She would never lay eyes on Rome again.
Chapter 2
February 7, 2000
Monday, 8:22 a.m.
Vatican Antechamber
The antechamber in the Vatican was pulsating with centuries of history, each artifact a testament to the past. The marble floor, still in immaculate condition, had borne silent witness to the passage of time since its installation in 1507. Oak shelves, crafted by the renowned Italian carpenter Luigi Bernini, spanned an entire forty-foot wall, cradling volumes of ancient books and priceless artifacts. The grand oak desk situated near the center of the oak shelves, a gift to Pope Benedict III, stood as a symbol of power and authority. Ageless paintings from the sixteenth century adorned the walls, their subjects gazing down from their frames, while sculpted angels dotting the cornices in turn watched over them. At the end of the antechamber, solid oak double doors bore the inscription “PAVLVS III PONT MAX”, a tribute to Paul III, the Supreme Pontiff of the Universal Church.
This was the chamber of choice for the pope when it came to conducting special meetings. A room shrouded in mystery and magnificence, its walls echoing with the whispers of countless confidential discussions. The air was thick with anticipation, the room itself seeming to hold its breath in the face of such significant encounters. The pope’s chosen setting for these unique gatherings was not just a room, but a stage set for the unfolding of events that could alter the course of history.
Father Mario Marino sat there frozen within the colossal antechamber, his breath held hostage by the impending arrival of Pope John Paul II. The most revered and exalted figure on the globe was about to confer with the young priest in a discussion of paramount significance. The private audience with the pope felt like a surreal dream.
Marino was a whirlwind of emotions —a volatile mix of trepidation and exhilaration. His senses were on overdrive, each noise around him amplified to an almost deafening degree. He could practically hear his own heart pounding like a drum, its rhythm echoing ominously throughout the expansive room. With bated breath, he kept his ears attuned on the formidable oak doors, straining for the faintest whisper of movement that would announce the much-anticipated arrival of the pope.
Father Marino was acutely aware of all the details in the room; he craned his neck about absorbing every nuance, every whisper of history, determined to etch this moment into his memory. I can’t believe I’m here. That thought echoed incessantly in the mind of the priest ordained Father Mario Eduardo Marino.
The young priest sat in silent contemplation, clad in his usual attire of short-sleeved black shirt adorned with a stark-white clerical collar, along with black trousers and a pair of polished black shoes. His dark-brown hair, freshly trimmed the day before, added to his air of confidence. His tanned hands, resting lightly on the armrests, were in harmony with his overall body. If Mario weren’t a priest, his handsome countenance would undoubtedly be the object of many a woman’s affection.
The silence in the room did nothing to pacify the young priest’s racing thoughts. “Lord, help me ease my heart,” Father Marino implored in a hushed prayer, taking slow, deliberate breaths in an attempt to still his mind. Yet, beneath the surface of his anticipation, a disquieting undercurrent of unease persisted, a nagging that refused to cease.
The massive oak door groaned open in slow motion, the sound reverberating ominously throughout the hushed silence, amplifying its enormity. The cardinal, a figure of authority and reverence who initially ushered him in, stepped into the room, his footfalls echoing in the antechamber like a solemn drumbeat. Father Marino sprang to his feet in an instinctive show of deference.
“Father Marino, it is my esteemed privilege to present to you His Holiness, Pope John Paul II.”
The moment of truth was upon him. His heart hammered against his chest like a wild beast trying to escape its cage. Oh, dear Lord, don’t let me throw up now.
The pope, a figure of serenity, glided through the grand oak doors, his presence filling the room with an overwhelming sense of tranquility. This peace washed over Marino, slowing his racing heart and calming his nerves. He found himself captivated by the pope, his gaze fixed on the holy figure wheeling into the room. Marino, mesmerized by the pope, didn’t hear the cardinal exit the chamber. Staring for but a moment, Marino dropped to one knee and bowed in reverence.
“Your Holiness, it is an immense honor to be in your divine presence,” he said, his head bowed in respect.
The pope slowly navigated his wheelchair towards him. “Let your heart be at peace, my son,” he responded, placing a hand gently on the priest’s head. A soothing sensation coursed through Marino’s body, further calming his nerves. “You may rise.”
Slowly, Father Marino rose to his feet, his gaze meeting the pope’s. He was in awe—the moment felt like it was stretching out to eternity.
With a wave of his hand, the pope gestured towards the nearby chair in front of the oak desk. “Please, take a seat. I have been eagerly awaiting our meeting.”
The pope has been eagerly awaiting to meet me?
Weak-kneed, Marino sank into the plush leather chair, his eyes never once leaving the pope. He took in every detail: the red papal shoes peeking out from the footrest, the white cassock adorned with the papal coat of arms, the pectoral cross hanging from a gold cord, the wispy white hair peeking out from beneath the white skull cap.
“You look nervous, Father. How do you feel?”
“Yes, Your Holiness, I am indeed nervous. This moment—meeting you—has been a dream of mine since childhood. It feels surreal, like I’m in a dream. I can’t believe I’m here. This is the greatest moment of my life,” Marino confessed, his words rambling out like a little schoolboy’s in a rush of excitement.
“Is it everything you expected?”
“Your Holiness, this is beyond anything I could have ever imagined,” he began, his voice trembling with awe. “The splendor of this cathedral, the sheer magnitude of this chamber, the priceless artifacts bestowed upon the popes throughout history . . . it’s all so overwhelming. The kindness and grace of the cardinals have been humbling. And being in your presence . . . it’s a tranquility I’ve never known, a sense of awe that’s simply indescribable. I—”
He halted abruptly, the echo of his best friend’s advice reverberating in his mind. “Mario! You’re talking too much. Even a fool appears wise when he keeps his mouth closed. Shut up!”
“You were about to say. . . .” the pope gently prodded.
“I . . . I . . . I fear I may be speaking too much, Your Holiness,” Mario confessed, his gaze dropping to the floor in embarrassment.
“You’re doing just fine, my son. I imagine you have a multitude of questions. I will explain why you were chosen, and should you have any queries once I am done, I will do my best to provide answers.”
Pope John Paul II’s eyes were soft as he watched the young priest lift his head to listen. “Here in the Vatican, we possess a treasure trove of history, known as the Vatican Secret Archives. It is home to countless books and artifacts. Are you familiar with it?”
The pope paused, observing Mario’s nod of affirmation.
“We wish to modernize the preservation of this invaluable information, to safeguard it according to the standards of our digital age by . . . putting it into computerized storage. Is that the correct terminology?”
Once again, Mario nodded, a smile forming on his lips at the pope’s use of modern technical language.
“The Vatican II Council recently convened and expressed concern that we risk losing irreplaceable documents if we continue to store them in the traditional manner. A single accident could result in a loss that would be felt for generations to come.”
Mario could see the weight of this responsibility literally pressing down on the pope—the aging pontiff was slumping further into his wheelchair as he spoke.
Drawing a deep breath, the pope straightened, his gaze fixed on Mario as he broached the crux of their meeting. “We are hoping you might be able to assist us in this endeavor, by copying these volumes into a digital format. Do you feel capable of undertaking this task for the Vatican?” He paused for a moment, then added, “For me?"
With a surge of confidence, Mario sat up straight. “Your Holiness, it would be my greatest honor to help preserve these historical documents.”
An observable sense of relief seemed to wash over the pope, his eyes reflecting the lifting of a great burden. The selection of a trusted priest for this monumental undertaking had clearly eased his concerns.
“Your service to us, Father Mario Eduardo Marino”—the pope’s voice echoed throughout the room, each syllable of Mario’s full name spoken with profound respect—“is a debt we can never fully repay.”
A surge of pride swelled within Mario, making him feel like the most honored man in all of Rome.
“Would you like a personal tour of the Sisteen Chapel?”
The offer left Mario momentarily speechless. “That would be . . . an honor, Your Holiness.”
The pope, with a gentle smile, maneuvered his wheelchair forward, extending a trembling hand towards Mario. In a gesture of deep reverence, Mario pushed back his chair and knelt before the pope, taking his hand and kissing the papal ring. A wave of tranquility washed over him as the pope placed his other hand on Mario’s head. Yet despite the pope’s calming presence, a nagging unease still lurked in the depths of Mario’s mind, questioning the reasoning behind his selection for this prestigious role.
After a moment of shared silence, the pope withdrew his hand and turned his wheelchair around heading towards the doors leading out of the room. Mario, following the pope’s lead, walked ahead to open the towering oak double doors for them both to exit.
“The Sistine Chapel holds a special place in my heart,” the pope said, his wheelchair gliding smoothly over the polished marble floors. “It was within its sacred walls that I was elected pope in 1978,” he added, a hint of nostalgia in his voice as they approached the grand entrance to the Sistine Chapel. Mario clung to his every word, captivated by the pope’s personal narrative.
On their approach, they passed a tall, imposing man dressed in an ensemble of pitch-black suit, shirt, and tie. An icy shiver coursed down Mario’s spine as the man’s cold, dark eyes bore into him. A sense of familiarity stirred within him, like a half-remembered nightmare. He couldn’t shake off the feeling he had crossed paths with this man somewhere before.
Unfazed by the ominous man’s intense gaze, the pope continued to guide Mario into the Sistine Chapel—an exclusive tour for the Vatican’s newest recruit.
Chapter 3
February 10, 2000
