John Lyman - The Secret Chapel

The skies above the city had cleared, and the demonic wind was gone. The people of Rome peered out from the protection of their shops, restaurants, and homes. The sudden vicious storm had been accompanied by howls heard throughout the city, filling thousands with the certainty that the end of the world was at hand. Many had suffered from a form of demonic possession, falling to the ground in twisted shapes, growling and speaking in ancient languages they had no knowledge of. As the darkness lifted, the people affected by the presence of the demons found themselves wandering aimlessly through the streets in a daze with no memory of what had happened to them. It was as if they had just awakened from a very bad dream, but when they tried to remember, the details were too horrible for their subconscious to recall.

Inside the Basilica, the throngs of people who had crowded together to be closer to God had felt his presence in the face of a terrible storm, the likes of which no one in Rome had ever seen before. They had fallen to their knees and prayed aloud behind the massive doors protecting them from the wind and flying debris outside. The pope himself had rushed from his quarters to the altar in Saint Peter’s, where he had prayed for the salvation of mankind.

The drama of the miracle below Saint Peter’s Basilica was still unknown to the rest of the world. None of Rome’s citizens knew why the mysterious events that had occurred in and around the city ended as suddenly as they had begun. With the sun setting over the Eternal City, the bewildered mass of people who had gathered inside the colossal church began to flow outside into the square. Together, they walked out into the piazza toward the obelisk in the center, their eyes filled with wonder at the damage caused by the storm. Broken statues, glass, chairs, and other debris littered the ground around them, but despite the terror and damage caused by the storm, an unexplained sense of peace had settled over the city.

Cardinal Lundahl staggered from the ancient chapel and collapsed into the outstretched arms of the priests and cardinals in the tunnel. His skin was pale-his breathing rapid and shallow.

“Shouldn’t we be getting him to a hospital?” Leo asked.

“No,” Morelli said. “He’s totally exhausted. I’ve seen this before after exorcisms. We will take him to his apartment and let the Vatican doctor look after him. He needs spiritual as well as physical healing now.”

“What about you, Father?” John said. “You took a pretty good hit on the head.”

Morelli smiled and pointed to his head for the others to see. The gash was gone. It had disappeared when he was translating what the archangels were saying. With evidence of miracles all around them, they realized that God was now working openly among modern man to show his presence in the world, and only fools or those hopelessly lost to his words would fail to heed his message of love.

Alon and John helped the priests carry the cardinal’s limp figure, snaking their way through the tunnel until they reached some ancient hand-hewn steps leading out of the catacombs to the grotto above.

John suddenly remembered the radio transmission they had received earlier from the yacht. “Do you think the rocket hit Jerusalem, Father Leo?”

“After what we just saw in the chapel, any miracle is possible, John.”

Everyone was still in a state of detachment following the supernatural events of the past hour. Their expressions were vacant. The physical world around them was slowly coming back into focus as they concentrated on going through the motions of living. They were functioning in the present, but their minds were still filled with the angelic vision they had just witnessed. Angels really did exist.

They continued upward through a doorway and out of the dank necropolis into the fresh air of the grotto beneath the basilica. The Swiss Guards loyal to the cardinal were everywhere as Francois guided Leo and the others through the doorway. A crew of paramedics and security officers carefully lifted the cardinal and placed him on a stretcher. Surrounded now by the light and splendor of the marble crypt, Lundahl opened his eyes and looked at Morelli as if he had just awakened from a dream. “Did we succeed, Father?”

Morelli took his hand. “Yes, Your Eminence, you placed the unholy book on the altar, and it was destroyed. Nothing remains but ashes now.”

“Good… good. Has anything else happened in the world since we were down in the chapel?”

Leo glanced at Morelli but was met by a look that indicated the cardinal shouldn’t be burdened with any further news at the moment. Paramedics lifted the stretcher and headed off toward the cardinal’s apartment followed by an entourage of priests and other cardinals. The Vatican’s chief of security trotted along, never leaving the cardinal’s side, while Leo and the others struggled as they climbed the final series of polished steps into the Basilica.

The enormous open doors of the Basilica and the fresh breeze from outside beckoned the group toward the entrance. Their walk turned to a jog before they noticed the bronze pillars surrounding the main altar, causing them to stop with the knowledge that they could never leave this church without offering a prayer of thanks to God for His intervention in the chapel.

When they were finished with their prayers, everyone turned and ran outside where they breathed in the exquisite Roman air tinged with the aroma of spring flowers that bloomed in the Vatican gardens. Especially the roses.

Lev looked up into the fading sky and marveled at the stars that seemed to be switching on one by one in the growing darkness. “I have a strong feeling that Jerusalem is still intact and that somehow the rocket was stopped.”

Leo shot John a glance. He then turned to the newly resurrected Father Morelli. “Is there somewhere we can find a television set and tune in to the news?”

Morelli was about to speak when Alon’s radio crackled to life. “Alon, come in. This is the Carmela. Do you read us?” Alon grabbed the mike and keyed it. “Yes, Carmela, come in. We read you.”

“Where are you?” It was Alex. “Is everyone alright? Did you complete your mission?”

Alon smiled at the others. “Yes, we’re OK. Our mission was a success. Have you heard any news from Jerusalem?”

There was silence. Standing in the middle of Saint Peter’s Square, they looked down at the ground in the gathering twilight listening for words to return through the air over the still radio. The tension was palpable-they all wondered if their worst fears had been realized. The sound of Alex’s voice broke the stillness. “There’s been a miracle in the Holy Land. The missile headed for Jerusalem disappeared over the city about half an hour ago.”

Leo exhaled. Exactly the same time as the Devil’s Bible burst into flames.

Shouts of relief filled the air as they all embraced one another. Alon broke into a huge grin and physically lifted John off the pavement, causing Ariella to shriek with laughter. People around them looked on in amusement as the group danced around, hugging and clapping each other on the back.

Alex’s voice came back over the radio. “Gabriella was flying over the city when it happened. Her unit was scrambled from their base in Tel Aviv, and when their helicopters arrived on the outskirts of Jerusalem, the incoming warhead just vanished in midair. They all saw the image of a giant golden sword appear in the sky overhead … it lit up the entire city before it slowly faded away.”

The group was hushed as they realized that two miracles had occurred on this day. It was a jubilant moment worthy of celebration. The Devil’s Bible had finally been destroyed, and Jerusalem had been spared a nuclear holocaust.