Knock Three Times

8. Guardian Spies

                FATHER JEREMY CHECKED HIS watch as he stepped toward the ancient building. The Temple Sixtus, named after one of the Vatican's most infamously mysterious Popes was difficult to enter as the Swiss Guard kept a stern and constant watch by the entrance both day and night. Approaching the doors, two long axes crossed before him, not allowing the priest to move any further.

    'Clearance is not permitted, Father.'

    'Please pardon my intrusion, but I'm supposed to be meeting Father Theron—'

    'I suggest you have him meet you passed the point of entry in the future. You are not permitted to enter the temple without proper clearance—'

    'That's quite alright, lads; he has my blessing this time.' said a slight British accent from behind one of the pillars at the guard's back. Both turned to be sure it was indeed Father Theron who had been speaking to them, then pulled their weapons against their bodies, allowing the younger priest to pass.

    'Right this way, M'boy, I've been expecting you.' said the priest, his voice low and coarse, but a general likeability to his demeanor upon first impression.

    Turning back, Jeremy looked upon the steep steps that stood before the temple, realizing just how ancient the structure truly was, and how so few people have ever been permitted to step foot within the infamously forbidden temple.

    'Haven't got all day, boy. We have much to discuss, after all; pip-pip.'

    Parting the towering oak doors, they stepped into a dim atmosphere.

    'I presume you have been briefed on the situation?' He asked, his balding white hair still visible in the dim sunlight from the stained glass windows above the inner doors.

    'Not really, though I am flattered I was recommended for the job. I hear this is a desired position amongst my peers.'

    'Indeed, though few would volunteer if they knew the specifics of my travels. Not many have the stomach for the job, their brawn commonly exceeding their bite.'

    'If you don't mind me asking, why was I selected?' asked Father Jeremy, taking note of the well seasoned priest's hardened demeanor, though there was a generally warm vibe about his personality.

    'I needed someone fairly new, untainted by the politics of the papacy.' he replied honestly. 'I requested the first of your class and rank to display open defiance in their current position. To answer your question, I had no part in the selecting of your current opportunity, if you be successful. You got yourself here by standing up to your superiors, and questioning church protocol. I need a man with a backbone at my side, but have little patience for people with no field experience. I particularly need someone bold enough to stand in the way of that old fart you call a mentor.'

    'Cardinal Merrill is an honorable—

    'He's a bloody arsehole!' he barked back. 'Just say it, already; God almighty I tire of Vatican pretenses. He's a nosey sod—a jealous, power hungry prat who's asshole is wound up tighter than a bloody snare drum. If you had the wafers to stand up to him, then you've come to the right place, Father. You still interested?' he turned with a change of temperament, a surprisingly charming smile now inquiring where a crabby old man once stood.

    'I haven't much of a choice do I?' Jeremy replied, his eyes combing the ancient archway and brass double doors that stood before him.

    'Of course you do.' He chuckled like a drunk man, and just then Jeremy could smell wine on his breath. 'All I've got to do is tell the Cardinal that you're useless to me, and you can go back to whatever mission you messed up to bring yourself here. So tell me, do you even know what I do?'