The Angel of Milan Page 2

  Passing the Swiss Guards at the cardinal’s vestibule, I knocked twice before softly entering. Old Bishop Marconni sat at the large secretary’s desk that barred access to the inner office door. The man must be as old as dirt, I thought. The man had not changed in the fifteen years since I had first entered this room. He was frail with short white hair combed forward to cover his head. Tufts of more white hair sprang from inside his ears, which would have given him an elfin appearance if it were not for the thick glasses he wore on the end of his nose.

  “Ah, my dear Father Adama, it is always good to see you return to us. The cardinal is expecting you; please go right in.”

  “Thank you, your Excellency,” I replied. “It is good to see you again, also.” The old man laughed quietly while looking over his glasses at me.

  “Yes, Father, you and I share a mutual surprise each time we find each other still here. It is difficult to know which of us will fulfill his earthy mission first,” he said, laughing a little louder this time. But his laughter ended as quickly as it had begun, and his face turned back to that of a bored bureaucrat.

  “Please, Father, go in. His Eminence does not like to wait!” he said, dropping his gaze to the papers on his desk.

  I knocked and entered the inner office. The thick carpet and wall tapestries captured all sound, as if I were entering a coffin. And to my surprise, Burtuchi was not alone. Our discussions had always been private. At first I was surprised to have not received a warning from Marconni that the cardinal was not alone, but I knew that the old man had a slightly strange sense of humor. Certainly, he had gleaned some bit of pleasure by the omission. Perhaps his nose had remained too long on the papers on his desk. I made another mental note to get the old man out for a turn around the city if the opportunity ever presented itself.

  They sat surrounding Burtuchi’s desk in high-backed armchairs, reminding me of the circle of monoliths at Stonehenge. I recognized them as part of Burtuchi’s inner circle, but had never had direct dealings with any of them. Their faces were drawn and gray in contrast to the red collars and hats they wore, reminding me of the dead worrier kings I had seen in some move or other.

  “Your Eminence,” I said, as the cardinal’s stare met mine.

  “Father, please sit down. May I have the book?”

  “Of course, Eminence,” I said with surprise, fumbling in the pouch to retrieve the book. I had not expected Burtuchi to get to the point of the meeting so quickly. Usually there would be some gesture of welcome, and small talk about current events in the city state. Looking suspiciously to the others in the room, I handed the book across the desk to the cardinal.

  “Thank you, Father, I trust you had little trouble in Ethiopia.” Before I could respond, Burtuchi began introducing the others present while casually placing the book in the top drawer of his desk. So simple for him, I thought. Men had died for the simple act of placing that book in his desk drawer.

  “I think you know the cardinals, their Eminences Batist, Montifore, and Decessi,” he said as he nodded to each.

  “I know who they are,” I said, rising to kiss each ring. “But we have never been introduced formally.”

  Burtuchi cleared his throat, gesturing to me with his hand.

  “Eminences, I present Father Adama Salvatore, the author of our present dilemma.”

  I felt myself stiffen in the chair at his words, as I looked up in dismay. My mind raced to identify the infraction I was being accused of.

  “Be at ease, Father,” Burtuchi said, quietly. “You are not directly to blame for the situation we find ourselves in at the moment.” The cardinals looked to one another as if some sort of agreement had been reached. Burtuchi turned to Montifore.

  “Eminence, will you explain the situation to Father Adama?”

  “Yes, of course, your Eminence.” Monifore took a deep breath before turning toward me.

  “Last week, Father Crochi, the Duomo2 Curator in Milan that you worked with last month, was found in the street, murdered most cruelly. From the method of his death, it is obvious that he was the target of an assassin who kills for pleasure as well as gain. At the same time, the Atonement Lot3 that you identified in the Duomo Treasury last month has gone missing. We fear that in the wrong hands, it could be used for purposes not within the conscience of the Church. It must be recovered, and brought to Rome without delay.

  “It is suspected with good reason that Father Crochi and the thief are one in the same, even though the object was not found on his person when the body as discovered. It is unclear whether the murderer was to be the recipient of the Atonement Lot, or if Father Crochi was intercepted on his way to deliver the Atonement Lot to someone else.”

  Involuntarily, I raised an eyebrow while studying the cardinal’s face, looking for signs to indicate a lie or half-truth. The fact that Burtuchi had delegated the task to Monifore made me very suspicious. It was unlike him to give the floor to another.

  Monifore paused, looking to the others for concurrence thus far before continuing. They deferred to Burtuchi, and after his nod gave positive facial gestures to Montifori, who only then continued. Something wasn’t kosher. They all sat like statues, unwilling participants in the tale’s account. Someone was lying, I just couldn’t be sure if it was Montifori or Burtuchi, playing the puppeteer. I have always found Arabs much easier to discern. If they are moving their mouths, you already know they are lying. With renewed confidence, Montifore continued.

  “Others are aware of the theft, and they are actively seeking the object as we speak.”

  “Others, Eminence?” I questioned.

  “Yes, there are those with political interest, and those with personal interest. Some of their identities are suspected and others are not entirely clear, but their inquiries, some of which have been forceful, have been reported. Possession of the Atonement Lot is of great consequence to a number of factions. With the exception of Rome, they will all use it to advance their agendas, none of which are favored by the Church.”

  Montifore ended his monologue with almost a sigh of relief. Although no vocal sound was heard, he couldn’t control the shift of his clothing as his body relaxed in the chair. His forehead had a slight glisten, assuring me that a bead of sweat would have materialized if he spoke a moment longer. Burtuchi stood and began to pace the floor slowly, then turned to me.

  “Father, you will go to Milan and bring me that Lot. It is dangerous on many levels, and cannot fall into the wrong hands. It must be brought back to Rome without delay.”

  “It is not to be returned to the Duomo Treasury then, your Eminence?” Bertuchi flashed a threatening glance at me before looking up to the ceiling. I thought I saw rage in the cardinal’s eyes, and I was right.

  “Father, the Duomo has already proven that it is not capable of securing the object. Do I seem the fool to entrust it to them a second time? It will be brought to Rome, Father, am I clear?” I nodded in concurrence. I had never experienced Burtuchi’s temper before, although I had heard rumors of it. Burtuchi’s tone with me had always been that of a teacher speaking to a pupil. However, the rumors of his temper were apparently true. I hesitated while the cardinal recomposed himself, reverting to his usual calm, calculating self.

  “Your Eminence surely understands the difficulties involved in this matter. You are telling me that the likely thief has been murdered by an unknown assassin, the possessor of the object is undetermined, and that these events are known to others who are already actively pursuing the object.”

  “Father Adama!” Burtuchi was on the verge of rage again. “Do not tell me of difficulties! It is the property of Rome, and it has been kept safe for almost one thousand years. The conclave wishes the Atonement Lot returned from whoever is in possession of it now. The Vatican will then assure the objects safe keeping here in Rome. You have a habit of speaking of other parties as if it were a contest. There is no winning or losing in these matters. If there were, I would not be sending a Paladin Priest. To have anyone othe
r than Rome in possession of the object would be catastrophic. You must find out who stole the object, secure its location, and retrieve it, Father, by any means necessary for its safe return to Rome.”

  As Burtuchi continued, I decided that it would be unwise to question his expectations further, and responded only with, “Yes, your Eminence,” or “I understand, your Eminence,” as was appropriate. It was clear that the cardinal was agitated, and not in the mood for dissention of any kind. I had never seen him this way before. Burtuchi had always been detached emotionally when sending his priest on an assignment.

  “Finally, Adama, there is a Vatican agent in Milan who will assist you as necessary. He is native to Milan, very capable, and therefore will be of great assistance in your task. Make use of him; you will need an ally in this endeavor.”

  “How do I contact our agent in Milan?”

  “You do not. I will see that he contacts you.”

  Burtuchi abruptly ended his discourse and turned to the others in the room. “Now, if your Eminences will excuse us? I wish to speak with Father Adama alone for a moment.”

  Cardninal Decessi raised his hand as if he were a child seeking the attention of the schoolmaster. “Eminence, the other matter we have yet to discuss, how to deal with Del Cielo?”

  Burtuchi’s face turned red as he stared at Decessi. I thought that if Burtuchi could have brought down fire from heaven, Decessi would have been toast by now. I had to force myself not to smile, or I was sure I would be next in the toaster. A long moment passed in silence.

  “Yes, of course, Eminence, you are correct. However, I would like to discuss Del Cielo in private with the Father. Now, if you would please excuse us.”

  There was some confusion on the faces of the others, but without pause, some shuffling ensued as they hastened to depart on command without further comment. Apparently, none of them wanted to become the next target of Burtuchi’s temper. With nods to both Burtuchi and myself, the three glided like specters out the door, closing it quietly behind them.

  Cardinal Batist’s face betrayed him, however. It was clear that he enjoyed seeing Decessi as the target of Burtuchi’s wrath. A political gain of some sort, I assumed.

  “I apologize for my loss of composure, Adama, it is a weakness of mine that is exercised too often of late, I fear.”

  “Your Eminence, there is no need to apologize to me, I—” Burtuchi interrupted with a wave of his hand.

  “Father, let’s move on to Cardinal Decessi’s concerns, namely Del Cielo, and your soon-to-be presence in Milan. As soon as you arrive, there will be those who recognize you as having part in the identification of the Atonement Lot. They will assume that you have been sent to authenticate the object, and currier it back to Rome.”

  “I don’t understand, Eminence. If the object has been stolen from the Duomo, how could I be sent to pick it up?”

  “Exactly, Father, unless it was the Vatican that removed it from the Duomo in the first place.”

  I began piecing the puzzle together in my mind, but the pieces didn’t seem to fit.

  “Those seeking the object have come to this conclusion for a number of reasons. Access to the treasury is limited to those within the Church, there was no break-in, and no one has been able to locate the object outside of the Church thus far. Even the murder of Father Crochi has been interpreted as a means to cover our tracks in the theft.”

  “If those facts are true, Eminence, then I would be drawn to the same conclusion. The Church has stolen its own property, and I am the likely currier!” I looked up at Burtuchi and smiled. “But that is not the case at all, is it, Eminence?” Burtutchi smiled back in concurrence.

  “No action was initiated by any valid form of authority in the Church. However, since it is more than probable that Crochi was the original thief, I am concerned that an element of the Church was involved. Once you retrieve the Atonement Lot, no one may ever know that the Vatican is in possession of it. They will suspect it, but must never know for sure. In the mean time, you can begin your investigation at the Duomo. The archbishop and our agent are the only persons who will be formally aware of your purpose in Milan. However, we cannot be entirely sure of anything any more. Be careful Adama.

  If we are successful, others seeking the Atonement Lot will never be aware that it has left Milan and been placed in the hands of the Vatican. When you locate the object, you are not to hesitate in the use of deadly force to retrieve it. Adama, my son, do not leave a witness to your recovery of the Atonement Lot. If they know you have it, they will set upon you like hungry wolves. In that case, I assure you, you will never reach Rome.”

  “I understand, your Eminence. I will proceed as you have instructed,” I responded.

  Burtuchi turned away from me, facing the wall. He took an exaggerated breath before turning back.

  “That brings me to information I am reluctant to share with you, but I must if you are to have positive results in Milan.” Burtuchi hesitated again before continuing further. I was sure he was carefully composing his next words.

  “There is a person in Milan, Del Cielo, the likes of which you have not encountered before—a person of great influence and intellect. The full name he goes by is Victorio Del Cielo, but I am sure that is not his real name. He will surely take great interest in the Atonement Lot you are to retrieve, desiring it for himself.”

  “Eminence, I have dealt with evil men in positions of power before. I have every confidence—” Burtuchi stopped me again with a wave of his hand.

  “Adama, please let me continue.” He is not evil; rather, he is indifferent to the values of good and evil. His motives are difficult to discern and he cannot be influenced by events or actions in the usual sense.”

  “What are you trying to say, Eminence?” Burtuchi just stared at me, and fell silent for a long moment in thought before speaking again.

  “Adama, I believe he is Grigori4.”

  “Excuse me Eminence, what did you say?” I was sure I had misheard him.

  “I said Grigori, Adama. You heard me correctly the first time.”

  Burtuchi waited for the import of the statement to fully register in my mind.

  “Do you understand what I am telling you?”

  I found myself searching for a reasonable explanation for the cardinal’s words. Perhaps he was making an analogy. Of course that’s what it was, an analogy.

  “Oh, I see, Eminence, this man plays by his own set of rules, and is self-justified in those actions.”

  “No, Adama, I suspect he is Grigori, a Watcher. Am I making myself clear?” I just stared at him.

  “I am not entirely sure, but I have personal reasons to believe he may be so.”

  I was still in disbelief, and remained silent, recalling things I had studied about Grigori. An order of angels, sent to watch over mankind in antiquity before the flood. Most of them were condemned for mating with human women and having children—the Nephilim, half breeds. Their leader and those who sinned were thrown into a pit sealed by none other than the Archangel Raphael himself, and the pit was covered with a great rock until Judgment Day. Those few who had not sinned were guilty of complacency because they had not tried to intervene. Their punishment was permanent exile to the earth. No longer were they permitted access to the

  council of Heaven. Their angelic grace was replaced with regret; they were outcast, never to see the glories of Heaven again until Judgment Day, when their fate would be decided.

  “Adama… Adama!” Burtutchi repeated louder the second time. My head turned with a snap.

  “I’m sorry, Eminence, I was just—”

  “Yes, you were just replaying what you know of Grigori through that photographic mind of yours. What have you concluded?”

  “Eminence, it is not exactly photographic, but rather—”

  “Adama, what have you concluded?” The cardinal interrupted sharply. I cleared my throat, knowing my next words would not please Burtuchi.

  “Surely, Eminence, you ca
nnot be serious. What could bring you to such a conclusion?” Burtuchi became red-faced again, but quickly regained his composure.

  “My path has crossed his once, a long time ago, and I have good reason for my suspicion.”

  “What reason, Eminence? What happened?”

  “I’m sorry, Adama, I have said too much already. Please, just accept what I have told you at face value. If what I suspect is true, he will want the Atonement Lot above all other possessions. If he obtains it, it may well be his undoing, and ours as well.”

  “As you wish, Eminence.”

  “One more thing, Father. Victorio Del Cielo will be drawn to you like a moth to a flame. The fact that he will believe, as the others do, that you will be in possession of the Atonement Lot has certainly caused him to take notice already. In a direct confrontation with him, you have no chance. I want you to stay away from him. Under no circumstances are you to engage him in any way. Keep your distance. Enough, now.

  “I am posting you at the Basilica of St. Andrew, where your skills in archeology may be put to some use as a cover. You will pretend to plan the continued excavation beneath the existing building. Your pretext can be locating the west façade of the original Basilica. Now, kneel before me.”

  I knelt in obedience as I had many times before, and Burtuchi raised his hand above me, making the sign of the cross as he spoke.

  “Indulgeo. Ego te absolvo a peccatis tuis in nomine Patris et filii et spiritus sancti.5 Go with a clear conscious. Now, rise up, my son. Find and authenticate the Atonement Lot, retrieve it, and bring it directly to me. Pack your bags. I want you in Milan tomorrow. You’re leaving tonight.”

  Leaving the cardinal’s office, I replayed in my mind the events that had led up to my present circumstance. A mere month ago, I had been sent to Milan to verify the inventory of the treasure room in the great Duomo Cathedral. During the standard audit, I had made a startling discovery. The Atonement Lot had been there, right under everyone’s noses for hundreds of years, incorrectly cataloged only as a gift from Emperor Constantine among the many precious objects in the treasury. However, the small gold Seal was more, much more. It was an object from the first temple, Solomon’s Temple6, and was used in one of the most mysterious temple rituals, The Drawing of Lots. I had documented that discovery in my report, and hand-delivered it to Cardinal Burtuchi’s office. How could he have known that one of the administrative clerks would open and read the report while it sat on Bishop Marconni’s desk? The discovery had been made known to others, and within days someone had removed the Atonement Lot from the Duomo Treasury.