Angelina’s brain was working furiously, trying to understand what Ben meant by referring to the text of the fraudulent tablet as a ‘map’.
‘Don’t you see?’ he persisted, sitting back while they continued to search over the page. ‘It doesn’t just tell us what’s going to happen, it tells us where.’
‘The river,’ Angelina said, the first light of understanding starting to dawn, ‘that was obviously the Tiber.’ A connection of event and place, but hardly anything significant. ‘It runs the whole length of the city. It’s not one place but hundreds of them.’
‘And darkness, and fog,’ Thomás added. ‘They happened everywhere. The whole of Rome.’
‘Yes, but,’ Ben said, leaning forward and dropping a thumb on to the line that began the prophecy of the fourth plague, ‘that’s not the case with this one.’
Angelina looked once again at the words he indicated. In the fourth place, a cross of fire shall consume their holy things, the seat of the Mighty See at its head.
‘I don’t know what “a cross of fire” is supposed to mean,’ Ben continued. ‘I can’t imagine it’s just a flaming crucifix – such a thing might be offensive, but it’s hardly a plague.’ His voice went level, stern. ‘But the second part, that sounds like a place to me.’
Angelina bolted upright. At last, Ben’s meaning was clear to her.
‘It’s a specific spot in Rome,’ she said. ‘One we can identify!’
His warm smile resurfaced. ‘Exactly. So long as we know what it’s pointing to, we can figure out where the “cross of fire” is going to emerge – whatever it might actually be.’ He paused, then added dramatically, ‘And when.’
‘When?’ Thomás queried. His face had been a portrait of confusion since Ben had begun this line of discussion, and was newly scrunched up at his latest words.
Angelina was a step ahead of him. ‘To get that answer you have to look at the next plague. The one to come after the fire.’ She placed her own finger on the page, two lines below where Ben had positioned his. She read aloud, aiming her words at Thomás: ‘Then shall come the moment, at the hour of first light on the third day after these things have begun, when above the resting place of the Rock dawn itself shall be stopped and the sun shall be blotted out of the sky . . .’
Thomás seemed to swell at the sound of prophetic utterance, the question of its origins still an open one in his mind, but for Angelina the words had become revelatory for entirely different reasons.
‘“The third day after these things have begun,”’ she repeated. ‘“These things” has to refer to the plagues the text is describing, and “the hour of first light” is straightforward.’
‘This all started yesterday,’ Thomás replied, his own realisation dawning. ‘Yesterday morning.’
‘Which means tomorrow is the third day,’ Angelina added. She looked squarely at Ben. ‘The fifth plague is predicted for tomorrow morning at dawn.’
‘That means the fourth has to happen between now and then,’ he answered.
‘But when?’ Thomás asked. ‘There’s no “at the hour of first light”, or any other indicator of time, attached to the fourth prediction.’
‘But it talks about fire,’ Ben answered. ‘You tell me, Thomás, what time of day is it easiest to spot fire?’
The young man didn’t need to answer. There was no such time of day. As was clear to all three of them, fire was most visible at night.
Ben’s insights into the text fuelled a new fire of enthusiasm in each of them. Night was fast approaching; the next plague was coming. All they had to do was figure out precisely where it was they needed to go to witness it.
And stop whoever’s doing all this, Angelina’s thoughts reminded her. Or at the very least, figure out who they are.
‘Whatever the “cross of fire” will be,’ Thomás said, ‘the text says it’ll have its head at the “seat of the Mighty See”.’ He looked into the two faces opposite him on the sofa, shrugging his shoulders. ‘That doesn’t exactly seem like rocket science.’
‘St Peter’s,’ Ben said, affirming the obvious solution to what was hardly a riddle at all. ‘There’s only one church at the head of Catholicism as a whole, and since all these prophecies have been centred here in Rome, I can’t imagine this one relating to any other church.’
‘Exactly,’ Thomás agreed. ‘The “Mighty See” has a mighty basilica at its head.’
The two men were certain, but Angelina’s head was shaking.
‘You’re wrong,’ she announced starkly. ‘St Peter’s won’t be the target.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Thomás questioned. ‘The symbolism seems clear.’
Angelina found the composure to take another draw of the tea, noticing for the first time that Thomás had left the bag in the mug. Chew yourself through this mouthful, then answer.
‘Are you really both such devout Catholics,’ she finally asked, setting down the mug, ‘charismatic in variety or otherwise, and you don’t realise that St Peter’s isn’t actually the see of Rome?’
Ben and Thomás simply stared at her.
‘Everyone assumes it is,’ she continued, ‘because it’s grown to a place of such significance over the past five hundred years, and because of its position as the focal point of Vatican City.’
Ben’s features began to change, as if he could sense where she was leading, but Thomás’s expression remained blank.
‘The Pope,’ Angelina continued, ‘is head of the Catholic Church throughout the world, which is administered from Vatican City. But first and foremost he is the Bishop of Rome, his own diocese. And the cathedral of Rome isn’t St Peter’s.’
‘It’s St John’s,’ Ben said suddenly.
‘St John’s,’ Angelina repeated, nodding.
‘Excuse me,’ Thomás interjected, ‘I’ve lived here my whole life. This is the first I’ve heard of this. Which St John’s?’
‘Lateran,’ Angelina answered. ‘Technically, the Papal Archbasilica of St John in Lateran. It stands atop an old Roman fort dating back to the second century AD. And it’s just . . . stunning.’
‘Then,’ Ben said, rising from the sofa and reaching down to fold up the paper and hand it back to Thomás, ‘that’s precisely where we have to go.’