6 . 30 P.M.
BOMBARDIER LEAR JET- 85
The Pope looked on as the Charmenlengo took out the small voice recorder from his pocket and was turning it over in his palms.
“Wait, you recorded my confession? How could you Francesco”, the Pope asked, a shocked expression on his face.
“No, not Francesco”, he said and pulled off the rubbery mask and make-up. He also removed the voice distorter.
“Giovanni Lorenzo!” He shouted and almost fainted, he least expected this.
“Yes of course, it’s me. Anyway, it won’t matter that much. You would be dead by the time it gets to the public”, he sneered.
“You! I trusted you with my life. Come mai (How could you?)” He exasperated.
“Never mind, change is coming and I am the new instrument of change. It’s what the church has been waiting for, a belief with reason”.
“It’s not possible, you cannot overthrow the church. The Curia . . . Oh my God!”
“Don’t worry about them, and be mindful of terms. Revolution and not a coup, a new order, transformation . . . I can see it coming”.
“You’re a lunatic, Giovanni. Stop it and come to your senses. You should confess this blasphemy”.
He pocketed the recorder and pulled out a revolver from the pocket of his black cassock. He dipped his hand in the other pocket and got out a silencer.
The Supreme Pontiff was sweating profusely. He clutched his rosary tightly.
He brought his face close to him.
“That’s exactly what I want. I want to see you shiver with fear. I want you to know what horror feels like”. He stuck the gun on his neck, tracing it along its length.
“Your hunger for power would lead you to doom, Giovanni. Let’s settle this like brothers. I mean, I’ve always loved you as one and held you in high regard. How could you possibly do this?”
He burst out laughing. “Oh, now we’re brothers? It’s been exactly twenty-five years now, father”, he said, playing the the recorded Pope’s confession over and over again, “but I’ve been finally been opportune by divine providence to get my revenge. I won’t call it a sin; after all the Bible said, ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. Can you imagine seeing you, a wicked a
heartless man, sitting on the Papal throne, worshiping on the altar and being revered by all and sundry? The pain of it, the death of the first true love I ever known and all whatnot, and you were ever there in Rome, climbing through the echelons of power and enjoying all the glory and attention while your past toils behind. Right now, you’ve lost everything; the Vatican and maybe even your life . . .everything”.
“But what have I not done for you, Giovanni. I took you like my own brother. I showered you with love, gave you power and you are the youngest President of the monetary administrations of the Holy See. You know how the Roman Curia has been on my neck for that but I persevered. All this was not enough for you and this is what you pay back with”.
He rose again and began fixing the silencer on the nozzle of the gun.
Papa Georgia had prepared for this and hopefully the flight attendant had done as he was instructed. The pistol was carefully hidden in an incision made in the leather inside of the first class jet, it was hidden just below the seat. Thankfully, he was buying his pretense of helplessness. He just hoped that his military skill had not wavered a bit after all these years. Then the moment came.
“Tu traditore della Santa Madre Chiesa! (You traitor of the Holy Mother church!)” He shouted.
Giovanni turned quickly and was surprised. A gun was pointing at him. He recovered quickly and with expertise.
It all happened in a flash and a loud shot exploded; it reverberated in the plane . . .