“And did you ever uncover any Templar treasure?”

“Unfortunately, we didn’t find anything groundbreaking. However, I have kept up with the story over the years,” Roosevelt admitted, feeling at ease discussing his youthful adventures. “The Knights Templar were rumored to have found King Solomon’s treasure. The same King Solomon from the Bible.”

Pacelli nodded, engrossed in Roosevelt’s tale.

“Early explorers stumbled upon a peculiar indentation on the island, a telltale sign of a possible pirate’s cache. The island turned out to be a labyrinth of cunningly designed booby traps and flood systems, a fortress designed to safeguard some buried treasure from prying eyes.” A shadow crossed Roosevelt’s face as he recalled a tragic incident. “We lost a brave soul to the island’s deadly secrets. The company eventually succumbed to bankruptcy, and I found my calling in public service.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your loss. It seems like a bitter memory,” Pacelli sympathized.

“The thrill of the hunt was intoxicating,” Roosevelt admitted, his eyes gleaming with the memory of the adventure. “Until the accident, of course. But imagine if we had unearthed King Solomon’s treasure, a prize that has eluded treasure hunters for centuries?”

“Indeed, I can only imagine,” Pacelli replied, captivated by the tale.

“Allow me to share a piece of history with you,” Roosevelt said, his hand reaching into the depths of his suit pocket to retrieve a well-worn photograph he always carried on him. It was a memento from his past, a silent testament to the unyielding spirit of adventure that still pulsed within his veins. “This was the fearless team I was a part of on Oak Island.”

“A fine-looking group of men. You all look so proud. It must have been an exciting time.”

“A time like no other. But destiny put me on a different path,” Roosevelt said, his hand gently patting his leg, a stark reminder of the polio that had irrevocably changed the trajectory of his life. “I was summoned to serve my country.”

“Thank you for sharing, Mr. President. I always enjoy a good treasure-hunting story.”

“Might I ask, what is it about the Templar treasure that so intrigues you?”

“Treasure-hunting has always been a passion of mine, especially when it comes to the Knights Templar. Do you know the superstition surrounding the number thirteen traces back to the Templars?”

“I do. I avoid traveling on the thirteenth day of the month, or hosting thirteen guests for a meal,” Roosevelt admitted with a chuckle. “A strange fear for a president, isn’t it?”

“Not at all, Mr. President. We all have our fears,” Pacelli said, his tone turning serious. “For instance, I worry about the Vatican’s financial stability.”

Roosevelt’s brows furrowed at the mention of the Vatican’s financial woes.

“The Vatican is in the process of establishing the Institute for the Works of Religion—a Vatican bank, if you will,” Pacelli revealed, hinting at the Vatican’s future plans. “Given the current turmoil in Europe, we want to ensure the Vatican’s financial security for centuries to come.”

“I’ve been closely monitoring the unsettling events unfolding in Europe,” FDR confessed, his eyes reflecting the weight of being responsible for the world’s affairs. He was a man who understood the importance of staying informed, especially in these tumultuous times. “You mentioned plans for financial security. Could you elaborate?” Roosevelt’s interest was piqued. The United States, still nursing the wounds of the Great Depression, also pined for guarantees of financial stability. FDR’s New Deal programs had provided some relief, but the nation’s financial reserves remained far from robust.

Pacelli nodded. “The Vatican, along with Catholic churches worldwide, will serve as a fortress of hope in these dark times. But even a fortress needs to fortify its reserves to withstand the storms of the future. I can’t divulge all the details at this moment, but rest assured, the financial gains we envision are . . . staggering.”

Roosevelt leaned forward, trying to comprehend the implications.

“This is sensitive, a hypothetical, if you will. . . . Do you have a facility in America where we could secure such an immense treasure?”

“We have Fort Knox,” Roosevelt replied, a hint of pride creeping into his voice. “Why do you ask?”

Pacelli’s gaze hardened. “The turmoil in Europe may necessitate a secure location for safekeeping the Vatican’s invaluable artifacts. I fear Europe may not provide the security we need.”

Roosevelt nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. “Fort Knox is the most heavily fortified military base in the United States. It’s probably the most secure place on the planet.”

Pacelli appeared relieved. “If necessary, can I count on you to safeguard our priceless treasures were they to be transported here, Mr. President?”

“How much are we talking?”

“Think vast. Templar Treasure amount.”

Roosevelt’s response was immediate and firm. “I can assure you, Archbishop, we can accommodate that amount. Anything placed in Fort Knox will remain secure. Our nation’s gold reserve is housed in a bombproof structure. Your treasures, if need be, could also be stored there. Of this I’m absolutely certain we can handle whatever you bring here.”

“Thank you, Mr. President. Wonderful. That eases my concerns.”

A moment of silence descended upon the room as both men savored their soup, each lost in the intricacy of their own thoughts. Their minds, both powerhouses of intellect, found solace in the quiet companionship of each other.

Pacelli finally broke the silence, his voice echoing softly in the grand dining room. “Where does the United States stand on foreign policy? Do you continue to embrace your isolationist ideals?”

“The Great Depression deeply scarred the U.S. economy,” Roosevelt replied, his gaze distant as he contemplated the state of his nation. “After the devastation of World War I, we find ourselves quite content to remain on the sidelines of any brewing conflicts in Europe or Asia.”

“Thank you for your candor,” Pacelli responded, nodding in understanding.

“We prefer to steer clear of international politics at this juncture, Archbishop. If turmoil were to erupt in Europe, I would be extremely reluctant to involve us again.”

“I understand, Mr. President.”

“My primary focus for the next four years is my New Deal program. I aim to provide relief for the unemployed and impoverished, restore the economy to its former glory, and reform our financial system to prevent another crippling depression from ever occurring again.”

“Those are commendable plans, Mr. President. It is noble of you to prioritize your country’s recovery. You can’t help someone else until you’ve first taken care yourself.”

“Exactly my point. We cannot afford another setback like the ones we suffered in recent times.”

“Your dedication to your country is truly admirable, Mr. President. It is no wonder you won the election by such a wide margin.”

FDR’s face lit up with a smile at the high-ranking Vatican official’s compliment. “Now, am I to understand you may have had some influence over how the Catholic community voted, Archbishop?” FDR asked, recalling snippets of conversations he’d had with Kennedy regarding Pacelli’s strategic visits across the USA.

“I try to sway everyone within my reach,” Pacelli confessed, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

“I’ve heard your influence extended beyond mere ‘sway’, Archbishop,” FDR countered, his eyes twinkling with a knowing look.

“Ah. I did meet with cardinals and archbishops in key voting areas to encourage the parishioners to vote for you. However, I don’t want to detract from your achievement, Mr. President. Your dedication to the American public is the reason they voted for you so overwhelmingly.”

“Thank you. I appreciated the Vatican’s endorsement during this critical election.”

For the next hour, Pacelli and FDR engaged in a lively discussion about their shared passion for treasure hunting, politics, and learning. As their conversation drew to a close, Pacelli provided guidance to the president regarding issuing any public statements about their meeting.

“Officially, this meeting’s agenda involved discussing topics considered important by the pope—that is, I came here to enlist your support for the anti-Communist campaign declared by Pope Pius XI. Secondly, to extend an invitation from the Vatican to establish a Papal Nuncio in the United States. And lastly, clarify that Reverend Coughlin’s attacks over the airwaves are in no way endorsed by the Vatican.”

“That Coughlin infuriates me,” Roosevelt grumbled, clearly irritated by the two-faced reverend who had initially supported his New Deal program only to openly recant it later.

“We have spoken with the reverend. I can guarantee you his inflammatory rhetoric will cease.” Pacelli’s voice was resolute. He did not go into the details of the bone-chilling conversation he’d had with Reverend Coughlin in which he’d given a stark ultimatum: cease the onslaught directed at the President, or face fatal consequences.

“Thank you, Your Excellency. I appreciate your involvement with the reverend.”

“My pleasure, Mr. President. May I say I am looking forward to further conversation with you in the future?”