Those present said the sun seemed like a fiery star rushing down toward Earth. The 70,000 men and women gathered knelt before such a prodigy, driving away all doubts from their souls. That event seemed like a biblical passage, and became known as “the Miracle of the Sun.” Christians saw it as irrefutable proof of the power of the Divinity.
In fact, the war ended a few months later, exactly as Lucía, the visionary of Fátima, had predicted.
As the miracles occurring in Fátima gained fame around the world, Lucía de Jesús became more and more cautious. After joining the school of the Sisters of Santa Dorotea in Oporto in 1921, she traveled to Spain, where she spent a few years to allow her religious vocation to ripen. In 1946 she joined the Carmelite religious order, finally becoming a nun in 1949 in the Convent of Santa Teresa.
The meeting of Sister Lucía with Albino Luciani was supposed to be just a few minutes of polite conversation, but it lasted about two hours. At no time was there any mention of the apparitions, the visions, or “the third secret.” In Father Lorenzi’s serene presence, Don Albino and Sister Lucía chose to talk about a variety of inconsequential matters. Perhaps it made little sense to bring up the serious religious, political, or national and international issues in which Sister Lucía had become involved. Facing Don Albino’s benevolent smile, the nun lamented the prevalent lack of faith among the younger generations, as well as the older people’s seeming lack of concern about it. Don Albino smiled beatifically, admitting that the world was going through complex times, but not blaming the young for their detachment and indifference.
While the two priests sipped their coffee during this enjoyable conversation, in such a peaceful room, time ceased to matter. Suddenly there was a silence, and a grave voice almost made the walls shake. A supernatural, luminous glow seemed to spread over everything for a fraction of a second, while the voice spoke.
“And as for you, my dear patriarch, Christ’s crown and Christ’s days.”
Father Lorenzi, terrified and visibly shaken, looked at Sister Lucía. He could have sworn those words had come from her lips.
Don Albino, calm and collected, looked at his secretary and then back at the old servant of God. Right away he sensed that the cryptic message was directed at him, and yet he didn’t seem disturbed at all. Quite to the contrary, he closed his eyes slowly, trying to understand what had happened.
“Don Albino,” Father Lorenzi stammered, trying to catch his breath.
But the patriarch raised his hand, commanding silence, in order not to interrupt the visionary’s trance. Don Albino wasn’t sure what was going on. Was this a premonition? A warning? Or was it mere babble uttered by someone hypersensitive to strange energies?
At that moment, someone looking at the nun might have thought she had fallen asleep in her chair, with one hand resting on the table. But Sister Lucía was not asleep, and they knew it. It was Sister Lucía, but it was also the other world speaking through her. Lorenzi had never seen anyone in a trance, but Don Albino, apparently more acquainted with such phenomena, was unruffled. He kept his hand raised, still demanding silence.
“There is a secret not yet revealed concerning your death,” the strange voice coming out of Lucía’s lips continued, in a tone totally different from hers. “God will forgive, the Lord will forgive.”
Lorenzi was aghast, caught between terror and religious fervor.
A moment later, Sister Lucía opened her eyes and recovered the sweet expression she had when she first appeared in the room.
“Would you like a bit more coffee, Your Eminence?” she asked.
“Yes, Sister, please,” Luciani responded, looking directly into her eyes, without the least indication of any reaction to what he had just heard. “You already know how much I enjoy coffee.”
AS THEY WALKED toward the car that was to take them back to Fátima, Lorenzi was watching the patriarch, half astonished, half perplexed. Finally, gathering all his courage, he couldn’t hold back his curiosity any longer.
“Don Albino, I don’t know what to make of all this.”
The Venetian patriarch stopped, and placed a hand on Lorenzi’s shoulder.
For a few seconds he looked at him with the usual calmness he had come to expect since he became his assistant, almost a year before.
“Relax, Father Lorenzi. I’d say that Sister Lucía is a very interesting person. Wouldn’t you agree?” The prelate continued walking, discreetly tucking in his pocket a little folded paper Sister Lucía had given him.
And they never mentioned the incident again.
17
London ’s darkness seemed ponderous, almost impenetrable to Sarah when she stepped out on Bridge Street, opposite Big Ben. The world’s most famous clock told her it was almost midnight. Turning left, the young woman started running toward Westminster Bridge. There were a few, but not many, people on the bridge. This reassured her, a little, as did the knowledge that London was the city with the most video surveillance per square meter in the world. Sarah resisted the temptation to take a taxi. She needed to take care of something else first. Looming in the distance was the London Eye, the city’s giant Ferris wheel.
Come on, think.
Across the bridge, and continuing on Westminster Bridge Road, Sarah turned left on Belvedere Road. Determined to enter the first phone booth she came across, she walked and walked, not letting up. In a business area near the Waterloo Bridge, she finally found one.
Picking up the handset, Sarah knew not to use her credit card this time.
“Good evening. I’d like to place a collect call… My name?… Uh, Greg Saunders,” she said, sounding more like a question than an answer. But the operator completely ignored the feminine voice giving a man’s name, and asked her to wait.
Moments later Sarah could hear a phone ringing, and voices at the other end.
“Greg?”
“Natalie, it’s not Greg. It’s me, Sarah.”
“Sarah?” was the quite surprised response. Natalie, in all the years as her boss, had never heard coolheaded Sarah sounding so distressed.
“Yes, it’s me. I need to ask you a huge favor.”
Sarah explained to her boss and friend, hastily but clearly, and with the succinctness to be expected from a news professional, everything that had happened to her since she’d come back to London.
“You need to go to the police,” Natalie stammered, barely able to fully absorb the story she had just heard.
“No, Natalie, I can’t. I don’t trust anybody out here. I just need a favor. You don’t even have to leave your house. I’m begging you, Natalie. I don’t know who else to ask.”
An uncomfortable silence ensued while Natalie thought this over. Yes, they had always helped each other and, except for the occasional early-morning flare-ups on her part, Sarah was her friend. And one of the best reporters in the world-renowned news service that she headed.
“Of course. What do you need?”
“Thanks, Natalie.”
“Don’t thank me. Tell me what you want before I change my mind.”
“I just need you to tell me where King William IV Square is.”
“That’s all?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll get it for you right now. You want me to call you back, or can you stay on the line?”