danbrown.angels&demons-第79章

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　Certainly　not　one　of　the　preferiti。　They　were　old　。　。　。　walking　death　。　。　。　liberals　who　would　follow　the　Pope；　endorsing　science　in　his　memory；　seeking　modern　followers　by　abandoning　the　ancient　ways。　Old　men　desperately　behind　the　times；　pathetically　pretending　they　were　not。　They　would　fail；　of　course。　The　church's　strength　was　its　tradition；　not　its　transience。　The　whole　world　was　transitory。　The　church　did　not　need　to　change；　it　simply　needed　to　remind　the　world　it　was　relevant！　Evil　lives！　God　will　overe！　
　The　church　needed　a　leader。　Old　men　do　not　inspire！　Jesus　inspired！　Young；　vibrant；　powerful　。　。　。　MIRACULOUS。　
　
　〃Enjoy　your　tea；〃　the　camerlegno　told　the　four　preferiti；　leaving　them　in　the　Pope's　private　library　before　conclave。　〃Your　guide　will　be　here　soon。〃
　The　preferiti　thanked　him；　all　abuzz　that　they　had　been　offered　a　chance　to　enter　the　famed　Passetto。　Most　unmon！　The　camerlegno；　before　leaving　them；　had　unlocked　the　door　to　the　Passetto；　and　exactly　on　schedule；　the　door　had　opened；　and　a　foreign…looking　priest　with　a　torch　had　ushered　the　excited　preferiti　in。　
　The　men　had　never　e　out。
　They　will　be　the　Horror。　I　will　be　the　Hope。
　
　No　。　。　。　I　am　the　horror。　
　
　The　camerlegno　staggered　now　through　the　darkness　of　St。　Peter's　Basilica。　Somehow；　through　the　insanity　and　guilt；　through　the　images　of　his　father；　through　the　pain　and　revelation；　even　through　the　pull　of　the　morphine　。　。　。　he　had　found　a　brilliant　clarity。　A　sense　of　destiny。　I　know　my　purpose；　he　thought；　awed　by　the　lucidity　of　it。　
　From　the　beginning；　nothing　tonight　had　gone　exactly　as　he　had　planned。　Unforeseen　obstacles　had　presented　themselves；　but　the　camerlegno　had　adapted；　making　bold　adjustments。　Still；　he　had　never　imagined　tonight　would　end　this　way；　and　yet　now　he　saw　the　preordained　majesty　of　it。　
　It　could　end　no　other　way。　
　Oh；　what　terror　he　had　felt　in　the　Sistine　Chapel；　wondering　if　God　had　forsaken　him！　Oh；　what　deeds　He　had　ordained！　He　had　fallen　to　his　knees；　awash　with　doubt；　his　ears　straining　for　the　voice　of　God　but　hearing　only　silence。　He　had　begged　for　a　sign。　Guidance。　Direction。　Was　this　God's　will？　The　church　destroyed　by　scandal　and　abomination？　No！　God　was　the　one　who　had　willed　the　camerlegno　to　act！　Hadn't　He？　
　Then　he　had　seen　it。　Sitting　on　the　altar。　A　sign。　Divine　munication…something　ordinary　seen　in　an　extraordinary　light。　The　crucifix。　Humble；　wooden。　Jesus　on　the　cross。　In　that　moment；　it　had　all　e　clear　。　。　。　the　camerlegno　was　not　alone。　He　would　never　be　alone。　
　This　was　His　will　。　。　。　His　meaning。　
　God　had　always　asked　great　sacrifice　of　those　he　loved　most。　Why　had　the　camerlegno　been　so　slow　to　understand？　Was　he　too　fearful？　Too　humble？　It　made　no　difference。　God　had　found　a　way。　The　camerlegno　even　understood　now　why　Robert　Langdon　had　been　saved。　It　was　to　bring　the　truth。　To　pel　this　ending。
　This　was　the　sole　path　to　the　church's　salvation！
　The　camerlegno　felt　like　he　was　floating　as　he　descended　into　the　Niche　of　the　Palliums。　The　surge　of　morphine　seemed　relentless　now；　but　he　knew　God　was　guiding　him。　
　In　the　distance；　he　could　hear　the　cardinals　clamoring　in　confusion　as　they　poured　from　the　chapel；　yelling　mands　to　the　Swiss　Guard。　
　But　they　would　never　find　him。　Not　in　time。
　The　camerlegno　felt　himself　drawn　。　。　。　faster　。　。　。　descending　the　stairs　into　the　sunken　area　where　the　ninety…nine　oil　lamps　shone　brightly。　God　was　returning　him　to　Holy　Ground。　The　camerlegno　moved　toward　the　grate　covering　the　hole　that　led　down　to　the　Necropolis。　The　Necropolis　is　where　this　night　would　end。　In　the　sacred　darkness　below。　He　lifted　an　oil　lamp；　preparing　to　descend。
　But　as　he　moved　across　the　Niche；　the　camerlegno　paused。　Something　about　this　felt　wrong。　How　did　this　serve　God？　A　solitary　and　silent　end？　Jesus　had　suffered　before　the　eyes　of　the　entire　world。　Surely　this　could　not　be　God's　will！　The　camerlegno　listened　for　the　voice　of　his　God；　but　heard　only　the　blurring　buzz　of　drugs。
　〃Carlo。〃　It　was　his　mother。　〃God　has　plans　for　you。〃　
　Bewildered；　the　camerlegno　kept　moving。
　Then；　without　warning；　God　arrived。
　The　camerlegno　stopped　short；　staring。　The　light　of　the　ninety…nine　oil　lanterns　had　thrown　the　camerlegno's　shadow　on　the　marble　wall　beside　him。　Giant　and　fearful。　A　hazy　form　surrounded　by　golden　light。　With　flames　flickering　all　around　him；　the　camerlegno　looked　like　an　angel　ascending　to　heaven。　He　stood　a　moment；　raising　his　arms　to　his　sides；　watching　his　own　image。　Then　he　turned；　looking　back　up　the　stairs。
　God's　meaning　was　clear。
　
　Three　minutes　had　passed　in　the　chaotic　hallways　outside　the　Sistine　Chapel；　and　still　nobody　could　locate　the　camerlegno。　It　was　as　if　the　man　had　been　swallowed　up　by　the　night。　Mortati　was　about　to　demand　a　full…scale　search　of　Vatican　City　when　a　roar　of　jubilation　erupted　outside　in　St。　Peter's　Square。　The　spontaneous　celebration　of　the　crowd　was　tumultuous。　The　cardinals　all　exchanged　startled　looks。
　Mortati　closed　his　eyes。　〃God　help　us。〃
　For　the　second　time　that　evening；　the　College　of　Cardinals　flooded　onto　St。　Peter's　Square。　Langdon　and　Vittoria　were　swept　up　in　the　jostling　crowd　of　cardinals；　and　they　too　emerged　into　the　night　air。　The　media　lights　and　cameras　were　all　pivoted　toward　the　basilica。　And　there；　having　just　stepped　onto　the　sacred　Papal　Balcony　located　in　the　exact　center　of　the　towering　faзade；　Camerlegno　Carlo　Ventresca　stood　with　his　arms　raised　to　the　heavens。　Even　far　away；　he　looked　like　purity　incarnate。　A　figurine。　Dressed　in　white。　Flooded　with　light。　
　The　energy　in　the　square　seemed　to　grow　like　a　cresting　wave；　and　all　at　once　the　Swiss　Guard　barriers　gave　way。　The　masses　streamed　toward　the　basilica　in　a　euphoric　torrent　of　humanity。　The　onslaught　rushed　forward…people　crying；　singing；　media　cameras　flashing。　Pandemonium。　As　the　people　flooded　in　around　the　front　of　the　basilica；　the　chaos　intensified；　until　it　seemed　nothing　could　stop　it。　
　And　then　something　did。
　High　above；　the　camerlegno　made　the　smallest　of　gestures。　He　folded　his　hands　before　him。　Then　he　bowed　his　head　in　silent　prayer。　One　by　one；　then　dozens　by　dozens；　then　hundreds　by　hundreds；　the　people　bowed　their　heads　along　with　him。　
　The　square　fell　silent　。　。　。　as　if　a　spell　had　been　cast。　
　
　In　his　mind；　swirling　and　distant　now；　the　camerlegno's　prayers　were　a　torrent　of　hopes　and　sorrows　。　。　。　forgive　me；　Father　。　。　。　Mother　。　。　。　full　of　grace　。　。　。　you　are　the　church　。　。　。　may　you　understand　this　sacrifice　of　your　only　begotten　son。　
　Oh；　my　Jesus　。　。　。　save　us　from　the　fires　of　hell　。　。　。　take　all　souls　to　heaven；　especially；　those　most　in　need　of　thy　mercy　。　。　。　
　The　camerlegno　did　not　open　his　eyes　to　see　the　throngs　below　him；　the　television　cameras；　the　whole　world　watching。　He　could　feel　it　in　his　soul。　Even　in　his　anguish；　the　unity　of　the　moment　was　intoxicating。　It　was　as　if　a　connective　web　had　shot　out　in　all　directions　around　the　globe。　In　front　of　televisions；　at　home；　and　in　cars；　the　world　prayed　as　one。　Like　synapses　of　a　giant　heart　all　firing　in　tandem；　the　people　reached　for　God；　in　dozens　of　languages；　in　hundreds　of　countries。　The　words　they　whispered　were　newborn　and　yet　as　familiar　to　them　as　their　own　voices　。　。　。　ancient　truths　。　。　。　imprinted　on　the　soul。　
　The　consonance　felt　eternal。　
　As　the　silence　lifted；　the　joyous　strains　of　singing　began　to　rise　again。　
　He　knew　the　moment　had　e。
　Most　Holy　Trinity；　I　offer　Thee　the　most　precious　Body；　Blood；　Soul　。　。　。　in　reparation　for　the　outrages；　sacrileges；　and　indifferences　。　。　。　
　The　camerlegno　already　felt　the　physical　pain　setting　in。　It　was　spreading　across　his　skin　like　a　plague；　making　him　want　to　claw　at　his　flesh　like　he　had　weeks　ago　when　God　had　first　e　to　him。　Do　not　forget　what　pain　Jesus　endured。　He　could　taste　the　fumes　now　in　his　throat。　Not　even　the　morphine　could　dull　the　bite。　
　My　work　here　is　done。　
　The　Horror　was　his。　The　Hope　was　theirs。　
　In　the　Niche　of　the　Palliums；　the　camerlegno　had　followed　God's　will　and　anointed　his　body。　His　hair。　His　face。　His　linen　robe。　His　flesh。　He　was　soaking　now　with　the　sacred；　vitreous　oils　from　the　lamps。　They　smelled　sweet　like　his　mother；　but　they　burned。　His　would　be　a　merciful　ascension。　Miraculous　and　swift。　And　he　would　leave　behind　not　scandal　。　。　。　but　a　new　strength　and　wonder。　
　He　slipped　his　hand　into　the　pocket　of　his　robe　and　fingered　the　small；　golden　lighter　he　had　brought　with　him　from　the　Pallium　incendiario。　
　He　whispered　a　verse　from　Judgments。　And　when　the　flame　went　up　toward　heaven；　the　angel　of　the　Lord　ascended　in　the　flame。　
　He　positioned　his　thumb。
　They　were　singing　in　St。　Peter's　Square　。　。　。　
　
　The　vision　the　world　witnessed　no　one　would　ever　forget。
　High　above　on　the　balcony；　like　a　soul　tearing　free　of　its　corporeal　restrains；　a　luminous　pyre　of　flame　erupted　from　the　camerlegno's　center。　The　fire　shot　upward；　engulfing　his　entire　body　instantly。　He　did　not　scream。　He　raised　his　arms　over　his　head　and　looked　toward　heaven。　The　conflagration　roared　around　him；　entirely　shrouding　his　body　in　a　column　of　light。　It　raged　for　what　seemed　like　an　eternity；　the　whole　world　bearing　witness。　The　light　flared　brighter　and　brighter。　Then；　gradually；　the　flames　dissipated。　The　camerlegno　was　gone。　Whether　he　had　collapsed　behind　the　balustrade　or　evaporated　into　thin　air　was　impossible　to　tell。　All　that　was　left　was　a　cloud　of　smoke　spiraling　skyward　over　Vatican　City。
　
　135

　D　awn　came　late　to　Rome。
　An　early　rainstorm　had　washed　the　crowds　from　St。　Peter's　Square。　The　media　stayed　on；　huddling　under　umbrellas　and　in　vans；　mentating　on　the　evening's　events。　Across　the　world；　churches　overflowed。　It　was　a　time　of　reflection　and　discussion　。　。　。　in　all　religions。　Questions　abounded；　and　yet　the　answers　seemed　only　to　bring　deeper　questions。　Thus　far；　the　Vatican　had　remained　silent；　issuing　no　statement　whatsoever。
　
　Deep　in　the　Vatican　Grottoes；　Cardinal　Mortati　knelt　alone　before　the　open　sarcophagus。　He　reached　in　and　closed　the　old　man's　blackened　mouth。　His　Holiness　looked　peaceful　now。　In　quiet　repose　for　eternity。　
　At　Mortati's　feet　was　a　golden　urn；　heavy　with　ashes。　Mortati　had　gathered　the　ashes　himself　and　brought　them　here。　〃A　chance　for　forgiveness；〃　he　said　to　His　Holiness；　laying　the　urn　inside　the　sarcophagus　at　the　Pope's　side。　〃No　love　is　greater　than　that　of　a　father　for　His　son。〃　Mortati　tucked　the　urn　out　of　sight　beneath　the　papal　robes。　He　knew　this　sacred　grotto　was　reserved　exclusively　for　the　relics　of　Popes；　but　somehow　Mortati　sensed　this　was　appropriate。
　〃Signore？〃　someone　said；　entering　the　grottoes。　It　was　Lieutenant　Chartrand。　He　was　acpanied　by　three　Swiss　Guards。　〃They　are　ready　for　you　in　conclave。〃
　Mortati　nodded。　〃In　a　moment。〃　He　gazed　one　last　time　into　the　sarcophagus　before　him；　and　then　stood　up。　He　turned　to　the　guards。　〃It　is　time　for　His　Holiness　to　have　the　peace　he　has　earned。〃
　The　guards　came　forward　and　with　enormous　effort　slid　the　lid　of　the　Pope's　sarcophagus　back　into　place。　It　thundered　shut　with　finality。　
　
　Mortati　was　alone　as　he　crossed　the　Borgia　Courtyard　toward　the