II. The Cardinal
They had chosen Dr. Kessler carefully; his experience as an archaeologist being far less significant than his heritage, and his character. ‘Young, arrogant and Jewish’, he remembered John saying, ‘Just the man we need’. Cardinal Paul Kovacs stood beside the three-hundred-year old desk that had been his home for the past twelve years and marveled again at the impossibility of time. He had virtually lived in this office, sleeping in a small uncomfortable bed near the window whenever the need overcame him, which was not often, and taking his single daily meal, often alone, in the private dining hall of the Curia. His dream, the dream that had carried him from Bratislava to Rome as Slovakia’s first and only Cardinal had long since evaporated, stifled by a landscape littered with pompous toads and senile old lunatics. Only a beast or a madman could thrive in this cesspool, he thought, and was immediately reminded of his conservative counterpart and nemesis, Cardinal Peter DeGeneris. Though he did not rule the conservative majority, Peter pulled most of the strings and would be considered a contender when Pope John Paul finally gave up the Ghost.
Paul had been staring at the empty chest for an eternity, his hands trembling and his pulse rate through the roof. Tucked away carefully between many layers of protective cloth, he and John had uncovered his birthright, an object of such unparalleled importance that it was almost beyond comprehension. The history of the world would soon be altered forever, and forever would be here much sooner than anyone could possibly imagine.
Entrusted to Cardinal Paul Kovacs and the thirty-seven Supreme Guardians before him, the scroll had no equal in historical significance, its legend being told and retold for centuries in all corners of the Christian world. Being number thirty-eight in the long line, Paul knew the legend better than any living soul. Only recently, however, as the hour grew nearer, did he consider the possibility that it could actually be true. He had always been certain that it was only metaphor, a means to an end; but now he was not so sure.
Paul reflected again on how fortunate he had been to have Father John assigned to him; how John had rekindling his passion and stood beside him in his moments of weakness; moments when he wondered if what they were doing was truly an act of spiritual heroism, as John had called it, or something more human…moments when he wondered if he was not in fact losing his mind.