Institute: FBI Hynreck and the Montana Fishing Club, #1

FOREWORDS: MEA CULPA

In 1992, the now deceased Pope John Paul II wrote a letter to humanity apologizing for the sins committed in the name of the Catholic Church throughout history. These crimes included the torture and homicides of the Inquisition, the Crusades, the genocides carried out during the conquest of the American continent, and this, just to start listing. But let's not focus only on that faith, since all religions and creeds defend their beliefs, often committing atrocious acts against fellow humans, based on a dogmatic and short-sighted interpretation of them.

Let us remember, for example, how many self-proclaimed Messiahs we have seen only in the 20th and early 21st centuries leading their followers to commit mass suicides, terrorist attacks of all kinds, and holy wars, and this, again, just to start listing.

Can we judge them? Really, I don't think so. They are just doing what we ourselves do in our daily lives, only on a larger scale. That? Did that sound scary? Sincerity, that’s the name of the game we will play from now on. In essence, the origin of these crimes against humanity is based on one thing: Power, the power to command our lives and let no one set foot on us.

We vote for Governors and Presidents to rule our nation, and we are pleased to see how well our country’s doing in the international context, no matter if we are talking about how it is doing militarily or economically, or if it is a victory or prize. Maybe we only work in an office and, most likely, we are not the boss, but we do have subordinates. Ah, are we not working or are we working independently? Isn't there someone in charge in your family, and others who are bossed? Do we see our sons and daughters giving us orders and putting us in penance? I don't believe it. And if any attempt to command another human being fails, we always have the cat or the dog.

And there is still one more trap we fall into to not say to ourselves, in complete honesty: "I really... love to command", and we call it: Institutions. The institution of democracy, submission to a faith, a leader, or an ideal like Freedom.

Of course, we will not take a machine gun and go out to kill Democrats to ensure the victory of our Republican candidate, because we are civilized. Civilization? Just another word for not rocking the boat we're all in too much and all falling into total Chaos and anarchy, turning the world into a battlefield. But do we really believe in it (Civilization, I mean), or are we simply too afraid to think about a better way to live?

For those who dare, we will now dive into the heart of power, and the corruption it always brings with it. For the daring, you are welcome to: The Boarding School.

CHAPTER 1: DEEP DOWN HYNRECK

- Fix me another one , Phil... double -the suited man said.

- You know the house rules -answered the bartender.

- Yeah, right.

The half-drunk man at the bar, with a shade of beard on his face, took his gun from inside his jacket, checked the secure was locked and put it on the bar. Then drew his car keys and did the same.

The bartender took both and put them in a drawer below the ranks of bottles.

-  Ok, a double gin, then.

Phil handed the handsome veteran man the cup. The deteriorated detective looked at it with empty eyes.

- Look, Phil, tomorrow... -he tried to mumble.

- I know, Richard, I’ll tell my boy to drop it at your place... past midday.

- Thanks.

- Never mind.

Suddenly, his cell phone rang. He lazily watched the number.

- Oh, no, not you... not now... -he complained.

- Who is it, Rick?

- My companion. Take it. Tell him I left the cell on the bar, will you?

The barman smiled and took the phone the detective was handing him, and answered:

- Hi.

A young man’s voice was heard at the other end.

- Hi. Who’s there?

- Phil.

- Oh... I see. You’re the bartender at Moby Dick, right?

- No, I’m Captain Abab and I’m killing the whale right now. What d’ you want?

Richard smiled.

- I urgently need to talk to Richard Hynreck. I’m Special Agent Martin Henshaw with the FBI.

- Oh -said Phil faking surprise-, I see. So, it’s an important official call, right? Well, you may reach him somewhere else cause he left his mobile here.

- Well, then... Can you repeat what I’ll tell you?

- What for?

- Just repeat it, please.

- Yeah, fine.

- A girl hanged herself in a private high school.

- A girl hanged herself in a private high school -he repeated.

Richard folded his arms over the bar and leaned his forehead upon them. The voice of Martin Henshaw continued after a pause.

- We’ve got notice of it through a letter sent to the local police station.

- We’ve got notice of it through a letter sent to the local police station.

- Brought by a kid.

- Brought by a kid.

Richard lifted his head and looked with an intrigued face. Phil The Bear Douglas raised his shoulders with a gesture of not knowing what he was talking about.

Agent Henshaw retook:

- Addressed to Agent Richard Hynreck with the FBI at Missoula.

- Addressed to Agent Richard Hynreck with the FBI at Missoula -Phil repeated with a strange face.

Agent Hynreck asked his mobile back with a gesture, and said in a hush, his hand over the phone:

- A Boro, please.

- But... thought you’d quitted...

Richard hardened his eyes, leaving no place to argue.

- Fine -mumbled the former boxer, heading to the cigarette case-. You want to kill yourself? You should have asked me your gun back.

- Hynreck.

- Oh, Richard -said Special Agent Henshaw on the phone, faking surprise-, I’m glad you came back for you cell phone you’d left at the bar.

- Humor your sister if you want, but don’t shit on me –demanded Richard angrily-. What’s the buzz on the note? It was a catch, right?

- Regretfully... no. I don’t know why the note is addressed to you, but it is.

- Ok. You pick me up tomorrow at my place?

- Oh, no, buddy. The hanging seems to have occurred today by 7 PM, according to the forensic.

- What? The cops are already there?

- Yep, and we still have 45 minutes of driving through the highway.

Richard passed a hand through his face. Phil threw the cigarette box in front of him with despise.

- So, you’re thinking of picking me up... when?

A horn sounded twice, both outside of the bar room and on the earphone.

- Ok... ok -understood Richard and hanged.

He was trying to force his fuzzy mind to think coherently. He thought of his gun but discarded the idea. The veteran agent had drunk too much and could barely speak without sliding the words.

He paid the bill, drew a cigarette and felt his pockets in search of light. Phil handed him a matchbox and said:

- It’s on the house.

- Thanks, Phil.

- Yeah-yeah.

Richard got out of the bar and the twenty-and-some year-old Henshaw waited for him in a brand-new blue Mazda with its engine on.

He sat at the companion’s place, closed the door and kept his sight ahead, waiting for Martin to move.

- What?

- You haven’t put your seatbelt on -Agent Hynreck.

- Give me a break! You’re not starting the I am your superior officer shit now, right? You know it doesn’t work with me.

- Well, you like it or not, I AM your superior, and if you want to die, fine, stand in front of the car and give me the pleasure to run you over. But don’t expose me to explain why you died on a car crash and I survived!

- You’re a major pain in the ass, youngster! -protested Richard putting his seat belt on.

The car moved, gaining speed quickly, heading to the highway’s entrance. Richard’s cell phone rang again. He answered:

- Hynreck.... no, I’m not going home tonight, Wen.... a crime far from downtown... A girl??!! Yeah, sure, a red-haired gay young man.... Uh, yeah, stop it, Martin.... God, please... I’m speaking to my girlfriend... Stop! ... What d’ you mean we’re over? ... Oh, you've had enough? I’ve had enough of your stupid jealousy! I’ve had enough of being demoted to the bottom of the Bureau and finding you at home with your empty eyes telling me: How was your day, honey? ...Fuck YOU!!... Fine, just close the door behind and leave the keys in the mailbox.

He cut, and trembled with contained rage, then took another cigarette and lighted it. They were now on the highway. Martin looked at him with judging eyes, and for all answer, Richard threw the first breath of smoke on his partner’s face. Martin coughed and opened the window. They drove some minutes in silence. Then Henshaw asked:

- How long with this one?

- Three months.

- Wow, your beated your last score, Agent -said the red-haired suited driver with a smile.

Richard couldn’t help smiling too.

- Take this, Richard -he offered, handing him a small flask with a white liquid inside.

- What’s this?

- I call it eye-opener. A home receipt of granny for drunken. Half an hour, and dullness is gone.

Richard lifted his eyebrows, and drunk it at once, then put a disgust face.

- I never said it had a fabulous taste, man.

- Hope it works... or I’ll get your ass kicked all the way back to the city. The note?

- The police has it on the crime scene.

- Fine.

- Now take a nap. It’ll speed the effect.

- Don’t say it twice -smiled Richard, crushed the cigarette and leaned against the door, curled up by the low engine’s noise, and softly... fell asleep.

CHAPTER 2: SAINT ANDREWS OF THE HILLS INSTITUTE FOR SELF-IMPROVEMENT AND CATHOLIC ACHIEVEMENTS

- Richard, wake up, we’re almost there.

He opened his eyes and looked around, still half asleep, but the drunkenness was gone. He moved his head sideward.

- Wow, my compliments to your grandma!

- And that’s not all. After you sleep, you have no hangover the next morning. Look, take some wet Kleenex from the glove compartment. That will give you a nicer aspect.

- You’ve got all the tricks, kid.

- I wasn’t always this formal.

Richard started to recognize with surprise the luxury suburb they were covering now.

- Wait a minute! This is...

- Saltzbury Hills, an old farmer village recycled into a neighborhood for rich executives from the city.

- Have you said the hanging took place in a private high school? -Asked Richard with a growing sense of fear.

- The... Oh my God!! -He exclaimed with horror-. Oh, Jesus!!

The young agent stopped the car and started hitting his head on the drive wheel.

- How can I be... so... stupid? Damn! I... I can’t believe it!

Henshaw opened the door and got out of the car. He was walking up and down, blaming himself.

- I was told to! When they sent you as my partner, I was told to!

He calmed down a little but wasn’t over-reacting at all. The young agent was really shocked by his mistake. Finally, he sat again on the car and said to his partner, whose face was expressionless:

- I’m sorry, Richard. I really am. I should have come alone. Let’s seek some open bar or gas station so you can wait there.

- It’s ok. Sooner or later, I’d have to face it.

- Are you sure?

The older agent assented.

While the Special Agent Henshaw started the car again, he saw by the corner of his eye how Hynreck pulled another cigarette from the box and lighted it with a trembling pulse.

The red-haired driver knew nothing the old FBI legend could be afraid of... except this. It had been five months since the FBI’s therapist let the agent return to the field again... and that was because keeping the veteran home would have killed him.

It was late at night and few cars could be seeing on the streets. Some private security guards watched them suspiciously from their posts around the mansions they were slowly passing by. Nobody with less than a ten million dollars’ fortune could settle there.

They finally arrived at the iron bar gates. Fifteen feet walls surrounded the old central structure that could be seen at the distance from the entrance.

A private security guard with a machine gun made them the signal to stop the car. Henshaw showed his badge.

- FBI. We’re Special Agent Henshaw, and this is Agent Richard Hynreck. We were summoned by the sheriff to assist on the investigation.

- Please turn the engine off and pull out of the car -the emotionless guard just said.

Henshaw looked at Richard with an expression of unbelief, but his partner just did what the guard asked, so he took his example.

- Follow me.

They did. He led them to a guard’s room by the gates, while four other security guards checked the Mazda inch by inch with detectors and trained dogs.

- Hey, tell your dogs to put their legs off my leather upholstery!

- Martin -said Richard.

- What?

- Shut up and do as they tell.

Henshaw had to leave his gun on a desk, and they passed through a wide detection portal.

- Your gun -said coldly the detector operator watching the screen.

- What? -Exclaimed Henshaw.

Two guards approached him.

- Oh, you mean this one? - He said, pulling the second gun he always carried tied to his calf under his pants bottom.

The young man watched with contained anger while the operator took the serial numbers of his two guns and checked them on a computer. He lifted his eyes and said to the man that stopped them at the gates, who, by the looks, seemed to be the supervisor:

- This one matches. The other doesn’t.

- You’ll have to leave this one here.

- Oh, come on, you’re joking me, right? Is this a hidden camera for the TV? Where are the cameras? -He humored, looking around.

- Everywhere -answered the supervisor-. Press your right thumbs here -he said handing them a small electronic device.

- What is this: a high school or a fortress? -Complained Henshaw pressing his thumb with a gesture of clear despise.

An instant later, his whole profile and photo appeared on the computer screen.

- Both -answered Hynreck, repeating the same process.

A moment later they were out and walking to the car when they witnessed a very weird scene. A van from a TV station was parked behind their vehicle. An assistant was holding up a spotlight and a cameraman was following the movements of a young female reporter dressed in a long nightdress, a microphone on her hand. When they got closer, they could hear the words of the angry discussion she was having with one of the armed guards.

- I tell you this if private property of the Government of Spain, lady, and you can’t come in.

- All right-all right. Just a few words from you will do, then. Do you know what has happened tonight inside the institute?

- Have no comments about it.

- We’ve learned from trustful sources that Senator Lawrence’s daughter was killed inside the Institute. Can you confirm that for MBC channel?

- Have no comments about it.

Suddenly, she spotted the agents getting into the car and her reflexes acted fast, as they usually did. Eluding with an agile movement the guard who tried to stop her, she went to the companion’s window of the Mazda and found Richard lighting up a cigarette.

- Special Agent Hynreck, I’m Christine Greenwald reporting for MBC You saw it show. What can you tell us about the unexpected death of Senator Lawrence’s daughter?

Henshaw saw the scene with surprised eyes. Evidently, he didn’t know who the victim was. A guard came behind the woman and grabbed her by the waist to separate her from the car. Heavy diesel engines were heard in the background and the gates started to open.

The reporter held the microphone in one hand and the seat belt on the other and fought not to be taken away. Soon her feet were on the air.

She glanced at the cameraman, and shouted:

- What are you doing, asshole? Keep recording!

The robust man got out of the astonishment he was in and did as she told. He knew too much the News’ Witch to do otherwise.

Hynreck showed his open palm to the guard, and the man stopped pulling her off.

- Please let me handle this, sir.

- Thanks -said the reporter, correcting her dress that had let a breast escape during the struggle.

- Two things, Greenwald. First. This... is Special Agent Henshaw -he pointed at his companion-, and I... am Agent Hynreck, now.

- Oh, I didn’t know it, sorry. But what...

- Second -he interrupted her-. This institute is not only Spanish Government’s property, but also Spanish territory. It’s a... subsidiary of their Embassy, so to speak. So...

- From the street and on, their laws apply, not ours -she completed, opening her big gray eyes wide with surprise.

- Including the recent ones that allow the law officers AND the private security guards to shoot on any individual suspicious of being a terrorist.

She’s attractive, he thought, even more than on TV, but his face was stone carved.

- If I were you -he continued-, I’d go back to the party you were before being called, then sleep, and wait for the official bulletin tomorrow.

The car moved on, and she went back with vacillating steps to the van. But halfway, the flame in her eyes told the cameraman she’d been acting. She said in a hush to his ear, while she took his shoulder.

- You took it?

- All of it.

- Good. Now follow the car and zoom inside. Let’s see what we can have from the main building.

The cameraman followed her instructions, while the doors finished to shut. A massive body interrupted the vision, and a hand covered the camera lens.

- Hey, what d’ you think you’re doing? -Reacted Christine.

- You can’t have images of the property.

- What d’ you mean by: we can’t?

With a precise and brutal movement, the guard snatched the camera from the robust man’s hands and crushed it with violence on the floor. Then, to the amazed eyes of the reporter’s team, he kicked it three times with his boot’s heel.

- This... I mean by you can’t.

The cameraman kneeled to gather the pieces with slow movements, but Christine stopped him.

- I know you loved Beatrice, but she’s gone now. She died in the line of duty. Come now, tomorrow the station will buy you another one, and with time, you’ll learn to love her too.

- She’s full of guts, that reporter.

- Yeah, and unconscious too -replied Richard inside the car while they were covering the half mile of winding alley that separated the gates from the huge main building, built over a small hill.

- What was that stuff of your palm and the guard’s change of attitude?

- Very observant, Martin. It wasn’t the gesture, but the way I looked at him.

His young partner didn’t know whether to believe him or not, but he hadn’t seen that marble expression on the older agent since... well, since he was called the Iron Fist Hynreck by the cadets, the FBI legend that was the inspiration of every young recruit willing to make a great service to his country.

- Just one police car? -He asked, puzzled, looking at the vehicles parked by the stairways of the ancient monastery.

- It’s the Sheriff’s, seems to me. No need for more. What do you know about this institute?

- The SAHISICA? Well, it’s full name is the Saint-Andrews of the Hills Institute for Self-Improvement and Catholic Achievement, run by the Andreine Order of Spain... a private elitist full time high-school meant for the rich and powerful top hundred families of the country.... What else?

- The Corpus Christi sect means something to you?

- WHAT??!! You mean the group that, though legal, makes the Opus Dei seem like Mickey Mouse in comparison? They... are they related...? -He tried to say with a trembling voice.

The car stopped behind the Sheriff’s.

- It’s classified... or so it was, when I had access to that information, so keep it to yourself, ok?

Henshaw looked at the impressive tough sober structure, much in the style of the Spanish middle-age monasteries.

- Ok.

CHAPTER 3: TORQUEMADA

- Holy Father, it’s a pleasure to receive you at our humble monastery.

The monk in the black robes kneeled and kissed the Pope’s rings, as the protocol indicated.

- Rise, Brother Torquemada. It’s a pleasure for me to visit Spain whenever my obligations allow me.

- This season we had a record harvest on the temple’s grapevines. The wines we’ll produce for the coming year are going to be... perfect. How was your trip from Rome?

- Exhausting, really. No matter how fast these new galleons of the Spanish Army are, I still find them uncomfortable and slow.

- Our brothers and I will do our best to make your stay as pleasant as possible. Ours is a humble temple, but I have given word to my assistants to prepare my own chambers for you.

- I appreciate that, Brother. But you didn’t ask me to come here just to talk about wines and accommodations, right?

- No, not indeed -said the monk with his lips curved in malice, noticing his superior’s wisdom and intuition.

They were placidly strolling through the outside gardens of the Dominican monastery of Seville, in the west coast of Spain.

It was a sunny afternoon, and the lowering sun illuminated the harbor where the military and commercial ships of all kinds and flags, kept a restless activity.

- You mentioned in your note that you had disturbing news that could damage the interests of the Holly Church in this kingdom...

- The situation can’t be more desperate, your eminence. This Christopher Columbus was the responsible to start a chain of events that are now undermining our influence in the peninsula.

- How can a sailor possibly have caused any damage with a trip looking for spices? -Asked incredulous the Pope.

- The fact is he did. And not with the spices, but with the slaves he brought with him, and the gold he has discovered in the new realms. Let me tell you a story.

- You have my full attention, Brother Torquemada. Your reputation speaks for you, as one of the mightiest soldiers of God the Vatican has nowadays.

- I can’t be more honored by your words -he said with a reverence-. It all started at the first Crusades, some centuries ago. For almost a thousand years, the Holly Church had been ruling unchallenged over Europe. Every king from every country had to be submitted to the Pope’s blessing before he was crowned. We put and threw kings and princes at will and the word of every local church was law. Those were glorious times for the servants of God.

- Yes -assented the Pope with certain nostalgia.

- But that began to change when the first Crusaders tried to conquer back Jerusalem. The Knights of the Temple we sent on that Holy mission soon became corrupted by the pleasures of the flesh, the greed of the richness they were gathering faster each time, and they started to think of ruling their own destinies and not follow the high commands of the Church of God.

- It happened as you say, my beloved prelate. But I thought this threaten to our power was cut off hundreds of years ago.

- With the execution of their highest leader, Jacob de Molay in 1313, we thought it was so. But they only passed to work underground, with the name of the Rose-Croix Order.

- Are you sure of that? -Exclaimed the Pope with surprise.

- My spies... spread all over Europe... have gathered irrefutable evidence about this. That’s why the treasure we knew they had, could never be found. Right now, they are mining our authority everywhere. They can appear as heads of commercial houses, military captains, Barons... even kings.

- The Lord be praised.

- Amen. We must remember they were banned from the Church for their unfaithful activities, and the pacts they were accused of doing with the Devil itself.

They both crossed themselves. The monk smiled for he saw his manipulation of the head of the Catholic Church was succeeding, so he continued:

- For years they have been gathering power and richness, converting good people of Faith into their followers. And the law can’t touch them, nor can the Church, for they are hidden and know well how to keep their rebel movement growing bigger and bigger, leaving us powerless to stop them.

- But we must stop them at once! -Said firmly the Pope with indignation- I... I didn’t know the situation in Spain was so critical. However, I should have guessed it when I saw the amounts the Spanish Church sent to Rome diminished.

- And that’s just the start of it. With the Crusades, they also brought to Europe the contamination of new ideas and pagan knowledge that should have been kept hidden for the interests of the Holly Church. Even in the streets of my dear Seville, people are talking in secret about banned authors like Socrates, Plato, Ptolemy and many other pagans so called wise men. And to that, the Muslims added their own heretic believes and knowledge and, God forgives me for what I’m about to say: they are even saying that we are not in the center of the Universe...

- Heresy!!

- ...That God wasn’t the creator of all things...

- Blasphemy!!

- We hardly managed some decades ago to re-conquer the peninsula from their hands, thanks to the blessed efforts of the Catholic kings of Spain. But we had to face a new problem: there were so many Muslims that we couldn’t expel them all, and all over Spain and Portugal, they secretly (and sometimes not so secretly), gather in their temples and kneel in the direction of La Mecque, and say in their prayers: Allah is my God, and Mohammed his prophet.

- This can’t be happening -moaned the Pope.

- I’m afraid it is. And there are not the only heretic movements we’re facing. Thanks to the fall of the Byzantine Empire, the commercial routes to Persia and the Holy land were restored, and the Jews and the Rose-Croix members saw the opportunity to make large amounts of gold at the head of the Houses of Commerce. 

- I heard these horrible actions were taking place in Italy too, but I could give no credit to it.

- You’ll have to, for it was from one of those commercial houses that Christopher Columbus got the maps that lead him to the new realms.

- And he manipulated the Catholic kings of Castile to finance his trip -said the Pope with a bitter expression.

- Exactly, and this new conquer brought new slaves, and Europe took contact with yet other pagan cults that began to capture adepts. And the gold they found at the new colonies was another incentive for people to move there, out of the effectiveness of the Church’s control. I don’t know it for sure, but soon every European city will be infected with temples to the Indians’ pagan gods, too.

- We must stop it!

- I fully agree, of course. My sources of information have told me that even some members of the Jesuit order are planning to establish their missions in the new realms, but, just for your knowledge -he lowered his voice and said these words in a hush-, they say they can convert the savages to Catholicism because -he looked around to check nobody was watching them, creating an ambience of fatality-, because... they have souls.

The legs of the Catholicism’s greatest representative failed, and he stumbled with the impact of the news he was receiving. The strong arms of Torquemada held him, and he managed to guide the Pope to the nearest bench. When he sat, the Holy Father was breathing heavily.

- The Jesuits, our own brothers, promoting such blasphemies. How could the power of our faith fall so low?

- I’m afraid we have been too benevolent. I see that the only solution is to fully restore the institution of the Holy Inquisition.

The Pope’s eyes fixed on Torquemada’s, and he began to understand his subordinate’s brilliant plan.

- Yes... the Inquisition...

- Let me be your Soldier of God. The brothers of my order and the network of spies I command can do this dirty job, IF, we are authorized by you.

- But some princes will oppose to the idea of having the Inquisitors patrolling the streets of their cities and burning the heretics in the public squares....

- Please let me deal with that. I humbly beg you to allow me to lead the return of the Realm of God on earth. The only thing is... that I will need your full support, to use each and every mean to accomplish the redemption of the lost sheep.

- You have it, Torquemada, you have it. The Holy Bible tells us that the desperate situations like this one we have in our hands; require the utmost sacrifices from the followers of Christ.

- Thank you, Holy Father, thank you -said deeply moved Torquemada, kneeling to the ground, and kissing the Pope’s feet.

Putting his fat hands full of rings over his subordinate’s head, the Pope said, moved too:

- I wish the Church had more men of Faith like you.

Some hours later in the night, after the Pope had gone to sleep, exhausted as he was by the terrifying news he had received, Torquemada went down the stairs hidden behind a door in the library of the monastery. He was going to another meeting... of a very different kind.

Cassius saluted him as the leader of the order appeared in a rest of the stairs.

- He took the bait?

- To his entails -his superior answered.

They hugged with strength. Their faces showed the victory of a long-cherished project.

- I knew you would! I knew it, Supreme Master!

Torquemada gave the pale-faced monk a cold look.

- How many times have I told you, Cassius, not to call me that way?

The face of the ugly monk showed he was sincerely sorry for his mistake. He managed to mumble:

- Tens? -And looking at his superior’s disapproval look- Hundreds?

- I lost my count, really. Look, your duty keeps you locked in the dungeons of the temple most of the time, but we can’t risk that the other brothers of the High Council get infected with this. Remember: nobody can relate us to our past activities as Rose-Croix or our whole plan can fall.

- Sorry, Sup... Brother Torquemada, it won’t happen again. Was it difficult?

- What? Convincing the Holy Pig of writing the authorization? Nothing could have been easier, Cassius. If you take the direct messenger of God bullshit away, he’s just another man, and like all the rest, he can be manipulated at will, if you know what his fears are.

They retook the descent.

- In this case, the fear that the Vatican loses power and followers to other religions and pagan cults?

- Nothing as elevated as that, Cassius. In his case, the fear of losing importance as leader of Catholicism, and that he couldn’t be able to pursue his homosexual activities with young altar boys and priests at will.

- Oh, I see. And you had to kiss his feet as you told me you would?

- In the culminating dramatic point -said the High Prelate and showed a gesture of disgust-. And then he passed his nasty fingers through my hair. It was revolting! Only to think all the young men and children that hand has touched...

- We’ll change that. Shall we kill him after he gets back to Rome?

- Don’t even think of it, Cassius! –Exclaimed Torquemada horrified-. We’ll need him for at least a couple of years, till we re-establish our full power again. Then he’ll become redundant to our plans.

- I can’t believe we’ve done it! -Wondered the ugly monk with a smile-. So many years hiding in caves and dungeons like rats, and now we’ll be able to surface like the authorized bearers of the divine justice on earth.

- That’s the key word from now on, Cassius. Any of us will just have to say, In the name of God, and all the doors will open, all the people (be it rich or poor) will kneel, and all our actions will be forgiven. You won’t have to keep hunting cats, dogs and beggars for your experiments!

- Yessss, at last I’ll have some decent human beings to experiment on human behavior.

- They’ll gladly join your program before being burned alive.

- And I know exactly who to start with.

- Who’s the fortunate?

- Elizabeth of Bascara.

- The Baroness? You’re aiming high, my friend.

They arrived at a rustic room where some twenty monks were sitting around a circular table. When they got through the doors, the priests interrupted their talking and stared at them. Cassius nodded his head affirmatively with a smile. A roar of victory exploded from the goats of the men gathered there. They seemed possessed, tapped on the table, embraced the other companions, laughed out loud, screamed... Only they weren’t possessed at all. Their decades of hiding had come to an end.

From now on, they were authorized to do whatever they wanted to chase anybody they would consider heretic, that is, who wouldn’t kneel before them and follow their commands.

At a sign one of the priests did, musicians and bards entered by a small door with their instruments, and started to play a joyful music, then many acolytes from the lower ranks got into the room with dishes, cups, forks, and all kind of luxury food: rabbit, pig, cow meat, spiced herbs, salads and...  of course... bottles and jars of the wine the monastery was famous for.

Finally, when they all started to eat and drink, a dozen gorgeous female slaves from all nationalities (Indian, Muslims, African, gipsy), jumped over the center of the table and started to dance to the songs the bards and musicians were playing.

The girls, for the older one wasn’t even 18, were barely dressed and danced sensually and shamelessly for the delight of the monks. Everybody was in a party spirit. Everybody... except Torquemada. He touched Cassius’ arm, who was sitting to his right. His second in command fired with a gesture of his hand the Muslim slave that was on her knees and elbows over the table in front of him, giving him grapes into his mouth, and closed his ear... to the high priest.

- Who was responsible for this idea... for the... surprise victory celebration?

- Cardinal Andrew -he pointed, indicating a blond young priest at the other side of the table-, our spy at the Vatican.

Andrew noted they were