The Alchemist’s Code (38 page)

Feeling completely at a loss, Father Palminteri put his mobile away and looked around him: there were heads of countries, foreign delegations, normal people… It was a nightmare, and the worst thing was that he had absolutely no idea what to expect.

He looked at the front rows of the audience. There were dozens of security personnel – not even a fly could have got past them, and the checks at the entrance had been incredibly scrupulous. What should he do? Give a general alarm or just follow Lorenzo's instructions and attempt to save only the Holy Father?

Putting aside his uncertainties, he decided to take the risk. He walked over to the stage and gestured to the closest Swiss guard. The young man stood as still as a statue, even though the priest was clearly signalling him to come over, until Palminteri's insistence eventually convinced him.

“Young man, listen to me carefully – you can gain yourself a place in Paradise today,” Father Palminteri told the guard, as he wrote a note on a piece of paper. “You can decide either to let me pass or to give this note to the Holy Father, and him alone. It's a matter of life or death.”

The Swiss guard looked at him with surprise for a moment. Father Palminteri was known to be a calm and balanced person. He wouldn't talk nonsense. Even the Swiss guards knew that.

After a moment of hesitation, the young guard lifted his halberd and turned his head slowly towards the backstage to catch the eyes of the security men there and signal to them that everything was Ok, then let Father Palminteri pass.

“You are a wise young man, may God bless you.”

Once he had overcome the first obstacle, Father Palminteri was faced with a second.

“What's going on, Father?” he was asked by a surprised Inspector General Bernardo Landolfi, head of the Gendarmerie Corps of Vatican City State in person.

“Would you believe me if I told you the Pope's life is in danger?”

“No, not with the security system we've got in place,” he cut short, “and anyway, you've been told not to get involved with this matter anymore.”

While the two of them were conversing, Captain Barucci approached them. He and Palminteri exchanged a look, then Barucci asked his superior: “What's happening, Inspector?”

“Father Luigi claims the Pope is in danger.”

“Father, do you know something that we don't?” asked Barucci bad-temperedly.

“Lorenzo Aragona is about to meet those criminals, he's with the police. He just told me that something is about to happen in Paolo VI hall. He told me to get the Pope out of here.”

“Only the Pope? If what you're saying is true we should evacuate the whole place!” cried Landolfi hysterically. “And anyway, who is this Lorenzo Aragona? Father, please return to your seat – we will take care of the Pope's safety.”

“How can you ignore this threat after what just happened in Piazza di Spagna?”

Palminteri was as tense and ready to snap as a bowstring. Not being taken seriously was frustrating.

While the gendarmes were trying to discreetly remove the stubborn priest, his eyes met those of the Holy Father, who was standing at the back of the corridor waiting to take the stage, while obviously trying to follow what was going on. Behind the Pope stood cardinal Vorjas, who glared at the arrogant priest with his deep dark eyes. The Pope mumbled something to his personal assistant, Monsignor De Nicol, who made his way through the security men and other priests towards Father Palminteri.

“His Holiness wishes to talk to you, Father Luigi,” said the very young Monsignor gently. Everyone was looking at Father Palminteri, who was approaching the Pope, followed by Landolfi and Barucci.

“What's the matter, Luigi?” asked the Pope with seraphic calm, making no attempt to hide the intimacy between them.

“Your Holiness, I have reason to believe your life is in danger,” the priest replied immediately.

“Is it because of what just happened in Piazza di Spagna?” the Pope asked again.

“There's more, Your Holiness,” Landolfi intervened. “Father Luigi thinks the same people responsible for that attack have threatened to set off another bomb here and that it would be better for you to leave, for your own safety.”

At that point, Vorjas stepped forward and gave Palminteri a very hard stare. “Your Holiness, this is very thoughtful of Father Luigi, but I am sure the Italian security forces have the situation under control.”

The Pope nodded gently. “Thank you, your Eminence, I am sure Father Palminteri speaks in good faith.” He stood there in silence for a few moments. At the end of the corridor he was about to walk down he saw Pericle Fazzini's statue of the Resurrection. It seemed to fill the whole stage, and he suddenly felt that God was trying to tell him to remain calm. He smiled, and the people around him reacted with astonishment. He looked again at Father Palminteri and put his hand on his shoulder. “Let's go, Luigi – the Lord is with us. We have nothing to fear.”

The small procession proceeded along the corridor, and when the Pope finally took the stage, he was greeted by a standing ovation.

“We are here because God wills it! The God of
all
of us, no matter what name you give Him. We are here today to attempt to alleviate the sufferings of the billions of people around the world who are the victims of abuse and mistreatment, and nobody – neither tonight nor in the future - will be able to stop us!”

With these powerful words, the Pope officially opened the summit, provoking another wave of enthusiastic applause. He had openly challenged the criminals.

Father Palminteri, who had hung back, watched him sadly. How could he have imagined he could have stopped such a huge event and make the Pope change his mind?

Before going back to his seat, he sent one SMS, hoping that the recipient would read it in time.

Then he looked around and noticed that Vorjas hadn't followed the others onto the stage.

Where on earth had he got to?

Events reconstructed by Lorenzo Aragona

Fosse Ardeatine Memorial Cemetery, Rome, January, 2013 – 18:30

Oscar cocked his Beretta.

“I'm coming with you.”

“He said just me and Anna,” I pointed out, but Oscar was adamant and headed toward the trees in front of the intersection with Via Ardeatina. I shrugged in resignation and, walking ahead of Anna, followed him to the entrance of the shrine. Just around the corner, we noticed two men on either side of the gate pointing very strange-looking weapons at us.

“Those are the guns that they used against me,” Anna whispered. “The ones that shoot corrosive electric darts.”

I tried to reassure her. “Don't worry – they need us, they're not going to kill us.”

The men blocked Oscar's way. “Just him and the girl.”

I turned to look at him and, seeing the tension on his face, tried to reassure him. “It's all right, Oscar, nothing's going to happen. Do as they say.”

Oscar gave in and his face softened slightly, then he nodded almost imperceptibly. “Try and negotiate and play for time, Lorenzo.”

We entered the gate, and the bleak melancholy of the place enveloped us.

Another of Woland's men was waiting for us at the mausoleum. It was Herzog. “Delighted to see you again, Mr Aragona. And you too, Miss Glyz.”

“Apparently Navarro's men didn't aim well enough in Naples,” I said as we walked past him.

For the first time, an expression appeared upon Herzog's face, and even his voice betrayed a certain emotion. “Quite the contrary – they killed my partner. Now go down there, Mr Aragona, and let us have no more chit-chat.”

We went down the few steps to the mausoleum and found ourselves standing before the vast expanse of the tombs which, in the dark, appeared even more ghostly.

“Please, please – come in,” said a voice, whose strange cheerfulness clashed with the gloomy atmosphere around us. “Your grandparents chose a truly depressing hiding place for the Baphomet, did they not?”

Finally, I saw the man who had turned my life upside down. In the half-light, I could only make out that he was of considerable stature, bald and with devilish, mesmeric eyes which cut through the darkness and inspired fear. Next to him, I saw another shadow.

“Hello Lorenzo, nice to see you again,” said the woman, who I had no difficulty recognizing. Her voice seemed strange in a way that I could not quite define, and she seemed to be lacking the arrogant swagger that I remembered.

“I'm afraid I can't say the same, Camille.”

She shrugged. “Too bad. But I always enjoy my dealings with you, one way or another.”

“Welcome to you too, Miss Glyz,” continued Woland, “and congratulations on your outstanding fighting technique. Do you know Lorenzo, she neutralized nine of my men and managed to avoid our advanced bullets? Your friend has hidden talents.”

Between Camille and Woland, resting on a chest of gold metal and surrounded by candles, there was a strange object, which seemed to be made of the same material as the case itself: a head, smaller than that of a human, set on a square base which was in turn set upon two concentric disks. The grotesque relic had a monstrous face.

Woland opened his hand and pointed to the object. “Meet the Baphomet, Lorenzo – the famous idol of the Templars, the magical prison constructed by the wise Chaldeans to contain the Guardian of the Threshold.”

A glimmer of hope was kindled in my heart. I had the impression that my eyes could see clearly through that object and watch Àrtemis climb out of bed and walk towards me smiling. Woland must have seen me, and held out his hand.

“This object can satisfy all our needs.”

I awoke from that moment of bewilderment and looked back to him. “What is it that you want?”

Woland smiled. “Just for you to you enter the sequence that is in your mind.”

“If I do, do you guarantee that nothing will happen to the Pope, the guests in the Nervi Auditorium and us?”

Woland stretched out his arms. “I guarantee nothing, you will just have to trust me. Come along.”

I shot a quick look at Anna, then stepped over to the Baphomet while Camille held me at gunpoint. I noticed that Woland had already entered all the keys into the holes on the outer disc.

“You have no idea how happy I was the day that I learned the order had not been lost, but had been grafted into the mind of the last Elect of the Nine,” continued Woland, with childlike pleasure. “In that moment I realized that I would find the idol and the keys, and that when it happened, the sequence in your mind would evoke the Guardian of the Threshold.”

I approached the Baphomet, raised a hand and, before touching it, looked at Woland. “What if you were wrong? What if there is nothing in my mind? If I touch this object and nothing happens?”

Woland raised an eyebrow. “If such an eventuality were to occur, the first thing I would do would be to add two more corpses to this mausoleum and then kill all those who are in the Nervi Auditorium in this precise moment.”

“But why? What have they got to do with anything?”

“You couldn't understand, Lorenzo. Enough talk – get to work.”

I sighed in defeat and slowly bent down to touch the Baphomet. My fingers were almost upon it when a movement from the back of the mausoleum attracted our attention.

“Don't touch it, Lorenzo. Nobody move, I've got you all covered,” ordered a familiar male voice, sounding calm but firm.

We all stood paralysed, except Camille who was crouched behind the row of tombs with her gun.

“Who the hell are you?” roared Woland.

“Shut up, and don't try to call your men,” the voice, or rather the shadow from which it came, had moved from one side of the mausoleum to the other, and finally I realised who it was.

“Antonio, is that you?”

“Lorenzo, do not touch the idol,” he answered, “Please, do as I say.”

Woland was increasingly agitated. “May I ask who you are? How the hell did you get in here?”

Anna took advantage of Woland's momentary distraction, gave me a glance of icy determination, then looked down at Camille, who was still crouched in front of her and, in a split second, grabbed the gun out of her hand and disappeared behind the rows of tombs.

I dived to the ground, and in the same instant a bullet whistled between Woland and me.

From the report of Commissioner Oscar Franchi

Fosse Ardeatine Memorial Cemetery, Rome, January, 2013 – 18:40

One of the men guarding the entrance of the shrine had rushed inside, and at the sound of shots, Oscar and Volta decided immediately to intervene.

“De Rossi, you guard the entrance while we go inside,” said Volta to one of his men.

They emerged from behind the trees and saw that the man at the gate had been distracted by events within. The two policemen exchanged knowing looks, crossed the road and climbed quickly over the perimeter wall, where they could not be seen. But as they arrived on the other side, they heard fast-approaching footsteps. The man at the entrance must have seen them.

“How the hell did he do that? He was looking the other way!” asked Volta.

“We'll ask him later,” said Oscar drily, raising his gun. The footsteps stopped, but a moment later the man did a somersault into the middle of the path and fired in the direction of the two policemen. As it flew, the bullet broke up into a myriad of small darts, like a cluster bomb, which were joined by an electrified web keeping them grouped together.

“Michele, get down!”

Oscar fell to the ground followed by Volta. Crackling and sparking, the darts struck the wall of the shrine and immediately began to dissolve it like a powerful acid. Raymond's man took aim again, ready to fire another shot, but Volta didn't give him the chance – he raised his gun and shot him in the leg, knocking him to the ground, then jumped up and shot him a second time in the hand before he could get to his gun. He walked over to him and kicked the weapon away.