Pandora's Ark

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Pope Pius XIV lay in bed at the Gemelli Polyclinic in Rome recuperating. Although he tried to put on an air of good spirits, Kimball knew better as he sat beside the pontiff’s bed.

The news media hit the nail on the head and cited the incident as an act of terrorism. Whereas the religious dignitaries wanted to believe in the more mythological aspects that it was intervention of a spiritual kind, dark or otherwise, the political principals where more down to earth, believing that the Ark was tainted with some kind of bacterial, chemical or airborne virus that was unleashed.

Al-Qaeda took the blame and proudly, letting the world know that this was the beginning of the end of all infidels, even though they were not apprised of al-Ghazi’s death, and therefore without Sakharov’s data to move forward. Nevertheless, it was still a scary proclamation. But there was no information by the media regarding the truth behind what really happened — that it was nanotechnology and not the chemical, bacterial or virus scenario that it was made out to be. The truth was far more dangerous. Far more terrifying.

“Nanotechnology,” commented the pope. “”It can be used for good applications. But it can also be used for wrong purposes as well.”

The pontiff looked at Kimball; the man’s face was blotchy and scabbed, like a bad case of shingles. The rest of his body didn’t fare well either. It was completely bandaged. Nor was he alone. All the dignitaries suffered from the same maladies but were guaranteed that they would be going home shortly, since there would be no lingering effects.

Kimball leaned forward. “The SIV has learned that al-Ghazi was assassinated in Tehran,” he told him. “They believe by Iranian Intelligence. But nothing is confirmed. Sakharov remains missing but presumed dead, which wipes out any connection or ties to al-Qaeda. We believe that Iran maintains Sakharov’s findings, which, in the long run, could prove costly to the safety and welfare of nations across the world.”

The pontiff focused his sight to the ceiling. “Not a good scenario,” he commented.

Kimball sat back into his seat.

And Bonasero sighed. “It was a good notion,” he finally said, “to have the Ark serve in a capacity to bring us all together, only to cause doubts in the end. A shame. The imam, the rabbis in attendance, all the political dignitaries wanted to believe that it was something magical, when the magic was in their hearts all along. And now it’s gone.”

“Perhaps not,” said Kimball.

But the pontiff knew better as he lay there, staring.

“The new secretary of state,” he finally began, “how is he doing during my absence?”

“Cardinal Estanzio is performing quite well,” said Kimball. “But he’s no Bonasero Vessucci.”

This drew a genuine smile from the pontiff’s face.

“And tell me, what ever happened to Cardinal Angullo?”

The pontiff’s smile broadened. He just couldn’t help himself. “Let’s just say that he’s probably enjoying a dish of Dim Sum right about now.”

Kimball didn’t know what he was talking about.

Cardinal Giuseppe Angullo, now Cardinal Bishop Angullo, was given the vacant position to serve as leader of the Beijing Diocese. Although he served a Catholic citizenry of 2.8 % of the city’s population, it still amounted to more than 30,000 people.

He sat in a spartan office overlooking the city. Some days it was beautiful. On others it was dirty and smog-ridden, the masses of people intolerable. Worse, he found it difficult to learn the language, his mind unwilling to focus or care.

He then came to the bitter conclusion that he had lost his ambition, and with it his faith.

And that Bonasero Vessucci, he considered, was right after all: He had lost his way.

Staring out the window with the city of Beijing in view, with a blanket of smog descending upon the masses, he sighed, resigning himself to his fate of a man who had paved a road closer to Hell than to Heaven.