Chapter 82

           

           AtCERN,secretarySylvieBaudeloquewashungry,wishingshecouldgohome.Toherdismay,Kohlerhadapparentlysurvivedhistriptotheinfirmary;hehadphonedanddemanded—notasked,demanded—thatSylviestaylatethisevening.Noexplanation.

           Overtheyears,SylviehadprogrammedherselftoignoreKohler’sbizarremoodswingsandeccentricities—hissilenttreatments,hisunnervingpropensitytosecretlyfilmmeetingswithhiswheelchair’sporta-video.ShesecretlyhopedonedayhewouldshoothimselfduringhisweeklyvisittoCERN’srecreationalpistolrange,butapparentlyhewasaprettygoodshot.

           Now,sittingaloneatherdesk,Sylvieheardherstomachgrowling.Kohlerhadnotyetreturned,norhadhegivenheranyadditionalworkfortheevening.Tohellwithsittinghereboredandstarving,shedecided.SheleftKohleranoteandheadedforthestaffdiningcommonstograbaquickbite.

           Shenevermadeit.

           AsshepassedCERN’srecreational"suitesdeloisir"—alonghallwayofloungeswithtelevisions—shenoticedtheroomswereoverflowingwithemployeeswhohadapparentlyabandoneddinnertowatchthenews.Somethingbigwasgoingon.Sylvieenteredthefirstsuite.Itwaspackedwithbyte-heads—wildyoungcomputerprogrammers.WhenshesawtheheadlinesontheTV,shegasped.

           TerrorattheVatican

           Sylvielistenedtothereport,unabletobelieveherears.Someancientbrotherhoodkillingcardinals?Whatdidthatprove?Theirhatred?Theirdominance?Theirignorance?

           Andyet,incredibly,themoodinthissuiteseemedanythingbutsomber.

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