The Angel of Milan Read online

  I was sure that the cardinals had held back information of some sort, or that at the least, they had distorted the truth, all at Burtuchi’s instruction, no doubt. Secrets within secrets…information was not something the Holy See7 gave up easily.

  There were so many secrets within the Vatican, and those who paid much to learn of those secrets. Had not my discovery been leaked to the outside world almost immediately? I would be walking into great danger when I reached Saint Andrew. Then there was Burtuchi’s Grigori. I wondered if the cardinal knew how crazy he sounded. What had the old man been given over to, belief in myths and fairy tails? No, this Victorio Del Cielo would prove quite mortal as all bogeymen do in the end. I smiled as I contemplated the meaning of the man’s name—Victorio Del Cielo, Victory of Heaven.

  I think not, you presumptuous bastard.

  Milan

  3 I busied myself with unpacking my valise in the small room I was given at St. Andrew in Milan. My mind was not on planning the further excavation beneath the Basilica. I only had to pretend. However, I found myself wishing that the excavation were, in fact, my assignment. I did love the work.

  My training as an archeologist had enabled me to travel the world at the bidding of the Vatican, to advance, and sometimes defend, the faith. However, the Vatican had not stopped my training at archeology. The elite Swiss Guard had provided extensive self-defense and weapons training. Under various guises I also served with the SAS*, and with my perfect Hebrew, even the Israeli Duvdevan** became available to me for two years (tough bastards, every one of them). I, quite adeptly, learned skills that made it possible to sometimes travel to dangerous places and meet with dangerous people. In the early years, I often found myself in conflict between my priestly vows, and the means I sometimes had to employ to accomplish the Conclave’s objectives. However, it had been a long time since such conflict had disturbed my conscience. As my confessor, Burtuchi had assured me that my heart would harden to these matters, and he was right.

  Everything comes with a price, I often think. My torment was the price I paid for the privileges I enjoyed at the Vatican. By accepting the order of Paladin, I also gave up all ambition in the hierarchy of the church. Once Paladin, never more than priest. However, I would smile to myself, thinking how envious others would be if they were aware of the artifacts and documents I was permitted to examine. Things locked away from the rest of the world, never to be

  * United Kingdom Special Forces

  ** Israeli special forces

  shared. I often wished I could publish all that I learned, but others (possibly wiser than I) forbade it.

  Was it just fate, or was it Divine Intervention that sent me to Milan for the Duomo treasure audit? Father Elustondo, an expert in gemology, was originally scheduled for the audit. He would authenticate the inventory, and assure that false substitutions had not been made in the treasury. When Father Elustondo suddenly became ill, his Eminence asked me to substitute. Although gemology was not my specialty, the cardinal felt that I would be able to perform a satisfactory review of both the public and secret objects stored in Milan. Little did anyone realize what I might discover, a Golden Seal, little more than an inch in diameter from the treasury of the First Temple—Solomon’s Temple. The Seal was actually a token used in the drawing of lots to select a goat for the Lord and one for Azazel during the Temple Ritual of Yom Kippur. It was curious enough that the inscription, written in Aramaic, referred to the scapegoat Azazel, and the Archangel Rafael who had sealed Azazel in the pit.

  Traditionally, the two lots were placed in the temple by Rafael himself when the temple was dedicated. The other lot was the sacrifice of purity for the Lord. The sin sacrifice to Azazel has never been entirely understood, and Azazel is probably the most mysterious supernatural being mentioned in Jewish sacred literature.

  It was Azazel whom all the sins of Israel were cast onto at Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. Until my discovery, no substantial artifact evidence of Solomon’s Temple had ever been found. Its value was incalculable. Once my discovery had been leaked to the outside, the Atonement Lot had mysteriously disappeared from the Doumo treasury within days.

  I knew that whoever had taken it would be willing to go to any extreme to keep it. I could only guess if they wanted to possess it for its archeological, political or even occult value. Public knowledge of this object was politically volatile, and might very well bring about catastrophic events in the Middle East. In any event, I would play my part in securing the Lot at the peril of my own life.

  My gut told me the Seal had not left Milan. The treasury had not been broken into. The locks and doors were all intact with no sign of a physical break in. It had to be an inside job by someone with access just as Burtuchi had determined. Inside job or not, I knew I would have to crawl around the under-belly of the city to find whoever had stolen it. The cardinal was right, though—outside of the conclave, no one knew me as anything but an academic, and possibly a currier. To everyone else I posed little physical threat.

  Just as I refocused my attention to unpacking, there was a quiet knock on the door. I thought it might be someone with additional linens, and I slid the door open. On the other side was a short, completely round priest with the chubbiest red cheeks I had ever seen.

  “Father Adama, I hope your quarters are satisfactory. I am Father Dinard, and I manage the pantry here at St. Andrew. I thought to stop by and welcome you to our rectory.” His smile was as broad as he was, and filled his red face from ear to ear. I resisted an impulse to comment on his management of the pantry.

  “Thank you, Father. These accommodations are quite satisfactory, and I am sure my stay will be a pleasant one. Please come in; I was just unpacking.”

  “That’s very kind of you, Father Adama, but I do not mean to interrupt you. I only wanted to introduce myself, and ask if there is anything else you need. In addition to the pantry, I am known to be very capable in obtaining comfort items for those in residence. A bottle of brandy for your closet, perhaps?”

  “That is very kind of you, Father, but I believe I have everything I need at this time. However, if I should find myself in need, I will not hesitate to seek you out,” I replied curtly, a little annoyed at Dinard’s boldness.

  “ I apologize, Father. I fear that I have offended you. Please forgive me, I only wished to welcome you…” He hesitated a moment, and then continued, “No, Father, that’s not entirely true either. What I really wanted was to ask you if the rumors are true.”

  “Rumors? What rumors are you talking about?”

  “The Atonement Lot. You have come from Rome to secure the Lot. Is it true?”

  I was taken completely by surprise by Dinard’s direct, unexpected question. I pursed my lips as I spoke, setting myself to put this little fat priest in his place.

  “Certainly, Father, I have no idea what you are talking about, and even if I did, I find it offensive that you would ask me to divulge the private activities of Rome.”

  “Of course, of course, Father Adama, it was wrong of me to ask. I couldn’t help myself. You see, I am somewhat of an amateur enthusiast of religious antiquities. I have been fascinated with them since childhood. I ask your forgiveness again. I will leave you now to your unpacking.”

  I realized I had been overly harsh with the little fat priest, and didn’t want him to leave under such circumstance.

  “I have overreacted, Father Dinard. I should be apologizing to you. Tell me, what are the rumors you have heard?”

  The little man’s eyes began to twinkle in delight at being able to continue the conversation. He was almost gushing as he slipped his hands inside his sleeves. He began in almost a whisper.

  “There is a rumor that the Atonement Lot that is a Seal binding a great one has been uncovered in Milano. That is what has me so excited. If it were true, Father, it represents one of the greatest oddities in religious antiquities. It would be a validation of the faith, and at the same time, the potential of a great evil in our midst. Yo
ur name is associated with the rumor, Father. Do you know what will be done with it?”

  I felt my heart race as I weighed my next words carefully to learn what I could. Obviously, Dinard did not yet know that the Atonement Lot was stolen.

  “Father Dinard, where did you hear such rumors? Even if such an object did exist, do you truly believe it has such mystical powers? Surely your training, and experience as a priest tells you such things are in the realm of legends, stories, and fantastic elaborations of

  Scripture. It is all just Rabbinical midrash* created over thousands of years.” The little man looked disappointed, and lowered his gaze.

  “I am just a parish priest, Father, I do not share your education and access to the Vatican. However, in my service to the people of Milano I have seen the things of legend manifest themselves—things the church once believed, and now wishes to deny. No, Father, if the Seal or Atonement Lot of rumor does exist, and is authentic, it must not be considered trivial in its nature. It must be handled with great caution.”

  “I understand your feelings, Father Dinard, but you did not answer my question. Where did you hear such rumors?”

  “I hear many things here in Milano because I am

  trusted by many people. I can no more betray that trust than you can betray the trust the Vatican places in you. Please be careful, Father, no matter what your business in Milano, and no matter if the rumor is true or not. Your name is associated with it. Mythical being or not, I’m aware of a presence in Milano that would want to destroy the Seal to free Azazel.”

  “Are you telling me you believe that there is an occult or supernatural presence in Milan that would seek the Seal, Father?”

  * A Rabbinic commentary on a text from the Hebrew Scripture

  “I can already see that you do not believe such things are possible, Father Adama, but I assure you I have seen it with my own eyes. Now I will leave you to your unpacking. If you find that I can be of service in any way, please do not hesitate to ask. Good night, Father.”

  I watched the little man leave the room, closing the door behind him. I was frozen in place as I pondered what had just been said. If Dinard learned of my purpose in Milan from sources outside the Church, then my business in Milan was no secret at all. Until now, I had not considered the occult aspects of the Seal to be a serious issue. Apparently it was, and I knew that those with such interest were immensely dangerous.

  The occult aspect of the Atonement Lot, while only legend, made it a very needful thing. If it fell into the hands of Satanists, I supposed that they would quickly enact some Satanic Ritual to destroy the Seal, and symbolically free Azazel from the pit. If that were the case, I would have to move quickly to prevent the loss of such an important artifact to superstition and depravity.

  In the next second I found myself thinking of Burtuchi’s words, I believe he is Grigori. I pondered the legend of the Atonement Lot and its connection to the Grigori. Could it possibly be what it was reported to be? Did the Lot actually bind the fallen angel Azazel in the earth?

  “No,” I said aloud. There was no doubt in my mind that the dangers were human, and had nothing to do with the supernatural.

  Did the Vatican have the right to the Atonement Lot? Maybe, but I did not question the morality of it. In the possession of the conclave, the Atonement Lot would drop into obscurity again. Out of sight, and out of mind, just like many of the other antiquities the Pontiffs locked away from the world. For now I needed a plan—first to retrieve it, and then a means to disappear once it was in my possession. For the time being, I was sure I had a target on my back.

  Dinard had not indicated that I was known to be Paladin, only an academic that would carry the Lot to Rome. I was sure the little man would have felt compelled to ask more questions if he suspected my true vocation. After all, the order was another of those religious legends of antiquity that surely would have excited the little priest. I took solace in the fact that whoever would opposed me for the Lotthey were, they had no idea who or rather what they were really dealing with. Let them come, I would not die alone.

  Suddenly I felt the need to pray, but my mind was distracted. Maybe it was pride in my position at the Vatican that led me to my present circumstance. Wasn’t it my access to the secret archives that allowed me to identify the Atonement Lot in the first place? I thought of the vaults below the Vatican crypts where I would pass the ancient inscription on the wall, ‘Peter is here.’8 How many times had I walked down the narrow stone steps to the unobtrusive wood door that led into the steel security chamber. I would place my hand on the optical reader, and at the same time look into the retinal scan. I was then greeted by a computer voice requesting I enter my personal code at the keypad. Finally, I would respond to a number of questions that compared my audio response for final recognition. Once inside, most of the secrets were open to me for study. It was an awesome privilege.

  On my very first visit to the vaults, Cardinal Betuchi himself accompanied me. I was awed at what I saw before me. There were scrolls from Alexandra, and Babylon, spoils from the Roman sack of Jerusalem as depicted on the Arch of Titus.9 There were gold and silver objects from the Far East, and a section of the archive was devoted to the Knights Templar and Free Masonry. It was the letters and copious records kept by the Templar that identified the Atonement Lot I found in Milan. Constantine brought gifts to Milan to celebrate his sisters wedding with Licinius, Emperor of the Eastern Empire in 313 AD. However, the Templar described the Atonement Lot in a shipping manifest from Jerusalem to Milan in 1150 AD, long after Constantine’s sister’s wedding. I wondered if the Lot had been intentionally miscataloged to protect its identity. I would never know.

  I finished emptying my suitcase, and placed the final items in the back of the closet shelf—a bottle of French brandy, an HK 45 pistol and a spare clip. I stood momentarily staring at the closet shelf.

  “Maybe access to the archives was not the reason I was lead to this penance,” I whispered.

  I took a deep breath, remembering the warning Cardinal Burtuchi gave to me years ago when I accepted the Order of Paladin.

  ‘Adama, my son, do not take these responsibilities lightly. Pray always that you do not corrupt yourself, and that your actions remain righteous, lest the Spirit condemns you.’

  Tonight I will pray, I thought, but I feared the corruption had already taken place. In any event, tomorrow morning I would visit the archbishop.

  I awoke with the first rays of light shining through my window. I dressed quickly and intended to find breakfast on the avenue. As I walked down the stairs to the first floor, I was surprised to hear many voices from the dinning hall down the corridor. Father Dinard was coming out of a doorway in the hall. He immediately burst into a broad smile, and announced his pleasure at seeing me.

  “Ciao, Father, please join us so I may introduce you to everyone.” I was not in the mood for morning pleasantries with the rectory but succumbed to Dinard’s gregarious nature.

  “Of course, Father, I would be glad to meet everyone. I am surprised everyone is up so early.”

  “Not at all, not at all, several masses have already been said, and we will all be out attending our ministries shortly. We are dedicated to the needs of the community, and despite appearances, there are many needs.”

  Dinard provided introductions while beckoning me to enter the dining hall. A dozen cassock-clad men surrounding the table voiced their pleasure in the introduction. I was both surprised and pleased to find that breakfast consisted of coffee and gelato. Dinard, seeing the smile on my face at the gelato, leaned near and whispered.

  “We live a simple existence here, Father, but as you can see we are not without some simple pleasures.”

  I responded with a quiet, “Bravo, Father, bravo.” This seemed to please Dinard to no end. I determined that whatever else Dinard was, he was also resourceful.

  After finishing my coffee, I excused myself and left the rectory. I had an early appointment with the archbishop at
the Duomo. I knew the meeting would be only a courteous formality. There was probably little to be learned other than what I already knew. Someone with access had taken the Atonement Lot from the private treasury room. The archbishop would make a great display of his trust in those he had appointed, assuring me that none of them were involved. No matter, certainly one of them was, and if others beside Crochi were involved, they might very well pay the price with their lives when I found them.

  The visit with Archbishop Savica went precisely as I had anticipated. Reluctantly, the bishop provided the names of the two priests other than he who were entrusted with access to the treasuries—Monsignor Belgerio and Father Crochi, both of whom had what seemed iron clad alibis concerning their whereabouts during the time of the theft. Alibi or not, Crochi was now dead under suspicious circumstances. I asked the archbishop to arrange an interview for me with the remaining Monsignor Belgerio. The archbishop pledged his full cooperation, and said he would arrange such a meeting for the next morning.

  I left the rectory, and crossed the piazza deep in thought. Stepping off the curb, I was almost hit by a black SUV that stopped directly in front of my path with the window rolled down. A well-dressed young man in his early thirties stared out at me with a rather stern look on his face even though I wore black with the white collar of a priest. I expected a curse to leave the man’s lips, as was usual in any traffic dispute in Milan. I planned to apologize, stepping around the car to continue on my way. To my surprise, I received a greeting.