The Vatican, present day
T he man in the black suit watched Angelo through the keyhole in the door. Angelo had gulped down the whiskey bottle he’d given him hours ago and lost control. He’d been playing James Brown’s I Feel Good and dancing to it alone in the room.
“This is a disaster,” the man in black told another man in black standing next to him.
“You shouldn’t have given him the whiskey.”
“I thought he was tense and wanted to help him ease up before his speech.”
“What are we going to do now? The crowd is awaiting the new pope.”
“And not just any new pope.” The man in black sighed. “The one we’ve been counting on for more than two hundred years.”
“I’d say one of us acts as if we’re Angelo.”
“No. It has to be Angelo. This is a prophecy. It has to be him.”
“So you want the new pope to do a James Brown number to the masses? Good luck with that.”
“I’m not sure what to do. Maybe wait a little.”
“Until?”
“The whiskey wears off.” The man in black sighed again. “We have no other choice. We have to be patient. Today is a day that will be remembered all throughout history.”