"Monodirectional security. You will have no difficulties." That being the entirety of the conversation, the guard spun on his heel and marched off down the hall.

Vittoria made some comment, but Langdon did not hear. His mind was fixed on the double doors before him, wondering what mysteries lay beyond.

47

Although he knew time was short, Camerlegno Carlo Ventresca walked slowly. He needed the time alone to gather his thoughts before facing opening prayer. So much was happening. As he moved in dim solitude down the Northern Wing, the challenge of the past fifteen days weighed heavy in his bones.

He had followed his holy duties to the letter.

As was Vatican tradition, following the Pope’s death the camerlegno had personally confirmed expiration by placing his fingers on the Pope’s carotid artery, listening for breath, and then calling the Pope’s name three times. By law there was no autopsy. Then he had sealed the Pope’s bedroom, destroyed the papal fisherman’s ring, shattered the die used to make lead seals, and arranged for the funeral. That done, he began preparations for the conclave.

Conclave, he thought. The final hurdle. It was one of the oldest traditions in Christendom. Nowadays, because the outcome of conclave was usually known before it began, the process was criticized as obsolete—more of a burlesque than an election. The camerlegno knew, however, this was only a lack of understanding. Conclave was not an election. It was an ancient, mystic transference of power. The tradition was timeless… the secrecy, the folded slips of paper, the burning of the ballots, the mixing of ancient chemicals, the smoke signals.

As the camerlegno approached through the Loggias of Gregory XIII, he wondered if Cardinal Mortati was in a panic yet. Certainly Mortati had noticed the preferiti were missing. Without them, the voting would go on all night. Mortati’s appointment as the Great Elector, the camerlegno assured himself, was a good one. The man was a freethinker and could speak his mind. The conclave would need a leader tonight more than ever.

As the camerlegno arrived at the top of the Royal Staircase, he felt as though he were standing on the precipice of his life. Even from up here he could hear the rumble of activity in the Sistine Chapel below—the uneasy chatter of 165 cardinals.

One hundred sixty-one cardinals, he corrected.

For an instant the camerlegno was falling, plummeting toward hell, people screaming, flames engulfing him, stones and blood raining from the sky.

And then silence.

When the child awoke, he was in heaven. Everything around him was white. The light was blinding and pure. Although some would say a ten year old could not possibly understand heaven, the young Carlo Ventresca understood heaven very well. He was in heaven right now. Where else would he be? Even in his short decade on earth Carlo had felt the majesty of God—the thundering pipe organs, the towering domes, the voices raised in song, the stained glass, shimmering bronze and gold. Carlo’s mother, Maria, brought him to Mass every day. The church was Carlo’s home.

"Why do we come to Mass every single day?" Carlo asked, not that he minded at all.

"Because I promised God I would," she replied. "And a promise to God is the most important promise of all. Never break a promise to God."

Carlo promised her he would never break a promise to God. He loved his mother more than anything in the world. She was his holy angel. Sometimes he called her Maria benedetta—the Blessed Mary—although she did not like that at all. He knelt with her as she prayed, smelling the sweet scent of her flesh and listening to the murmur of her voice as she counted the rosary. Hail Mary, Mother of God… pray for us sinners… now and at the hour of our death.

"Where is my father?" Carlo asked, already knowing his father had died before he was born.

"God is your father, now," she would always reply. "You are a child of the church."

Carlo loved that.

"Whenever you feel frightened," she said, "remember that God is your father now. He will watch over you and protect you forever. God has big plans for you, Carlo." The boy knew she was right. He could already feel God in his blood.

Blood…

Blood raining from the sky!

Silence. Then heaven.