Bipolar Winter—Chapter One Present-day Rome . "All truths are easy to understand once they are discovered; the point is to discover them." —Galileo Galilei Aldo Lombardi paced in the large antechamber outside of the pope’s chambers within the Apostolic Palace. Just twelve hours ago he had been vacationing with his parents in Colorado. That changed when he was brusquely ordered by two stone-face Romans to follow them. Twenty minutes later, with a hastily prepared suitcase in hand, he was whisked into a private jet. And now he stood waiting to see the most powerful man of the Catholic Church. His knees trembled. Why would he, a mere historian, be summoned before Pope Benedict XVI? His two escorts provided no explanation, no conversation, nothing but a gentle shove into the jet. Aldo had just received his PhD from the Pontifical Gregorian University last week. The day after his graduation, his parents had surprised him with a skiing holiday in Aspen. They must have been saving for years. He hoped they would continue to enjoy the vacation without him. When the door to the pope’s study opened, Aldo couldn’t help but cross himself. Please Lord, don’t let me faint. “Buonasera, Signore,” an older gentleman said with a twinkle in his eye. Aldo immediately recognized him to be the president of the Vatican City’s legislative body. He was dressed in formal Cardinal robes. Say something! Aldo silently directed himself, as he closed his gaping mouth. His Eminence Sebastiano Bastianelli was something of a hero to Aldo, a rock star in the Catholic world. “Your Eminence,” Aldo murmured, bowing respectfully. “No need for titles here,” Sabastiano said. “We’re behind closed doors.” “Of course,” Aldo said. The Cardinal gestured for Aldo to enter the pope’s chambers and again Aldo felt his knees buckle. As he entered the great room, he marveled at the magnificent art on the walls. His feet echoed as he crossed the marble floor, before they touched a beautiful woven rug with intricate patterns. The ceiling reached at least two stories up and there were beautiful frescoes painted overhead. Aldo wondered who had painted them. “Michael Angelo,” Sabastiano commented, as if reading his mind. “Beautiful, no?” “Most amazing!” Aldo said. There were many seating areas throughout the room. Bookshelves holding thousands of books lined the walls. Aldo wondered what secrets the pope’s books held. Finally his eyes found and rested on Pope Benedict, who was standing patiently with a vaguely amused expression on his face. “Senore Lombardi,” he said. “I have heard so much about you. I enjoyed reading your thesis on the division of Christianity. You had some very insightful theories.” Aldo stopped dead in his tracks and paled slightly in front of the pope. He had a kind face, but the immenseness of his office made the man seem like a giant. Aldo lowered his gaze and said, “Your Holiness. I am your humble servant.” He continued forward and knelt before Pope Benedict. The pope extended his hand for Aldo. Sabastiano hung back, quietly observing them. The Ring of the Fisherman was something he had only seen in photographs. This large gold ring was lettered with Benedict’s name and showed a picture of Saint Peter in a fishing boat, since all popes are considered to follow in the footsteps of the apostle Peter. He gently and reverently kissed the ring before rising. “Please, won’t you join me for espresso?” Aldo nodded, looking at the pope for the first time. Benedict guided him to a chair. He sat down and quietly waited as a servant poured the thick hot coffee. “You’re wondering why you’ve been called here,” Benedict said. “Yes, your Holiness,” Aldo replied. “The men you sent didn’t give me any information.” The pope laughed a deep chuckle. “No, they wouldn’t,” he said, “Mostly because they themselves do not know. I simply said I wanted to see you and they did my bidding.” Aldo nodded. “How may I serve you?” “Your thesis more than interested me, it concerned me,” the pope said, his brows wrinkling slightly. A thrill of terror went up Aldo’s spine. He’d devoted three years to his paper, which was almost rejected by the University. In it he discussed the seven main branches of Christianity, citing the commonalities more than the differences. His final conclusion was bordering on heresy. He believed the Christian faith was still basically one religion with seven arms, with one strong exception. “Your paper was nearly rejected, was it not?” Benedict said. “Yes,” Aldo exclaimed. “But at the last moment it was accepted and I received my PhD.” “Do you know why it was accepted?” “I assumed the committee finally saw the merits of my discussion.” “No, not the committee,” the pope murmured. “Who then?” “One man championed you,” the pope said solemnly, piercing Aldo’s eyes with his. “You?” “Yes.” “Why?” “It was too close to the truth,” the pope said, shifting his position. “You uncovered one of our strongest secrets we’ve kept within the Church for centuries. I’m afraid your paper will never be published.” The pope’s words reverberated through Aldo’s skull. Never be published? It was death in his field. All those years spent huddled over his desk, researching until all hours of the night, learning to work on four hours of sleep a day. All for naught. “Your work will continue here,” the pope said when he saw the blood leave Aldo’s face. “All is not lost.” “So, it is all true then.” There was some satisfaction in knowing that his theories were spot on. “Yes, Septum Montes is in full swing.” “Septum Montes?” “The true name for the project you hinted around. The seven discrete sects of Christianity were created by my predecessors. It began with Martin Luther, as you surmised.” “I knew it!” Aldo cried. The pope gestured for him to settle down. “Yes. It was most impressive.” Aldo collected himself and said, “I had pieces, but there’s more, isn’t there?” “Yes, there is more. I’m curious, you never mentioned who created the seven sects.” “No, I don’t know who instigated it.” “But, you must have wondered.” “Of course,” Aldo said, glancing away. “What is your hypothesis?” Aldo studied the intricate pattern of the rug below his feet. “I don’t have the facts to give an accurate conclusion.” Beads of sweat formed on his brow. Somehow he didn’t think the pope would let this line of questioning lie. “But what is your theory?” the pope said, leaning in. “You must have a theory.” “Luther was obviously not the originator of the separation,” Aldo said carefully. “It just never made sense given his background and complete faith to the Catholic Church. It seemed to me that history was written through the careful guidance of someone in power.” “Who?” The pope asked. Aldo looked up into the intense eyes of the pope. “It seems to me that the person would have been someone quite elevated in our Church, someone who had a master plan for the greater good for the world.” “And that would be?” Aldo took a deep breath. When asked such a direct question, he had no choice but to give an honest answer. “It would have to be a directive from your office.” He knew that his words could get him banished from the Church he loved so much, from his life as a student of God, from the studies that had given him such spiritual peace. The pope leaned back and graced Aldo with a gentle smile. “You look as though you await a death sentence.” “Well,” Aldo said. “Excommunication is death to me.” The pope raised his eyebrows. “I am not known to excommunicate a parishioner for a simple honest answer,” he said. “No, I have called you here for a different purpose. I want to offer you a position.” “A job?” Aldo chocked with disbelief. Not only was he not to be exiled, but he was going to be offered work at the most prestigious office in the world. “You have a bright mind. I need your help.” Aldo relaxed for the first time. “What sort of position?” “We will go over the particulars at a later time. For the time being we need to catch you up to speed with what has been happening. Our Church is in peril.” The moment of relaxation was over. “What sort of danger?” “You have an idea,” the pope said solemnly. “You’ve been writing essays about it for nine months.” Aldo whispered, “The Dark Internet.” “Correct.” “So, I’m right,” Aldo said, sitting back. His head was swimming out of control. He had uncovered quite by accident, information on The Dark Internet. He’d hypothesized that the Catholic Church used it. “What is The Dark Internet?” Sebastiano asked. Aldo looked to the pope who nodded briefly, encouraging him to answer the cardinal. “The Dark Internet is a large underground unreachable internet, far beneath the surface internet that the world uses. It is vast with nearly unlimited storage capacity and completely unhackable.” “Why have I never heard of this?” the cardinal asked. The pope laid a hand on his arm. “You are not privy to all the secrets of this office.” Sebastiano nodded. He turned to Aldo. “How does The Dark Internet relate to the World Wide Web?” Aldo replied, “If you think of the public internet as the top of an iceberg, the bottom portion is equivalent to The Deep Web. Below that lies The Dark Internet, the world of unreachable network hosts. It’s an entirely hidden internet.” “But what does this have to do with our Church?” “I believe that the leaders have been storing information there, perhaps portions of the Vatican Secret Archives are held there?” Aldo said. “Preposterous!” Sebastiano cried out. “What you say is blasphemy.” Pope Benedict held up his hand and said, “Listen, my old friend. He has unique insights.” Most of his theories had been shunned by his professors and colleagues. He was sure that some of his classmates wondered if his next paper might propose that the leaders of the Catholic Church were in fact aliens from another planet, seeking a new spawning ground. Aldo’s voice cracked, but he continued. He found strength through the support of the pope, who nodded encouragingly. “The vast library of the Great Archives will not last forever,” Aldo said. “Although some of the most holy and precious documents are held in the underground, climate controlled vault, it makes sense to record the papers electronically.” “And so now, putting the two riddles together, what do you surmise?” the pope asked. Aldo gasped. “Septum Montes has been recorded on The Dark Internet,” he breathed. “Yes,” the Pope confirmed. “All the historical documentation of what would be viewed as the biggest conspiracy on Earth is recorded on The Dark Internet.” “If that is uncovered…” Aldo began. The cardinal finished the thought. “The stability of the world would be shaken to its core.” Aldo whispered. "The apocalypse.” The pope nodded. “The riots that would break out could spell the end of the world. You see why we’ve asked you here. We need your help.” “But The Dark Internet is safe,” Aldo said. “Is it?” the pope asked. “Are you saying that The Dark Internet is not as unhackable as was presumed?” Sebastiano asked quietly. The pope nodded slightly. “That is my fear. There have been rumblings from the seventh. I think they may have knowledge.” “The seventh?” Aldo asked. “The seventh sect created from Septum Montes. Six of the seven distinct religions created to instigate passion and religious interest in spirituality, kept to the plan, stayed within the design. One, the seventh, strayed and is now like a rebellious teenager seeking to gain independence at any cost,” the pope said. “More like a demon,” Sebastiano muttered. “How long has the seventh known?” Aldo asked. “It is hard to be sure,” the pope said. “Who are they? Which religion?” Aldo asked. The pope and cardinal were silent. Finally Sebastiano said, “Let’s take this one step at a time.” So, they don’t completely trust me, Aldo thought. His mind raced and he wondered which group it could be. “Why have I been called here?” Aldo asked. “We need your help,” the pope said. “And we need for you to stop promoting your theories.” He gave Aldo a stern look. He nodded. “Right. So, where do I start?” “Settle in,” the pope said, standing up. Aldo knew he was being dismissed. He stood up, too. “Yes, your Holiness.” “We have set up quarters for you here. David will show you to your room,” the pope said, indicating a young man dressed in white robes who suddenly appeared waiting for Aldo to follow him. “We have a lot to discuss and you need intense indoctrination.” When Aldo looked surprised, Sebastiano smiled. “When you received your doctorate you thought that was the end of your studies, didn’t you?” Aldo nodded. “I had thought my days of intense study were behind me.” “Aldo, you’ll have access to some of the documents only viewed by an elite few from your generation. Only a handful of Catholic elders were ever permitted to see the Vatican Secret Archives,” the pope said. But why have you chosen me? Aldo thought. “We’ll meet you for breakfast tomorrow at 8:00 am in the southeast courtyard. The garden is enchanting this time of year,” the pope said. The cardinal turned to leave with Aldo and David, but the pope stopped him with a touch on his arm. He nodded almost imperceptibly and waited for Pope Benedict to speak. When the door closed behind Aldo, the pope said, “Sebastiano, you disagree with me, don’t you?” “It isn’t my place to agree or disagree,” Sebastiano answered diplomatically. The pope chuckled. “But you do nonetheless.” Sebastiano remained silent, but raised his left eyebrow slightly. It was the most defiance he would show. “Are you familiar with Sun-Tzu?” the pope asked. “Of course,” Sebastiano said. “It has always been required reading at the University.” “I’m just keeping Aldo closer, that’s all.” Sebastiano’s eyes flashed. “Really?” he whispered. “You fooled me.” “Hopefully I fooled our young historian,” the pope said. Aldo followed David through the maze of corridors away from the pope’s study to his small, but elegantly appointed room. He never imagined setting foot in the Apostolic Palace, let alone spending the night here. The walls breathed history like a faint perfume. It was intoxicating to him. David left him and he unpacked his small suitcase. Aldo looked around and noticed a small door that led out to a little balcony. A small wrought iron chair adorned the corner. It was a perfect spot for contemplation after a long day of traveling. Aldo sat down and looked out at the stone walkway leading out from the palace one story down. No one was out at this time of night. He suspected that many in the house were up before dawn. He heard a gentle cooing and found a small dove had perched on the edge of the rail. He was so entranced by the small bird that he almost missed the ping of a small rock that landed near his feet. Puzzled, he bent down and scooped up the stone. It was dark, but he saw that it was in fact a paper ball. His heart beat fast as he unraveled the paper. Blast it, he thought. I need my glasses. There was writing on the paper, there must be. He rummaged around the room, found his spectacles and put them on. The paper was tiny, so he could barely make out the letters “Cipro station NOW!” The Cipro subway station was 20 minutes away by foot, if he could somehow leave the walls of the palace. Who had thrown the paper? He went back outside and scanned the courtyard. No one was there. Maybe it was a prank like they used to play back in school. The older students enjoyed hazing new students who arrived to the University. Little tricks and traps were laid for the freshmen at every turn until they were no longer gullible and naive. It was the norm. It was clear that he was basically starting over and would need to prove himself again. He was a freshman once again. He threw back his head and laughed. Tire out the poor new guy after his long flight and nerve-wracking meeting. Perhaps it was a test. Aldo sighed and felt his eyes droop. Of course, a test. I guess I’m not done with those either, Aldo thought as he disrobed and laid out his night clothes. Eager to wash the smell of airports and cabs off his body he turned on the shower. As he waited for the water to heat he looked around for soap and shampoo. When the steam started to fog up the mirror he stepped in and allowed the hot water to beat against his back. He luxuriated there for a good ten minutes before climbing out. He wrapped the large cream-colored towel around his body and stepped back into his room. “Good evening Mr. Lombardi,” a man dressed in black said from the left. “Who are you?” Aldo cried. The man’s face betrayed no emotion. When he didn’t answer, Aldo looked him up and down and asked, “Why are you here in my room?” “Didn’t you get my note?” a very familiar, feminine voice said from behind. “Allison!” Aldo turned around to find himself face to face with the most beautiful blue eyes he’d ever known. Her honey hair fell down around her shoulders. “I can’t believe you’re here.” Am I dreaming? Her laughter sounded like wind chimes on a summer’s day to him. “No, you’re not dreaming.” Aldo turned beet red. Did I really say that out loud? He’d always had a crush on Allison, ever since he’d met her sophomore year at the college pub. She had a quick mind and always supported his wild ideas. He never drummed up the nerve to tell her that she was the last thing he thought of before he went to bed each night. She occupied his day dreams as well. They were “friends.” He couldn’t risk losing that. He reached out and pushed her hair behind her left ear. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?” The questions came unchecked off Aldo’s tongue. “You mean, what is a sweet little Mormon girl from Utah doing in the middle of the Vatican?” She tilted her head to the right. She was so damn lovely. He grinned at her. “Something like that.” “You were on to something, you know,” she said. “I just learned that,” Aldo murmured. “Not just Septum Montes,” Allison said. “How did you know about Septum Montes? I just learned the name.” Allison reached out and gently caressed his chest. Aldo couldn’t help himself, he closed his eyes and sighed with pleasure. The other man was forgotten for a moment. Perhaps Allison felt the same way he did. “Your button, Aldo,” Allison said gently. His fantasy was interrupted as he realized she was patting his shirt button, not his chest. Still foggy, he asked, “My button?” “Surveillance,” she said. “We’ve been monitoring your conversations.” “You have?” he turned red again, madly trying to think of all the conversations he’d had recently. “For how long?” Again Allison giggled, “Aldo, sweetheart, you’re cute.” She turned around and looked out the window. “There are many secrets within these walls. We need your help to uncover them.” “I’m not a spy,” Aldo said. “I’m just a scholar, a historian.” “I know.” Allison spun around. “But you’ve single-handedly connected many dots, more than anyone else has. You’re close to the Bride’s Day Secret.” Aldo nodded. “But I have no proof.” “You will, sooner than you realize. You’re in the right place.” “What am I looking for?” “You’re asking me?” Allison asked grinning, tilting her head. His pulse quickened. He loved the way she teased him. “William Miller is the key,” he said. “I agree.” Aldo snapped his fingers. "The Seventh-day Adventists are the seventh sect! They must be. They’re the ones threatening to reveal the Catholic secrets.” Allison nodded. “Miller is definitely a good place to start. The Vatican Archives should have what you need. But it might be buried.” Aldo looked away. “But I’ll be watched!” Allison paused. “By more than just one set of eyes.” There was a hint of warning in her voice. Aldo looked up at her. “What am I going to do?” “Don’t worry, we’ll be here. Nearby. We’re here to protect and help you.” Allison and her escort walked out onto the balcony. They slipped over the railing and disappeared into the night. It only occurred to him a few minutes later - someone associated with the Mormon Church must have sent Allison. Why? https://sites.google/site/thebipolarwinter2012/home/chapter-five/chapter-one
Posted on: Sat, 10 Aug 2013 18:12:15 +0000
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