Luis Rocha - Papal decree

‘We’re going to improvise,’ the priest replied.

Barry nodded his head in agreement and compressed his lips.

‘What if the cardinals aren’t inside?’ Aris asked. There was always that possibility.

‘Why have armed men in front of the church?’ Barry countered. ‘It’s a church for the love of God.’

The young waitress arrived with the beers and set them around the table. She gave Rafael another sweet smile.

‘Do you think you could find me a map of the city?’ Rafael asked, deploying a little charm that seemed to win her over.

‘Certainly.’

‘Are you going to celebrate Mass tomorrow morning, Father?’ Barry asked with a big smile.

The young woman blushed and winked at Rafael, who swallowed a sip of beer. She hurried off to find a map.

‘These women,’ Barry commented, shaking his head.

‘The forbidden fruit,’ Rafael said, uninterested in the conversation. ‘I think you’d make a good Jesuit,’ he joked.

‘Now that you mention it, I do, too.’

The young woman brought the map, folded in two, and gave it to the priest. She took advantage of the opportunity to rub her hand against his. The Spaniards called her over for something.

‘I’ll bet you she wrote down her number,’ Barry joked provocatively.

It was very probable, but Rafael didn’t look for it as he opened the page with the city center.

‘Are you ready?’ the priest asked.

‘I was born ready. What about these people?’ He was talking about the tourists sitting in the esplanade.

‘Count on Daniel to create a distraction,’ Rafael said.

‘I’ll wait for your signal,’ Daniel said, ready to act.

‘Don’t forget, we’re dealing with fanatics,’ the priest reminded them. ‘Barry, Aris, and I are going in. If I need you, I’ll call you.’

‘I understand,’ Daniel said.

Rafael pushed back the chair to get up. Barry and Aris followed him. He left twenty euros to pay for the drinks, and walked toward the church door with Barry by his side and Aris behind them. Daniel called one of his men on the radio.

‘We’re lost tourists?’ Barry asked.

Rafael nodded with the map open in his hand, as if trying to find some random place.

‘Scusami,’ he said to one of the lookouts, coming up next to him with the map. ‘Fontana di Trevi, dove?’ he asked, pointing at the map.

The helpful sentinel looked at the map with a friendly manner and found the fountain they were looking for. An elbow to the chest, followed by a punch in the nose, while Rafael bent his arm up his back made the lookout lose his balance, requiring him to be supported by the priest. Meanwhile, Barry and Aris overpowered the other with a kick in the knee and a blow to the head.

At the same time on the esplanade, Daniel, now on his feet, kicked the guard who had come to meet him, so hard that it sent him sprawling across the noisy Spaniards’ table. Daniel threw himself on top of the table to continue attacking his subordinate, while the tourists and waiters watched apprehensively. One of the customers tried to separate them, but a young man in the same uniform as the fighters saw what was happening and stopped him with a hand on his chest. ‘Keep out of this.’

Rafael and the Americans opened the church door and dragged the two unconscious lookouts inside. The first part was over.

On the esplanade the young man in the Swiss Guard uniform put his fingers in his mouth and whistled. Daniel, still struggling with his subordinate, stopped as soon as he heard the whistle. He got up and helped up the other as well. He composed himself as well as he could and shook the other’s hand. ‘I’ll buy you a drink later,’ Daniel said gratefully.

No one understood what was going on. The Spaniards watched silently, speechless. One thing was certain. It wasn’t a good idea to get into a fight with those two guys.

Inside the church the three men were in the vestibule, protected by the inner doors.

‘What now?’ Aris asked, whispering so that his voice wouldn’t echo.

‘I’m going to enter on the right and follow along the side nave. You do the same on the left,’ Rafael explained. ‘It’s too dangerous to go down the center aisle.’

‘Okay,’ Barry agreed. ‘We’ll see each other in front.’

Rafael nodded and stuck his hand on the door on the right. ‘Boys,’ he whispered with a wink, ‘try not to get shot.’

Jacopo’s nervousness finally left him as they drove around the city. The traffic was lighter, and the stop lights were now the only obstacles to moving ahead.

Sarah turned out to be an agreeable companion, given the circumstances. All hopes for a positive outcome rested with Rafael. Jacopo didn’t doubt his capabilities, proven over and over, but this enemy was very different from what they had encountered before.

They drove along Via di San Marco without a specific destination.

‘This JC is truly intriguing,’ Jacopo remarked, taking his eyes off the street. He was not used to driving. ‘Have you known him long?’

‘About four years,’ she replied, holding tight to the case with the parchments.

‘He’s not someone I’d want as an enemy.’

Sarah knew that well. When she met him, he was just that, an enemy. Even today she didn’t know how things had taken such a turn. She tried not to think about it.

‘For the church he’s an extremely important partner,’ Jacopo declared. ‘And after this,’ he said, pointing at the parchments, ‘he’s an ally.’

Sarah knew that their secret underworld was always changing. Nothing was certain: all alliances were tenuous, relationships did not last, words meant nothing. Only money and power mattered.

‘Have you known Father Rafael for a long time, Jacopo?’ This question had been on Sarah’s mind since they had begun driving around.

‘Oh, so long I can’t remember,’ he replied nostalgically.

‘Was he your student?’ Sarah asked, trying to get an answer in another way.

‘He was.’

Interesting, Sarah thought. She couldn’t imagine Rafael as a student. ‘Did you know his parents?’

‘No. His life is a complete mystery, and the Holy See tries to keep it that way. No one knows where he comes from, his family… He came out of nowhere.’

The mystery thickened. Who was Rafael? Maybe she could collect a favor from JC and ask him. Oh, shut up, she reproached herself. She was in a relationship, pregnant, and had nothing to do with Rafael’s private life or his origins.

She clutched the case and took advantage of the opportunity to change the subject. Rafael upset her too much. ‘Do you think this parchment was actually written by Jesus?’

Jacopo didn’t reply right away. He obviously felt conflicted. ‘Everything is possible.’

‘I’d like it a lot if the things the church has been teaching us since childhood weren’t lies,’ Sarah said with a fanciful expression. ‘But it seems more and more impossible to believe anything that comes out of there.’ She pointed at the cupola of Saint Peter’s Basilica, which could be seen from where they were.

‘You said it,’ Jacopo lamented. ‘What’s born crooked can’t be made straight.’

‘Still, it’s lasted for two thousand years,’ Sarah observed.

Jacopo smiled. ‘As you said yourself, it’s hard to believe everything that comes from there. One needs to question everything, including the heritage they claim.’

Sarah understood what Jacopo wanted to say, or at least she thought she did. ‘Are you saying that Pope Ratzinger is not the heir to Peter or, consequently, to Jesus?’

‘I’m saying it’s possible he’s not,’ the historian corrected her. ‘We have the right to question everything, Sarah. Think about it. You’re carrying a gospel that puts the church in a difficult position. If in fact Jesus was the person who wrote it, how could that be justified? To say nothing of the historical impossibility of connecting Peter to Linus, the second pope, and consequently the popes that followed him.’