Bipolar WINTER. Samuel David Steiner
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Secret Archives.”
Perusing the Secret Archives was any theological historian’s greatest fantasy. But the prospect of fantasy becoming reality left Aldo feeling overwhelmed. “I’m honored,” he replied softly.
Pope Benedict smiled. “I’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow at eight o’clock in the southeast courtyard. Sleep well, Signore Lombardi.”
Sebastiano turned to follow the two younger men, but the pope laid a hand on his arm, stopping him. The cardinal nodded almost imperceptibly and returned to his seat, waiting for the door to close. Seated once again behind his desk, the pope said, “Sebastiano, you disagree with me, don’t you?”
“It isn’t my place to agree or disagree, Your Holiness.”
The pope chuckled. “But you do nonetheless.”
The cardinal remained silent, but raised his left eyebrow slightly, the most defiance he was willing to show.
“Are you familiar with Sun-Tzu?” the pope asked.
“Of course,” Sebastiano said. “It has always been required reading at the university.”
“I’m just keeping Signore Lombardi close, that’s all.”
Sebastiano’s eyes flashed. “Really?” he whispered. “You fooled me.”
“The next few weeks will determine whether our young historian is indeed friend or foe,” the pope said. “Either way, he’s mired himself in this so deeply, we can’t afford to leave him unmonitored.”
David led Aldo through the maze of corridors to a small yet elegantly appointed room. Aldo never imagined he would set foot within the Apostolic Palace, let alone be invited to spend the night. The walls breathed history, like a faint perfume, intoxicating him. He longed to explore, but the residual effects of anxiety and lack of sleep were taking their toll.
When David politely excused himself, Aldo tossed his suitcase onto the twin-sized bed and popped it open. As he sluggishly fished for his toiletry bag, he realized he was still wearing his ski coat and pants. Great. He’d met the pope looking like a dark blue marshmallow. Not that his first meeting with the pope could have gone any worse. With a sigh, he stripped off his coat and pants and shoved them into his suitcase. Thankfully tomorrow was a new day. One with fewer surprises, he hoped.
Needing a task to distract his mind, Aldo hung up his garment bag and inspected the charcoal-colored suit within for wrinkles. As he looked for an iron, he noticed a narrow door opening to a quaint balcony. From it, he could see Saint Peter’s Square sprawled out before him. The square lit up the darkness as a few stragglers milled about despite the winter cold. Lights illuminated the statues of Christ and His apostles atop the Basilica and reflected off its dome, making it glow invitingly.
Aldo sat down in a small wrought iron chair situated in the corner of the balcony and gazed at the view. Finally able to reflect on all the events of the day, he mused at how quickly his life had been turned upside down. Just that morning, he had awakened disheartened at the prospect of never finding a job in his field after barely managing to graduate. Now, the pope himself was offering him a job. Despite the seemingly miraculous turn of events, Aldo remained uneasy.
Feeling a vibration in his pocket, he pulled out his cell phone. Seventeen unread messages from his parents greeted him, and he groaned. How in the world was he going to explain this? He certainly couldn’t tell them the truth, especially after the pope’s gag order. He scrolled through the messages.
“Where are you?”
“Did something happen? Please call us.”
“The rescuers are combing the slopes for you right now. Please be okay.”
Guilt crushed him. At twenty-six, he sometimes forgot that he was still a child in his parents’ eyes. And no parent should have to experience such worry. Confirming he had enough cell reception, he dialed his mother’s cell number. He heard only crackling. “Mom? Can you hear me?”
“Where... you… thought… avalanche…”
“Mom, you’re breaking up. If you can hear me, I’m okay. I had to return to Rome unexpectedly.” He heard a ping as a small rock landed near his feet. Puzzled, he bent down and scooped it up.
“Do… your father…”
“Mom, I can’t really go into detail right now, but I just wanted to let you know I’m safe. I’m sorry it took me so long to call.”
“…home…”
The crackling went silent and he looked at his screen to check the connection. “Mom?” Nothing. He sighed. Well, at least she knew he wasn’t trapped under feet of snow somewhere, but she wouldn’t let this go anytime soon. No doubt she would hold this over his head like a noose for at least the next decade. He sent her a text message for good measure then tossed his cell on the bed and looked at the stone still in his left hand. Where did it come from? He was on the second floor, and there were no rooms above him. Rolling it around in his palm, he was about to toss it off the balcony when he realized it wasn’t just a stone. A bit of paper had been wrapped around it.
Seriously? How hard is it to find a trashcan?
But why would someone bother to weigh down a piece of litter with a rock only to throw it up here? Smoothing it out, he noticed a short message written on the slip of paper, but between the surrounding darkness and his poor eyesight, he couldn’t make it out. Rummaging through his suitcase, he found his reading glasses and slipped them on. He could barely make out the penciled letters—Cipro station NOW!
From his years of living in Rome while attending university, he knew the Cipro metro station was some twenty minutes away by foot.
Can’t be for me. No one even knows I’m here. Well, except Mom.
He dropped the slip of paper into the wastebasket and headed for the small attached bathroom. Eager to wash away the hours of sweat from skiing, planes, and Fiats, he turned on the shower. As he waited for the water to heat, he grabbed his toiletry bag. He shaved quickly, before the steam could fog up the mirror, and then stepped in and allowed the hot water to beat against his back. As much as he wanted to take his time and enjoy the warmth, his eyes were starting to droop. Wrapping the large cream-colored towel around his waist, he opened the door and stepped back into the room.
“Good evening, Mr. Lombardi.”
Startled by the voice, Aldo whipped around. Standing off to the left side of his room was a man dressed in a black suit.
“Who are you?” he gasped.
Arms folded across his chest and his face devoid of any emotion, the man said nothing.
“Why are you in my room?” Aldo asked, looking him up and down.
“Didn’t you get my note?” said a familiar feminine voice behind him.
Can’t be. “Allison?” Aldo turned around, his gaze meeting the beautiful blue eyes that never failed to mesmerize him. Her honey-colored hair fell around her shoulders, not a strand out of place. “What—How…” Taking a deep breath, he tried again. “What are you doing here?” He had read that sleep deprivation could cause hallucinations in some people. But even after the day he’d had, he couldn’t be that tired.
She laughed, the sound reminding him of wind chimes on a summer’s day. “Surprised?”
Warmth flooded his cheeks as he nodded. He’d had a crush on Allison for the past six years, ever since he’d met her at a little coffee house near the university his sophomore year. In addition to her beauty, she had a quick mind, and he always enjoyed their conversations. He never could muster the nerve to ask her out though, afraid things would turn awkward and ruin their friendship. So, he settled for daydreams and sidelong glances.
“What’re you doing here?” he asked again. His eyes swept the room. “How did you even get in? And how did you