Read Online The First Apostle by James Becker - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: James Becker
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Bronson sat down at the kitchen table and looked at the wall clock. If Mark didn’t get up soon, he was going to have to go and wake him: they had things—unpleasant things for both of them—to do today. But even as the thought crossed his mind, he heard his friend’s footsteps on the stairs.
Mark looked dreadful. He was unshaven, unwashed and haggard, wearing an old pair of jeans and a T-shirt that had seen better days. Bronson filled a mug with black coffee and put it on the table in front of him.
“Morning,” he said, as Mark sat down. “Would you like some breakfast?”
His friend shook his head. “No, thanks. I’ll just stick to coffee. I feel about as sharp as a sponge this morning. How long have we got?”
Bronson glanced at his watch. “The mortuary is about a fifteen-minute drive, and we need to be there at nine. You’d better drink that, then we should both go and get ready. Do you want me to ring for a taxi?”
Mark shook his head and took another sip of his coffee. “We’ll take the Alfa,” he said. “The keys are on the hall table, in the small red bowl.”
They left the house thirty minutes later. The temperature was already climbing steeply and there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky, a beautiful day. It would have suited their moods better if it had been raining.
II
Joseph Cardinal Vertutti stared at the ancient text in front of him. He was in the archives of the Apostolic Penitentiary, the most secret and secure of the Vatican’s numerous repositories. Most of the texts stored there were either Papal documents or material that would never be made public because it was protected by the Seal of the Confessional, the promise of absolute confidentiality for Roman Catholic priests for any information gleaned during the confessional. Because access to the archives was strictly controlled, and the contents of the documents never revealed, it was the ideal place to secrete anything the Vatican considered especially dangerous. Which was precisely why the Vitalian Codex had been stored there.
He was sitting at a table in an internal room, the door of which he’d locked from the inside. He pulled on a pair of thin cotton gloves—the fifteen-hundred-year-old relic was extremely fragile and even the slightest amount of moisture from his fingertips could do irreparable long-term damage to the pages. Hands trembling, he reached out and carefully opened the Codex.
The seventh-century Church of Christ, headed by Pope Vitalian, had existed in chaotic times. The arrival of Muhammad and the subsequent emergence of Islam had been a disaster for Christianity and within a few years Christian bishops had virtually vanished from the Middle East and Africa, and both Jerusalem and Egypt became Muslim. The Christian world had been decimated in just a few decades, despite the strenuous efforts of Vitalian and his predecessors to convert the inhabitants of the British Isles and Western Europe.
Somehow Vitalian had found time to study the contents of the archives. He’d summarized his findings in the Codex that bore his name and which Vertutti was studying yet again.
He had first seen the document just more than a decade earlier, and it had frankly terrified him then. He wasn’t even sure why he was looking at it again. There was no information in the Codex he hadn’t already studied and memorized.
The conversation he’d had with Mandino had disturbed him more than he was willing to admit, and as soon as he’d returned to his offices in the Vatican, Vertutti had spent more than an hour meditating and praying for guidance. It greatly concerned him that the very future of the Vatican had, almost by chance, been placed in the hands of a man who was not only a career criminal, but—far worse—also a committed atheist, a man who was apparently almost rabid in his hatred of the Catholic Church.
But as far as Vertutti could see, there was no alternative. Mandino held all the cards. Thanks to Vertutti’s
Mark looked dreadful. He was unshaven, unwashed and haggard, wearing an old pair of jeans and a T-shirt that had seen better days. Bronson filled a mug with black coffee and put it on the table in front of him.
“Morning,” he said, as Mark sat down. “Would you like some breakfast?”
His friend shook his head. “No, thanks. I’ll just stick to coffee. I feel about as sharp as a sponge this morning. How long have we got?”
Bronson glanced at his watch. “The mortuary is about a fifteen-minute drive, and we need to be there at nine. You’d better drink that, then we should both go and get ready. Do you want me to ring for a taxi?”
Mark shook his head and took another sip of his coffee. “We’ll take the Alfa,” he said. “The keys are on the hall table, in the small red bowl.”
They left the house thirty minutes later. The temperature was already climbing steeply and there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky, a beautiful day. It would have suited their moods better if it had been raining.
II
Joseph Cardinal Vertutti stared at the ancient text in front of him. He was in the archives of the Apostolic Penitentiary, the most secret and secure of the Vatican’s numerous repositories. Most of the texts stored there were either Papal documents or material that would never be made public because it was protected by the Seal of the Confessional, the promise of absolute confidentiality for Roman Catholic priests for any information gleaned during the confessional. Because access to the archives was strictly controlled, and the contents of the documents never revealed, it was the ideal place to secrete anything the Vatican considered especially dangerous. Which was precisely why the Vitalian Codex had been stored there.
He was sitting at a table in an internal room, the door of which he’d locked from the inside. He pulled on a pair of thin cotton gloves—the fifteen-hundred-year-old relic was extremely fragile and even the slightest amount of moisture from his fingertips could do irreparable long-term damage to the pages. Hands trembling, he reached out and carefully opened the Codex.
The seventh-century Church of Christ, headed by Pope Vitalian, had existed in chaotic times. The arrival of Muhammad and the subsequent emergence of Islam had been a disaster for Christianity and within a few years Christian bishops had virtually vanished from the Middle East and Africa, and both Jerusalem and Egypt became Muslim. The Christian world had been decimated in just a few decades, despite the strenuous efforts of Vitalian and his predecessors to convert the inhabitants of the British Isles and Western Europe.
Somehow Vitalian had found time to study the contents of the archives. He’d summarized his findings in the Codex that bore his name and which Vertutti was studying yet again.
He had first seen the document just more than a decade earlier, and it had frankly terrified him then. He wasn’t even sure why he was looking at it again. There was no information in the Codex he hadn’t already studied and memorized.
The conversation he’d had with Mandino had disturbed him more than he was willing to admit, and as soon as he’d returned to his offices in the Vatican, Vertutti had spent more than an hour meditating and praying for guidance. It greatly concerned him that the very future of the Vatican had, almost by chance, been placed in the hands of a man who was not only a career criminal, but—far worse—also a committed atheist, a man who was apparently almost rabid in his hatred of the Catholic Church.
But as far as Vertutti could see, there was no alternative. Mandino held all the cards. Thanks to Vertutti’s
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