‘So there were two overlapping problems. One was the old culture of corruption being passed on, bishops meeting in secret and doing deals with the Mafia, and the second was the acceptance of the Mafia by Italian society these past fifty years.

  ‘What happened in the Vatican … happens in many Italian institutions and businesses, the corruption. That’s up to the Italian nation to fix, someday, but I won’t hold my breath.

  ‘When the Italian people look at the TV news and see bishops sacked and moved abroad, people committing suicide, bombs going off, it looks like chaos but it isn’t, we’re in a war and we’re winning that war.

  ‘And the church faithful can thank the Pope for starting that war with my assistance, when most of those around him warned him against doing such a thing, his life threatened.

  ‘He had the courage to start a war, light verses dark, Biblical good against evil if you like, and his courage deserves the thanks and support of the church faithful.

  ‘But to break with the Bible, he did not turn the other cheek, he decided to fight back, which was the right thing to do, and each bishop in each city around the world needs to follow that example and to deal with priests breaking the rules, the moral rules as well as the criminal rules.

  ‘And to answer a question about a cardinal with a bruised face, that man had stolen millions from the church and had then threatened the Pope. Don’t go feeling sorry for a member of the clergy with a bruised face.’

  I raised a finger. ‘And I take this opportunity to express my complete confidence in the current Pope, he is free from any scandal, past or present.

  ‘I have to go, things to do, but I will update you in a few days maybe - if I’m still alive.’ I stood and walked out, back to Bonza, Bill and Ted, and my large police escort.

  Back at the hotel, I had a shower and then wolfed down a quality hotel-style burger, followed by a bottle of beer. But I did take the green stuff out of the burger first.

  Sat with the gang, the adjoining doors open, I began, ‘Never thought that I would be fighting for the damn Vatican, our old enemy.’

  ‘Not the same people,’ Gloria suggested, her boobs poking through her white t-shirt and distracting me.

  Rita called, they were home safe and had eaten.

  Call ended, I faced Bonza. ‘Am I … doing the right thing?’

  They all exchanged looks.

  ‘Well … you’re fucking up the priests fucking small boys, so yeah, and you’re fucking up the bishops making money with the Mafia, so yeah.’

  Bill and Ted agreed, Gloria nodding.

  ‘And if someday it’s my evidence that shows Mary was married to Jesus?’

  ‘Be an adjustment for them,’ Bonza noted. ‘But it’s on its way, with or without us. Science will someday prove the DNA link, the bones, Jesus and his kids.’

  ‘The Israelis have old documents that prove Jesus was married, but they won’t use them.’

  Gloria noted, ‘The Christian world would be mad at them.’

  When it was just myself in the room, the rest off to bed, I closed my eyes and summoned Lazahroz.

  The footsteps came out of the bathroom. He walked across the room, took in the view out the window then finally faced me, his hands on an old cane. ‘You have a question?’

  ‘I have a doubt.’

  ‘Of course you do, the old enemy, the Catholic Church. But if you remove the scandal now - some doubt left amongst the faithful of course, the church will be stronger later – when they’re thought to be scandal free.

  ‘And tonight you both scared them and gave them hope in equal measure, them being the Italian faithful sat at home watching the TV news.’

  He studied me. ‘You’re in a unique position, able to save the church and re-shape them, and few have been in that privileged position before.

  ‘And when this is over they’re at your disposal, to assist with various projects, and that’s a good thing. There are hundreds of millions of Christians, not just Catholics, but all Christians are concerned about the misconduct of priests. This is their fight, all of them, not just the Catholics.’

  I nodded at that and sipped my beer. ‘There’s something else. If you were to consider … that the shield with the names of reincarnated people was fashioned by an angel, which angel would you think did it?’

  ‘Gab-ree-al, not Gabriel, he did it.’

  ‘And is Gabby hard at work assisting Harry Stanulou?’

  ‘A very smart question, and if he is … he’s not breaking any rules.’ He waited.

  ‘This is where us humans like you angels less, the – you know – the random slaughter of innocent people.’

  ‘Thousands die each day from wars and famine and stupid car accidents, so us angels don’t let it get to us. If you lot don’t care about the value of life … why the hell should we?’

  ‘A good point, yes. But those things we’re working on, Gabby doesn’t need to be kicking us in the balls.’

  ‘It’s kind of his function, and why we were created, to kick you and to see how you react. Do you fold, or do you get stronger? Do you build higher walls, or run away from an enemy as they besiege you?

  ‘If a plane crashes, you redesign it. A bridge collapses, and you redesign it. Some of those planes … we crashed them, some of the bridges … we brought down, because a fool built the plane and the bridge.’

  I nodded. ‘Part of me understands that, and even agrees with that, just that I’d like to think that there are other ways. There aren’t, we only learn when we get kicked hard, not when the bridge stays up. We learnt from the Second World War, and we’ll learn from the next war – if we survive it.’

  ‘You’re still trying to save the individual.’

  ‘No, I’m wondering if Gabby is just a tad jealous of me, me chosen by God.’ I made firm eye contact.

  He stared back and pulled a face. ‘It’s possible, yes, and as ever you’re way smarter than is good for you.’

  ‘Well there’s one smart idea I have that you and I need an answer to. Can you go to the Vatican, the vaults, find the golden cross and … see if it affects you.’

  ‘Affects me?’

  ‘Yes, does your presence near the golden cross … have an effect on it, or … does it have an effect on you?’

  ‘Oh. Hold on.’ He closed his eyes. A few seconds later he bent double and gasped, wide-eyed. I had jumped out of my seat, as if to help an old man.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘The … the golden cross, it … interferes with me.’

  ‘It harms you?’

  ‘No, just that … it would be like an electric shock to you. How did you know that would happen?’

  ‘I saw an ancient carving, myself stood on a mound with the cross, light coming from it, demons and kings cowering down. But … some of the faces of the demons cowering seemed familiar. I think the demons cowering are not demons, because there are no demons. I think they’re angels.’

  He stood shocked. ‘I’ve … never been aware of anything that could affect us like that.’

  ‘Do me a favour, and keep it to yourself please.’

  He nodded, looking shocked.

  ‘One more thing, and The Ark seemed to give me energy. Can you scan me and tell me what it gave me.’

  He looked me over. ‘I can’t see anything odd.’

  ‘Look harder.’

  He again looked, then shook his head. ‘You’re blocked to me, your mind, but your body seems normal, no odd energy floating around.’

  ‘What could The Ark have given me?’ I pressed.

  ‘You must be mistaken, because The Ark is not alive and it had no specifically distributable energy like that, but was meant to glow for the reincarnated.’

  ‘I got an odd feeling when I touched it.’

  ‘As you would with that golden cross, both have residual energy.’

  I studied him for a moment. ‘It was not an angel that created the golden cross ... was it.’

  He shook his head. ‘No.’

  ‘Best kept between us then.’

  ‘You plan something,’ he stated, as if I was hiding something.

  ‘I plan on shoving it up Gabby’s arse someday soon.’

  He studied me. ‘He takes human form a great deal of the time. And he likes the pleasures of the flesh.’

  ‘Ah. Would I sense him if he was close by?’

  ‘Do you sense me?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then no.’

  ‘His favourite hard drink?’ I asked.

  ‘Gin.’

  ‘Tea or coffee?’

  ‘Columbian coffee.’

  ‘Cigarettes or cigars?’

  ‘Both.’

  ‘Jazz club, nightclub or a concert?’

  ‘Jazz club, cigar in hand. But if he doesn’t want to be spotted he won’t be spotted.’

  He suddenly turned his head and stared out the window. ‘The Mafia are mobilising, heading here. You’ll sense them when they get closer.’

  ‘Innocent guests may be hit in the crossfire,’ I complained to myself. ‘Maybe I can reason with them, some money offered, or a lot of money offered, some stock market advice.’

  ‘They would take the money of course.’ He waited.

  ‘Is there a street I could intercept them in, alone?’

  ‘Alone?’

  ‘They’ll trust my word if I’m alone.’

  ‘Yes, they probably would, and be startled because you knew they were on their way. But the men on the way are not the bosses, just the dumb hired help.’

  ‘Ah.’ I gave that some thought and stepped to the room phone.

  ‘Wait, I can distract the men heading here.’

  I turned around. ‘Is that allowed?’

  ‘No rules about taking lives, it’s the saving of lives that we avoid.’ He tipped his head back, closed his eyes, and a few seconds later he lowered his head. ‘That will have an effect.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘A ritual disembowelling, their entrails placed in the boss’s bed.’

  ‘His wife will be mad at you, the stain will go right through to the mattress.’

  He smiled. ‘Yes, women don’t like mattress stains.’

  I stepped to him. ‘You know, if I’m supposed to fall flat on my face you’re not supposed to intervene too much and get yourself into trouble.’

  ‘I don’t worry about such trouble, but I do play the game each day, the game of second-guessing God as to what he has planned.’

  ‘Is he a crafty chess player?’

  ‘The best, a thousand moves ahead of me always.’

  ‘Well it would be dull otherwise. Thanks for coming.’

  ‘I now have to figure out what that golden cross is for, a move on the chess board.’ He bowed his head and disappeared.

  Disembowelling can leave a stain

  In the morning the news was not pretty, in any area, least of all the inside of a van that had been carrying seven Mafia men, that van found not far from my hotel, the men found to be missing their internal organs.

  I had to stop and wince at the image of the Mafia boss’s wife going up to bed and finding those smelly missing organs on her best duvet. I wondered how her husband would explain it, and clear up the mess – after his wife had taken the diazepam. Not to mention telling her about the stains in the mattress.

  The police had found many pistols and machineguns in the van, and they were now trying to figure out just what the hell had happened.

  But the news was also detailing seventeen suicides, of priests or of people working at the Vatican, but they had all occurred away from the Vatican so I was less worried – and in general did not give a fuck about those seventeen people. And a woman who worked at the Vatican had been arrested running naked down the city’s busy streets, they even had video of her.

  Gloria curtly noted, over my shoulder, ‘She needs a sports bra if she’s going to do that.’

  ‘I think they’ll arrest her and she’ll be let go from the Vatican,’ I said with a grin. ‘And boobs like that look great in a bra, not so great out of the bra.’

  Armani called at 9am, as we finished breakfast. ‘You are coming here today?’

  ‘Be there soon, how’s the mood?’

  ‘The mood is … odd; they all saw the news and heard your words, the Pope especially. He was … moved to tears, about many things, and had been worried recently about the reputation of the church and its future, but you seem to have placed us firmly back on track. Again.

  ‘As for the men threatening the Pope, there has been a massive up-swelling of people both inside and outside the Vatican that want to kill those men. Support for the Pope is now universal, whereas before … a few cardinals did their own thing.’

  ‘See you soon, in a more positive mood hopefully, and I’ll definitely be doing my own thing.’

  When my phone went it was the Israeli Prime Minister.

  ‘How can I help you, oh great leader?’

  ‘My Antiquities Minister says sorry, and can he please have his hair back. He had to shave it off, but then he had green stubble and looks very odd, and he’s not getting any work done.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  I stepped into an empty bedroom and closed the door, closed my eyes and I imagined Elbek.

  He appeared a few seconds later, glancing past me at the door. ‘A problem?’

  ‘Can you please fix the Antiquities Minister’s hair?’

  He shot me a look and grinned at the same time. ‘I think he learnt his lesson, yes, his wife very puzzled. I had considered helping him’.

  ‘Please do.’

  Grinning, he vanished.

  At the Vatican I saw the crowds, so I halted the convoy and stepped down, a cheer from the mass of spectators, half being nuns in grey. I walked along the barriers and shook hands with many.

  Back in the vans after fifteen minutes, Armani met us at the steps again and led us inside.

  ‘Have they cleaned up the blood?’ I asked.

  ‘The mess went far and wide, most of it cleaned-up now, yes.’

  ‘And will the police investigate the suicides?’

  ‘No, since those involved killed themselves at home, and after what you said last night everyone now knows just why they committed suicide.’

  ‘And the bomb in that man’s stomach?’ I asked as we walked the corridors, many an affirmative smile and nod coming from the clergy we passed.

  ‘It links to Libya again, a clever trigger mechanism as well as a clever timer.’

  ‘Our good friend Harry again, who won’t give up. Oh, a team of Mafia hitmen were on their way to me last night, but they suffered the sudden onset of … disembowelment, and they died in their van.’

  He glanced at me with a puzzled frown. ‘Ouch.’

  ‘And their boss got a message from me, the internal organs of his men delivered to him at home, so he may rethink attacking me.’

  ‘He certainly will be puzzled, yes.’

  ‘Your wounded priests?’ I asked.

  ‘Those still alive are doing well, remarkable recoveries witnessed.’

  Back in the same room, and we helped ourselves to tea and coffee, Bonza soon at the cake and soon getting moaned at by Gloria - since Bonza had wolfed down a large breakfast at the hotel.

  The first priest walked in, hand shaken, and off he went out of the second door. Ten priests later, and one wanted to confess, led to Armani.

  Twelve members of the civilian staff walked in – but in turn, all wary of me, hands shaken, but they were not guilty of anything serious, a few minor crimes amongst them.

  Security staff then filed through one at a time, puzzled why I wanted to shake their hands since they were underlings; the bishops never shook their hands. All were clean.

  A further group of curators had been arranged, one found to be selling ancient artefacts, and whilst stood blinking he wanted to confess. The last man in the group was an Israeli spy that had been looking for The Ark, looking in the Vatican vaults.

  I told him, ‘Your search for The Ark has ended, go back to Israel and relax.’

  Stood shocked, he was led out and sent off, a glance back at me.

  The priests started again, hands shaken, the first thirty men clean of any wrongdoing. But then came a real peach, an Irish priest that knew of secret Irish Government documents that listed the abuses in Ireland, abuses that had been covered up by successive Irish governments.

  He was soon wishing to confess, and I told Armani that I wanted the documents that this man knew of, and the full story. And soon. Armani led the man out for his Q&A session.

  Next in was a tall and fat black priest, presumably from Africa. He smiled and shook my hand, but was soon regretting that as he stood blinking.

  ‘I …. I need to confess my sins.’

  ‘You do, you fat piece of shit. You need to hand back all the money you made, sell the properties and give the money to the poor in Ghana, and then take your own life.’

  He was led out, still blinking.

  Nine priests later, and an old white-haired priest walked in. He stopped in front of us as if he knew something, but then focused on Gloria with a kind expression displayed. ‘Sister Lucille,’ came with a French accent.

  Gloria gasped.

  The old priest then faced Bonza, and his face soured some. ‘The bad-mannered and bad-smelling soldier.’

  ‘Who me?’ Bonza joked.

  The old priest finally faced me and straightened. ‘And Richard of Charmaine.’

  I stared back at him. ‘I … don’t recognise you.’

  ‘I was Bishop of Corsica, before that a priest, and I also recall you from the First World War – I was a priest in the trenches.’

  ‘Why avoid us up to now?’

  ‘My path is my path, your path is … different, money and politics, the two things I hate the most in this world.’

  I extended my hand, just in case this was a trick. He took my hand and the images flashed up. ‘Help those in front of you, fix that which you can fix.’

  He nodded. ‘Something that my father taught me, and it has served me well.’