Roberto complied, removing Mario’s original and placing it in his waiting palm. Mario then walked over to the plush leather sofa where he delved into his backpack to retrieve a bag from the local pharmacy.
Roberto’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What’s with the first aid kit?”
Mario’s gaze pierced into Roberto with an intensity that was hard to ignore. “I’ve been thinking about this all the way over here. I need you to implant this into my flesh to ensure it never falls into the wrong hands.”
“What the . . . What?"
“You took some pre-med courses in college, didn’t you?”
“Are you out of your mind?”
“Maybe it’s that your conspiracy theories have seeped into my brain or something, but I’m convinced this needs to be hidden. The safest hiding place I could think of was inside my body. This way I’ll always know where it is. Will you do it?”
Roberto glanced from his friend to the first aid kit. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Dead serious. There’s something not right about this journal and it terrifies the bejeebies out of me.”
“Alright, alright, I’ll do it,” Roberto conceded, joining Mario by the couch and peering into the bag. “Did you get everything we’ll need?”
“I think so,” Mario replied.
Roberto saw the first aid kit was filled with Band-Aids, gauze, tape, needle, thread, antiseptic, and burn lotion. “What are we supposed to use for local anesthesia?”
“I couldn’t find anything that would do. Do you think drinking alcohol really works, like they do in the old western films?”
“We can try. Or I could knock you out,” Roberto suggested, holding up his fist and smiling.
“No, no. Let’s try the alcohol first.”
Roberto rose, making his way to his personal bar that was tastefully integrated into his office wall to choose a suitable libation. His gaze was drawn to the crystal decanter of brandy elegantly poised on the rich mahogany surface of the bar. He handed the glass to Mario, his gaze never wavering from his best friend’s face. Without a moment’s hesitation, Mario tilted his head back. The brandy disappeared down his throat in a single audacious gulp. A few droplets escaped, staining his black shirt with dark wet splotches.
Roberto watched in surprise, his eyebrows arching at the spectacle. “I suppose being a priest who partakes in daily sacraments of wine has honed your drinking skills.”
“Easy to do when you have a purpose. Let’s do this.” Mario rose to his feet, unbuckled his belt and lowered his black trousers. “I was thinking of this area, within the fatty tissue. What do you think?” caressing his right thigh.
“As good a place as any.” Roberto tore open the antiseptic wipes from the kit.
Mario settled onto the sofa, starting to experience the effects of the alcohol he had quickly consumed.
“Whoa. It’s been a while since I’ve felt this.”
Roberto looked up at his friend, a smile playing on his lips as he watched Mario succumb to the alcohol. “You want another round, just to be sure? This is going to hurt.”
“Good idea. One more. You know I’m a wimp.”
Roberto retrieved the empty glass and refilled it with a generous serving of brandy before handing it back to his friend. He then left the room to retrieve his scalpel, a relic from a pre-med biology course he’d taken at the university. His intellectual curiosity had led him to explore fields outside his own, providing him with unique perspectives that had proven invaluable throughout his career. The synthesis of unconventional approaches had produced a revolutionary idea for his startup, and the rest was history. Five years later, Microsoft had handed him a check to the tune of two hundred million dollars.
Upon returning to his office, he found Mario unconscious, the empty brandy glass lying on the couch beside him. Perfect. I didn’t think you could handle this even with the brandy.
After thoroughly sterilizing the scalpel, needle and SD card, he made a one-inch incision along Mario’s thigh. Twenty minutes later, the microSD card was securely sown beneath Mario’s skin. Mario had thankfully slept through the entire procedure, even when Roberto stitched the wound.
“Alright, buddy, you’re good to go,” Roberto whispered gently to his courageous friend. Mario’s only response was a soft snore.
After washing his hands, Roberto returned to his computer to delve deeper into the journal. He randomly selected another JPEG, revealing yet another page from Pacelli’s journal.
Chapter 52
9 August 1941
The Art of War
IV: Tactical Dispositions
#11 What the ancients called a clever fighter
is one who not only wins,
but excels in winning with ease.
A young maiden came to visit me today. She claims to have escaped from the Treblinka extermination camp. Hard to believe. She utilized her legal authority to sign over her family’s estate to the Vatican in exchange for assurances that her parents would be released from prison.
The added property will be a nice addition to our portfolio. Thank you for your contribution.
Chapter 53
26 July 1941
5:30 p.m.
Treblinka Extermination Camp
Poland
In the heart of the Treblinka extermination camp, a group of ten female prisoners bustled with a sense of urgency inside the camp kitchen. They had been tasked with the preparation of food and drink for the evening’s festivities. The first Saturday of the month had arrived, a day that stirred a discernible sense of anticipation among the soldiers—it was their one night out of the month they were allowed to indulge in revelry. Their eagerness was only heightened by the expected arrival of a dozen “ladies of the night” from the local brothel.
The soldiers’ pent-up testosterone had made them particularly aggressive towards the camp’s male prisoners throughout the day. Earlier, a guard had brutally bludgeoned a man with the butt of his rifle for not moving swiftly enough, sending him to the infirmary with eyes swollen shut from the savage beating. The male prisoners found solace in the prostitutes’ monthly visit, as it seemed to pacify the soldiers’ aggression for a few days, sparing many an unnecessary trip to the infirmary.
“Hannah, you must do this,” implored Nedivah, one of the older ladies in the kitchen. A young girl of only sixteen years, Hannah’s youthful features had been hardened by the harsh realities of the camp, making her appear much older than she was. Her body, mature for her age, could easily pass for a woman in her twenties.
Hannah’s voice trembled with fear as she replied, “But what if they catch me? They’ll execute me.”
“You bear a striking resemblance to her. Just remember what we’ve taught you and you’ll escape. We’ll cover for you,” Nedivah reassured Hannah, her voice firm yet gentle.
“But my parents . . .” Hannah’s voice trailed off, her concern for her imprisoned parents evident.
“If you don’t do this, we’re all doomed,” Nedivah stated bluntly. Her name, meaning “giving” in Hebrew, reflected her selfless desire for Hannah to escape the horrors of the camp and live a full life. She was willing to risk everything for the young girl’s freedom.
