SALVE ROMA! A Felidae Novel - U.S. Edition (24 page)

I knew this cross very well, as it was the same that the Roman macho in my dreams used to wear. This figure inspired by Antonio’s confessions had never existed though.
Il mio amico
had lied to me, he had never been abandoned. Quite the contrary, master and pet got along so well that it even created a deathful, extremely mysterious symbiosis. And also the other figures had never existed. The hooded guy was Umberto in a theater costume, who collected donations for his research from the theosophists at regular intervals. The hobbling priest, who had gone into the chapel with me and Miracolo to prepare the blessing ritual, was Umberto, who always had shown his back to us and had grabbed the bowel with both hands at the moment of the reputed miracle; from the gunshot wound at his right arm blood had run into the water through the sleeve. But it was also Umberto, whose family had died in the infernal assassination on 9/11 in New York and who had vowed vengeance after that.

What this vengeance was actually supposed to be and what kind of stunts the missile on the table was able to perform, I had failed to find out. And it seemed like I wouldn’t be able to find out anymore. Adieu, you beautiful world, adieu you beautiful ears! I yelled in my mind and was close to laugh and cry at the same time. Um
berto bowed out in his own way.

»Thanks, Antonio!« he said in a mellifluous voice that what a match to his grace. Then he used his free hand to press the little anesthetic mask on my snout, which was connected to a tube and e
specially designed for my kind.

W
hen I regained conscience, I was in heaven. And this heaven looked like a church! But somehow I had always sensed that the pipe dreams of a heavenly Disneyworld, where fried pigeons fly into one’s mouth and Mercedes sport sedans grow on trees, are nothing but pipe dreams. No, when you return to God for good, you have to worship Him all day. A
nd this works best in a church.

Although I felt pretty dizzy – I probably still battled the aftermath of dying – I managed to pull myself together. According to old custom, I stretched myself a little and then moistened one paw to rub it over my face and behind my ears. At that I noticed with some surprise that my good old funnels were still in their place. The real ones in the living world of course had already been converted into gyrometers by Umberto, but in this pseudo-life at least I still had the illusion of ears. Without ruffle or excitement I dwelled on thoughts for a while until I finally started to suspect that this might be the afterpains of the anesthesia – and until
in the distance I saw Antonio!

Instantly I felt like I got a kiss from a power cable, and even the last remains of anesthesia deserted me at once. I turned my head and looked around nervously to find out more about my whereabouts. And then I saw it: I actually was inside of a church. But it wasn’t a heavenly church but an earthly and actually pretty big one: miraculously I had g
otten to St. Peter’s Cathedral!

The more than 160 000 square feet big site lay in the pale twilight of only a couple of torches and giant candles. It was still dark outside, and one could hear the rushing rain, only now and then interrupted by roaring thunder. Streaking thunderbolts, whose glaring light shone through the building-sized windows, enlightened a kingdom of unbelievable dimension and opulent art but also of papal vanity. It was the pomp and the glory of the Catholic Church, a baroque landscape of bold arches and superb arrangements of the folds, showroom and manifes
tation of faith in perfection.

I stood in the center nave of the infinite looking room, directly in front of the pope’s altar with its almost 100 feet high brazen canopy, at which the pope occasionally consecrate priests. This baroque masterpiece, flanked by two brazen pillars, caused awe and feelings of triumph at the same time. 95 gilded oil lamps surrounded the Confessio, the subjacent room at the high altar, in which the marble statue of the kneeling Pope Pius VI. stood.

403 feet above my head arched the dome, which had been created my Michelangelo. Four giant pentagonal pillars with a huge diameter and volume were the fundament. Above those a cylindrical attachment arose, which was broken by countless windows. The light of the thunderbolts was refracted in the glass and created bulky blocks of brightness in the darkness. In this colossal resonance chamber the thunder resounded like the hammering of a giant for a long time. From up here I could easily see the interior surface and the outer canopy. The lantern hallway was in this double hemisphere, which a
llowed walking around the dome.

How much would I have enjoyed a sightseeing tour without any disturbing photoflashes of tourists. Even from this point there was already a lot to see. At the farthest end the Cathedra Petri, a giant fantasy in gilded bronze and as outsized as an upended tanker truck. On the right the grand alter of the saints Simon and Judas, on the left that of the saints Processus and Martinian. One could have spent days between those alters, marble statues, memorials, monuments, equestrian statues, baptisteries and sacrament chapels until one – turned into an angel – ascended to the dome and through th
is directly to Catholic heaven.

But unfortunately there was more pressing concerns right now. The main door with its giant brazen gate built by Filarete was closed. Apparently all guards had been sent home and one had made sure not to be disturbed tonight. At the end of the center nave Antonio sat on his rear legs and watched me with his turquoise emerald eyes. He was only a small shadow in the distance but I noticed him immediately. He somehow appeared to be down. Next to him his master Umberto stood in his black priest’s robe, whom he was connected to by a fateful affection and the same view at the world. The man looked pretty pale. His bullet wounds probably still bothered him. Cattycorner the rough older man with the snow-white hair showed up, whom I had seen talking to my reputed Samaritan two days ago at the airport. Back then I had wondered about the military insignia on his lapel. Now I realized that he was a general of the US Army. The talk between the two men of different professions, which I had kind of overheard, had been about an event at some church
.
Now I was even allowed to attend this secret meeting!

Umberto also had brought a toy: the miniature missile. It was put on a small ramp, and pointed at the vast of the church. A few feet away I saw a laptop, which was very obviously the commander of the high tech device. The padre began to speak now, and thanks to my uber-ears I was able to hear every si
ngle word despite the distance.

»You know what this house of God means to me«, he said in his angelic voice to the military, who was dressed in the finest English tweed. »And exactly for this reason I have invited you here for a test screening of Miracolo. If I weren’t confident, I hadn’t done this. Because if this holy house or one of its artworks were hurt by just a single scratch, I would never forgive myself. Even more, being security chief I would hold myself accountable. I wouldn’t be ruined in an earthly view, as I don’t have any property and will therefore give this prototype to your government without rewards, but at this place there is a downfall beyond monetary considerations.«

Umberto, the handsome guy, turned away and began to wander around with his head bowed. He seemed incredibly tired, just as if he had been force
d to bear an incubus for years.

»Miracolo is a self-regulated missile with a usual warhead. Just that he isn’t just capable of destroying espied buildings and sites, but ...«

He paused meaningfully and freakishly smiled at himself.

»... but people it
knows
. He can be fed with a certain person’s biometrical data – even a newspaper picture will do –, and its ready for hunting. This technology is neither new nor unique. I guess your cruise-missiles theoretically also are able to perform such missions, at least in open country. The problem starts when it comes to maneuverability of the self-regulated missile in a localized manner – and by that I mean a radius of less than 7 feet! A self-regulated rocket is able to turn around corners and blocks and then destroy the prescribed building but it is not capable of dashing through a door independently, flying upstairs and from room to room and eventually hitting the target on the toilet without causing any damage. Why? Because they don’t have a
real
balance system and because of that no
real
sense of balance! It is and will remain an inflexible missile, a bullet with a little bit of accountability, nothing more. Miracolo is the opposite!«

In Antonio’s face I could see a certain stir now, which I took for a proof of conscience. He starred at me with a regretful mien as if he begged forgiveness and suffered from the spirits that he had cited. I clearly felt the urge in him to say some final explaining words to me before ... before what would happen? Very slowly, just as if a ball was starting to roll down a hill and was steadily increasing speed, I realized kind of trick I had been supposed to do tonight. Umberto hadn’t been interested in my vestibular organ. The project already was that well advanced that they wanted to start rehearsal. But he needed a guinea pig for the last and final proof. I couldn’t help it but think that I wa
s supposed to play the target!

»Every peace-loving human’s dream will come true tonight«, Umberto said and hobbled around the general with increasing excitement. This guy didn’t seem as impressed as expected and killed time with only a couple of gestures. Now and then he scratched his head and folded his arms in front of himself. Apparently he a
lso waited for the final proof.

»Miracolo will save mankind from their most evil scourge – from war and terrorism. Both issue from the sick brains of single persons. And we know their faces. And if we don’t know their faces, we know their distinctive voices or their individual smells – Miracolo can be programmed for all of these features. It is the thinking bullet from the barrel of a killer, just that it doesn’t take any killer anymore. Pushed off by a launcher system, this missile is capable of dashing through urban canyons at racing speed, entering buildings independently without destroying them and even orienting itself inside extremely mazed architecture. The targets can’t get away from it, regardless of where they are fleeing. And if it finds them and blows them up, one can sit next to them and enjoy one’s dinner. The innocent will be spared. Civilian casualties within a war or terroristic conflict both are a thing of the past. There won’t even be material damages. Look at this ...«

He put out his hand and pointed at me. I already felt like I was shot and opened my eyes to the size of golf balls. Every single hair of my fur stood on end, as if I was sitting insid
e a tumbler.

»...
This animal was just biometrically recorded by secret cameras at the Forum Romanum yesterday morning. We have his optical imprint, and this imprint has already been saved on the computer of the missile. Miracolo’s job is to follow the animal and eliminate it without causing the death of a non-participants or any material damage. In order to clear up any doubt that the device doesn’t just orient itself by the optical pattern of a certain sort of animal, I brought my own pet. As you can see it’s of the same species, and as you will al
so see, Miracolo will spare it ...
«

I took to my heels and ran. At the right side of the wall was a plain passage in the dark. I didn’t know where it let. Headless and only inches away from totally freaking out, I decided on this escape route
and senselessly ran towards it.

»The little one tries to get away!« I heard Umberto shout behind me. »Even better, this way we can have a long close look at Miracolo’s skills.«

I quickly looked back and saw him bend over the laptop and press a key. With an explosion-like bang a ray of fire shot out of the rocket nozzle, changing its color from blood orange over mint green into a light blue in a split second. Dragging this blue fiery tail Miracolo take off of the ramp and dashed towards the dome with an expansive bend. But I sensed that it was still in the warming phase and slowly probed, which of the breathing attendees underneath matched the biometric pattern in its memory. Absolutely, it had already
seen
me.

The passage came closer and closer, and after a sheer senseless
sprint I finally arrived there.

»Francis! Francis! ...
« I suddenly heard Antonio’s voice behind my back. I yanked my head around and saw the Oriental running towards me. Umberto didn’t seem to be very happy with this twist. He catcalled at his partner in crime and ordered him to come back as if he were a dog. Understandably, at the moment I wasn’t in the mood to deal with their relationship problems. When I looked up, the shock almost paralyzed me. The flying monster had reached the highest point of the dome by now and curved in an amazingly precise and small-radius semicircle. Then it dashed down at me with its flaming tail ...

I jumped into the passage and to my horror I noticed that nothing more hid behind it than a circular staircase, which was hewn in massive stone. By the look of it, it led to the lantern hallway. What was I supposed to do? Going back would have been sheer suicide. Standing still also! Without further thinking I started to run upstairs. Breathlessly, I speeded upwards, and the steps underneath my paws quickly turned into a str
iped pattern on a twirly strap.

»Francis, you stupid smart-ass, why did you have to poke your nose into this dirty deal!« Antonio yelled at me out of the tunnel. Panting, he also rushed up the staircase. As he was located a couple of turns below me, we couldn’t see each other. Actually, right now I wasn’t in the mood to see the henchman of death anyway. Instead I was interested in the other messenger of death. Through a little hole in the wall I saw how the rocket rushed into the dark tunnel downst
airs. Soon it would be up here.