At the same moment, two young men wearing dark suits and sunglasses each took a seat at the nearest tables, flanking them. They looked well built and very fit, and exuded an almost palpable air of menace. They glanced with disinterest at Vertutti, then began scanning the street and the pedestrians passing in front of the café.
Although he’d been watching the road carefully, Vertutti had no idea where the three men had come from.
The moment his companion was seated, the waiter reappeared, took his order and vanished, taking Vertutti’s slopped drink with him. In less than two minutes he was back, two fresh lattes on a tray, together with a basket of croissants and sweet rolls.
“They know me here,” the man said, speaking for the first time.
“Who exactly are you?” Vertutti demanded. “Are you a church official?”
“My name is Gregori Mandino,” the man said, “and I’m delighted to say I’ve got no direct link to the Catholic Church.”
“Then how do you know about the Codex?”
“I know because I’m paid to know. More important,” Mandino added, glancing around to ensure they weren’t overheard, “I’ve been paid to watch for any sign that the document the Codex refers to might have been found.”
“Paid by whom?”
“By you. Or, more accurately, by the Vatican. My organization has its roots in Sicily but now has extensive business interests in Rome and throughout Italy. We’ve been working closely with the Mother Church for nearly a hundred and fifty years.”
“I know nothing of this,” Vertutti spluttered. “What organization?”
“If you think about it you’ll realize who I represent.”
For a long moment Vertutti stared at Mandino, but it was only when he glanced at the adjoining tables, at the two alert young men who hadn’t touched their drinks and who were still scanning the crowds, that the penny finally dropped. He shook his head, disbelief etched on his florid features.
“I refuse to believe we have ever been involved with the Cosa Nostra.”
Mandino nodded patiently. “You have,” he said, “since about the middle of the nineteenth century, in fact. If you don’t believe me, go back to the Vatican and check, but in the meantime let me tell you a story which has been omitted from official Vatican history. One of the longest-serving popes was Giovanni Maria Mastai-Ferretti, Pope Pius IX, who—”
“I know who he was,” Vertutti snapped impatiently.
“I’m glad to hear it. Then you should know that in 1870 he found himself virtually besieged by the newly unified Italian state. Ten years earlier the state had subsumed both Sicily and the Papal States, and Pius encouraged Catholics to refuse cooperation, something we’d been doing for years. Our unofficial relationship began then, and we’ve worked together ever since.”
“That’s complete nonsense,” Vertutti said, his voice thick with anger. He sat back in the chair and folded his arms, his face flushed. This man—virtually a self-confessed criminal—was suggesting that for the last century and a half the Vatican, the oldest, holiest and most important part of the Mother of all Churches, had been deeply involved with the most notorious criminal organization on the planet. In any other context it would have been laughable.
And to cap it all, he, one of the most senior cardinals of the Roman Curia, was now sitting in a pavement café in the middle of Rome, sharing a drink with a senior Mafioso. And he had no doubts that Mandino was high-ranking: the deference exhibited by the normally surly waiters, the two bodyguards, and the man’s whole air of authority and command proved that clearly enough. And this man—this gangster—knew about a document hidden in the Vatican archives, a document whose very existence Vertutti had believed was one of the most closely guarded secrets of the Catholic Church.
But Mandino hadn’t finished. “Cards on the table, Eminence,” he said, the last word almost a sneer. “I was christened a Catholic, like almost every other Italian child, but I’ve not set foot inside a church for forty years, because I know that Christianity is nonsense. Like every other religion, it’s based entirely on fiction.”
Cardinal Vertutti blanched. “That’s blasphemous rubbish. The Catholic Church can trace its origins back for two millennia, based upon the life and deeds and very words of Jesus Christ our Lord. The Vatican is the focus of the religion of countless millions of believers in almost every country in the world. How dare you say that you’re right and everyone else is wrong?”
“I dare say it because I’ve done my research, instead of just accepting the smoke and mirrors the Catholic Church hides behind. Whether or not huge numbers of people believe something has no bearing whatsoever on its truth or validity. In the past, millions believed that the earth was flat, and that the sun and the stars revolved around it. They were just as wrong then as Christians are today.”
“Your arrogance astounds me. Christianity is based upon the unimpeachable authority of the words of Jesus Christ himself, the son of God. Are you really denying the truth of the Word of God and the Holy Bible?”
Mandino smiled slightly and nodded. “You’ve gone right to the crux of the matter, Cardinal. There’s no such thing as the Word of God—only the word of man. Every religious tract ever written has been the work of men, usually writing something for their own personal gain or to suit their individual circumstances. Name me one single thing—anything at all—that proves God exists.”
Vertutti opened his mouth to reply, but Mandino beat him to it. “I know. You have to have faith. Well, I don’t, because I’ve studied the Christian religion, and I know that it’s an opiate designed to keep the people in line and allow the men who run the Church and the Vatican to live in luxury without actually doing a useful job of work.
“You can’t prove God exists, but I can almost prove that Jesus didn’t. The only place where there’s any reference to Jesus Christ is in the New Testament, and that—and you know this just as well as I do, whether you admit it or not—is a heavily edited collection of writings, not one of which can be considered to be even vaguely contemporary with the subject matter. To come up with the “agreed” gospels, the Church banned dozens of other writings that flatly contradict the Jesus myth.
“If Jesus was such a charismatic and inspiring leader, and performed the miracles and all the other things the Church claims he did, how come there’s not one single reference to him in any piece of contemporary Greek, Roman or Jewish literature? If this man was so important, attracted such a devoted following and was such a thorn in the side of the occupying Roman army, why didn’t anybody write something about him? The fact is that he only exists in the New Testament, the “source” that the Church has fabricated and edited over the centuries, and there’s not a single shred of independent evidence that he ever even existed.”
Like every churchman, Vertutti was used to people doubting the Word of God—in an increasingly Godless world, that was inevitable—but Mandino seemed to harbor an almost pathological hatred of the Church and everything it stood for. And that begged the obvious question.
“If you hate and despise the Church so much, Mandino, why are you involved in this matter at all? Why should you care about the future of the Catholic religion?”
“I’ve already told you, Cardinal. We agreed to undertake this task many years ago, and my organization takes its responsibilities seriously. No matter what my personal feelings, I’ll do my best to finish the job.”
“You’re lucky to be living in this century if you harbor such heretical views.”