? People might have to move to higher ground.’
‘My concern, as yours should be,’ Felici responded icily, ‘is that it may contain material that threatens the one true faith. Our responsibility, Monsignor, is to protect the Holy Church.’
Jennings shrugged. The Holy Church was the last of his concerns. Nor was he particularly concerned over the warning. Unbeknown to the wider public, scientists had already done some calculations, and Jennings had studied the maps that predicted the catastrophic consequences of a geographic pole shift. Based on that information, he’d purchased a property in one of the very few areas of the world that would provide safety in December 2012. But the possibility of discovering the codex itself had fired Jennings’ interest, and for some time he had been far more focused on doing so than even Felici realised.
‘The discovery of the Maya Codex would be an archaeological sensation, Eminence,’ Jennings said. ‘On a par with the discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls, the Rosetta Stone, the Terracotta Army and the tomb of King Tutankhamen. Whoever discovers this prophecy will be immortalised in the annals of history.’
‘And…?’ Felici challenged.
‘If the codex is found, only to be hidden away in the secret archives, not only will a great discovery be lost to archaeology, but we will have abrogated our duty to broadcast the Maya’s warning to the world.’ Jennings sniffed smugly.
‘I would remind you, Monsignor, that the funding for your archaeological expeditions is not inconsiderable. That funding depends entirely on your cooperation.’
‘The Vatican Bank is not the only source of funding available for archaeological expeditions, Eminence.’ Jennings had already sounded out alternative wealthy financial backers. It would have been more prudent to remain silent, but prudence had never been Jennings’ strong suit.
‘I had hoped it would not come to this,’ Felici said, rising from his seat to retrieve Jennings’ file, ‘but you leave me no alternative.’ He handed Jennings the folio of photographs and watched his reaction with a sense of satisfaction.
Jennings was speechless with shock, his face ashen.
‘Fortunately for you, Monsignor, it is paramount that the image of the Holy Church be protected, and you are more valuable inside the Church than out,’ the Cardinal said, relieving the hapless priest of his file. ‘Now, having resolved the issue of what is to be done with the Maya Codex, there is one other matter which is of the utmost confidentiality.’
Jennings nodded.
‘At the end of World War Two, in order to ensure the defeat of Communism, the government of the United States and the Vatican cooperated to release a number of German scientists and others who had valuable knowledge which could be used to defeat that threat. Amongst them was an officer of Himmler’s SS, Karl von Hei? en. In return for his cooperation, he was given a new identity as a Catholic priest in the parish of San Pedro.’
‘Adolf Eichmann was another,’ Jennings replied, still reeling over the photographs.
‘Eichmann is dead, but von Hei?en is still alive, or at least we think he is. You would have known him as Father Hernandez.’
‘Yes, I remember him now. He had a thick Spanish accent – but you’re saying he was German?’
‘The Spanish schools in Antigua are very good, Monsignor, and von Hei?en was given extensive training, but even the schools in Antigua can’t erase cultural backgrounds. That said, in his role as Father Hernandez, von Hei?en was very useful in the fight against Communism, and up until now his real identity has remained intact. Unfortunately, like you, he was careless, and we’ve recently discovered he kept detailed diaries.’
‘Diaries that could be embarrassing to the Vatican and the US government?’ Jennings sensed an opportunity to recover some ground.
‘The diaries may also contain information on the whereabouts of the Maya Codex,’ Felici replied stonily. ‘Either way, we want them back.’
