God's Lions - The Dark Ruin (34 page)

“OK, then ... you know the drill. Leave your weapons in the lockers and make sure you don’t get any dust on the outside when you put the clean suits on.” The guard opened a metal cabinet and handed both men identical white one-piece suits with clear plastic hoods. After waiting for Ben and Daniel to slip the suits over their uniforms, the guard hit a button under the desk and a second door swung open. Now unarmed except for a small pistol hidden in Ben’s waistband, the two Israelis felt vulnerable as they walked into an area that caused them to stop as their jaws dropped.

Daniel could feel himself shaking as he tried to take in everything he was seeing, for in the center of a towering concrete room the size of an aircraft hangar, an enormous black sphere rose seventy feet above their heads. It was like looking up inside a missile silo on steroids—and the black sphere was definitely no missile.

The area hummed with activity as people dressed in white, head-to-toe clean suits scurried about like nervous ants attending to a bulbous queen—their antennas on high alert for any threat. Right away Ben and Daniel could see that this huge underground facility was not divided by floors as they had first thought. Apparently, the doors they had seen at every landing on their way down led only to metal catwalks that circled the sphere. The scene had all the earmarks of a space launch, except the sphere was surrounded by concrete walls that had been lined with a fine metallic mesh.

Metal grating beneath their feet revealed a circular concrete sub-structure that sank another four stories below. Looking down through the grating, they could see thousands of multi-colored fiber optic cables attached to the bottom of the sphere’s reflective ceramic shell, while wisps of vented gas periodically hissed from twisting silvery ducts that circled down into the high-tech subterranean maze.

Looking up at the colossal sphere, Ben let out a low whistle. “What the hell is that thing?”

“It’s a computer,” Daniel said.

“A computer! You’ve got to be joking.”

“No, I’m not, and if I’m right, you’re looking at something that shouldn’t even exist yet.”

The two Israelis squeezed aside as two irritated-looking men in white suits hurried past and climbed some steep metal stairs to a glass-enclosed control room where dozens of technicians were hovering in front of their computer screens.

“I need to know what this thing is, Daniel,” Ben said, “and I need to know it quick. It won’t be long before these people realize we don’t belong here.”

“OK, Ben, but bear with me. This will take a little explaining. Right now, the new IBM Sequoia is considered to be the most powerful computer in the world. It was developed at the Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory and its computing speed is classified, but it’s probably somewhere around 16 petaflops.” Daniel could see the glazed expression growing on Ben’s face. “Anyway, it’s definitely more powerful than its predecessor at Los Alamos, which could perform up to 1000 trillion operations per second, or even the Chinese Tianhe-1A, which scared the pants off the guys at the NSA a few years back.”

Ben backed against the concrete wall as two more white-suited men hurried between them. “Come on, Daniel ... make it fast. We’re running out of time down here.”

Daniel exhaled in exasperation as he tried to keep up his running dialogue. “What I’m trying to say is that none of those computers I just described were the result of any great technological breakthrough, because they achieved their power and speed by simply employing massive numbers of off-the-shelf processors linked together in a cluster, and they put off equally massive amounts of heat. But this thing is completely different. It’s actually a breakthrough in computer science ... one that makes our current supercomputers look like hand-held calculators. We’re looking into the future, Ben, because this is definitely a quantum computer of massive proportions, and the crystal in my pocket is a critical piece of the puzzle. Like I told you in the truck, we were looking at a component that works at the atomic level ... the hallmark of a quantum computer. They’re also using various methods to keep it cool ... methods that computer scientists predicted would have to be used to cool a computer like this. The liquid nitrogen tanks we saw on the surface were the icing on the cake. They’re pumping large amounts of liquid nitrogen into the system instead of using water, and all those fiber optic cables below us are used for lasers. In experiments conducted at the quantum optical lab at the Niels Bohr Institute last year, laser cooling was proven to work in semiconductor membranes that function at the atomic level. It all fits.”

“And this computer has the power to take over all of the computer systems that were affected by the worm?” Ben asked, rubbing the back of his neck as he stared overhead.

“This thing can overwhelm any computer system in existence. I’m sure the worm came from here, and once it worked its way through the system, it basically took over the internet and anything connected to it. Israel was only a test. Once they have all of their components in place, this thing will have the power to begin taking over other systems. That man we met on the stairway wasn’t kidding when he told us that these people would soon rule the world.”

Ever since the pope had disappeared, an ominous silence had descended over the Apostolic Palace. On orders from the papal secretary, the pope’s apartments had been sealed, preventing anyone from entering the sanctified space. To many it seemed as if the pope had died, and in truth his disappearance had been much like a death. Special masses had been held in Saint Peter’s Basilica and around the world, and the constant rain over the Holy City for the past few days had lent a dreary backdrop to an already somber atmosphere.

Sipping tea in a small apartment near the palace, Cardinal Serafino Acone brushed aside the sugary cookies next to his cup and looked across the table at Father Leonardo Vespa, the Vatican’s Camerlengo. “I grow weary of this purgatory the curia has forced me to endure, Camerlengo. Even I am forbidden to enter the Papal Apartments, which makes it very difficult for me to conduct myself in a manner befitting my position.”

As Vespa remained silent, Acone took notice of the priest’s steady eyes and chiseled features. “I understand you are an expert in matters involving papal succession, Father. I wondered if you would mind answering a few of my questions.”

“Of course, Your Eminence,” Vespa answered cautiously. “I will do anything I can to help you through this very difficult time.”

Acone measured his next words carefully, for it was well known around the Vatican that the camerlengo was a man of great intellect and had many powerful friends within the curia. Acone would have to tread lightly in his questioning. “Tell me, Father Vespa, what is the accepted length of time in which a sitting pope can remain missing before he is declared dead and the College of Cardinals can meet to elect a new pope?”

Vespa coughed into his rolled up fist. “May I remind Your Eminence that Jesus disappeared for forty days before he returned from the desert. The Holy Father has been gone for only twelve days. Should we not accord him the same support we would have given our Lord in his unexplained absence?”

Acone’s eyes blazed. “Your answer borders on impudence, Vespa. How can you compare that Jesuit Pope to our Lord.”

Vespa’s face remained frozen in a neutral mask. “My comparison only attempts to illustrate a point, Your Eminence, and I’m surprised the analogy offends you. A cardinal of your stature should know that the Holy Father is seen as Christ’s vicar here on Earth, and as such he deserves our respect as well as our patience. If he has left of his own free will ... and we all pray to God that that is the case ... then we must trust that whatever he is doing is God’s will.”

Vespa paused to let his words sink in as he watched the cardinal’s face redden. It was like being in the room with a snake.
You never take your eyes off of it ... least it strike without warning.

“There is no specific time limit set forth for the removal of a pope if he is unable to perform duties,” Vespa continued. “Since our history provides us with no previous record of an incident like this, we have no precedent upon which to draw a conclusion. The curia’s canonical scholars have interpreted the pope’s mysterious disappearance to be in line with that of a prolonged illness, and for the present their decision is final. I would advise Your Eminence to have patience, because I have no doubt your line of questioning arises from your concern for the safe return of our Holy Father.”

“Yes, of course ... your observations are most insightful, Father Vespa.” Running a hand over a dagger concealed beneath his robes, Acone remembered what he had learned about Vespa before he had left Turkey. His first name, Leonardo, meant lion, and his last name, Vespa, meant wasp.
A lion that stings.
Yes, Acone thought to himself, he must tread very lightly indeed around this lion-wasp of a man, least he fall victim to his sting. Maybe they should have foreseen this Jesuit threat and dealt with it before the pope had disappeared, but who could have predicted that Pope Michael would suddenly disappear without warning just days before they struck. Whether through genius or by accident, the disappearance of the pope had placed Acone and his conspirators in an uneasy position. They were now permanently stalled in their quest to place Satan’s representative at the head of the Church where he would be able to influence the hearts and minds of billions of people around the world who were unaware that a snake had slithered into their midst.

Acone sipped at his tea and forced himself to smile as he reached for a cookie and tried a new tactic. “Forgive me, Father Vespa. I’m not myself lately. I never asked for this job, but now that I have it I must do my utmost to lead the Church through uncharted waters. You are truly a valued member of the team, and I can only hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive an impetuous old man for seeming impatient, but the Lord’s work must continue.”

“And we are all here to make sure that it does, Your Eminence.” Vespa could feel himself shaking as he laid his napkin on the table. “If you will excuse me, Your Eminence, I have a doctor’s appointment.”

“Of course, Father. I hope everything is alright.”

“Yes. Just a routine check-up.”

“Very well. May God go with you, my son.”

“And with you as well, Your Eminence.”

Rising on unsteady feet, Vespa walked away from the table as the color drained from his face. When he reached the door he turned his head slightly, catching the cardinal’s malevolent glare. Acone quickly tried to smile, but it was too late. Father Leonardo Vespa knew without a shadow of a doubt that he had just been speaking to evil incarnate.

As soon as he was clear of the Apostolic Palace, Vespa hurried over to the residential apartments and knocked on Morelli’s door. After practically jerking the door off its hinges, Morelli peered out into the hallway before ushering the young priest inside.

Standing by the open window, Cardinal McCulley blew the smoke from his cigarette out over the gardens below. “Well, Camerlengo ... what have you learned?”

Vespa smiled at the way McCulley pronounced the word
camerlengo
with his thick, New York accent. He always felt like he was watching an old detective movie when he listened to the cardinal speak.

“I believe our fears are well-founded, Cardinal. Acone has an agenda, and although I’m not sure yet just what that agenda is, I fear for the safety of the Holy Father should he return before we’ve had a chance to discover what this wolf in sheep’s clothing is up to.”

In the pre-dawn darkness covering the Mediterranean Sea, Gwyneth Hastings, Doug Peterson and Shane Trent stood on the rolling deck of the
HMS Ambush
and waved goodbye to Leo and the others as they transferred to the Israeli sub
Tekuma
.

The time spent running and hiding inside the labyrinth beneath the Rock of Gibraltar had been an exhausting ordeal for all of them, and despite the fact that they had made it safely onboard the British sub back at the harbor in Gibraltar, they were still on the run from an invisible enemy that seemed capable of striking anywhere and at any time without warning.

In a move orchestrated to protect Pope Michael and Eduardo Acerbi from those looking to kill them, Danny Zamir had insisted that they accompany him and the others back to Israel aboard the
Tekuma
. “The web of security the Mossad and the IDF will throw up around you will not be penetrated,” he had promised.

In the tight confines of the Israeli sub, the crew of the
Tekuma
showed the new arrivals to their sleeping quarters before escorting them down to the galley for some much needed food and coffee.

Ducking through the tight hatchway that led into the galley’s seating area, Misha Bagrov poured a steaming cup of hot coffee from a large, stainless-steel urn and slid into the seat next to Leo. “Good morning, Cardinal. I see you have returned for another trip on our little boat ... and this time you have brought my boss with you.” Bagrov grinned across the table at Danny Zamir. “How are you, sir?”

“I’ve been better, Misha,” Zamir replied. “How is life for a security officer onboard a sub?”

“Best duty you’ve ever given me. I have a warm place to sleep every night, hot food ... and no one is shooting at me.”

Zamir’s face became serious. “Any news from Team 5 yet?”

Bagrov looked down the table at Pope Michael and Eduardo Acerbi. “Mind if we talk in private?”

“Of course.” Zamir launched his heavy frame from the booth-like seating area and followed the security officer into another compartment. “What’s up?”

“While we were on the surface we received a 0.5 nanosecond burst transmission. Evidently, Team 5 is still maintaining radio silence. The rest of the transmission was just routine naval stuff ... weather reports and things like that, but there was one new report that caught my attention. It seems that Mossad headquarters received a message from Morelli’s friend in Turkey.”

“The Muslim?”