Olivetti said.
The caller laughed. “I fear the prolific nature of your religion will make that a trying task. Have you not counted lately? There are over four hundred Catholic churches in Rome. Cathedrals, chapels, tabernacles, abbeys, monasteries, convents, parochial schools . . .”
Olivetti’s face remained hard.
“In ninety minutes it begins,” the caller said with a note of finality. “One an hour. A mathematical progression of death. Now I must go.”
“Wait!” Langdon demanded. “Tell me about the brands you intend to use on these men.”
The killer sounded amused. “I suspect you know what the brands will be already. Or perhaps you are a skeptic? You will see them soon enough. Proof the ancient legends are true.”
Langdon felt light-headed. He knew exactly what the man was claiming. Langdon pictured the brand on Leonardo Vetra’s chest. Illuminati folklore spoke of five brands in all. Four brands are left, Langdon thought, and four missing cardinals.
“I am sworn,” the camerlegno said, “to bring a new Pope tonight. Sworn by God.”
“Camerlegno,” the caller said, “the world does not need a new Pope. After midnight he will have nothing to rule over but a pile of rubble. The Catholic Church is finished. Your run on earth is done.”
Silence hung.
The camerlegno looked sincerely sad. “You are misguided. A church is more than mortar and stone. You cannot simply erase two thousand years of faith . . . any faith. You cannot crush faith simply by removing its earthly manifestations. The Catholic Church will continue with or without Vatican City.”
“A noble lie. But a lie all the same. We both know the truth. Tell me, why is Vatican City a walled citadel?”
“Men of God live in a dangerous world,” the camerlegno said.
“How young are you? The Vatican is a fortress because the Catholic Church holds half of its equity inside its walls-rare paintings, sculpture, devalued jewels, priceless books . . . then there is the gold bullion and the real estate deeds inside the Vatican Bank vaults. Inside estimates put the raw value of Vatican City at 48.5 billion dollars. Quite a nest egg you’re sitting on. Tomorrow it will be ash. Liquidated assets as it were. You will be bankrupt. Not even men of cloth can work for nothing.”
The accuracy of the statement seemed to be reflected in Olivetti’s and the camerlegno’s shell-shocked looks. Langdon wasn’t sure what was more amazing, that the Catholic Church had that kind of money, or that the Illuminati somehow knew about it.
The camerlegno sighed heavily. “Faith, not money, is the backbone of this church.”
“More lies,” the caller said. “Last year you spent 183 million dollars trying to support your struggling dioceses worldwide. Church attendance is at an all-time low-down forty-six percent in the last decade. Donations are half what they were only seven years ago. Fewer and fewer men are entering the seminary. Although you will not admit it, your church is dying. Consider this a chance to go out with a bang.”
Olivetti stepped forward. He seemed less combative now, as if he now sensed the reality facing him. He looked like a man searching for an out. Any out. “And what if some of that bullion went to fund your cause?”
“Do not insult us both.”
“We have money.”
“As do we. More than you can fathom.”
Langdon flashed on the alleged Illuminati fortunes, the ancient wealth of the Bavarian stone masons, the Rothschilds, the Bilderbergers, the legendary Illuminati Diamond.
“I preferiti,” the camerlegno said, changing the subject. His voice was pleading. “Spare them. They are old. They-”
“They are virgin sacrifices.” The caller laughed. “Tell me, do you think they are really virgins?