“This is not his strong suit. He stared right at me.”
“Okay, my turn and make it look good.” She returned to his lips without waiting for permission any more than McCauley had.
At first, Katrina actually forgot to open her eyes. When she did, she slowly pivoted and saw the man looking like he was trying to read a map. He held it just below his chin but he obviously wasn’t focused on the paper. Katrina sized him up. He was about six feet tall, thin, and balding. Maybe a little light gray on the sides.
A minute later, Quinn and Katrina strolled arm and arm, sharing notes, and talking about ways of losing their tail. They easily succeeded by hailing the only cab on the street.
Seventy-three
I, Galileo, son of the late Vincenzo Galilei, Florentine, aged seventy years, arraigned personally before this tribunal, and kneeling before you, Most Eminent and Reverend Lord Cardinals, Inquisitors-General against heretical depravity throughout the entire Christian commonwealth, having before my eyes and touching with my hands, the Holy Gospels, swear that I have always believed, do believe, and by God's help will in the future believe, all that is held, preached, and taught by the Holy Catholic and Apostolic Church.
Galileo’s admission and confession became record. Maculano then set to expunge everything else he could find that related to what he deemed to be even more heretical than Galileo’s publications. Obliterating the past gave rise to a vast organization that continued his legacy. Secretum.
Seventy-four
The Swiss Guards waved the priest and his companions through St. Anne’s Gate, the business entrance to Vatican City.
They swiftly walked past the throngs of tourists, around a fountain and a high wall, into a courtyard behind the papal residence, and through metal doors with portrayals of Egyptian papyrus, medieval scrolls, and monks’ manuscripts.
Alpert caught her breath at the sight of the plaque which read VATICAVM TABVLARVM, Vatican Records Office.
“It gives reason for pause,” Fr. Eccleston said.
“This is it?”
“Yes, Dr. Alpert. Welcome to Archivum Sectretum Apostolicum Vaticanum—the Vatican Secret Archives.”
“I’m shaking,” she admitted.
“If you’re expecting a scene out of Angels & Demons, I assure you you’ve come to the wrong place. Dan Brown created pure fiction. Wonderful, but not what you’re about to see. He played off the word secretum to create the sense of an archive steeped in conspiracies. It makes for great reading and fun movie-making, but the truth of it is that secretum doesn’t denote the contemporary definition of confidentiality. It’s merely Vatican-speak for private. The Vatican Secret Archives are the Pope’s private archives, though quite public with the proper approval. You just have to apply and know what you’re looking for.”
“No bulletproof glass and secure titanium-lined rooms?” McCauley asked. “No jets taking off and helicopters bearing down?”
“Not even white gloved conspirators, although there are rooms where technicians do their painstaking restoration work. More secretarial than secret. It makes for a great tale, but truly, no.”
“All that intrigue.”
“That’s part and parcel why the Vatican put some of the greatest documents on display in 2012 in celebration of the four hundredth anniversary of the opening,” Eccleston explained. “They hoped to demystify the conspiratorial concerns and shed true historical light on the archives’ holdings.
“Kind of disappointing when you think about it,” Katrina responded.
“Oh, you won’t be disappointed, Dr. Alpert.”
At that moment, they were met by a friendly middle-aged archivist who wore a black suit, a crisp white shirt, and a yellow tie. The only thing that said Vatican about the handsome man was a pin on his jacket lapel with the gold on red Vatican City shield.
“Good morning, Beppe.”
“So good to have you back, Father. How have you been?”
“Fine. But I’m conferenced out and happy to be away from the crowds and back home.”
“And this is an extension of your home, so how may I assist you today?”
“Well, first, may I present two esteemed colleagues, Dr. Quinn McCauley from Yale and Dr. Katrina Alpert from Cambridge University. I’d like to show them the Tower and then dig into the archives a bit. How’s it look for unannounced guests?”
Beppe flashed a warm smile. “For you, anything.” He extended his hand, first to Alpert then to McCauley. "A pleasure meeting you. I’m Beppe Poppito, senior archivist. Call me Beppe.”
Quinn and Katrina introduced themselves, staying just as familiar.
“There are some procedures to go over with you, made easier considering you’re with one of my favorite scholars, the reverend doctor.”
“They’re already impressed, Beppe. No need.”
So far the access was as far from Dan Brown’s plots as imaginable.
“I’ll be happy to register you. I’ll need identification.”
“Even though they’re with me?”
“Yes, Father. And everything needs to go into your electronic locker, except pads and paper. Cameras, cellphones, books, recording devices, scanners, your backpack, Dr. McCauley, and your purse Dr. Alpert. For security purposes. I’m sure you understand.”
“Absolutely,” McCauley said, though he didn’t want to release Emilianov’s book and his cell.
“When you enter a reading room we’ll electronically register you at the daily distribution desk. You’ll choose a place to sit, though I know the good Father’s favorite spots.”
“And that’s where we’ll be,” Eccleston confirmed.
“Splendid. So let’s log in. When you’re ready to leave, it’s basically the same procedure in reverse. The reading rooms close at 17:15, 5:15 P.M.,” Beppe concluded.
“We should be out well before.”
“No problem,” the archivist responded. “Take your time. Now what would you like to examine today?”
“We’ll be narrowing the scope as we go. Principally we’ll focus on Galileo’s writings from 1601 but I may have some other thoughts. There is another area of research.”
Beppe finished writing a notation on his pad about Galileo and was ready for the second request.
“We’d also like to learn about a Russian priest who lived in the late 1800s. His name was Father Mykhailo Emilianov.”
“I take it, from the Russian Orthodox Church?”
“Yes,” Fr. Eccleston replied.
“Can’t promise much given the Vatican’s history with Russian Orthodoxy.” Beppe now addressed Quinn and Katrina in a whisper. “Something of a thousand year family squabble. Not a lot of Christmas cards flying back and forth.”
They laughed at the archivist’s droll narrative of church politics.
“Any more specifics?”
“He lived somewhere in Siberia. The Altai Mountain region. And he wrote a memoir.”
“Well then, let’s see what comes up.”
Following check-in, Father Eccleston led them up hundreds of steps.
“We’re going to the Vatican’s first observatory The Tower of the Wind, built in 1578. It’s about sixty-one meters high, roughly two hundred feet. Only St. Peter’s Basilica stands taller. And if you’re really ready for a shock…”
“We are,” McCauley said on Katrina’s behalf.