Adrian D'Hage - The Maya codex

We are now in the fifth cycle of the sun. Mayan stelae recovered from Guatemala record that four previous civilisations have been totally destroyed by horrendous apocalypses driven by the alignment of the sun with the centre of the galaxy. Intense energy from the centre generates solar flares of unimaginable power, coupled with a reversal of the sun’s own magnetic field. So, is there anything we can do about this? An ancient Maya codex holds the keys to our survival, but Mayan elders remain tight-lipped about its location.

In his fine, spidery hand, Felici wrote in the margin of The Mayan Archaeologist article: Mayan pagan practices have always been a threat to the one true faith. Libraries burned for good reason. If Maya Codex exists, imperative it be recovered and stored in secret archives – Weizman is searching for it, and needs watching.

Felici returned the magazine to his in-tray and glanced at the photograph of Tomas de Torquemada displayed prominently on his bookcase, a man he constantly drew on for inspiration. Torquemada, the Grand Inquisitor of Spain, had been a staunch guardian of the Faith.

Felici rose from his desk, his Italian leather shoes sinking into the crimson carpet as he moved to the opposite wall where St Jerome, Leonardo da Vinci’s priceless oil on wood, on loan from the Vatican’s Pinacoteca, dominated the room. Saint Jerome was Salvatore Felici’s favourite saint. In 393 AD Jerome had denounced sexual intercourse as corrupt, and Felici, too, believed that apart from the purposes of procreation, married couples should abstain from sexual activity altogether. He swung the painting aside, dialled the combination of his wall safe, extracted a crimson file embossed in gold with his personal coat of arms, replaced the painting and returned to his desk. The file held copies of the CIA documents on Dr Weizman that Howard Wiley had forwarded the previous week in the diplomatic bag. The file also held the regular reports from the papal nuncio in Guatemala City, many of them charting the rise of those left-wing governments in the Americas that were opposed to the Church in Rome.

Felici sank back into his plush red-leather chair. Deep in thought, he looked out the palazzo windows towards the 300-year-old columns of Bernini’s Colonnade across the Piazza San Pietro. The Palazzo della Sacra Inquisizione, adjacent to the Porta Cavalleggeri , one of the ancient gates in the walls of the Vatican, had been built in 1571 by Pope Pius V to house what was then known as the Supreme Sacred Congregation of the Roman and Universal Inquisition. In the sixteenth century the Holy Church condoned the Inquisition’s widespread use of torture. For those who refused to reconcile with the Catholic faith, that torture included burning at the stake, a policy that turned the Vatican’s Inquisition into one of the most feared offices in Europe. The Holy Church’s successor to the Inquisition had been given a softer title – the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith – but it was still housed in the same palace and still charged with investigating heresy. As Aleta had pointed out elsewhere in her article, Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger had towered over the modern-day Inquisition for nearly twenty-four years, earning the nickname of ‘God’s rottweiler’, before being elected Pope Benedict XVI in 2005. It was a career path Cardinal Salvatore Felici had every intention of following. At sixty-two, in terms of being papabile, a future contender for the papacy and the Keys of Peter, Felici was still young; but he alone knew that if his past ever surfaced, his career would be finished.

Agitated, he fiddled with the solid gold pectoral cross that was suspended over his crimson silk sash on a heavy gold chain. The chain was attached to one of the thirty-three silk buttons of his soutane, each button symbolising one year in the life of Christ. The unusual cross, encrusted with a large ruby surrounded by twelve large diamonds, had been acquired by his father during the war. Felici turned his attention to the growing threats posed to the Holy Church in Latin America. The threat came not only from newly elected governments, but from outspoken academics, and of the latter Dr Aleta Weizman was at the top of his list. He opened her CIA file but was interrupted by a soft knock on the heavy office doors. Felici’s private secretary, Father Cordona, closed the door behind him.

‘The CIA delegation is on its way, Eminence. His Holiness’s chamberlain has collected them and they will arrive at the Arch of the Bells in twenty minutes, from where they will be escorted to His Holiness’s private library.’

Felici knew the procedure by heart, but it was his nature to want to be briefed on every detail of every visit.

‘And the briefing aids?’

‘His Holiness’s private secretary has personally checked them, Eminence.’

‘Who else is attending?’

‘The Cardinal Secretary of State, and His Holiness has asked that the prefects for the Congregation for Bishops, the Congregation for the Clergy and the Congregation for Catholic Education be there as well.’

Felici clicked his tongue in annoyance. He networked and dined his fellow cardinals assiduously, but he had a low regard for all of them, and he guarded his own intelligence, especially from the powerful and ambitious Cardinal Secretary of State.

‘His Holiness felt that since all of the prefects are asked to report on the appointments for our bishops in the Americas, they should be there, Eminence,’ Father Cordona added, reading his cardinal’s mind.

‘You have scheduled dinner this evening?’

‘Il Signor Wiley will join you for dinner at eight in your private dining room. The menu and the wine list are in your tray. Will there be anything else, Eminence?’

‘No,’ Cardinal Felici replied. Well accustomed to his cardinal’s irascibility, Father Cordona withdrew.

Felici prepared to make the short walk across the Piazza San Pietro to the Papal Palace, his mind absolutely focused. The papal nuncio in Guatemala City had already provided evidence that Dr Weizman was not only searching for the Maya Codex, but that she was investigating the links between the CIA and the death squads in Central America. Worse still, Felici now knew she was also looking into the links between the CIA and the Vatican. Dr Weizman was far more dangerous than she appeared.

T he Naturhistorisches Museum Wien held one of the largest natural history collections in the world. Aleta Weizman had spent the break after the morning presentations wandering amongst enormous mammoths, dinosaurs, pterodactyls and other rare fossils of a bygone era. On her way back to the conference room, she crossed the main foyer, which was dominated by a huge stuffed elk. A massive lion, fangs bared, challenged the elk from the other side of the foyer. Aleta climbed a short flight of steps to the mezzanine floor and as she took one of the seats close to the front, she saw that Matthias Jennings was already on the dais. She wasn’t surprised by the sizeable media contingent assembled at the back of the room; the controversial Jesuit priest created headlines wherever he went. Behind her, Curtis O’Connor slipped into the room and took a seat near the side wall at the back, a position from which he could observe the entire room.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, it is my great pleasure to introduce Monsignor Matthias Jennings, although to many in this audience he needs no introduction at all!’ The President of the European Mayanist Society chuckled at his worn-out joke and Monsignor Jennings inclined his head.

Pompous prick, O’Connor thought, glancing at Aleta to gauge her reaction, but her expression told him nothing. He scanned the rest of the audience and noted that the swarthy, fit-looking young man who’d arrived late and sneaked into the back row didn’t seem to belong. O’Connor felt in his pocket for the latest high-resolution miniature camera the agency’s techs had provided and, choosing his moment, he quietly recorded the man’s face.