God's Lions: The Secret Chapel Read Online Free Page A

BMW, the priest owned a beautiful seventeenth-century country estate south of Rome, where he planned to retire someday and save the church the expense of supporting him in his old age.
    As the head of the Vatican’s department of archaeology, Morelli spent the majority of his time on official church business, so despite the fact that he owned a large house in the country, his main residence was a spartan apartment inside Vatican City. Since all priests within the Jesuit clan took vows of poverty, a Jesuit who drove an expensive car and possessed a magnificent house might have been looked upon with disapproving eyes, but since Morelli was also a source of so much money for the Church, these two luxuries were overlooked.
    The product of an Italian American father and an Irish-born mother from the Bronx, most people thought Morelli looked more Irish than Italian. Dark red hair framed his brown eyes and ruddy cheeks, and a slight paunch gave substance to his medium frame. Leo was always amused by the surprised looks on the local’s faces when the Anglo-looking priest spoke Italian.
    Leo showered and changed into a light-blue polo shirt and gray slacks. They would be going to a favorite restaurant this evening, catching up on old news and probably drinking a little too much. He didn’t want to wear “the uniform.”
    Even though the wine and beauty of Rome had softened his mood, he felt a vague twinge of apprehension. The contents of Father Morelli’s file continued to fill his mind with disturbing images . Why did this information, as frightening and controversial as it was, need to be kept from official prying eyes? The priest looked down on the street below as Father Anthony’s bright red car pulled up to the hotel entrance. Leo would have his answers tonight. No more stalling from the good Father Morelli.
    It was still drizzling outside when Leo bounded down the steps of the hotel and squeezed into the passenger seat. “Why didn’t you buy the large sedan?”
    “Not as much fun. Anyway, I’m usually by myself, and this car is perfect for those narrow, twisting roads when I drive to my house in the country.” Father Morelli stepped on the gas and spun the tires as he left the hotel and raced through the narrow streets, missing parked cars by inches.
    Leo tightened his seatbelt. “You should have been a Grand Prix driver.”
    “I used to daydream about being a racecar driver when we were in seminary. I do some of my best praying when I drive this car to the Italian Grand Prix near Milan every year.”
    “What a coincidence,” Leo said. “I also pray when you drive.”
    The sight of an Italian police motorcycle in the rearview mirror prompted Morelli to drop his speed for the remainder of their drive to the center of the city.
    Civitas was a small restaurant located across the river Tiber on a side street close to the Spanish Steps. The rain had ceased, so the two priests had decided to take a table outside, where they were finishing off their first course of crostini di polenta con pure di fungi porcini e tarufo , polenta squares with a puree of porcini and truffles. This would be followed by rabbit roasted with tomatoes, onions, and garlic and accompanied by a dark, rich Morellino di Scansano wine.
    A warm breeze ruffled the white tablecloth as Leo looked across at Morelli and decided that his friend had stalled enough. “So, Anthony, care to let me in on what all this is about? The subject matter in that folder you sent me was a tad disturbing, especially coming from someone as pragmatic as you.
    “Got your attention, didn’t it, Father.”
    “That’s an understatement. A hidden code in the Bible ... a secret chapel connected to the end of days as prophesized in the Book of Revelation. Do you seriously believe any of this?”
    “I’m now convinced of it, Leo.” Morelli passed the glass of wine beneath his nose, inhaling the aroma as he tried to think of where to begin with this fellow Jesuit he had known