Sign of the Cross

Or even the location of another scroll.

Ulster gasped. ‘Oh my Lord, look at the ground in the fifth carving!’ To make his point clearer, he ambled to the TV and pointed to the block directly to the left of the laughing man. ‘Look beneath my finger, near the base of the cross.’

Payne studied the image. ‘Looks like a flower.’

‘Not just any flower,’ he corrected. ‘That’s a very specific flower.’

‘Specific? In what way?’ Payne studied the rest of the archway and slowly realized the image appeared in only one carving: the scene where Christ was drinking from the hyssop stalk. Oddly it was the only panel that had any background scenery at all — a fact that spoke volumes to Payne and the rest of the group. ‘Wait a second! Are you telling me that…?’

Payne glanced at Maria, and she nodded, letting everyone know that Ulster had found the clue that she was referring to. The flower in the picture was unmistakable to her and anyone who was familiar with the odd-looking species. It was Mandragora officinarum, better known as mandrake, the plant that fueled the most popular narcotic of the Roman Empire.

One that was on the verge of changing the course of religious history.

For the second time in the past two thousand years.

52

The Roman Catholic Church is one of the wealthiest organizations in the world, with an estimated worth in excess of one trillion dollars. In addition to their priceless art collection, they own more stock, real estate, and gold than 95 percent of all countries on earth. Yet, amazingly, the Church swears they’re broke, claiming they’re the caregivers for more than a billion people around the world, which has prevented them from stockpiling the assets that most experts insist they have. In fact, some Vatican officials have stated that the Church is losing money every year and has been operating in the red for nearly a decade.

Benito Pelati laughed the first time he heard that rumor because he knew the truth about the Vatican’s finances. He knew about their diverse accounts with the British Rothschilds, Credit Suisse in Zurich, and the Chase Manhattan Corporation. He knew about the gold ingots they kept at the U.S. Federal Reserve Bank and the various depositories in Switzerland. Knew this for a fact.

Hell, he had seen the books himself, compliments of his best friend Cardinal Bandolfo.

Until a few months ago, the Supreme Council was run by Bandolfo, a charismatic public speaker who could’ve convinced the Keebler Elves to buy Girl Scout cookies. Neither slick nor grating, he had a way of expressing his views in such an eloquent fashion that the rest of the Council rarely contradicted him. It was the only reason that the Vatican turned to Benito when they needed things done outside of legal channels. Half the Council admired Benito for his tactics and his results; the other half despised him. In the end it was Bandolfo who always convinced the Council to call on Benito again and again.

But that was about to change. It had to. Three months ago Bandolfo passed away.

As Benito walked into the room, the look on their faces told him everything. The Supreme Council was upset. Upset with the situation. Upset with the negative publicity. And most importantly upset with his results. What had started off as a single death had turned into a major crisis. Now the onus was on him to explain. In person. And the fact that Benito had refused to meet with them Wednesday had made things worse. Especially with Cardinal Vercelli.

Vercelli, a native of Rome who was now in charge of the Council, preached that rules had to be followed in order to preserve the sanctity of the Church. Even so, he knew that Benito was so well-respected in the Italian community — mostly because people didn’t care about his criminal ways as long as he got the job done — that it would be foolish to take him on without provocation. So he opted to wait, all the while praying that Benito did something so reprehensible, so unforgivable, that the Council had no choice but to dismiss him.

Simply put, Vercelli was waiting for a day like today. A day when he could pounce.

What he didn’t know was that Benito was waiting, too. Waiting to launch a surprise attack on Christianity.

It would make for an interesting meeting.

‘As all of you know,’ Benito told the Supreme Council, ‘the first note arrived at Cardinal Vercelli’s office on Friday, July seventh. The demands were quite simple: one billion dollars or confidential information about the Church would be leaked to the media. We get nonspecific threats like this every day, so His Eminence did nothing wrong by putting it into the system.’

Vercelli spoke from the head of the table. ‘I did everything by the book.’

That included contacting the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, an intelligence agency that operates out of the Vatican and has been compared to the Russian KGB. Five hundred years ago it was known as the Holy Inquisition. Now it was simply called the CDF.

Benito added, ‘In addition to the CDF, His Eminence felt it would be appropriate to bring in an outside handler, someone with the Council’s best interest in mind.’

All the cardinals in the room nodded. They knew why Benito was there and what he could do for them. The CDF was required to report directly to the pope, whereas Benito had the freedom to do what the cardinals wanted. It was a luxury that the Council had used many times before.

Benito continued, ‘The second letter arrived on Saturday, and it was much more specific than the first. It said an offshore bank account had been set up for a wire transfer. If their demands weren’t met in forty-eight hours, they would go public with the first clue.’

‘What kind of clue?’ asked the Spanish cardinal who was taking notes.

‘They didn’t say. But they hinted that their price would escalate as the clues advanced. They also threatened to harm a Council member so we would take them seriously.’

He glanced around the room, letting his words sink in. Everyone knew what had happened to Father Jansen, the priest who used to take the minutes at every meeting. Still, this was the first time that his death was put in the appropriate context. Jansen had been killed as a warning.

‘If they had chosen one of you,’ Benito said, referring to the cardinals on the Council, ‘there would have been a full investigation by the CDF, Vatican security, and the Italian police. Financial accounts would’ve been locked, and we would’ve been forced to issue a statement. By choosing Father Jansen, they got their point across without making a major scene.’

Vercelli cleared his throat. ‘If you think crucifying Father Jansen isn’t a major scene — ’

‘Not compared to a cardinal. Believe me, it could’ve been much worse. What if they had chosen you instead? Don’t you think that would’ve received more publicity than Father Jansen? His murder, as brazen as it was, let us know that we were dealing with professionals. These weren’t street hoodlums looking to make a quick buck. These were men who knew the inner workings of the Vatican. Men who knew our system. Men who we should fear.’

Vercelli stated, ‘Which is why I called you on Monday. With your intimate knowledge of the criminal mind, I figured you’d be the man to stop the bleeding. At least that was my hope.’

Benito ignored the insult. He’d deal with Vercelli later. ‘We received our third note on Monday, twelve hours after Father Jansen was discovered. Their asking price went up to 1.1 billion dollars. The message stated that four people would be crucified in the four corners of the world, each one bringing more attention to the sins of the Church — sins that we buried in Orvieto.’

‘Orvieto?’ asked the Austrian cardinal, the youngest member of the Council. He’d been brought in when Bandolfo passed away. ‘What did we bury in Orvieto?’

‘The past,’ the Spaniard grumbled. ‘We buried the past.’

While the cardinals whispered among themselves, Vercelli sensed the opportunity to make a speech. He was well-versed in Church history and liked to show off his knowledge.

‘When the papacy split in two, the holy father found shelter in the hills of Orvieto. He stayed there, secretly, for many years and was often joined by the wealthiest families in Europe, Catholics who feared for their lives due to their alignment with us. As you might imagine, the demand for those spots was very high, exceeding the space available. In time, the Church brokered a compromise: entrance to the city was sold to the highest bidder.

‘Later, once the factions settled and the papacy returned to Rome, there was plenty of rancor between the sides, enough to pressure the Church into making some questionable decisions. You see, while these wealthy patrons were hiding in Orvieto, dozens of them passed away. Something needed to be done with the bodies, so the