The crypts and the tombs and the mildewed gravestones in the side yard of the St. Louis Cathedral in New Orleans huddled under a chill winter fog. The lamplight from Bishop Nano’s chambers on the top floor of the rectory cast a diffuse yellow glow down upon the cemetery. Deep shadows hid behind the crypts, forming black holes in the night.
Bishop Nano and Father Simone stood close together in the dark behind the lavish marble monument of Louis Trieste, a riverboat gambler who tried to buy his way into Heaven in 1842, after a flamboyant life of cheating and debauchery. Nano doubted that he ever got there, even though his donation had financed the construction of the rectory. At the rate Nano was going, he doubted that he’d ever get there either. Or Simone, for that matter. They were both well beyond the pale.
Simone had the file folder he pilfered from the locked drawer of Molinari’s desk. The Cardinal had changed the pickproof security lock many times over the years, thinking it would deter prying eyes. It cost him a small fortune each time, but he felt it was worth it.
For some unfathomable reason, however, no one in the Cabal of Cardinals ever thought of changing the lock on the door of the Vatican Secret Archives. Simone copied Molinari’s key and went into the Archives to read the Book of Devlin, and finally learned the truth. It was no longer any wonder to him why the Council of Nicaea edited the Bible and quashed all the Heretics. From the Orthodoxy to the Inquisition, it all made sense to him now.
On the day that Molinari went to visit Sir Reynard, Simone carefully removed the entire top of the Cardinal’s old oak desk, exposing the contents of the locked drawer underneath. The voodoo priest paid a visit to Molinari shortly thereafter.
“I hope I picked a winner,” Simone joked, as he placed the file folder in Nano’s eager hands.
“Oh ye of little faith!” The bishop chided him with a little grin. “We have been winning this struggle from the start, Father Simone.”
Simone looked at him and nodded, and then his eyes flicked down to the file. Nano could see that Simone was anticipating his reaction, but he played out the tension for a while longer, just to toy with the priest.
Simone swallowed, waiting. Nano grinned again and finally opened the file, glancing down at the contents. Simone watched him.
Nano blinked as the shock of what he saw finally registered on him. His smile dissolved into a startled frown and he glanced at Simone.
“Are you sure?” Nano asked him.
It was the same question Simone asked Molinari many years ago, when they were of another faith. The priest nodded, assuring Nano that it was indeed the correct photo. They had finally found The One.
Nano gazed at the photo and slowly shook his head. “Molinari...” he whispered. “You bastard!”
“He’s dead,” Simone informed him, and Nano looked at him in surprise. Simone nodded again to assure him it was the truth, and then he turned to leave. Nano watched him go. “See you in Rome, Bishop Simone,” Nano said to him.
Father Simone paused and gave Nano a half-smile over his shoulder, before he disappeared into a long line of shadows behind a row of crypts.
Nano was alone. He looked back down to the photo in his hand, holding it up to a glimmer of light spilling down from his office windows above. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he breathed, still thoroughly astonished by the revelation. In all probability, he thought to himself, I actually will be damned.
In the windless night, something was moving behind the photograph. He lowered it to see what it could be, and was startled to discover Detective Kaddouri standing right in front of him. The photo fumbled out of the bishop’s arthritic hand.
Kaddouri cracked a half-smile, amused that he had such a theatrical effect on the old coot, and bent down to pick up the photo from the mud puddle at their feet. The laser paper didn’t hold up to water very well, and the image was already distorting. He angled it to catch the light.
He quick stood up, staring at the print in his hand, but unlike the bishop he was more concerned than astonished. He had no idea why the bishop had the photograph, and he particularly didn’t like the fact that someone handed it to him in the dead of night.
Kaddouri frowned at Nano, gesturing with the piece of paper. “What the – ?”
But before he could utter another word, a shovel blade sliced through the back of his skull. An explosion of pain blinded him and he dropped to his knees. Nano shrank away from the sudden violence with a startled gasp.
Simone stepped out of the shadows, the shovel in his hands. They watched Kaddouri sink face first into the shallow mud puddle, landing on top of the photo.
Nano and Simone looked at each other, then back down to Kaddouri, but the detective lay motionless.
Nano bent over with a grunt and scooped up the file folder. He had dropped it when Kaddouri was hit, but luckily it landed on a patch of dry, solid ground. The photo, however, was gone. Even if they rolled Kaddouri over, it would be little more than a soggy pulp.
But no matter; he had a chance to take a good look at it. It was firmly etched in his memory now, an image that he would never forget so long as he lived.
He took his cell phone out of his pocket and sent a text message to Cardinal Saul in Rome: 1554. The leader of the Cabal of Cardinals would understand the code. We have found the Messiah.
Nano started toward the back door of the rectory and Simone walked beside him, glancing back at Kaddouri.
“Is he...?”
“He’s a cop,” Nano said with a dismissive shrug, and Simone nodded once again, taking his point. Nano opened the back door and bid Simone to enter first.
“I’ll be leaving with you,” he informed Simone, and followed him inside, closing the door behind them.
Kaddouri stirred, and turned his head to get a breath of air. He was grievously injured, but he had no idea what just happened to him. Perhaps he had a stroke. His right hand was lying palm up beside his hip. He could feel his cell phone, still in its holster. He unclipped it and somehow kept it in his trembling hand.
He brought the phone up to his face, his clenched fist resting in the shallow mud puddle. Everything kept going in and out of focus. He unlocked it with his thumb. The screen was incredibly bright, triggering a flash of pain.
Squinting at the display, he speed dialed Mas. The screen said, “calling... Chrissy” for the longest time, and then the call timer finally began counting the seconds.
He had either gotten through to her, or to her voicemail. He couldn’t tell which because he couldn’t speak and he couldn’t hear. She would simply know that he called, and that was all. But maybe that would be enough. It would have to be.
As the blood seeped from the gash in his fractured skull, his grip on the phone slowly relaxed and his hand sank further into the mud. Bloody red water oozed into his cupped palm, submerging the base of the phone. The battery shorted out, and the screen went dark.