The Angel of Milan (17 page)

             
“Have you thought it through now, Adama?” he asked. “Good, I can see that you have decided to listen and not react.”

             
He annoyed me, but there was nothing for it. I determined to let him play out his hand.

             
“Very well, go on.”

             
“Immediately after receiving your report from the Duomo Treasury, the cardinal set in motion the events that led to the removal of the Lot from the vault. He was long aware of Crochi’s transgressions from the documentation prepared by Archbishop Savica and Monsignor Belgerio. Everything goes
through his offices, and he knew the man could be coerced. He set his agent Giovanni Garabela in motion to accomplish the act.”

             
“Just a minute, you want me to believe that he kept Crochi
in place in order to use him?”

             
“Not just Crochi, Adama, many other priests, administrators—anyone under his jurisdiction. Didn’t you ever wonder why it seemed that the Church turned a blind eye to all the perversion and criminal activity within its walls? There are people all over the world that Burtuchi knows he can make use of if the occasion should arise.”

             
“To what purpose? Where are you going with this accusation?”

             
It was all too strange for me. I was pretty sure I was entertaining a wild conspiracy theorist with too much time on his hands to pursue meaningful thought. I was just about to tell him so before excusing myself and getting the hell out of there, but he stopped me dead in my tracks.

             
“Adama, what does the Bilderberg Group mean to you? Do you know that Burtuchi is a member?”

             
“Shit!”

             
The word just slipped out of my mouth. Bilderbergers—this was the secret society of secret societies. Since 1954, the group has met annually with the official purpose of fostering cooperation between Western Europe and the United States on political, economic, education, and defense issues. Their membership and inclusion in the annual meeting is by invitation only, and includes bankers, politicians, and directors of global businesses corporations. I had often wondered just who it was that determined the membership, and which members would be invited each year. It seemed to me that there must be a small core of leadership, the man behind the curtain if you will, that pulled all the strings.

             
The reality, of course, is that the group is a witch’s brew of corruption on a planetary scale. Security of their meetings is tighter than a crab’s ass, with zero reporting or accountability of discussions and decisions. It has been suspected that they determine who leads the World Bank, the IMF, the European Union, and the candidate for the U.S. presidency. Many of their members hold leadership positions in other secret societies, such as Skull and Bones and the Free Masons. Their power and penetration into the fabric of western life is almost beyond comprehension. It has been clear for a long time that their ultimate goal has been a “New World Order,” a single-world government, monetary system, and humanitarian law dictated by the elite. Their world has no room for the individual or the rights of man granted by the Creator.

             
A light was beginning to dawn in my mind. For the past thirty years, each Pope has formally called for a “New World Order,” specifically using those words. U.S. presidents have publicly uttered the words. It had always been my opinion that World War II had been fought to prevent just such a “New World Order.” Now we were openly advocating it. Had not Europe already manifested such order by bringing about the European Union? These nations had given up their sovereignty, and thus control of their own destiny. Who can deny the erosion of their God-given rights?

             
“I see in your eyes, Adama, that the reality has awakened in your mind. Look to Burtuchi’s calendar, past and present, and you will find a correlation between his schedule and the meetings of the Bilderberger. Think, Adama, who really controls the Vatican Bank? How much influence does Cardinal Burtuchi have over the Pontifical Council for Justice and Peace; who really selects the Vatican diplomats to over one hundred and seventy countries?”

             
He was right, of course. I already knew that the cardinal held sway over the very pulse of the Vatican. Now I even wondered how much influence he had over the election of each new Pope. Still, the whole premise was too fantastic to be true.

             
Burtuchi—could he be one of the global puppeteers, a “New World Order” advocate? Still, his participation in the Bilderberger would provide them with influence over 1.2 billion Catholics. Victorio was a good salesman; I was compelled to follow along further. There was an element of plausibility.

             
“Let’s assume all that you have to say is true. Why are you telling me all this and what do you wish to accomplish?”

             
The intensity of his eyes left me, and it seemed that he went to another place and time in his mind. When he spoke again, I was not sure if his words were directed to me or someone else in the room out of my line of sight. I can tell you that it was damn uncomfortable.

             
“In this particular instance, Cardinal Burtuchi’s doings have come within my sphere of influence. I cannot sit idle and allow his purposes to succeed without an attempt to obstruct them. I believe I was clear before—all should be brought into the light. If it must be done in secret, then it should not be done at all. For Burtuchi, the Atonement Lot is a form of currency to be placed in safekeeping. However, I tell you that it is much more than political currency, it is also a spiritual currency.”

             
Now he was beginning to sound like Dinard. What is it with these otherwise intellectual people that draws them into myth and superstition? I saw the corners of his mouth draw down. My face must have betrayed my thoughts to him. It didn’t stop him, though; he was going to finish his dissertation, so I just listened.

             
“At some point in time, it is likely that one of the players in the Middle East, America, or even Europe will be more than willing to provide him and his associates some accommodation in return for possessing such an explosive artifact. Whether they would exploit it or destroy it really makes no difference to the cardinal. As a Bilderberger, his only care is that a “New World Order” be brought into being. Imagine, if you will, an entire planet subjugated by thousands of elite—the ultimate plantation system.” He paused a moment, and then continued, “As for my reason for telling you all this…”

             
A Mona Lisa smile transitioned across his face, and the dark blue of his eyes deepened to almost black. His satisfaction with the thought was obvious.  

             
“Adama, you are my Trojan Horse. Who better to place in the belly of the beast?”

             
“Okay, so you have told me a tall tale of Cardinal Burtuchi and the Bilderbergers. Don’t you think it is presumptuous to expect me to believe you? Even if I did, what makes you think that I would sabotage or disrupt the cardinal’s activities in any way?”

             
“Adama, you will verify all that I have said. Then what you do with the information is entirely up to you, is it not? However, we have met face-to-face, and I know your heart and spirit. Neither will allow you to ignore the truth of the matter once the truth is known to you.”

             
I felt my anger rise. He knew nothing about me; what made him think that he knew what I would do? I was just about to tell him so when he made me freeze.

             
“Do not be angry, Adama. You are a bloody man, it is true, but remember that King David was also a bloody man. Regardless, he was a man after God’s own heart. I have great hopes for you, Adama.”

             
I didn’t know what to say. Was he guessing? What did he know? I decided on a bold front.

             
“How dare you accuse me. I don’t know what you think you know about me, but you have no right to make such accusations.”

             
“As you wish, Adama.”

             
“Very well, tell me where to find the Atonement Lot, and I will be on my way.”

             
“Not yet. Your presence is needed in Milano for a time longer.”

             
“And why is that?” My patience was on a very short fuse by this time.

             
“Be satisfied when I tell you only that your presence will do me a great personal service. In return, you shall have the Atonement Lot you seek. For now, leave me, consider what I have said, and in a short time we will talk of the Atonement Lot again.”

             
“Leave you? Oh no, not without knowing who you think has the Atonement Lot.”

             
“I think not, Adama. I am quite content with the way things are for the moment. That is enough for now. Be satisfied knowing that we will discuss it again.”

             
Well, I was fit to be tied! The son of a bitch knew he had me. There was no way I was going to get any names out of him at this point. I would have to be patient and see what would come next. I would not have guessed that he already tracked it down if he had not told me.

             
“When will we talk again?”

             
“Soon, Adama, soon. The next time we meet, I am sure you will have developed a different perspective of many things.”

             
That was as far as I got that afternoon. I didn’t yet have the Lot, but I sure knew more than I did when I arrived. Moreover, he was right about me confirming his story. I am not a particularly trusting soul to begin with, and a revelation of this magnitude bears much scrutiny. If there were anything false in his allegations, he would find me on his doorstep in a very bad mood.

             
I was not concerned with the “bloody man” comment—he was probably just reading my anger in my body language. I myself often used it to discern other’s thoughts. I dismissed it as any true knowledge of my vocation. He did admit to having direct or indirect knowledge of the Lot. Certainly, the assistance of a man with his influence would be invaluable in the recovery. On the other hand, his obstruction of the Atonement Lot’s recovery would be just as difficult to surmount. I would have to play along.

             
What if what he said about Burtuchi’s involvement in the theft from the Duomo were true? His plan, whatever that was, had gone south with the murder of Crochi. Had Crochi been on his way to deliver it to Giovanni?  If all that were true, then Burtuchi had sent me to Milan to clean up his mess. At this point, I wasn’t sure what the truth was anymore.

             
Then there was this personal service he expected me to render him.
I don’t think so, Del Cielo
, I thought. The only thing I was sure of was that he was just a man. Oh, he was eccentric as hell and a condescending son of a bitch, but what person of wealth and power isn’t?

8
             
             
             
             
             
Alessandra drove me back to the rectory at the same break-neck speed that she employed on our drive to the villa. Little conversation passed between us. My anger with her boss made it impossible for me to indulge in pleasantries with his surrogate. My mood must have been written on my face, as she also seemed willing to pass the time back to Milan in relative silence.