Papal decree

2

Father Ernesto Aragones knew that his hour would come. It was a question of minutes. Sooner or later he would end up finding him inside. The light given off by the candle flame gave the place a murky yellow look. Shadows swarmed over the walls and the floor like drunken phantoms from other times. But the father was not there to let himself be frightened or enchanted by the spells of the place.

The watchman could not be found anywhere. He was his last hope. Otherwise he wouldn’t find anyone to help him. Natural for that hour of the night. The tourists had left long ago to find other attractions, more of the body than of the soul. Sweat spread over his face. He was very nervous, but the moment demanded lucidity. He felt like a crusader in the land of infidels who had to perform one last act of heroism.

Aragones made him out in the apse, next to the stairs that led to the Chapel of Adam, leaning against Golgotha, and escaped as quickly as he could. His eighty years didn’t allow him much speed or flexibility. He took off his shoes to silence his steps. He set his shoes very straight on top of the stone of Unction, where supposedly the body of Christ was prepared for burial: not on this one, which dated from 1810, but in this place, at least according to legend. He forced himself to walk under the rotunda and enter the tomb. There was no holier place for Christians, though it was totally unknown to the masses. For Ernesto it was a great privilege, despite his fear. To give himself to God in the place where the body of Jesus Christ had been laid before His resurrection on the third day. How ironic. Ernesto felt fear as he knew he would. Few could go through this moment safely and without fear.

Aragones heard steps in the rotunda outside. It was him. He searched his memory to retrieve an image of the man next to the grilles of the Chapel of Adam. He was tall. He wore a well-cut suit and a blue shirt, but no tie. Unimportant details, but his mind retained them. He couldn’t make out the color of the suit precisely, since the place was poorly lit during the day, to say nothing of the night.

My Father, protect Your servant, Ernesto prayed, kneeling on a marble flagstone. He made the sign of the cross unhurriedly, shut his eyes, and prayed. There was nothing more to do.

Shadows still trembled on the walls in an ever more frenetic rhythm, matching the pounding of his heart. Reaching a certain height, they stretched out gigantically, and despite Ernesto’s closed eyes and a moment of apparent calm, his heartbeat accelerated in his chest for what would be the last in his life. He knew it. He remained kneeling on the marble flagstone, which protected the rock that had borne the weight of Christ. But Ernesto wasn’t thinking of this. In his final moments, he needed some inner peace.

He felt breath down the back of his neck.

‘Good evening, Father,’ the killer whispered next to Ernesto’s left ear, as if he didn’t want to disturb the souls wandering through the sacred place. An inhuman coldness, almost lifeless. He got no response, obviously. ‘I want to ask you a question,’ the intruder explained. ‘You may choose to answer or not.’

He waited a few moments for this to sink in.

‘Where is it?’

It was not the question he expected. Terror filled his veins. He knows, he thought without saying a word. Oh, my God. He knows. How is it possible?

‘Who are you?’ He tried to buy himself some time. Sweat dampened his face.

A blow struck on the back of the neck, pushing him forward. He steadied himself on the marble flagstone, a few inches from the floor.

‘Don’t answer a question with a question. Where are your manners, Father?’ the tall man asked, raising his voice.

‘Who are you? Who are you looking for?’

Another blow. ‘Again? You all have a very limited repertoire.’

You all? He knew of their existence? Ernesto opened his eyes. He would do everything to protect the secret, but he failed… completely.

He felt a cold object press into the back of his neck. Lifeless, without will. The most faithful servant.

‘You have ten seconds. Use them well.’

Who was he?

Nine. How could he be so well informed?

Eight. Someone had betrayed them?

Seven. The Status Quo had been broken. From this moment on, it would be every man for himself.

Six.

Protect our beloved Roman Catholic Church, which does everything for Your honor and glory.

Five. I give myself to You, my Father.

Four. I serve You at all times.

Three. A tear slid down his face.

Two. I die in peace.

One. He leaned over with both of his sweaty hands on the sacred flagstone and shouted, ‘Forgive him, Father. He knows not what he — ’

The bullet robbed him of the rest of the words. He saw shadows dancing on the walls before collapsing heavily on top of the marble flagstone. Finally he danced with them. He saw and heard nothing more.