“I may believe in you, al-Ghazi. And I may believe in Dr. Sakharov. But I do not trust Ahmadinejad. I’m afraid once this is all set and done, then he will take it all for himself.”
“There will be a fail-safe against that,” al-Ghazi returned evenly.
“And what would that be?”
“If President Ahmadinejad should fall back on his agreement, then I will make sure that the data will be compromised, rendering the entire operation useless.”
“I see.”
“There is a solution for everything,” he said. “I will maintain all data so that a lab in Pakistan has the chance to emulate the progress of what we are doing inside Mount Damavand. If Ahmadinejad falls back on his word, then at least you’ll have the necessary information to replicate the technology.”
“You’ve considered your options well,” said al-Zawahiri. “Impressive.”
“I’m a soldier of Allah’s army. I plan for every contingency.”
“And what about the Ark of the Covenant?”
“It’s safe inside the facility in Damavand,” he answered. “Once the nano project is complete, then the Ark will come into play.”
Although al-Ghazi could not see al-Zawahiri, he knew the old soldier held a pleased look about him.
“Allahu Akbar,” the old soldier finally said.
Al-Ghazi nodded, smiled. “Allahu Akbar.”
The line was severed.
Al-Ghazi then removed the SIM card from the phone, destroyed it, and quietly watched the people of Tehran mill about as he sat back and enjoyed his Sharbat.
CHAPTER NINE
On the edge of Vatican City but adjacent to St. Peter’s Basilica lies the Domus Sanctæ Marthæ, the residential quarters of the Cardinal Electors who are housed there prior to entering the conclave to elect a newly appointed official upon the passing of the pope.
Three days after his arrival, Cardinal Bonasero Vessucci took up residence in a dormitory room overlooking the Basilica.
To be back at Vatican City held something special for him, the air of the plaza bearing its own uniqueness unlike anywhere else in the world. Or so he believed.
In the days that followed his arrival, politicking began, the camps congregating with discussions as to who would provide the best possible leadership and guidance, and whether or not the names bandied about were more conservative or liberal in ideology. Like last time, Cardinal Vessucci’s name entered discussions as a leading candidate alongside Cardinal Giuseppe Angullo, whose camp banded with the late Pope Gregory’s in the last election and caused Vessucci to lose by a marginal count and ultimately his exile by Gregory. In exchange for Angullo’s collusion entitling him the papalship, Pope Gregory would grant Angullo Vessucci’s old post as the Vatican’s secretary of state, the second highest position in the Church.
Now with less than a year under his belt and the leading title as the Church’s secretary of state, Cardinal Angullo was positioned to take it all despite talks amongst the Electors that members within his camp had defected. No reasons were given other than that his position had been severely weakened with his major components of support now gone.
Nevertheless, Angullo’s camp remained strong with Vessucci trying to corral as many of the cardinal’s defectors with powerful politicking.
Vessucci was gathering momentum.
By the end of the third day as the sun was beginning to set, Bonasero Vessucci made his way to the papal chamber. The doors were guarded by two members of the Swiss Guards, who were holding traditional halberds. When the cardinal stood before the doors the guards, out of obligatory courtesy, opened them and allowed the cardinal passage into the chamber.
The doors closed softly behind him, the snicker of the bolt locking into place barely perceptible to the cardinal’s ears.
The room was large and vast, the scalloped drapery hanging still as Vessucci crossed the floor in a room that appeared more sepulchral than hallowed.
He stood at the threshold of the balcony that overlooked the city in its glory with the Egyptian obelisk and the colonnades within clear view. People milled by the thousands; vacationers mostly, with their digital cameras and touristy attire. And the sky was a perfect blend of reds and yellows with the onset of a darkening sky.
He quickly made his way to the stone guardrail, lifting the hem of his garment as he did so, and then laid a hand on the railing. The drop to the street below appeared farther simply by illusion alone. The height was no more than thirty feet. But for some reason it looked twice that.
He looked over the edge and noted that the blood was gone, the bricks no longer holding any tell-tale sign that the pontiff’s life had leeched out onto the surface below.
“A shame, isn’t it? That the pontiff should lose his life so early during his tenure.”
Vessucci started. He did not hear Cardinal Angullo enter the chamber, nor the closing of the doors after the guards let him in. The face that measured Vessucci was oddly hatchet-thin with a snout-like nose and grim lips fashioned above a weak chin. His eyes were so dark they seemed without pupil. And when he spoke, he did so in a discordant twang similar to the strings of an instrument being plucked.
Vessucci returned the same arduous glare. “Quite,” he simply said.
“Are you here to reminisce of a time that once was? When you and Pope Pius once stood here talking about the Church… And of the dark secrets it held during his reign.”
Vessucci immediately understood the cardinal’s insinuation. He was talking about the Vatican Knights. The Church’s clandestine op-group of elite commandos who were summarily disbanded under Gregory’s rule, the pope declaring them an abomination to the Catholic faith despite the good they proffered to those who were weak and innocent. “The only darkness is the truth of what really happened to Pope Gregory,” he returned.
“Oh?”
Vessucci turned his gaze upon the plaza of Vatican City, then patted the railing with his hand. “I have stood here many times overlooking this city with Pope Pius,” he said. “As I’m sure you have with Pope Gregory.”
“I have, yes.”
Vessucci looked at the railing, and at the carvings of angels and cherubs. “Then you know as well as I do that it is quite difficult for a man to fall over this railing, since it is raised to a level to bar a man from leaning too far forward.”
“It is quite obvious to me, Bonasero, that the railing is not high enough.”
The cardinal drew closer. The railing reached to the point of his abdomen.
But Angullo intuited his action. “Pope Gregory was taller than you,” he said.
“True. But not tall enough for the brunt of his weight to carry him over the side.” He turned to Angullo. “Unless he was pushed, perhaps?”
The cardinal cocked his head to one side the same way a dog would when trying to grasp the meaning of an uncertain moment. “If I didn’t know better, Bonasero, I would say that you were insinuating that the good pontiff was murdered. And that you, at least by the tone of your voice, believe that it was by my hand.”
Vessucci stood back from the railing. “Every shiny surface has a little tarnish underneath, Giuseppe. All I’m saying is that the case was closed much too quickly without the benefit of a full objective examination, simply for the belief that nothing truly reprehensible can happen at the Vatican.”
“Come on, Bonasero. Do you really believe that Pope Gregory met his death by the hand of another rather than by the hand of Fate? He fell. Accidents happen.”