The Secret of Fatima (27 page)

The silence didn't last long.

Turning to face her, Toby started grilling MC about her Opus Mundi colleagues. “Is there anything you can tell us that might offer insight into their identity or their plans?”

“Well, I remember what some of them looked like and who attended the meetings—if that will help.”

Kevin's phone buzzed.

“Kevin, it's Max. Where've you been?”

“It's been a little hectic, Max.” Kevin filled him in on their rescue of Sister Mary Catherine. “We're now on our way to the airport, but there's been a change in plans. We're going to Spain, and we're taking the good Sister with us.”

“They can go, but you can't,” Max said.

“Of course I'm going, Max. And you need to meet us there, just as we'd planned.”

“Well, listen to this, Kev. His Holiness has asked to see you. Alone. By yourself.”

“What? Are you joking? He's been pope for less than twenty-four hours.”

“It's a direct order. I'm not joking. The meeting is scheduled for five p.m. in the papal quarters.”

“Are you going?”

“I'm not invited. Just you.”

Kevin couldn't wrap his mind around this. He would comply, of course, but what did Porter—
His Holiness
—want to see him about?
And would he learn more about his mentor's undercover agenda? Was Porter, the new pope, aligned with the Catholic Church—or, God forbid—with Opus Mundi?
Kevin checked his watch. He had time to continue the cab ride to the airport with MC and Toby, then turn around and get back to the Vatican.

“Talk to you later,” Kevin told Max. “I should be able to make the appointment on time.”

“What was that about?” asked Toby.

“The new pope wants to see me this afternoon,” Kevin said. “Can you believe that?”

“Geez. That's strange,” MC said. “What about Seville?”

“Look, you two need to get to Seville. Check out the cathedral and the neighborhood where the cell phone towers are located. I'll join you as soon as I can.”

“OK,” Toby said. “We can do that.”

MC stared blankly out the window. Kevin wondered what she was thinking about, but he didn't have the wherewithal to pry at the moment.

At da Vinci Airport, Kevin went to the Alitalia counter and bought MC's ticket to Seville. Next, Toby bought his own. Kevin stayed with them until Toby and MC cleared security and customs and were safely entering the boarding gate.

Since they hadn't planned on leaving so soon, Toby had no baggage. Kevin said he'd follow as soon as he could with their clothes and other necessities, one of them being two pistols which would be concealed in a check-in bag, in a lead envelope. That way, they would be protected from the X-ray scan.

“Good luck, you guys. I'll see you soon,” said Kevin.

“Be careful,” Toby said.

MC hugged him, telling him to hurry to Seville.

Since travelling by train was faster than a taxi through busy traffic, Kevin took one to Rome. Onboard, he had a good half hour to focus on his meeting with the new leader of the Catholic Church.

Years earlier, in the seminary, before he'd taken his final vows, Kevin had a personal crisis, grappling with the choices he'd made. He'd given up Katie, whom he loved deeply, and bet his future on a mystical calling to a life whose rewards wouldn't all come in this life.
And why?
The answer was that the voices in his head, what he dubbed the calling, were mysteriously insistent. Some would say it was a purely clinical psychological defect: obsessive behavior. Others saw it from a mystical perspective, as if an unrelenting pressure at his back, like a strong wind, was pushing him into the world of God. Escaping from this simply wasn't an option.

Only when Kevin relented to the calling had he found relief. He knew this was what God wanted. Who was he to balk? Serving God was his one mission. The Mother Mary would be his guide.

Now he was about to confront the leader of a billion Catholics, uncertain as to whether this pope was a follower of the Catholic Church, or an imposter for a Satanic cause. Kevin prayed for the wisdom to know the truth.

At the train station, Kevin grabbed a cab and rode to the Vatican, and his apartment. Once inside, he changed into his finest black suit and turned white collar. At the appointed time, he arrived at the gate to the Apostolic Palace. The Swiss guard snapped to attention while a clerk verified his identity. A male secretary dressed in a blue suit greeted him at the bottom of the stairs and led him up the wide marble staircase to the second floor. He was escorted into an antechamber and instructed to sit and wait.

At first, Kevin was too anxious to sit. He scanned the whole room, admiring the frescoes on the wall and the marble fireplace. Eighteenth-century oil paintings of religious themes adorned the high walls. The painted ceiling depicted clouds and angels floating in the sky. It was evident that the upper tiers of the Vatican hierarchy lived in lavish style.

Nervous for a few moments, he paced the floor, then sat in a Louis XVI chair.

Suddenly, a hidden door on one side of the room opened, and a young man, dressed in a blue suit, came toward him. He spoke in nearly perfect English, “His Holiness is ready for you, Father.”

Kevin followed the attendant into the library attached to the pope's personal quarters, where the pope gave his Sunday blessing to those in St. Peter's Square. Kevin glanced around. There were shelves of leather tomes in bookcases, comfortably worn down chairs, and plumped sofas. Oil paintings of austere looking prelates, accented with picture lights, lined the walls. Kevin imagined they were the popes of centuries past.

Kevin stood quietly, waiting.

A few moments later, a chamberlain walked in and announced, “His Holiness, Linus the Second.”

The tall figure of John Porter, dressed in papal white with the gold cross and chain around his neck, entered the room, smiling broadly.

Somehow, to Kevin, the reality of Porter as pope, and the setting, caused the whole scene to seem surreal, reminding him of Hollywood, red carpets, and the Academy Awards. “
The award for best portrayal of a pope goes to
…”

“Thanks for coming, Kevin,” the pontiff said.

“Your Holiness,” Kevin said while going through the motions of Church protocol and falling to one knee. He took the pontiff's extended hand and kissed the ring. It all still seemed unreal, like a dream.
Porter, the pope. Porter, his mentor and friend, the pope?

“Let's sit over here.” The pope gestured to a plumped sofa flanked by an equally plumped chair. Kevin followed him and sat down.

His Holiness waved his hand at the young man in the blue suit, who bowed, backing out of the room.

“I know you're surprised,” the pope began, sounding like himself, “and you're not the only one.”

“I don't know if congratulations is the appropriate thing to say, Holiness,” Kevin said.

Porter smiled. “It'll do just fine. Would you like a coffee?”

“No, thank you.”

“Then let's get down to business. Your mission. I need a progress report. Now that I've been elected, it's assumed an even greater importance.”

The moment of truth
. Kevin had wondered what he'd do if it came to this. And he was ready, for better or worse.

“Holiness, I've got a problem. We've made some progress in learning about Opus Mundi, but one of the things we learned has to do with their plans for leadership.”

His Holiness looked at Kevin. With surprise.

Kevin spoke deliberately. “We understand Opus Mundi had planned to insinuate their leader into office as the newly elected pope.”

Porter's face froze. Kevin held his breath. This powerful man could summon his security police and put Kevin in the dungeons forever. The Vatican was its own sovereign state. The pope was its universal, omnipotent leader.

Suddenly, Porter—Pope Linus the Second—began laughing. He continued for a moment, wiping his eyes, laughing even louder.

Kevin was spooked, witnessing the new pope laughing hysterically.
Was he missing something?

The pope's laughing turned into a smile, and he stopped. Finally, Kevin smiled.

“That's the best laugh I've had all day! You thought I might be the puppet pope?” The pope pointed to his chest, wiping the tears from his eyes.

“I'm sorry, Holiness. It wasn't about doubting you. It was about observing the wiles of Opus Mundi. I had no choice.”

“Well, let me help you out. You're partially right. There was a candidate who nearly got the votes—I'm not going to expose him because I'm not one hundred percent certain—but I believe he was the candidate you're concerned about, Kevin.” Porter leaned across the table and stared directly at Kevin. “But it's not me.”

“Sorry I even had to ask.” Kevin still wasn't one hundred percent convinced.

“I know you'll want proof. We need to get this out of the way and get on with our mission. The Church is still in danger.”

“I'm very aware of that, Holiness.”

“Let's think through this logically. I'm the one who recommended hiring you. I know you better than anyone; you're the best for the job, Kevin. If I were the culprit, would I have done that, picked the best man for the job?”

“Thank you, Eminence … er … a … Your Holiness.”
Good
, Kevin thought. But it still wasn't enough to ease his mind.

“Opus Mundi put the world on edge by starting the Israeli-Iran War. Now we're on the verge of a nuclear holocaust. We can't let that happen.”

Kevin nodded. “I agree.”

“So I have a plan, and I'm telling you first. I intend to call for a peace conference here at the Vatican. I will invite the Iranian, Israeli, and American leadership to attend. With God's help, we can work this out, cease the hostilities, the war, and whatever else could happen.”

“Will they attend?” Kevin asked.

Porter smiled. “I'm not naïve, son. I sent feelers out this morning through diplomatic channels and have already received promising responses from Iran and the U.S. Haven't heard from Israel yet, but if the U.S. applies pressure, I expect they'll come. The Iranians won't meet directly with the Israelis—that's one of their conditions—but that we can work around.”

Kevin felt an immediate sense of relief. This was major news, and if true, enough confirmation of whose side Porter was on. “That's wonderful news, Holiness.”

“I've ordered Vatican security doubled and we're getting help from the United States Secret Service. I haven't forgotten my predecessor's fate.” Porter took a deep breath. “But this isn't why I called you here.”

The pope rose and walked to the window overlooking St. Peter's Square. He stared out at the crowds below as they milled around the Bernini fountains. “I want to talk about the secret of Fatima and Opus Mundi's interest in it.”

Kevin thought that Porter had made a pretty convincing case of why he wasn't involved with OM; still, he'd reserve judgment. “Holiness, I've made some progress,” Kevin said. He went on to say there were two missing pages to the secret and that there was something in those two missing pages that Opus Mundi feared most of all.

“What's more,” Kevin said, “I have a hunch where the pages are.”

The pontiff nodded and folded his hands. For a moment, he closed his eyes. “Strange. I've heard rumors over the years about those missing pages. This is the first confirmation of those rumors. You sure about this, Kevin?”

Kevin nodded. “I had the CIA go over the original secret, revealed in 2000. It's astonishing that it predicted the assassination attempt on Pope John Paul II, but mysteriously, what's got us tearing our hair out, is that there's nothing either coded or stated outright in those pages that's an apocalyptic prediction.”

“Yet, you believe Opus Mundi sees something there.”

“Not there, Holiness,” said Kevin. “The answer came when I spoke to the priest who helped Sister Lucia transcribe the secret back in 1944. He told me there were six pages to the secret, and the one released in 2000 had only four pages. Hence the real secret must be on the missing two pages.”

“If, by the grace of God, you find the pages, please keep in mind that I alone am authorized to read them,” Porter said.

“Understood, Holiness.”

“I asked for you to meet me today because I wanted an updated progress report.” The pontiff smiled. “Well, I got one. Now, it's late and I have much to do. Kevin, I wish you Godspeed, and I will pray for your continued success.”

Kevin rose and knelt before the Holy Father. Porter blessed him, making the Sign of the Cross above Kevin's head, a traditional gesture. Yet this was a time when things were unfolding that weren't traditional.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Rome, Italy

Kevin lay stretched out on his bed, staring idly up at the ceiling, his heart racing. Sweat beaded his forehead. Anxiety was getting the best of him. He'd coped with multiple stressful events in his life.
But how had it all come to this?
He came to Italy for a small assignment, and now here he was in the middle of a world war, espionage entanglements, satanic plots, and the looming mystery of the secret of Fatima.

Never had Kevin doubted his calling as a priest, but often he'd wondered why he'd been called. Given his military background, he knew he wasn't a typical candidate by any measure. Now, perhaps, his mission was coming into focus. Kevin was becoming increasingly certain his calling and the fabled secret of Fatima somehow were divinely intertwined.

When his phone buzzed, Kevin found a text from Toby and MC. They were in Seville, at the elegant Alfonso XIII Hotel. Years ago, Kevin had been there. The hotel was nothing short of a palace. Commissioned by King Alfonso XIII for special guests of the Iber-American Exposition in Seville, it was built in the late twenties. It dazzled the senses with its majestic arches, colorful ceramics, brickwork, and ornamental towers.