a valuable commodity. People clustered around the towering flat-screen displays, listening to live reports in stunned excitement.
Only a hundred yards away, inside the thick walls of St. Peter's Basilica, the world was serene. Lieutenant Chartrand and three other guards moved through the darkness. Wearing their infrared goggles, they fanned out across the nave, swinging their detectors before them. The search of Vatican City's public access areas so far had yielded nothing.
"Better remove your goggles up here," the senior guard said.
Chartrand was already doing it. They were nearing the Niche of the Palliums - the sunken area in the center of the basilica. It was lit by ninety-nine oil lamps, and the amplified infrared would have seared their eyes.
Chartrand enjoyed being out of the heavy goggles, and he stretched his neck as they descended into the sunken niche to scan the area. The room was beautiful... golden and glowing. He had not been down here yet.
It seemed every day since Chartrand had arrived in Vatican City he had learned some new Vatican mystery. These oil lamps were one of them. There were exactly ninety-nine lamps burning at all times. It was tradition. The clergy vigilantly refilled the lamps with sacred oils such that no lamp ever burned out. It was said they would burn until the end of time.
Or at least until midnight, Chartrand thought, feeling his mouth go dry again.
Chartrand swung his detector over the oil lamps. Nothing hidden in here. He was not surprised; the canister, according to the video feed, was hidden in a dark area.
As he moved across the niche, he came to a bulkhead grate covering a hole in the floor. The hole led to a steep and narrow stairway that went straight down. He had heard stories about what lay down there. Thankfully, they would not have to descend. Rocher's orders were clear. Search only the public access areas; ignore the white zones.
"What's that smell?" he asked, turning away from the grate. The niche smelled intoxicatingly sweet.
"Fumes from the lamps," one of them replied.
Chartrand was surprised. "Smells more like cologne than kerosene."
"It's not kerosene. These lamps are close to the papal altar, so they take a special, ambiental mixture - ethanol, sugar, butane, and perfume."
"Butane?" Chartrand eyed the lamps uneasily.
The guard nodded. "Don't spill any. Smells like heaven, but burns like hell."
The guards had completed searching the Niche of the Palliums and were moving across the basilica again when their walkie-talkies went off.
It was an update. The guards listened in shock.
Apparently there were troubling new developments, which could not be shared on-air, but the camerlegno had decided to break tradition and enter conclave to address the cardinals. Never before in history had this been done. Then again, Chartrand realized, never before in history had the Vatican been sitting on what amounted to some sort of neoteric nuclear warhead.
Chartrand felt comforted to know the camerlegno was taking control. The camerlegno was the person inside Vatican City for whom Chartrand held the most respect. Some of the guards thought of the camerlegno as a beato - a religious zealot whose love of God bordered on obsession - but even they agreed... when it came to fighting the enemies of God, the camerlegno was the one man who would stand up and play hardball.
The Swiss Guards had seen a lot of the camerlegno this week in preparation for conclave, and everyone had commented that the man seemed a bit rough around the edges, his verdant eyes a bit more intense than usual. Not surprisingly, they had all commented; not only was the camerlegno responsible for planning the sacred conclave, but he had to do it immediately on the heels of the loss of his mentor, the Pope.
Chartrand had only been at the Vatican a few months when he heard the story of the bomb that blew up the camerlegno's mother before the kid's very eyes. A bomb in church... and now it's happening all over again. Sadly, the authorities never caught the bastards who planted the bomb... probably some anti-Christian hate group they said, and the case faded away. No wonder the camerlegno despised apathy.
A couple months back, on a peaceful afternoon inside Vatican City, Chartrand had bumped into the camerlegno coming across the grounds. The camerlegno had apparently recognized Chartrand as a new guard and invited him to accompany him on a stroll. They had talked about nothing in particular, and the camerlegno made Chartrand feel immediately at home.
"Father," Chartrand said, "may I ask you a strange