CHAPTER 2
The next two weeks were busy ones. Tess, Monica, and Gloria ordered the food and supervised the staff’s housecleaning of the whole palace; they helped Pope Benedict decide what events would take place, and when, and where. Benito, more cheerful since learning that his friend Silvo was coming, helped his uncle and the three angels make the preparations. Gloria wrote the invitations under the pope’s supervision and mailed them to the 10 EU leaders. She had already written their names and addresses in an address book she’d brought for her job.
“Let’s see.” Perched at the pope’s desk, Gloria scanned her address book, as Pope Benedict looked over her shoulder. A cigarette dangled from his fingers; the choking acrid smoke made her cough repeatedly. “You’ve invited the 10 leaders, and doubtless they will bring their servants with them.” She coughed. “That means we must arrange accommodations not only for them, but for their staff as well.”
The pope nodded. “Yes.” He turned to Tess, who leaned against the window behind Gloria. “I’m putting you in charge of preparing their rooms. Gloria, you will inform me if any of the leaders send me a response.”
“OK.” Gloria slipped the address book into her pants pocket and left. Tess followed on her heels. The pope took a long puff of his cigarette, a satisfied smirk spreading across his face.
And so the preparations continued. When the day of the guests’ arrival came, every member of the pope’s own staff was on pins and needles, as was Benito himself.
“It’s been almost three-and-a-half years since my parents disappeared,” Benito told Monica, as he awaited word that his friend had arrived. The two of them had decided to wait in the pope’s private dining room, where he typically ate with his nephew.
“They disappeared with all the others?” Monica asked softly.
Benito nodded, staring down at the dining table. “Yes. They talked about Jesus a lot, and took me to Mass every week. I hated going to church, but I...” He sighed. “I still miss them.” He drummed his fingers on the table’s polished surface as he spoke. He could vaguely see his own reflection in its surface. Beams of sunlight poured through the windowpane behind them, forming a rectangle of reflected light on the smooth waxed floor.
Monica laid a hand on his shoulder. “I know.” Sympathy filled her voice.
Benito bit his lower lip. “If only my parents were still alive! They would have never made me move to Babylon! They loved Rome, too.” He fixed a fierce glare on Monica’s face. “I hate it here! I hate Iraq!”
Monica nodded. She had known that, even before she’d met the boy. Benito had never wanted to leave Rome. She could understand how he felt. After all, he had been born in that city, grown up there, gone to school there, and played with his friends there. Before the Rapture, he and his parents had visited his uncle frequently—first in his elegant mansion, when he had been a cardinal, then later at the Vatican. He had never wanted to leave the city he loved, to begin with; even less had he ever wanted to move to this repulsive Babylon! If he could have his way, he and his uncle would have stayed in Rome always.
Benito doesn’t know that in less than three-and-a-half years, the Father is going to destroy Rome, Monica thought, as pain welled up in her heart. Nor am I at liberty to tell him. Not now. Silently, she prayed that God would minister His love to Benito, and get through to the boy and to his uncle before it was too late. Clasping her hands in front of her waist, she said out loud, “You must look forward to seeing your friend again.”
The boy’s eyes glowed. “Yes, I am. Silvo’s always been a good friend.” His eyes twinkled. “Even if he is a better student than I am!” He and Monica laughed. Monica had already learned that Benito did not love books and that he hated to study; his grades tended to range from mediocre to average. Private tutoring in Babylon had not change that. Silvo, on the other hand, had always been an honor student.
The ornate mahogany dining-room door swung open; Tess appeared in the doorway. A diamond brooch sparkled on her chest. “Your uncle’s guests are just now arriving, Benito. He wants you to help greet them.”
Benito rose to his feet. “All right. I’m coming.” As he approached the door, Tess held up a hand toward Monica. “I need to talk to you.” She glanced at the boy. “Go on, Benito. I’ll join you and your uncle shortly.”
When Benito had left, Tess approached the other angel, her shoes clumping on the shining polished floor. “Miss Wings, you’re going to have to stay in the kitchen, more or less, until this assignment is over.”
Monica stared at her. “But why—”
“Antonio Puccini is here.” Tess shook her head, displeasure in her eyes. “Even though he wasn’t invited, he’s decided to come anyway. And Elijah Dayan has come with him. If Puccini sees you, Angel Girl, it won’t take him long to figure out what you’re here for.”
Sighing, Monica nodded acquiescence. Tess was right, she knew. Antonio already knew of her identity from a previous assignment, and he could jeopardize this one if he saw her now. “All right.” She sighed again. “But if Satan tells him—”
“He won’t. The Father has told me that.” Tess wagged her finger, then laid a hand on Monica’s shoulder. “You just keep out of sight until the Father tells you to move! If the Father moves you to minister to Benito, you’ll have to do it in the privacy of his suite, where Puccini won’t find you.”
"Yes, ma'am." Monica thought of something. “Tess, is Ryan Whittaker—?”
Tess shook her head. “No, he’s on vacation. His wife, Kristen, has just had her second baby, and Puccini has given them both a maternity leave of absence. A substitute pilot has brought Puccini here. So we won’t be seeing the Whittakers or the Dalys during this assignment.” Tess glanced at her watch. “Now get a move on!”
Monica followed her supervisor into the hallway, where she turned left to go to the kitchen. Tess turned right to go to the reception hall. There, she found Pope Benedict gaping at Puccini, making an obvious attempt to form a welcoming smile on his face. Clearly, Puccini was the last person the pope wanted to see at this time.
A crystal chandelier, shedding its golden light throughout the reception hall, hung 50 feet above their heads; a wall-to-wall Oriental carpet covered the floor from one end to the other. Oil paintings spanned the walls. The 10 leaders of the Western European Union stood milling around; Elijah Dayan chatted with the Greek leader.
“My invitation must have been lost in the mail,” Puccini was saying, a peeved expression etched on his face. He folded his arms across his chest, staring into the pope’s brown eyes. “I never even knew of the celebration till Giuseppe Spadolini told me. Naturally, I decided to come.”
The pope bowed. “Of course. Come with me, and I’ll have a servant prepare guest rooms for you and Dayan.”
He beckoned to Tess, who approached him. “Better have a servant prepare rooms for those two and their staff; I wasn’t expecting them to come,” he told her, in a low voice. With a nod, Tess turned and left. Meanwhile, in the opposite corner, Benito chattered joyfully with Silvo.
“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you!” A broad smile spread across Benito’s face. “How’s your papá?”
“He’s fine.” Silvo grinned, then furrowed his eyebrows. “Except he’s not happy to see your uncle.” He glanced toward his father as he spoke.
Benito made a face. “He still hates my uncle Giovanni?”
Silvo nodded. “Yes. He’s never forgiven him, you know, for excommunicating his second wife before the disappearances, and persuading the president to fire him. That was before Puccini, of course.” Benito nodded; he knew all about that.
Silvo lowered his voice. “Come to my room tonight. I’ve got something for you. No, I can’t tell you what it is now—someone might hear me.” He glanced from side to side, obviously fearful of being overheard. Benito nodded.
A half-hour later, a servant led Puccini and Dayan down the carpeted halls to their guest quarters. Another led the members of their staff to the quarters assigned to them. Pope Benedict turned to the 10 leaders, folding his own arms across his chest.
“I am so glad you gentlemen have come.” The assembled leaders turned quiet. Benedict smiled coldly. “Since Puccini acts under my orders, it’s only fair that the rest of you do the same. The new religion is more important than anything else, and I expect everyone to follow it.”
The leaders pursed their lips, but said nothing. A hint of hostility crept into Giuseppe Spadolini’s eyes.
Pope Benedict smirked. “Really, I can do a better job of running the government than that Puccini can, don’t you think?” He did not wait for an answer, but kept talking. “I invited you all here, because I will need your help in taking him out of office. After the celebration, we will have a meeting, and I will tell you what to do. And I expect you to do it, without questioning me!”
He bowed. “Thank you.” As he left the reception hall, he shook his head. “Giuseppe may be hard to win over,” he muttered. “He’s opposed me on a number of issues. I’ll have to persuade him, somehow.” He ground his teeth. “How dare Antonio come to this celebration when I didn’t invite him?! This celebration was for the European leaders alone! His presence here could spoil everything.”
Giuseppe shook his fist at the departing figure. “I will tell Puccini what the pope has said,” he said in a low voice. “Doubtless, our leader will call a meeting this evening.”
Puccini did indeed call a meeting that evening, without inviting the pope. They all met in his guest quarters. “This is it.” Puccini raised his arm above his head and leaned it against the rough surface of the plastered wall; the 10 leaders milled around him. “When the pope talks about overthrowing me and taking over my place of leadership, the time has come to get rid of him.” A hard tone crept into his voice. “This is what I suspected he might do, which is the reason I came. He would have invited Dayan and me, otherwise.”
“I agree,” Giuseppe said. “Pope Benedict is arrogant and power-hungry. All he wants is control!” He scowled. “I say let’s get rid of him, once and for all!”
A cold smile spread across Antonio’s face. “Any suggestions as to how?”
The leader of Great Britain spoke up. “I jolly well suggest that he be disrobed, banished to some isolated country in disgrace.”
The Portuguese leader shook his head. “Perhaps he can be bought off. A generous offer of money might persuade him to step down.”
For the next 15 minutes, the leaders discussed possible ways of getting rid of Pope Benedict XVI. Unknown to them, two angels, Tess and Gloria, stood across the room, watching. “Well, Gloria, the day is approaching,” Tess told the newest angel. “We have less than a week to do our job.”
Gloria tilted her head. “But they haven’t talked about killing him yet.”
Tess nodded. “They won’t, not in this meeting. But they will decide to, later.” She paused. “And when they do, prophecy will be fulfilled.”
“You mean, the prophecy in the Book of Revelation? About the beast and the harlot?” Gloria gazed at her supervisor quizzically. Tess nodded.
At last, Puccini raised his hand for silence. “All of you have proposed ways of getting rid of the pope. Rest assured, I will consider them all.” He glanced at his solid-gold watch, as it gleamed in the soft glow of the lamplight. He turned to glance out the window at the stars studding the velvety-black sky above the darkened palace wall. “Meanwhile, it is getting late, and the celebration starts tomorrow. So I suggest we all go to bed, and come to a final decision on the means after the festivities end. Do not worry, gentlemen, we will get rid of Pope Benedict. We will meet again in a few days, to decide how. And when.”
Acquiescing, the leaders filed out of the sitting room, one by one. When the last one had left, Puccini turned to Dayan. “See you in the morning.”
Nodding, Dayan left. In that instant, the angels vanished, still invisible.
As Antonio undressed, rage welled up in his heart. He had just about had it with Pope Benedict! As far as he was concerned, the pope had crossed a line. With the EU’s help, he was going to put that obnoxious pope out of power! Puccini had no intention of letting anyone usurp his authority.
“And then I will take the church’s money and lands for myself,” he told himself. “With the religion’s resources, I will have more power at my disposal than I have ever had in my lifetime!” A cold smile spread across his face. “I brook no one trying to usurp my control over this planet. I am in absolute power over the whole world now, and I mean to stay there! Until now, I have permitted the pope to ride herd over me; I have needed his help to stay in power. But the time has come to stand alone. My master has told me that.”
Smiling at the thought, he proceeded to don his silk pajamas. He had a big day the next day, so he needed his sleep. The mattress sagged and creaked under him as he spread his form across it; reaching sideways, he flipped the tabletop lamp off. Soon, his snores filled the bedroom.
END OF CHAPTER 2