John Lyman - The Secret Chapel

Following the ritual, the two priests covered the body in a white sheet and placed a plain wooden crucifix on his chest. Leo turned away from the door and gave a silent prayer for the gentle soul of his friend. Wiping the tears from his face, he stood in the hallway as Lundahl and the others exited the apartment. It was only then that Leo realized John was nowhere to be seen.

A strong hand clasped Leo’s shoulder from behind. He turned to see the cardinal looking at him with a mixture of questioning and sympathy. “I’m glad you could be here for him, Leopold. Our dear brother is now in heaven. We are all deeply saddened by the loss of such a good and noble man. I’m sorry that we could not allow you into the room, but it was a request from Father Morelli himself. He gave instructions that, in the event of his death, he didn’t want any of his friends to stand around and look down on his earthly body. I suppose he wanted to preserve your memory of him in life.”

“Thank you, Eminence.” Leo was touched by the apparent sincerity of the cardinal’s words. Lundahl clasped his hands together and stood silently for a moment before continuing. “Father Morelli was one of a kind. Out of all our classmates at seminary, he was the most intriguing, a true Renaissance man. I only wish the Church had more soldiers of the cross like him. I know we had our disagreements, but he was a special and valuable member of a dwindling community.”

Leo took a deep breath. “The Church is like a big family, Cardinal, and families sometimes disagree. I never felt that Father Morelli took your differing views personally.”

“You’re very wise, Leopold. I hope you will stay close to us in the days to come.”

“I plan to stay until after the funeral, Eminence, longer if you need me.”

The cardinal paused for a moment, looking down at the floor. He then lifted his gaze and fixed Leo with what could only be called a look of total exhaustion. “I fear I must cancel our lunch appointment today. I have something of a situation on my hands, and I’m sure you need some time for solitary reflection.”

Leo’s concern and curiosity was getting the best of him. “Can I be of any assistance, Eminence? I noticed all the security men around. Is everything alright?”

Lundahl’s look of exhaustion disappeared. “Oh…yes…of course. Coincidentally, Father Emilio was notified that some valuable historical papers went missing from the Vatican library last night and our security people are looking for them. Sometimes scholars studying manuscripts take them to their apartments by mistake.”

The stern-looking security man took the cardinal’s statement as his cue to speak. “Yes, it has nothing to do with the death of Father Morelli.”

Leo watched Lundahl stiffen noticeably. The cardinal was staring at the man with the expression one gives a child who is misbehaving in public. The security man immediately realized he had spoken out of turn and made a hasty retreat down the hall, where he began shouting orders to the guards searching the rooms.

Leo saw that the cardinal’s gaze had shifted back to him.

“Please give my secretary a call tomorrow, Leopold. I’ll instruct him to set up a lunch meeting for just the two of us. I need to talk with you about some matters of great importance. God bless you, and also Father Morelli.” With that, Lundahl turned and strode down the hall, his black and scarlet cassock flowing out behind him.

Father Leo exited the building into the din of early morning traffic. Crowds of tourists were streaming into the holy city. Most were heading toward the Sistine Chapel to view Michelangelo’s magnificent ceiling, while others circled Saint Peter’s Square, hoping for a glimpse of the pope. Distraught with the terrible news of Father Morelli’s death, Leo had no appetite for breakfast. What he really needed now was a drink. As a priest, a man of faith, he should feel joy for a soul now in heaven. But he was also a mortal man and, as such, was grieving for a friend he had known most of his adult life. Yes, what he needed now more than anything was a drink.

Leo walked out of Vatican City, numb to the brilliant sunshine and rows of multicolored flowers springing to life in nearby flowerbeds. His ears were deaf to the birds singing from the rooftops. He kept his head down, not wanting to acknowledge a smile from anyone crossing his path. He crossed the Ponte Vittorio Emanuele II over the river Tiber and continued along the Via Giulia , one of the first Renaissance streets to cut through Rome’s hodgepodge of medieval alleys. Turning left onto the Via Del Pellegrino , he walked slowly until he found himself in the Piazza Campo de’ Fiori . He crossed the piazza, finally coming to rest under one of several green umbrella-covered tables located in front of a traditional family-owned trattoria . Father Morelli and Leo had come here often. Together, they would share a bottle of wine and eat pasta in the afternoon, talking and laughing with friends and students about the day’s events.

Leo ordered a glass of wine and sat staring out into the piazza. The tables around him were full of customers bound together in the time-honored Roman tradition of people watching. This activity usually relaxed him when he was tense or stressed, but despite the pleasant surroundings, questions nagged at the periphery of his thoughts.

Why wasn’t John at the residence hall this morning? Were there really “evil forces” at work against them? If this were true, had something happened to John? Who were the archaeological priests who had uncovered the tunnel at the Mamertine Prison? And finally, why did Anthony summon him to Rome? He was pummeled by questions, like the punches he received years ago when he fought in high school boxing matches under the gaze of his father and brothers. Morelli could have found the chapel without his help, but he had wanted Leo to come to Rome for a reason, even if Leo still had no clear idea what the true motive really was. One thing he knew for sure: Father Morelli’s work was not finished, and time had run out for him. Whatever the rationale, Leo knew he was now committed to learning more about the code and the ancient chapel under the Vatican.

A waiter hustled around the table. “Another glass of wine, Father?”

“No, grazie .”

Opening his wallet, Leo saw that it was still empty and remembered that he had again forgotten to get cash.

“ Accettate carte di credito? ” Leo asked.

“ Si , Father, we take cards.”

Leo began thumbing through his wallet when he felt a tap on the shoulder. Squinting up into the sunshine, he spied the unmistakable brown robe of a Franciscan brother.

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” John said, exasperation showing on his face. He threw some Euros on the table and grabbed Leo by the arm, practically lifting him from the chair.

“We have to go. Now, Father.”

Leo pushed back his chair. “What’s the hurry, John?”

“Do you know what the security guys were looking for?”

“Not really. Some stolen church documents, according to Cardinal Lundahl.”

“Wrong,” John said. “They were looking for this.” He shoved a small, blue plastic object in front of Leo’s face. “This is what they are looking for, and we really must go.”

Looking around the piazza, John slid the object under his robe and into his pants pocket. Whatever was going on, Leo instinctively knew that, at this moment, he should follow John and ask questions later.

Racing across the piazza, the two men entered a side street, where Leo saw Father Morelli’s bright red car parked along the curb with the top down. John opened the trunk and threw his brown monk’s robe inside next to the backpack holding the ancient stone brick. Wearing only jeans, a white T-shirt, and sandals, he jumped into the driver’s seat and motioned for Leo to get in. Leo hesitated for a moment, feeling slightly uncomfortable about getting into Morelli’s beloved sports car.