Alistar, holding a tray of iced teas, paused outside the door. He found the journal.
He entered the room. “Your iced teas, sirs,” he announced, placing the tray on the table nearest the door. He exited swiftly, ensuring Mario didn’t catch a glimpse of his face.
“Thank you, Alistar.” Trevor turned back to Mario. “I understand every pope’s journal is in the Secret Archives. What makes this one so extraordinary?”
Mario was rattled by Trevor’s lack of interest in Pope Pius XII’s personal journal. After the whirlwind of events he’d endured in recent months, he was disheartened by the indifference the renowned fiction writer was showing, especially given the possibility this pope was his father. Mario felt like a desperate salesman trying to pitch to an uninterested buyer. Why was this so challenging? “You’re familiar with Pope Pius XII?”
“Yes, of course.” Trevor was taken aback by the blunt question. “He was a controversial pope during World War II. So what?”
“Not controversial,” Mario’s voice rose, his conviction unwavering.
Trevor, noticing his guest’s growing agitation, was beginning to question his decision to invite him over. “Enlighten me.”
“Pope Pius XII controlling Hitler and Nazis.”
“Is that so?” Trevor’s patience was wearing thin as he realized he was about to be subjected to a tale involving some elaborate conspiracy theory.
“Pope bribe Hitler with Jew artwork for Führermuseum,” Mario blurted out, his excitement undisguised as he veered off the main point of his mission.
That did it. As a Jew himself, Mario had unwittingly struck a nerve. Trevor’s family tree had been brutally pruned by the Nazis, leaving only him and his mother. Horrific tales of extermination camps, narrated by his mother, had fueled his World War II novels, catapulting him to fame and fortune.
“Alistar, is it? This iced tea is divine,” came a woman’s voice, complimenting the butler who was lingering outside the office door.
“Thank you, madam.”
An elegant septuagenarian entered Trevor’s office. “I apologize, son, I wasn’t aware you had company over. I can return later.” She began her retreat.
“Mother, please stay. I believe you should hear what this young man has to say.”
Mario’s nerves jangled as he found himself in the same room as the woman he’d read about in the Templar library. “It’s you!” he blurted out, unable to contain himself.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Scusi, it’s just . . .” Mario fumbled for words. “I read lots about you.”
“Do I know you?”
“No. I read journal in Templar basement. Your journal.”
Anna’s face paled. She moved to the other chair and sat down. The Templar protection program had assured her her anonymity—now, with this stranger in their midst, their safety was in jeopardy.
“Where did you find this information?”
“Basement. Beneath Trinity Bank.”
Bingo! Alistar had hit the jackpot. The Templars’ location was a crucial piece of intelligence long sought by the Black Nobility. They and their proxy, the Vatican, had always been stymied in their attempts to locate the Templars’ base in Rome. Alistar needed to alert his team so they could finally deal with the Templars for good and obtain Solomon’s treasure.
Mario watched as Anna’s face drained of color. He realized he’d overstepped her boundaries. Unfortunately, his adrenaline-fueled enthusiasm often caused him to spill secrets before his brain could think better of it. This habit had landed him in retreats of silence ordered by his superiors more times than he cared to remember. He recognized this was one of those regrettable instances.
An oppressive silence filled the room. Mario, feeling the sting of his faux pas, rose from his seat. “Scusi. I say too much. I go now.”
“I think that would be best,” Trevor agreed, rising to escort the strange Italian out of his home. The mansion door slammed shut behind Mario with a force that mirrored the intensity of his own self-reproach.
“Mario, you idiot!” he berated himself in Italian, regretting his lack of preparation for this crucial meeting. He’d bungled his handling of sensitive information around Trevor and Anna Muldoon. The fact remained that it was imperative Trevor know the truth about his father—that was Mario’s trump card, capable of securing the Muldoons’ cooperation in exposing the truth about the Vatican.
Mario couldn’t undertake this mission alone. He resolved to try again in a few days, hopefully once more face-to-face. Sliding into Janet’s 2000 Toyota Avalon, he navigated the winding driveway towards the main entrance of the gated community. Turning onto Tamiami Trail North, he headed back to Janet’s house.
***
“What was he talking about, mother?” Trevor asked, his confusion evident.
“Trevor, please sit. There’s something I need to tell you.”
Trevor took a seat opposite his mother, his eyes searching hers, trying to decipher the secrets hidden within their depths.
“I’ve never shared this with you, or anyone,” Anna began, her voice barely above a whisper. She looked down at her hands folded in her lap. “I escaped from the Treblinka Extermination Camp when I was sixteen years old.”
Trevor’s eyes widened in shock. His mother had never spoken of her past, and he had never pressed her. The memories were too painful.
“I made it all the way to the pope’s summer residence to plead for your grandparents’ release from Treblinka.” Anna closed her eyes, bracing herself for the next part of the story. She had always told Trevor that his father was a war hero. That narrative was about to change. “I discovered that Pope Pius XII was just a man, like any other.” She took a deep breath, her eyes still closed. “He . . . took advantage of me. And I fell pregnant.”
Trevor’s mouth fell open in shock. “My father was Pope Pius XII?”
Anna looked up at her son, her eyes filled with regret. “Yes, but my being pregnant with you is what saved our lives.”
She had wanted to keep this secret from her son for as long as possible, preferably taking it to the grave. She’d dreaded the day would come he’d find out. And that day was today, when a stranger had walked into their home and exposed Anna’s past.
Outside the office door, Alistar listened in. Great. Yet another mess he would have to clean up. The revelation that the pope had spawned this bastard son was a secret that could not be made public.
