March 9, 2000
11:55 a.m.
Vatican Secret Archives
In the dimly lit aisle, Mario cast a furtive glance at his wristwatch and realized with a start he had been utterly consumed reading the pope’s cryptic journal—over three hours had passed without him noticing. The clock was ticking towards noon and now here he was, grappling with the daunting task of creating a convincing forgery that might deceive the cardinal overseeing him. The question that gnawed at him was how he could execute this audacious swap without arousing Cardinal Borelli’s suspicion.
His eyes darted back to the journal as if seeking divine inspiration from its ancient pages. Suddenly, a sinister idea began to take shape in his mind. “Bait and switch,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, addressing the journal as if it were a sentient being he was plotting to abduct from the Secret Archives’ hallowed confines.
With a newfound determination, he swiveled towards the towering bookshelves, his gaze sweeping over the countless books that filled the cold steel shelves. He selected five books whose size shared a striking resemblance with the journal. With a sense of urgency, he carried them over to the worktable, meticulously placing each one atop the journal to gauge if there was a perfect match. The third book he tested fulfilled that purpose. Gingerly opening the book, his eyes darted across the pages, scanning its contents to determine whether it would be intriguing enough to divert the cardinal’s attention:
Pope Benedict XIII’s reign was tarnished with double-dealing by one of his main administrators, Niccolo Corscia, who engaged in extraordinary levels of bribery and corruption. This resulted in distrust of the papal authority, which continued throughout the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries . . .
“That’ll do,” he murmured to the ancient book that appeared to hold its own cryptic secrets from the Vatican’s scandalous past.
That revelation hit Mario like a freight train—there were centuries of corruption that had festered in the shadows of the Catholic Church long before Pope Pius XII took the helm. The Church—his Church—had a dark underbelly, that much was undeniable. It was as though a long-hidden facet of the Church had been unveiled, and it was almost like those with the power to do something about it had conveniently overlooked it, akin to having an alcoholic brother-in-law whose existence everyone quietly acknowledged but would never discuss. It was easier to turn a blind eye to such uncomfortable truths, bury them deep beneath layers of denial.
But now, Mario found himself face-to-face with a harsh reality that he could no longer ignore. The Church he had pledged his life to had been weaving a web of lies long before he was ever born. His faith, once unshakable, now trembled on the precipice of doubt. The trust he’d placed in the Catholic Church had shattered, leaving him with the daunting task of concealing this truth from the world. The thought of the devastation that truth would wreak on the hearts of the world’s faithful—a quarter of the global population—felt unbearable. The revelation would be a blow too harsh for many to bear. What would ensue if those billions learned of the corruption wrought within the hallowed halls of their beloved Catholic Church?
His eyes, hardened by the shocking revelations gleaned the past three hours, bore into the cover of Pacelli’s journal.
With a sense of grim determination, he opened Pacelli’s journal and spread its pages out like a fan, his left hand clutching both front and back cover while his right gripped the paper. With a swift, decisive motion, he tore the pages free from the spine, then set both cover and pages back on the worktable. He repeated the process with the eighteenth-century book, his heart pounding in his chest all the while. A sudden thought struck him, and he reached into his backpack and pulled out the Bible that Roberto had gifted him on his seminary graduation. As if guided by some divine hand, his Bible turned out to be the exact same size as the two gutted books lying on the table.
Mario cradled the Bible, a cherished gift from Roberto. It was an anchor of his hope and faith in his daily life, its pages filled with highlighted passages, scribbled notes, and verses committed to memory. The Bible was more than just a book to Mario—it was a symbol of his faith and a testament to his unwavering belief in Roberto’s potential for redemption. He had seen a glimmer of hope in Roberto’s eyes when the man had presented the Bible to him, the front matter inscribed with words that tugged at his heartstrings. Mario had clung to the hope that Roberto, despite his worldly ways, might one day find solace in the teachings of Jesus Christ. He prayed that Roberto’s harsh upbringing under the nuns and the mother superior at the orphanage hadn’t completely extinguished the flame of the Holy Spirit within him. This Bible was not just a book; it was a symbol of Mario’s faith and hope for his best friend’s salvation.
With a dreadful heart, he took a deep breath and began the painful process of separating the pages from the cover of his beloved Bible. His head slumped forward and his eyes squeezed shut in a futile attempt to block out the reality of his actions.
What am I doing?
The realization that he was on the brink of stealing a priceless document from the Vatican Secret Archives crashed down on his conscience. This act was a stark contradiction to the vows he had taken, a betrayal of everything he held sacred. The gravity of his actions hung over him like a dark cloud, threatening to consume him in its shadow.
The question of the act’s morality gnawed at him, a relentless tormentor in the silent, oppressive gloom of the Archives. He had to remind himself that the very institution he had pledged his life to had been weaving a web of deceit around him since time immemorial. “Perhaps Roberto has been seeing things clearly all along,” Mario murmured into the suffocating silence, his voice barely a whisper.
“Did you say something?” Cardinal Borelli’s voice sliced through the stillness, his figure emerging from around the corner to find Father Marino standing before his worktable.
“I—” Mario’s words were abruptly cut off as he choked on his own spit, and a violent coughing fit seized him. The cardinal halted, maintaining a safe distance from the spluttering priest. “Are you certain you’re feeling okay, Father?” The cardinal’s voice was laced with concern.
Mario gestured to give him a moment, his hand raised as he fought to regain control over his breathing. “Swallow first, then speak,” he muttered to himself, his voice raspy.
The cardinal observed Mario’s struggle, his gaze unwavering.
“I apologize, Cardinal,” Mario managed to croak out, clearing his throat once more. “You took me by surprise.”
“I apologize for startling you, Father.”
“I’ll pay more attention next time, Cardinal,” Mario promised, his voice still hoarse.
“Did you manage to locate the book I asked you about earlier?”
“I’m finishing the scanning process as we speak,” Mario replied, subtly positioning himself to obstruct the cardinal’s view of the mutilated books on the worktable. “I’ll bring it to you in the next hour.”
“I’ll anticipate you having it in my hands by one o’clock, Father,” the cardinal replied, craning his neck in an attempt to glimpse the worktable Mario was shielding.
“Yes. One o’clock sharp,” Mario assured him.
The cardinal turned on his heel, his suspicion of Mario’s illness prompting him to make a mental note to handle the book with gloves. He didn’t want to risk contracting whatever disgusting ailment the young priest seemed to be suffering from.
Mario raced to the end of the aisle and watched the cardinal’s retreating figure disappear behind the heavy metal door of the Secret Archives. A dull thud echoed ominously throughout the vast tomb.
His gaze lingered on the sole entryway to the Archives, his mind racing. He had to complete the scanning of the entire journal and save it on a microSD chip before one o’clock. With no time to waste, he hurried back to the worktable to continue scanning the pages from Pacelli’s journal. Securing those pages inside the eighteenth-century book cover would have to wait.
Chapter 50
March 9, 2000
12:45 p.m.
Vatican Secret Archives
The scanner hummed its final note as it processed the concluding page to Pacelli’s journal. Mario’s eyes darted to his watch—the hands indicated a quarter to one. With a sense of urgency, he carefully nestled the pages from Pacelli’s journal within the cover of his favorite Bible Roberto had gifted him. The pages from the eighteenth-century book were then artfully inserted into the vibrant cover of Pacelli’s journal, creating a convincing decoy. Finally, the contents of Roberto’s Bible found a new home within the cover of the eighteenth-century book, which Mario now returned to its original place on the shelf. The intricate shell game of swapping contents and covers was now complete.
Retrieving his iPod from his backpack, he deftly ejected the microSD card from the Vatican’s scanner and inserted it into his laptop’s SD card reader. His fingers danced over the keyboard as he navigated through the files, transferring the scanned pages of the journal onto the storage card. The transfer of 16 Gb of data crawled along at a snail’s pace, but after a painstaking five minutes, he removed the microSD chip and reinserted it into his iPod. A glance at his watch revealed he had a mere four minutes to reach the cardinal’s office on time, a journey that typically took six minutes.
With the journal securely hidden in his backpack, he hoisted the pack onto one shoulder and began to jog down the aisle towards the exit. Once he emerged from the Archives, he was forced to adjust his pace to a brisk walk—the hallowed halls of the Vatican were no place for running. This was a sanctuary of worship, tranquility, and harmony. Any disruption to the serene atmosphere would be seen as a sign of disrespect.
As he turned into the corridor of offices, he checked his watch again. He had arrived at Cardinal Borelli’s office at 1:02 p.m. Two minutes late. He entered the office to find Borelli reclining in his leather chair, feet propped up on the desk, engrossed in L’Osservatore Romano, Vatican City’s official newspaper. Borelli folded the newspaper onto his lap and glanced up at Mario, then at the clock on the wall. His silence and piercing gaze conveyed his disappointment at Mario’s tardiness. This was not acceptable.
Mario lingered in the doorway, his hand gripping the doorknob, a sheen of perspiration on his forehead. “I’m sorry I am late, Cardinal. I have that book you requested,” he said, his voice hushed in the confines of the revered cardinal’s office.
