Page 43

The Liberation

Captain Lombardi

I stand at attention in Colonel Reichlin’s office, my posture rigid despite the storm raging inside me. The Colonel’s eyes narrow as he examines the security roster I’ve placed before him.

“Explain this again, Captain Lombardi,” he demands, his Swiss accent more pronounced when agitated. “Why have there been unauthorized personnel changes to His Holiness’s detail?”

“Sir, while you have been occupied with the supposed threats to his Holiness, Cardinal Antonelli ordered the changes directly. He claimed it was for the Pope’s protection following the…

revelations.” I choose my words carefully.

“But the men assigned aren’t following standard protocols.

They’re preventing access rather than providing security. ”

Colonel Reichlin’s jaw tightens. “And you allowed this?”

“I questioned it, sir. Cardinal Antonelli said the orders came from higher authority.”

“Higher than the Pope himself?” Reichlin slams his palm on the desk. “There is no higher authority within these walls, Captain!”

I swallow hard. “Sir, I believe His Holiness is effectively under house arrest.”

The silence that follows feels eternal. Colonel Reichlin has always been the embodiment of Swiss precision and unwavering loyalty to protocol. But now I see something I’ve never witnessed before – doubt creeping into his stern features.

“Show me the communication logs,” he orders.

I pull out my tablet and display the records. “All official communications from the Pope have been routed through Cardinal Antonelli’s office for the past two weeks. None have come directly from His Holiness.”

Reichlin scrolls through the logs, his expression darkening. “And these men stationed outside the papal apartments?”

“Gianelli, Voss, and Brunner. They’ve never served on the papal detail before and are not part of the Swiss Guard. They report directly to Cardinal Visconti, not through our chain of command.”

The Colonel’s phone rings, interrupting our conversation. He answers curtly, his expression shifting from annoyance to shock as he listens.

“Repeat that,” he demands to the caller. “Under whose authority?”

I can only hear his side of the conversation, but his face grows increasingly pale.

“We will discuss this matter when you arrive. The Swiss Guard remains sovereign in security matters within Vatican City.” He ends the call and looks up at me, his composure visibly shaken.

“That was Commissario Rizzo of the Italian Polizia. They have arrest warrants for Cardinals Antonelli, Lombardi, and Visconti on charges of corruption, money laundering, and conspiracy.”

My heart pounds against my rib cage. “Sir?”

“The Italian authorities intend to execute these warrants regardless of diplomatic concerns. They have evidence linking the cardinals to organized crime through the Vatican Bank.”

He rises from his desk, pacing the small office. “Rizzo informed me they have been trying to contact the Pope directly but have been blocked at every turn.”

“They’ve isolated His Holiness completely.”

“Captain, how long have you suspected this… coup?” His eyes bore into mine.

“Since the photographs were published, sir. I tried to maintain direct contact with His Holiness, but Cardinal Antonelli intervened. He claimed the Pope was in prayer and meditation, dealing with the scandal. I tried to tell you, but you were too absorbed by the supposed threats we received.”

Reichlin moves to the window, looking out at St. Peter’s Square where crowds have gathered daily since the news broke.

“I’ve served three Popes, Lombardi. I’ve weathered scandals, controversies, and threats. But never…” his voice falters, “never have I faced treachery from within the College of Cardinals on this scale.”

He turns back to me, his military bearing returning. “Show me the current security deployment.”

I bring up the digital map of Vatican City, highlighting the positions of all Swiss Guard personnel.

“Here, sir. Notice the concentration around the papal apartments. And here—” I point to several areas. “These men are positioned to control all access points to His Holiness, not to protect him.”

Reichlin studies the deployment, his experienced eye catching what others might miss. “This is not protection. This is imprisonment.”

His phone rings again. This time, his conversation is brief. When he hangs up, his face has hardened into resolve.

“The Italian government has provided additional evidence. Prime Minister Valentini has personally authorized the operation to arrest the cardinals, regardless of our stance on the matter.”

I stand straighter. “Your orders, sir?”

Colonel Reichlin looks at me, and for the first time in our years of service together, I see raw emotion in his eyes .

“I have failed in my duty, Captain. I allowed myself to be deceived by men I trusted and respected.” He takes a deep breath. “We will correct this immediately. Assemble our most trusted men. We’re going to restore proper protection to His Holiness.”

“And the cardinals, sir?”

“If the evidence warrants their arrest, we will not impede Italian justice.” He reaches for his ceremonial sword, a symbol rarely seen outside formal occasions. “The Swiss Guard serves the Pope, Captain. Not the Curia. I seem to have forgotten that momentarily.”

Within minutes, I’ve gathered sixty of our most loyal guards in the barracks. Colonel Reichlin addresses them directly, his voice carrying the weight of centuries of tradition.

“Men, we face an unprecedented situation. Elements within the Vatican have acted to isolate and effectively imprison His Holiness. This cannot stand. We will restore proper protection to Pope Pius and ensure his freedom within these walls.”

He outlines our plan efficiently. We will move in three teams – one to secure the papal apartments, one to control the communications centre, and one to secure the access points to prevent the cardinals from fleeing.

Colonel Reichlin leads the first team personally. I follow close behind as we march through the Vatican corridors. Staff members flatten themselves against walls as we pass, sensing the gravity of our mission.

We reach the antechamber to the papal apartments where three guards stand watch. They stiffen at our approach, their plain black suits distinguishing them from our traditional uniforms.

“Stand down,” Colonel Reichlin commands.

The lead guard, Gianelli, places his hand on his concealed weapon. “Sir, we have orders from Cardinal Antonelli—”

“You have no authority here,” Reichlin cuts him off. “You are not Swiss Guard. Step aside.”

Tension crackles in the air. The three men exchange glances, forming a tighter blockade before the papal door.

“Sir,” Gianelli protests, his Italian accent thick with defiance, “the Pope is not to be disturbed under any—”

Colonel Reichlin draws himself up to his full height. “I am the commander of the Swiss Guard. This is Vatican sovereign territory under our protection. Remove yourselves immediately or be removed.”

At his signal, six of our guardsmen step forward, halberds at the ready.

Gianelli’s face hardens. “You’re making a mistake. Cardinal Antonelli will—”

“Arrest them,” Reichlin orders.

The men react instantly. Gianelli reaches for his weapon, but two guardsmen seize his arms before he can draw it. The second man throws a wild punch that connects with a guardsman’s jaw before being subdued. The third attempts to flee but is quickly cornered.

“You don’t understand what you’re interfering with,” Gianelli spits as he struggles against his captors.

“I understand perfectly,” Reichlin replies coldly. “Treason against His Holiness.”

The three men are disarmed and their hands secured behind their backs with plastic restraints.

“Take them to the holding cells,” Reichlin orders. “They’ll be questioned once we’ve secured His Holiness.”

As they’re dragged away, still struggling and hurling threats about Cardinal Antonelli’s authority, Colonel Reichlin turns to the ornate door of the papal apartments and knocks firmly.

“Your Holiness? It is Colonel Reichlin of the Swiss Guard.”

Silence follows. He knocks again, more insistently .

We hear movement inside, but the door remains closed. Then comes a muffled voice. “Colonel? The door is locked from the outside!”

Reichlin’s face darkens with fury. He examines the door, noting the electronic keypad lock that shouldn’t be there. “They’ve installed unauthorized security measures.”

“We could search Gianelli for the access codes,” I suggest, checking my watch.

“No time.” Reichlin’s decision is immediate. “His Holiness has been imprisoned long enough.” He turns to four of our strongest men. “Break it down. Now.”

The guardsmen position themselves, and on Reichlin’s count, they ram their shoulders against the heavy wooden door. It groans but holds. On the third attempt, the wood splinters around the lock. One final coordinated thrust, and the door crashes inward.

Pope Pius XIV—Marco Ricci—stands in the centre of the room, looking tired but resolute. His eyes widen at the sight of our assembled force bursting through his shattered door.

“Colonel? Captain Lombardi? What is happening?”

Reichlin immediately drops to one knee before the Pope, his head bowed. It’s a gesture of such formal deference that I haven’t seen it performed outside of a papal coronation.

“Your Holiness, I must beg your forgiveness. I have failed in my sacred duty to protect you. You were imprisoned in your own chambers while I was blind to the deception.”

Marco looks stunned. “Rise, Colonel, please.”

Reichlin remains kneeling. “I allowed myself to be deceived. I permitted others to isolate you and restrict your freedom. This is an unforgivable breach of my oath.”

The Pope steps forward and places his hand on Reichlin’s shoulder. “Please stand, Colonel. There is much to be done.”