Page 97 of No Stone Unturned

I searched for a familiar face. “Is Tito working today?”

“Maybe. We might run into him.”

We had to relinquish our passports and cell phones at another station, went through a magnetometer at another and had a final pat down before we were waved through with our escort.

After talking to someone on a phone, our escort indicated we were to follow him. As we walked, I put my sweater on. We entered a side door into the palace and walked down a long, marbled corridor with cool floors and high ceilings. We took a couple of turns down a few long hallways before he stopped at a door and knocked. A priest dressed in a black cassock and clerical collar answered, spoke briefly with the escort, then dismissed him. He introduced himself as Father Vestini and ushered us into a small reception area. He said something in Italian to Slash and disappeared.

“He told us to take a seat,” Slash said, motioning to a fancy, embroidered armchair with gold and red threads. He looked remarkably calm, whereas I felt ready to barf. I perched on the edge of the chair, reciting Fermat’s Last Theorem in my head to calm myself.

The priest returned a few minutes later and asked us to follow him. We walked deeper into the palace, our footsteps echoing in the mostly empty corridors. We entered another reception room, a larger one, not unlike the one I was in the last time I’d met the pope. It could have been the same one for all I knew. The rooms were all beautiful, but similar in presentation. Cavernous ceilings, marble floors, scarlet drapes, and golden-trimmed wainscoting and sconces. There were three more priests here, rushing around, arranging three chairs, presumably for us to sit in. We stood in the corner, waiting while another priest walked in with a camera and began testing his camera and fixing the flash attachments.

A few minutes after that, the pope entered the room. He looked shockingly frail and used a cane to walk slowly. His arms were shaking from the effort. Two of the three priests walked nearby, presumably to catch him if he fell.

The pope was wearing a fully buttoned white cassock, sash, red slippers and white skullcap. His face lit up when he saw Slash. The last time I’d seen them together, the pope had hugged him, eliciting surprised gasps from all in the room. They obviously had affection for each other, and some sort of history, but I didn’t know any details.

He motioned us toward him. We approached together and Slash knelt to kiss the Fisherman’s Ring. I knelt beside him, which wasn’t easy in a dress and shoes with a heel, but at least I didn’t topple over. The pope touched my head gently, made the sign of the cross over both of us and said something quietly in Italian to Slash. Slash responded and rose. I did, too.

So far, so good.

In accented English, the pope urged us to move toward the chairs. We fell in behind him as he shuffled slowly, leaning heavily on his cane.

The photographer ran around us snapping pictures like crazy. It made me increasingly nervous, since I was certain I had my eyes closed for most of them.

Once the pope was seated, the priests indicated we should also sit. We obliged, and the pope leaned forward. “Thank you both for coming on such short notice. I was delighted to hear you were in Italy.” I appreciated the fact that he spoke English to include me in the conversation.

“It is an honor to have the opportunity to speak with you, Holy Father,” Slash said quietly.

“Oh, I assure you, the honor is all mine. I understand you are the new Saviors of Salerno. You’ve created quite a sensation and now the news is racing across Italy. I assure you, it’s all anyone could talk about at the Vatican this morning.”

I blushed, but I kept my eyes on the floor, trying not to draw attention to myself.

“We were fortunate to be in the right place at the right time,” Slash said lightly. “Lexi was the one who first spotted the fire and tried to separate the propane tank from the food cart.”

I glanced up to see the pope looking at me, his brown eyes assessing me carefully. “So, it was her. Extraordinary.”

It wasn’t me who’d been extraordinary. “Slash did all the heavy lifting,” I countered. “Without him, we would have had a real problem on our hands. He got the propane tank free and threw it in the manhole. He’s the real hero.”

“It was Lexi who thought of using the manhole to limit the blast,” Slash interjected smoothly.

The pope beamed in delight. “Oh, you both are extraordinary. How wonderful.” A twinkle came into his eyes as he pointed at my medal. “So, what do you think of your new elevated status, Ms. Carmichael?”

I looked down at the medal and tried to think of an appropriate response. The problem was I was coming up blank, so I blurted out the first thing on my mind. “Does this put Slash and me halfway to actual sainthood?”

To my surprise, the pope laughed. “Indeed, it does.”

I glanced at Slash and saw he, too, was smiling, so maybe that hadn’t been a bad answer after all.

After a moment, the pope drummed his fingers against the wooden hand rest on the chair and turned his attention back to Slash. “I desire a firsthand account of what happened. Will you oblige me, please?”

“Of course,” Slash said. He briefly explained what had happened in Salerno, sticking to the facts and continuing to downplay his role.

The pope listened intently, asking several questions. When Slash was finished, the pope sat back in his chair, placed his fingers in a steeple and looked back and forth between Slash and me.

“I never cease to be amazed by the way God works in our world. He has such beautiful, wondrous, mysterious ways.”

It wasn’t a question and he didn’t seem to be inviting comment, so neither Slash nor I replied. The pope lifted his hand and waved the photographer over. He spoke for a minute, the photographer listening intently. Slash apparently knew what was going on, because he rose and held out a hand to me. I took it and stood, wondering what was going on.

“The Holy Father would like to take a few official, staged photos with us,” Slash explained. “Our assistance to the people of Salerno is a feel-good story for the Vatican, and quite timely given the current candidates for sainthood.”

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