“Thank you,” Borelli responded, his tone icy as the winter chill. He lowered his feet from the desk and placed the newspaper aside. “Bring it here. I want to look at it.”
With a sense of dread gnawing at his gut, Mario approached Borelli’s desk and placed the fabricated journal before him.
The cardinal opened the cover, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the spine separated from the rest of the book. “Is this the condition you found it in, Father?” His gaze pierced through Mario.
Mario hadn’t had the time to properly affix the eighteenth-century book’s contents to the journal’s cover. Scanning the journal and saving it to his microSD card had consumed every precious second he had. He hadn’t anticipated this level of scrutiny and was unprepared for questions. Lies didn’t come easily to Mario, and his discomfort was noticeable. Sweat trickled down his forehead as he managed to stammer out a single word: “Yes.”
Cardinal Borelli’s eyes flicked to the beads of sweat on Mario’s forehead. “Are you sure you are feeling alright, Father?” he asked, pushing his chair back to create more distance between them. “You’ve seemed unwell the past couple of days.”
Mario hastily pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his forehead. “I’m feeling a bit under the weather, Cardinal. Perhaps I should take the rest of the day off to avoid spreading any potential illness.”
“An excellent idea,” Borelli agreed, pulling out his own handkerchief and placing it over his mouth. With a dismissive wave of his hand, he signaled for Mario to leave immediately.
With a sense of relief washing over him, Mario turned and swiftly exited the cardinal’s office. He was eager to escape the cardinal’s scrutinizing gaze and secure the copied journal in the safety of his home where he could privately study its secrets.
With Mario’s hasty departure, Cardinal Borelli reached into the recesses of his desk drawer, his fingers closing around the familiar bulk of an oversized can of Lysol spray. With a grim determination, he aimed it at the space Mario had just vacated and unleashed a ten-second barrage of disinfectant against the unseen enemy he perceived to be lingering in the room. He was a man of faith—but he also had faith in the bold claim emblazoned on the can, “Kills 99.9% of Viruses and Bacteria”.
Rising from his seat, he embarked on a thorough sanitization mission, dousing the entire office with a generous dose of the virus-and-bacteria killer. Satisfied that he had eradicated the potential threat, he returned to his seat, tucking the Lysol back inside its drawer. Leaning forward, he reached for his phone to dial a seldom-used internal Vatican number, his heart pounding with a sense of foreboding.
“Housekeeping,” came the gruff response on the other end of the line.
“This is Cardinal Borelli from the Vatican Secret Archives,” he began, his voice steady despite the chill creeping up his spine. “We may have an issue with the new priest assigned to archiving duties. He’s acting suspiciously.”
“Consider it handled,” the voice on the other end promised, the tone as frosty and detached as the stark black attire his clandestine department was reputed to wear.
The cardinal hung up the phone, a shiver running through him. He had always found interactions with “housekeeping” unsettling, but as Cardinal of the Secret Archives, it was his duty to report any irregularities, no matter how insignificant they might seem. The Vatican was a place of strict protocol, and any deviation from the norm was treated with utmost seriousness. The recent unfortunate incident involving Father Benedetti was a stark reminder of this. Now, Cardinal Borelli found himself in a similar predicament with Father Mario Marino. The priest’s recent change in behavior had left the cardinal with no choice but to alert “housekeeping”.
Picking up the folded L’Osservatore Romano, he leaned back in his leather chair, propping his feet up on his desk with a sense of grim satisfaction. He had done his duty for the sake of the Archives and the Vatican. Now he could return to the day’s news to let his mind ease its worries.
Chapter 51
March 9, 2000
2:14 p.m.
Roberto’s Mansion
After making a couple of unusual detours, Mario finally found himself standing before the imposing double doors to Roberto’s mansion. He rapped sharply on the grand entrance before pushing it open slightly to call out, “Berto, you home?”
The response came from the depths of the mansion. “Mario, is that you? What are you doing here so early?”
Stepping inside and shutting the massive door behind him, Mario made a beeline for Roberto’s office. Roberto was already at his office door when Mario reached him, a look of concern etched on his face. “What’s the matter?”
“You won’t believe what I’ve done.”
“You look like you’re hyperventilating. Take a seat and tell me about it.” Roberto directed Mario to the chair poised in the middle of the room.
Mario plopped into the plush leather club chair. “You can’t breathe a word of this to anyone.”
“You know I won’t.”
"Promise?"
“I promise. Now, what’s got you so spooked?”
Lowering his voice to a hushed whisper, Mario confessed, “I stole the journal from the Archives.”
“No way.”
“Keep it down, will you? I’m not proud of this.” Mario squirmed in his seat uncomfortably, the guilt of his transgression gnawing at him.
“Let me see it.”
“I don’t have it.”
“Where is it?”
“Remember that old locker at the train station we used to stash our stuff inside when we’d sneak out of the orphanage?”
“Whoa. I haven’t thought about that thing in years.”
“I hid it there,” Mario whispered, his gaze meeting Roberto’s. “I’m really scared, Berto.”
“I can see that. What’s going on?”
Mario unzipped his backpack and pulled out his iPod. He pressed the microSD card into Roberto’s palm. “Insert this into your computer. I’ll show you what I’m talking about.”
Roberto took the storage device to his desk and plugged it in. Mario set his backpack down then moved to stand behind Roberto. As his friend clicked on the folder, a multitude of JPEG files filled the screen.
