A Sacred Storm (51 page)

Mackenzie shook his head. “No, General. We're not going to retaliate. I made my decision and I'm going to stick to it. I will not be responsible for the entire destruction of mankind: and if we launch then that's what will happen. It won't stop with a couple of missiles, it'll carry on until every last person on the planet has been wiped out. At least this way some people will survive. And maybe they might make a better job of the future than we have of the past. I told you before – my responsibility is the whole world, not just the United States.”

Perry threw up his hands. “Christ!” he shouted. “That's it then. We're history. The United States of America is fucking history.”

“So are the Greeks and the Romans,” said Mackenzie. “Every great civilization falls, but future generations take the lessons and learn from them.” He smiled. “I know you think I'm mad, General, and I don't blame you, but this is the right thing to do. This is the way the world is meant to proceed. And the closer we get to our destiny, the more convinced I am that I've done what I'm supposed to.”

“You're right,” said Perry, “I do think you're mad. And I'm certain I'm not the only one.”

Mackenzie continued to smile. “You just don't get it, do you, General? Even with all that you've seen in the last few days, you still don't get it. Forget about everything you think you know because it's no longer relevant. This isn't about common sense or science, or military strategy or politics; this is about something much bigger and deeper. This is about a power so vast it's unimaginable for us to comprehend. We're just a tiny part in a never-ending story. And maybe America's already played it's role. If that's the will of the universe, then so be it.”

Perry grabbed Mackenzie's arm and shook him. “You fucking madman!” he yelled. “Don't you understand! We're going to die! We're all going to die!”

Mackenzie laughed, suddenly overcome by a wave of serene understanding. “Of course we are, General. Everybody does, don't they? But there's no need to be frightened. Fear is what's holding us back as a race, fear of what may or may not happen. But things just happen; they just are. There is nothing for us to fear! There's no need for us to be scared!”

Perry stared silently at his Commander-in-Chief, completely lost for words. The man was insane; utterly insane.

Grady's head slumped forward. Blood began to seep through his fingers. He started to drift away. ‘There's no need for us to be scared' were the last words he remembered.

In terms of size St Peter's Basilica is the second largest church in the world. But in terms of sheer beauty, majesty and status, it has no rival. As soon as Jennings set foot inside he let out an involuntary gasp. It was only the third time in his life that he had felt totally insignificant and speechless: the first was when he had first seen Stella; the second was hearing of Stratton's resurrection. But this perhaps topped them both. He looked up and around in the soft light trying to take it all in. He felt like Jack must have after climbing the beanstalk. Everything was on such a large scale it was almost impossible to comprehend. His heart ached with joy.

“Amazing isn't it,” said Stella, sensing his awe.

Jennings looked right to the huge statue of St Teresa of Avila and nodded. “It's beautiful,” he said. “Completely and utterly, mind-blowingly beautiful. It's just perfect.” His eyes brimmed with tears.

“Come on, you two,” said Stratton. “Stop mooning. Help us find Christiano.” He raced off down the nave towards the centre of the building.

As Stratton approached Bernini's Baldacchino, he realized that he didn't need any help to locate his quarry. Under the ninety-foot, solid bronze canopy, at the papal altar, Christiano was standing in full view with his arms outstretched to the heavens. His eyes were closed and he was talking to himself in Italian. Stratton's knowledge of the language was limited, but he could still make out that Christiano's chants were an appeal to God.

Stratton turned to Sophia who had run up beside him. “What exactly is he saying?” he asked.

“He's asking God for more power,” said Sophia. “He's asking the Lord to bless him with the power to right the world. To give him the strength to overcome the foes of righteousness.”

“He's mad,” said Stratton.

“Can you help him?”

“I don't know. Only if he wants to help himself, I guess.”

Sophia ran towards the altar. “Christiano!” she shouted. “Christiano! Stop this – please!”

Christiano carried on oblivious, continuing his petition to the unseen Creator.

Stratton looked at the baldacchino and followed its spiral columns skywards into the dome. His eyes fell upon the inscription along its base: TV ES PTRVS ET SVPER HANC PETRAM AEDIFICABO ECCLESIAM MEAM. TIBI DABO CLAVES REGNI CAELORVM. Stratton remembered the translation in his head - ‘You are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church…I will give you the keys to the kingdom of heaven.' As he looked up at the mighty eight-foot-high letters, he suddenly wondered if God really did exist in the form that the Church believed, and whether his own tenets were fundamentally flawed.

He drew his gaze down once again to the altar. Sophia was now next to Christiano, grabbing his shirt and pleading with him to return to the real world. Her cries, however, were falling on deaf ears. He reached one arm out, and without touching her, thrust her across the floor and crashing down into the sunken chapel – the Confessio.

The blow shuddered through Stratton's body. He could feel the whole world descending into chaos. Images of bloodshed and panic shot through his brain. He saw men and women and children being slain. He saw bombs flying through the air, and petrified faces staring blindly at mushroom clouds of dust. Everything he'd ever known and loved was collapsing under the interminable weight of fear and hatred. He dropped to his knees and clutched his ribcage. The ground beneath him started to shake.

Jennings and Stella watched helplessly with Cronin and two Swiss Guards. The rumbling grew louder until the whole building began to tremble. It came to all of them that they and the world were standing on the edge of oblivion.

Cronin got down on his knees and started to recite the Lord's Prayer. “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name…”

The Swiss Guards joined him.

Stella looked to Jennings. “Perhaps we ought to start praying too.”

Jennings saw the fear in her eyes and pulled her close. And as he stood there with her in his arms, everything made sense. He couldn't explain it, but his brain suddenly clicked and the universe opened up in front of him.

He pulled away and held her gaze. “We don't have to pray,” he said. “We don't have to be afraid.”

Stella furrowed her brow. “What are you talking about?”

“Just trust me, Stella. I love you more than anything or anyone, and I'm telling you – we don't have to be afraid. We don't have to be scared. Do you understand?”

Stella watched as Jennings' eyes dilated and began to shine like mini suns. At first she recoiled, but then she felt his love burst through and finally grasped what he was saying. It was simple; so simple that it made her smile to think how stupid she had been all her life. He was right – there was no need to be scared.

High above them the dome started to crumble. Small pieces of stone fell to the floor. Jennings raced across to the Confessio and hurtled down the stairs. He picked up the unconscious Sophia and carried her back up into the basilica. The debris falling from the roof grew larger by the second. A six-inch piece of masonry shattered by his feet.

“Come on!” shouted Stella. “Let's get out of here!”

Jennings looked round and saw Stratton struggling to get off the floor.

“It's alright!” yelled Stella, above the deafening quake. “I'll go and get him. Just get the girl out!”

Jennings watched her leap to Stratton's aid and then started for the main doors. Cronin and the Swiss Guards were still knelt on the floor praying. “Come on, Pat!” Jennings shouted. “Let's go!”

Cronin looked up solemnly. “No!” he hollered. “We need to pray! Don't you understand? This is the end, Jennings! The end of all things! This is Armageddon!”

Jennings shook his head. “No, Pat! This isn't the end. Not if we don't want it to be. This can be the beginning! We don't need to be afraid any more!”

Cronin held Jennings' bright eyes briefly and saw the truth in the words he'd spoken. A fresh surge of hope pulsed through his heart. He got to his feet and pleaded with the guards to go with them.

Michelangelo's beautiful, iconic dome was disintegrating rapidly. Huge chunks of masonry crashed to the ground like giant grey hailstones. Stella helped Stratton to his feet and looped his arm over her shoulder for support. They moved away slowly towards the nave, Stella checking upwards for danger every couple of steps. Ahead of them she saw the others running through the main doors and out into St Peter's Square.

“You'd better run,” said Stratton. “Don't worry about me, I'll get out.”

“I'm not going to leave you!” she yelled, forcing him onwards.

A six-foot piece of stonework fell from the roof of the nave and shattered on the floor in front of them. Stella checked herself and manoeuvred round the rubble. Just behind, a statue toppled from its recess and closed off the passage. She looked ahead and saw Jennings running back down the nave. He reached them quickly and took Stratton's other arm. With his assistance they progressed rapidly.

They were almost at the door when yet another piece of stonework crashed before them. Jennings and Stella clambered over the fragments with Stratton dangling in between. Then, out of the corner of his left eye Jennings sensed something move. He turned quickly to see the statue of St Teresa bearing down with increasing speed. The next thing he knew he was being thrust forward by a strong hand, the momentum forcing him into the clear. He stumbled awkwardly out into the square with Stella beside him. They looked back in unison to see the figure of Stratton trapped underneath the giant sculpture.

Jennings raced back inside the church.

“Get out!” Stratton shouted. “Just get the fuck out!”

“I'm not leaving you!” yelled Jennings, struggling to make himself heard.

Stratton waved his hands towards the door and barked: “Trust me! Just go!” For a brief moment he stared harshly at Jennings, then he smiled and his eyes lit up. “Like you said, ‘there's no need to be afraid'!”

Stratton's look told Jennings everything he needed to know. In that instant he realized that he could do no more. He flew back through the doors and out into the square again. He grabbed Stella's hand and pulled her clear of the crumbling basilica.

“What about Stratton!” she screamed. “We've got to help Stratton!”

Jennings shook his head. “No! We need to get clear! There's nothing more we can do for him!”

Stella took one last look back. The doors had slammed shut. She closed her mind and followed Jennings away from the carnage. After two hundred yards they reached Cronin and the guards and stopped and sat down and caught their breath.

“Look!” cried Stella, pointing to the sky above the basilica. “Look up there!”

Jennings couldn't believe what he was seeing. The storm clouds above the dome had parted in an almost perfect circle, letting through a dull grey glow. As they watched, the light grew brighter, and began to filter slowly down to the basilica. The ground beneath them shook ever more violently. Stella gripped Jennings' hand tightly. And then, in an instant, the light hit the tip of the dome and flashed with such a ferocious intensity that it sent them flying backwards into space.

Jennings found himself floating through the air in a sea of pure white. Time appeared to stand still as he hovered between colliding worlds. He wondered if this was what it was like to die, and waited for his life to flash before his eyes. But it never did. There was just a moment of sudden realization, and then blackness as his head smashed against the floor of St Peter's Square.

Paul watched helplessly as the crowd bore down on Jenna and Tariq. How they had escaped being shot by one of his company he had no idea. There was something about them, though, that filled him with strength. What it was, he didn't know, but watching these two lay down their lives somehow gave him hope. And in the midst of all that was going on he allowed himself a tiny smile. Then he looked up to the sky and saw it.

Far above the furious clamour the clouds had parted. A brightening circle of light shot through and headed downwards. Paul shielded his eyes and followed the beam towards the ground. It touched the top of Tariq and Jenna's heads and then flashed so intensely that it was impossible to avoid its brilliance even with closed eyes.

Paul was thrown back against the hospital wall. His head crashed against the bricks. He slumped to the floor, but remained conscious. As the light died down he opened his eyes and tried to focus.

In the middle of the car park Tariq and Jenna were still sitting there, hand in hand and bathed in white. The rioters had been cast back, and were either lying on the ground or walking around in a stupefied daze. None of them looked remotely like renewing their attack.

To his left Paul became aware of a groaning. He turned to see Graham lifting himself from the floor into a sitting position. “What the fuck was that?” he murmured.

“I don't know,” said Paul. “I just don't know…” his voice trailed off.

Graham felt around on the concrete. “I don't believe it,” he said.

“What's that?” asked Paul.

“My gun, it's disappeared. I had it in my hands when that thing hit, and now it's just gone.” He looked down the line of bewildered soldiers and saw that the entire company had been disarmed. “What's going on mate? What the fuck is going on?!”