Chapter 4

March 3, 2000

Friday, 4:45p.m.

Vatican Secret Archives

After three weeks of meticulously scanning delicate documents, Mario’s routine in the Vatican Secret Archives had become a well-oiled machine. The Vatican had equipped him with all the necessary tools for the job, mounted on his workstation: a two-foot-by-eight-foot steel workbench on wheels. This compact space held his laptop, scanner, white cloth gloves for handling the fragile documents, a magnifying glass, and various-colored tinted plastic sheets to capture faint markings and details. Mario’s meticulous organization showcased his understanding of the weighty responsibility he carried for this crucial assignment, one that would shape future generations for centuries.

The sound of approaching footsteps shattered the deathly silence that enveloped the tomblike atmosphere of the Secret Archives—it was a challenge to remain completely silent in this eerily quiet space. The overseeing cardinal, responsible for ensuring Mario’s progress and addressing any queries, would make daily visits to check on him. The cardinal’s own dedication to this project was evident; he took his role and responsibility with utmost seriousness.

“Good afternoon, Father Marino,” the cardinal’s voice resonated in a hushed tone. Despite the absence of any other individuals, the prevailing silence within the Secret Archives demanded a subdued conversation.

“Good afternoon, Cardinal Borelli,” Mario replied, matching the cardinal’s lowered volume with his own voice.

The scanner hummed as it glided over the document Mario was currently working on. Cardinal Borelli’s satisfaction was evident as he inspected Mario, observing the white cloth gloves covering his hands that protected the fragile documents from the oils of human touch. The young priest’s performance had exceeded expectations, instilling the cardinal with confidence in his colleagues’ decision to entrust Mario with this monumental task.

“I’m checking to see if you have any questions,” the cardinal said, his voice filled with anticipation and a hint of mystery.

“Everything is going smoothly. I’ve developed a foolproof routine leaving no room for error,” Mario replied, a sense of pride evident in his voice.

“Excellent.”

“Thank you for providing me with this state-of-the-art oversized scanner. It was perfect for that lengthy scroll I had to scan.”

“You’re welcome. If there’s anything else you require, let me know. I’ll bring you another requisition form later. Just fill it out and return it to me.”

“Thank you. Having the proper equipment on hand is essential for preserving these delicate artifacts,” Mario said, determined to impress his superior. He was fully aware of the significance of building strong alliances within the chain of command. Breaching this trust could result in a lifetime of isolation, confined to a confessional booth, forever burdened with the weight of sinners’ darkest confessions.

“We are beyond pleased with your exceptional work, Father Marino. This assignment comes directly from the pope himself, and you have surpassed all expectations. Thank you.”

Mario bowed his head, feeling a surge of pride at the cardinal’s praise. This acknowledgment only fueled his dedication to the Vatican and the pope.

“Thank you, Cardinal Borelli. Your words mean more to me than you can imagine.”

“I’ll let you get back to it,” Cardinal Borelli said, turning and departing from the aisle, leaving an air of anticipation in his wake.

Mario’s mind wandered as he watched the cardinal disappear around the end of the aisle. The appreciation the man felt for his work was overwhelming. This was followed by memories of his youth—they flooded his mind, thoughts of the strict Mother Maria, whom Roberto had referred to as “evil.” Despite her harshness, Mario couldn’t help but feel she too would approve of the man he had become.

He imagined the Holy Mother taking credit for his success, attributing it to her stern discipline. She would have surely disapproved of Roberto and his wealth—for her, money was the root of all evil. “Yeah, but, money paid for your habit, bitch.” Mario couldn’t help but smile at the imaginary debate between his best friend and the “evil Mother Superior” taking place in his thoughts.

His focus shifted back to the task at hand, and he turned towards the shelf to retrieve the next book for scanning. As he reached for it, something caught his eye. Behind the book was a package wrapped in brown paper, seemingly out of place. Intrigued, Mario set the book down on the worktable then carefully removed four more books to access the mysterious package. It was tightly wrapped and secured with crisscrossed twine, resembling a crudely wrapped birthday present. The brown paper bore a wax seal imprinted with a signet ring.

What are you doing back here? Confusion and curiosity filled Mario’s mind as he stared at the package.

His eyes remained fixed on the mysterious package as the scanner completed its scan. With utmost caution, he placed the mysterious package on the table. Its presence sent shivers down his spine. As he carefully lifted the book from the glass and returned it to its original resting place on the shelf, his mind couldn’t help but wonder about the peculiar package. It stood out like a misshapen puzzle piece, not quite fitting its surroundings. The multitude of books he’d scanned never bore a wax seal, making this discovery all the more intriguing.

Should he skip this item, preserving its seal? Should he break the seal and uncover its hidden contents? He’d been instructed to scan every single item in the Secret Archives, yet common sense suggested this sealed package fell outside that mandate. Opening it would inflict irreversible damage on the precious signet ring stamp.

Contemplating his responsibilities and the instructions he’d received, he resolved that this package was no exception. It, too, deserved to be scanned and preserved for future generations. Who knew what secrets it held? Perhaps this was just the first of many extraordinary oddities that awaited him.

Glancing at his watch, he realized the hour was nearing end of day. Reluctantly, he decided to postpone the unveiling of this mystery until Monday morning. Placing the package back in its original spot, he meticulously returned the other books to their rightful places, concealing the package. He powered down the equipment, leaving the enigmatic package behind, eagerly awaiting its unveiling next week.

Chapter 5

March 3, 2000

Friday, 1:18 p.m.

Harare, Zimbabwe

Sister Carlotta strolled through the bustling marketplace near her newly assigned church in Zimbabwe. Vibrant displays of produce and handmade goods caught her eye, reminding her of the farmers’ market near her former church in Rome. As she perused the market’s wares, she couldn’t help but miss the laughter and innocence of the children she had left behind in Italy. She felt a pang of nostalgia for her daily ritual of purchasing fresh fruit for the children at the school. The fruit salad she made for them was a healthier alternative to candy or gelato. She cherished the joy it brought to their faces.

Little Flavio, what a character he was, the nun thought with a mix of fondness and exasperation. She couldn’t help but cringe at memories of him with worm guts plastered around the corners of his mouth. It wasn’t that he did it to gross her out—he genuinely enjoyed eating the snails, worms, and bugs he found on the playground. She chuckled at the thought of him growing up to be six feet tall, all thanks to his playground diet. Not to mention the times she’d caught him inside the classroom sneaking bites of paste straight from the container. It wasn’t his fault the paste manufacturer made it taste like mint. Of course, the other kids would see Flavio eating it and, being curious, indulging in a taste test of their own. Ew.

Then there was little Cecilia. Her smile could light up an entire room. The nun’s heart warmed at the thought of the precious little girl. She was such a joy to hold and talk to. She’d never put up a fuss when Carlotta cradled her in her lap. The little precious darling would go on and on with her stories, all the while enjoying Carlotta’s fruit salad. The nun had always noticed how much Cecilia loved the peaches in particular. The little angel would carefully separate out all the peach pieces, eating the other fruits one by one and saving the peaches for last. Carlotta made a mental note to find a Harare vendor who sold peaches, just to remind her of her darling little Cecilia.

The boys, on the other hand, were not ones to be held. They would squirm and wriggle out of Carlotta’s grasp within seconds. Their boundless energy made it impossible for them to stay still. Enzo, in particular, was a bundle of excitement. He was thrilled he shared the same name as the legendary founder of the Ferrari brand. The nun had adorned her classroom with posters of various Ferraris. Enzo’s favorite was a poster of a 1990 Ferrari F40 with twin-turbo V8 engine Carlotta picked out just for him. The moment he laid eyes on that dream car, he’d declared he would be a racecar driver when he grew up. Watching him zoom around the courtyard on his tricycle, skillfully maneuvering around poles while rearing up on two wheels, it was easy for Carlotta to believe he would fulfill that ambition.

In the bustling marketplace of Harare, she found herself surrounded by a sea of vendors, each displaying their array of goods. Fresh produce, however, was not as readily available as it was back in her beloved Rome. The country’s hyperinflation had reached unimaginable levels, making shopping a challenging endeavor with prices fluctuating drastically daily. There were even rumors of a new currency the government was preparing to introduce, merely adding to the chaos. Despite these pressures, the nun refused to live without the simple pleasure of fresh fruit. It was a daily blessing she cherished, a way to hold on to the memories of her wonderful life back in Rome.

She approached an older Zimbabwean lady standing under an oversized sand-colored canopy. The canopy provided much-needed relief from the scorching heat of the day, a stark contrast to the climate she was accustomed to in Rome. Dressed in her black habit, she endured her discomfort, knowing her mission in Harare had been assigned by Cardinal Rosetti himself. She found solace in the fact that she was doing the work of the Lord.

The nun made her way towards this particular vendor selling peaches because the fruit brought back fond memories of little Cecilia back in Rome. She asked the vendor about the cost of the peaches. The elderly woman from Zimbabwe responded by raising two fingers, signifying that the peaches were priced at 2,000,000 Zimbabwean dollars. To Carlotta’s surprise, the lady showed kindness and offered a fair price from the get-go, refraining from the usual haggling the locals engaged in. It was evident the woman saw the nun’s pleasant face and recognized her genuine nature, understanding she wasn’t someone to take advantage of.

Carlotta handed over two 1,000,000 bills for the three peaches she had carefully selected. Placing the precious fruits inside her market bag, she scanned the row of vendors, searching for bananas, apples, lemons, and other fruits to complete her beloved fruit salad. It was important to her to be fair to all the vendors, ensuring that none would benefit more than the others. During her weekly visits to the marketplace, she strived to maintain an even hand with those she met in this struggling and chaotic country. It was simply in her nature to treat everyone with equity and kindness.

***

From his distant vantage point, the Vatican assassin meticulously observed the chaotic marketplace through the scope of his rifle. His gaze fixated on the unsuspecting nun weaving her way through the bustling crowd. Every second counted. He glanced at his watch, knowing that the diversion he had orchestrated would soon come into play. The nun was a loose end the assassin had been entrusted to tie up.

Handpicked by Cardinal Rosetti himself, Alistar, the formidable leader of the elite Vatican assassin team, had embarked a week prior on this crucial mission to eliminate Sister Carlotta. Her insatiable curiosity—unfortunate questions she asked at the priest’s funeral—posed a grave threat to the dark secrets hidden within the Vatican’s hallowed halls. The nun’s curiosity could have uncovered the cause behind Father Benedetti’s untimely demise.

As a result of the former priest’s suspicious behavior, Alistar had arranged a private meeting with the man to discover what he knew. Unfortunately, that discussion ended with an abrupt heart attack. The syringe mark on Benedetti’s neck had been expertly concealed, leaving behind no trace of foul play; the young priest’s autopsy report, carefully crafted by the Vatican physician, designated an embolism as the cause of death, and that was that.

Peering through the scope of his Remington 700 .308 bolt-action rifle, Alistar scanned the marketplace, making sure that no Zimbabwean police were patrolling the area. With the corrupt government in Harare, it had been a simple matter of bribing the local officials to keep law enforcement at bay for a precious hour.

His gaze returned to the market where the unsuspecting nun was still standing beneath the canopy, exchanging currency for her three peaches. The line of sight between them was clear. With careful precision, he chambered a bullet inside the high-powered rifle equipped with a silencer and flash suppressor, the standard tools of his trade.

The seconds ticked away. The assassin secured the bipod on the windowsill, steadying the rifle against his shoulder as if embracing a fine woman in romantic embrace. His anticipation grew as the seconds ticked away.

From the third-story window, he peered through his scope. His target stood a mere fifty yards away. Such close proximity allowed him to steady his aim without the need to regulate his breathing. The feel of the trigger on his finger brought back haunting memories from his childhood.

All he’d known was the constant abuse his alcoholic father had inflicted on his mother. One fateful night, after witnessing his mother’s brutal murder at the hands of his father, Alistar decided to take matters into his own hands. Gripping his grandfather’s war pistol, he’d confronted his father, desperate to avoid the same fate that had befallen his mother. His father, consumed by an alcohol-fueled rage, disregarded the gun aimed at him and advanced. Filled with a surge of adrenaline, Alistar pulled the trigger. The bullet found its mark in his father’s abdomen. But the nonlethal shot only served to further enrage the drunken man, who lunged towards Alistar with violent intent.

In a desperate act of self-preservation, the fourteen-year-old emptied the entire cartridge into his father’s body. The room filled with the sound of gunfire as bullets tore through flesh, leaving his father lifeless on the carpet, blood pooling around him. One final, fatal shot to the forehead ended the nightmare once and for all.

With both parents gone and no close relatives to turn to, Alistar found himself in the custody of the Santa Maria Orphanage. The courts ruled his actions as self-defense, but the scars of that night would forever shape him. Now a skilled assassin, Alistar channeled his past trauma into deadly purpose, eliminating those who posed a threat to the Vatican’s secrets.