Bipolar WINTER. Samuel David Steiner

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      “But what does this have to do with the Church?” the cardinal asked.

      “When researching my thesis, I discovered that Church information has been stored on servers connected to the Dark Internet. Perhaps even portions of the Vatican Secret Archives,” Aldo said. “Whether it’s accidental or intentional, I can’t say, but—”

      “Preposterous!” the cardinal cried out. “Why have I never heard of this?”

      Pope Benedict held up his hand. “Listen, my old friend. You are not privy to all the secrets of this office.” Then he nodded for Aldo to continue.

      “It, uh,” Aldo’s voice cracked, “kind of makes sense if you think about it. The vast library of the Archives won’t last forever. Some of the most holy and precious documents are held in the underground, climate-controlled vault, but it might be safer to record and store the papers electronically.”

      “Yes, we can’t risk the information being lost to future generations,” the pope said, folding his hands on his desk. “And so, putting the two riddles together, what do you surmise, Signore Lombardi?”

      Aldo thought for a moment, trying to find the connection between his thesis and his essays on the Dark Internet. “Septem Montes. It’s been uploaded onto the Dark Internet,” he breathed.

      “Yes,” the pope said, concern evident on his face. “All the historical documentation of what would be viewed as the biggest conspiracy on Earth has been circulating through the Dark Internet.”

      Aldo shot forward on his seat. “But why would―”

      “If it’s uncovered,” the cardinal said, “the stability of the Christian world would be shaken to its core.” It would be chaos. Christians everywhere would lose faith in their leaders, but most of all, they would blame the Catholic Church. But why had the Church created Septem Montes anyway?

      “The riots that would break out could bring about the apocalypse,” the pope nodded. “You see why we’ve asked you here, Signore Lombardi. We need your help.”

      Why me? I’m just a historian, not a systems analyst. But he had to admit this could all be his fault. If someone had found merit in his research, had read his thesis, then…“You think someone uploaded Septem Montes onto the Dark Internet intentionally?” Aldo asked, though he already knew the answer. He just had no idea who would do so or why.

      The pope nodded slightly. “That is my fear. There have been rumblings from the Seventh. I think they may already know something.”

      “The Seventh?” Aldo asked.

      “The seventh sect created from Septem Montes.” Benedict steepled his fingers, his elbows resting on the arms of his chair. “Six of the seven distinct religions created kept to the plan, staying within the original design. However, one, the Seventh, strayed and is now like a rebellious teenager, seeking to gain independence at any cost.”

      “More like a demon,” the cardinal muttered.

      “Who are they? Which religion?” Aldo’s mind raced, trying to put all the pieces of the puzzle together. But he was missing something, some major clue.

      Pope Benedict and Cardinal Bastianelli glanced at each other. Then the cardinal said, “Let’s take this one step at a time.”

      So, they don’t completely trust me. Considering the magnitude of what they were discussing, Aldo couldn’t really blame them. “But how exactly can I help? Don’t you need someone familiar with the Dark Internet?” The task of tracking down all traces of Septem Montes on an untraceable network was way outside his field of expertise.

      “We’ll have to discuss that another day,” the pope said, “but for now, I must ask you to surrender all of your research.”

      The stern look on the pope’s face made it clear there was more to the request than simply confiscating his life’s work. It was a gag order. Aldo nodded slowly. “Of course.”

      “Good,” Pope Benedict said, standing up. As if on cue, the same server who had brought the now cold espresso emerged from a door at the side of the room and placed Aldo’s laptop bag on the pope’s desk. “I’ll have David bring you a new computer to use this evening. We have a lot of work ahead of us. You should rest.” The pope then turned to the younger man dressed in white robes. “David, please show Signore Lombardi to his room.”

      What just happened? Aldo sat, trying to wrap his head around everything. When Cardinal Bastianelli rested a hand on his shoulder, Aldo glanced up in surprise. The cardinal smiled. “You thought you’d get a break from your studies, didn’t you?”

      “Yes, I do apologize for cutting your vacation short,” the pope said. “But not to worry, Signore Lombardi. I am sure you will soon realize the invaluable nature of your position here. You will have access to documents viewed by an elite few from your generation. Only a handful of cardinals are ever permitted to see the Vatican Secret Archives.”

      Perusing the Secret Archives was any theological historian’s greatest fantasy. But the prospect of fantasy becoming reality left Aldo feeling overwhelmed. “I’m honored,” he replied softly.

      Pope Benedict smiled. “I’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow at eight o’clock in the southeast courtyard. Sleep well, Signore Lombardi.”

      Sebastiano turned to follow the two younger men, but the pope laid a hand on his arm, stopping him. The cardinal nodded almost imperceptibly and returned to his seat, waiting for the door to close. Seated once again behind his desk, the pope said, “Sebastiano, you disagree with me, don’t you?”

      “It isn’t my place to agree or disagree, Your Holiness.”

      The pope chuckled. “But you do nonetheless.”

      The cardinal remained silent, but raised his left eyebrow slightly, the most defiance he was willing to show.

      “Are you familiar with Sun-Tzu?” the pope asked.

      “Of course,” Sebastiano said. “It has always been required reading at the university.”

      “I’m just keeping Signore Lombardi close, that’s all.”

      Sebastiano’s eyes flashed. “Really?” he whispered. “You fooled me.”

      “The next few weeks will determine whether our young historian is indeed friend or foe,” the pope said. “Either way, he’s mired himself in this so deeply, we can’t afford to leave him unmonitored.”

      David led Aldo through the maze of corridors to a small yet elegantly appointed room. Aldo never imagined he would set foot within the Apostolic Palace, let alone be invited to spend the night. The walls breathed history, like a faint perfume, intoxicating him. He longed to explore, but the residual effects of anxiety and lack of sleep were taking their toll.

      When David politely excused himself, Aldo tossed his suitcase onto the twin-sized bed and popped it open. As he sluggishly fished for his toiletry bag, he realized he was still wearing his ski coat and pants. Great. He’d met the pope looking like a dark blue marshmallow. Not that his first meeting with the pope could have gone any worse. With a sigh, he stripped off his coat and pants and shoved them into his suitcase. Thankfully СКАЧАТЬ