The Vatican Investigation Division

By John Keeling

As the head of the Catholic Church, the Vatican has investigated religious mysteries for authenticity for centuries. The present day is no exception. A multinational team has been dispatched on a globe-trotting mission to investigate a warning issued by the Virgin Mary. The inhabitants of the earth must change their ways, she tells us, or her Son will return with a vengeance. The message goes unheeded.

The Vatican Investigation Division descends on a monastery in Oregon, as the world prepares for war. A weapon designed to split the world in half is built and powered up in Syria. As the team divides, one half goes to the United States while the other half heads to the Middle East to both authenticate the message and stop Armageddon. Between the two, they must find a way to prevent a war so destructive it would destroy all life as we know it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Apr 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9798887512280

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The Vatican Investigation Division

John Keeling

ISBN 979-8-88751-227-3 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88751-228-0 (digital)

Copyright © 2023 by John Keeling

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

About the Author

Chapter 1

Sometime last month, he was not sure of the day, he was praying the rosary and walking the rosary trail. The trail was littered with fallen leaves that whispered when the wind blew across the path. He heard the dry leaves crumble under his feet as he walked. He was holding his rosary in his hands, counting prayer beads as he recited a Hail Mary. He was halfway through a decade when he heard a rustling in the woods. Thinking that it was nothing more than a rabbit or a deer, he ignored it and moved farther along the path. A few minutes passed. He heard it again. Looking to his right, he stopped and stared into the woods.

Hello? Is someone there?

The rustling came again. As though by themselves, he watched as the leaves pulled away from each other and made an opening for him to walk through. He started to turn away from it.

Be not afraid. Come in. Enter. He heard a calm voice say from deep inside the woods. Looking behind him, Father Abbot Francis saw that there was no one there. Questioningly, he gazed into the woods. Then, almost as suddenly as before, he heard the voice again.

Come in. There is nothing to fear.

More out of curiosity than fear, he looked deeper into the woods. Then he crossed himself, took a deep breath, and stepped inside the opening that led into the woods.

May the angels protect me, he said.

He walked down the path that was opened for him. With every step he took, the branches pulled apart as though by an unseen hand. It made a tunnel of foliage that led him to a clearing. He heard the leaves on the branches swish behind him, sounding like voices on the wind. He has arrived, he thought he heard a voice say from behind him. He turned to look behind him to see who was up to this elaborate trick, but there was no one there. What he did see, however, was that the trees blocked any avenue of escape. He turned to look at what lay in front of him.

He was looking at a large clearing through the trees. As he exited the trees, he stepped out into the clearing and took a look around. The grass was beaten down, flattened, like something sat down on the area and pressed the grass into the soil. He noted that several of the trees that should be here were gone. He stood in the middle of the clearing, as though waiting for something, but he did not know what he was waiting for. Turning around in a slow circle, he took a closer look at what lay all around him.

He was standing in the middle of what looked like a crop circle. He heard about them on television, and he had read an article about them in National Geographic. Crop circles, according to the article, were created by aliens. The article was all so much science fiction, as far as he was concerned, and he quit reading. The article detailed all of the things he did not believe in. The show he watched about them, however, gave a very different point of view. It said that they were man-made. That he believed.

Father Abbot Francis started tapping his foot, took several long slow breaths, and grew increasingly irritated. The air was crisp, clean, and cool. The fresh air did his mind and inner peace some good. But what irritated him was that it was the idea that his brother monks created this. Why would they do such a thing? He would have to give them more assignments around the house if they had this kind of time, he thought. He took a long look around him.

If this is some kind of trick, there will be consequences, he said to the clearing at large. He started to consider that it could also be the work of some of the students who attended the school that lay at the foot of the mountain. He did not know which he considered worse—if it was the work of some of the brothers in the monastery or some of the students at the school. He turned around, the anger building in him, and he proceeded to leave the clearing. But as he started to walk away from the center of the circle, a bright light enveloped him. It shimmered in waves of deep darkness and bright light. Because it was coming from behind him, he slowly turned around to face it.

Do not be afraid. I come to bring you news, a female voice said from deep within the light.

That's the voice I heard, he thought. Father Abbot squinted to see who was standing in front of him. But no matter where he tried to look, he could not see her. She was covered in shadow and light.

Please let me see you.

Slowly, the bright light diminished. As the world around him darkened and returned to normal, a woman appeared before him. She extended her hand, palm up. As she materialized before him, Father Abbot recognized the woman who was standing in front of him. As his legs buckled underneath him, he fell to the ground. Her voice came to him like the sweetest song he ever heard.

You know me, Father. And I know you. Therefore, no introduction is necessary. I come to deliver a message. The world must reform itself. If you do not lead this world to turn back to the Lord your God, my Son will return within the next year. Something is going to happen that will start the apocalypse, and it is not what you think. The bishop of Lachish is going to be murdered. If this is not averted, it will begin a series of events that will lead to a destructive world war that will end all of humanity. It happened before because my message was ignored. It will happen again. My Son and all the angels love the people of this world unconditionally. The end of the world will come from humanity's hands, not my son's. Do whatever you must to bring this news to the world. You are running out of time. I will take my message to two other places that can avert this imminent disaster. I plead with you now. Do not disregard this. There is no waking up from this. You are neither sleeping nor dreaming. Help me help you. Now listen closely because I cannot stress this enough. The world is running out of time.

Father Abbot stared up at her, transfixed. He did not move. He could not move. He was still standing in the clearing when the light disappeared. The Virgin Mary faded away, and he was plunged into darkness. As he turned away from the clearing, the branches parted like before, leading him back to the monastery. For the first time in ages, he felt all of his seventy-eight years. The cold mountain air rushed through him, making him shiver. He did not know if it was the cold air or the encounter that caused the shiver. He decided that it did not matter. What mattered was what he was going to do with this information. It was a mile and a half back to the monastery. Taking one last look at the clearing, he turned away, and for the first time in over a decade, he ran.

He did not stop until he reached the front door.

Chapter 2

As he smoothed the uniform over his chest, he walked into the room and looked at the plaques on the walls. The plaques were hung at a height that was slightly higher than the average person's eyesight, making the viewer look up at those who came before all those who wished to attain a similar status. The walls of the room were adorned with the pictures of former priests and religious who lived within these walls centuries ago.

Captain Manuel Esposito, standing at a height of six-foot-three and weighing 184 pounds, did not need to stand on anything to read the plaques. These were the men who kept the Vatican running from behind the scenes. As he walked around the circular room, Captain Esposito studied the faces of those he was sworn to protect. Even though they were memories to some and unknown to most, these were the men who made everything he believed in possible. Turning away from the wall, he looked at the center of the room. A life-size statue stood staring at him—its porcelain face, a mask of stern reproach. Saint Paul looked straight at him. As he stared back into his eyes, Captain Esposito shuddered. He felt as though Saint Paul was simultaneously looking at him, through him, and judging him. Captain Esposito looked back at him, back at a statue that no longer felt like a statue but as though he was looking at Saint Paul himself. After a few moments, he had to turn his focus to the floor. Admittedly, he felt unworthy to look directly at the saint. While he stared at the floor, he whispered, I confess. As he stood there, he believed he heard an answer, but it could have been his own subconscious speaking.

Go to Jesus, he heard in his head.

Slowly, he looked up. Saint Paul continued to stare at him; his marble face unresponsive. Captain Esposito turned away from Saint Paul and headed out of the room. He looked up to see his partner, Justina Ricci, standing in the doorway waiting for him. She motioned to him to step into the hallway. Tapping a sheaf of papers, she gestured to the hallway a second time. Unswayed, Manuel Esposito looked back at Saint Paul.

Pray for me, he said.

He heard papers being shaken behind him as Justina impatiently waited for him. Manuel turned back to her, his finger over his lips. He walked toward her, grabbed her by the arm, and led her out of the sanctuary. Once in the hall, he looked directly at her.

That is a place of peace and—

He looked into her piercing blue eyes and her shoulder-length blond hair. She was so stunning that he had to catch his breath. He opened his mouth to say something but closed it with a snap in fear that it was going to be something stupid. She thrusted a sheaf of papers at him.

I have something very important, and you have to see it right now. We don't have much time, according to her. If we do not respond immediately, everything we know could be—

Shaking his head at her, Captain Manuel Esposito walked away from her. What she held in her hand could be life-changing for all of them. Open-mouthed, she watched him walk away from the most important discovery the Vatican Investigation Division ever came across.

Sir, she called after him.

Without turning around, he motioned to her over his shoulder to follow him. She looked behind her and saw that they were the only two people in the hallway. She ran after him, catching up to him after a couple dozen steps. Justina was just over five feet tall. Because her legs were much shorter than his, it took twice as long for her to cover the same distance as the captain. She reached him just in time to turn into the offices. Tapping the door with her foot, it closed behind her, leaving her to stare into the middle of the room at a table where a group of people sat waiting for orders.

They were a diverse multicultural group. Five chairs were positioned around the table, three of which were occupied. Simon Hughes, a retired Navy SEAL, was on the team, courtesy of the US government. Sara Mitchell, a British spy on loan from MI6, sat next to him. She became a member of the team due to her knowledge of biblical history and biblical archaeology and was the go-to person for anything concerning the historical background for their missions. Though she would never admit it and hated being referred to as the brains of the organization, she was the smartest person in the room. Alexander Grenfell, the British attaché to the Italian embassy, was there to keep everyone on point. He reported only to their superior, Major Maldondo.

Justina and Manuel took their seats. Captain Esposito looked down at his hands, trying to figure out the best way to tell the team about their next mission. He looked to his side at Miss Ricci. She shook her head and said, Just rip the Band-Aid off.

Frowning and shaking his head at her, not making the connection between what he had to say and the use of her idiom, he turned back to the team. He blurted out, We have a mission. There have been reports of a series of Marian apparitions that apparently all happened at the same time in two different places. Now we must go there. This will mean that for the first time in our history, the VID will have to separate to complete this. If anyone at this table is unwilling to go, let me know. Otherwise, we split. Half of you will go to Syria, and the other half will go to the United States.

The team looked around the table at each other. There was shaking of heads, nods, shrugs, and hands thrown up. Several of them grabbed pens and started furiously writing on the table, but not a word was spoken between them. Both Captain Esposito and Justina looked at the table, trying to discern what they were doing, but they could not see anything. Captain Esposito turned to Justina, who whispered to him, It's their thing. All this motion and commotion is how they communicate. Just wait. I think it's an American thing they all picked up from last time.

Or maybe French, she added before he could say anything. They were in Paris and New Orleans.

They turned their attention back to the group just as they stopped motioning to each other. They returned to their normal state, staring at each other across the table. Simon pointed to himself, and the group nodded as one. He turned to Captain Esposito and Justina and nodded his head.

We're in.

Chapter 3

They exited the meeting hall the same way they walked in—silently. They walked out of the rear of the building where two private jets were parked in the backyard of the VID headquarters at the farthest point of two runways. The group separated and got into their respective jets—one that would take a team to St. Sebastian's, Oregon, and another that would take a team to Syria. A lone figure stood in the shadows and watched them enter their jets. As the planes took off and disappeared, turning the sky into a series of vapor trails, he turned away from the backyard and walked into the building. He knew what they would find on their little mission or, more accurately, what they would not find. Running his tongue over his sharp white teeth, he sneered at their departure as he walked down the hall back to the meeting room.

Once inside, he searched for clues that would tell him where they were going. But there was nothing that showed him anything. Slowly, he looked around the room for misplaced paperwork, a book that was in the wrong place, or simply something that would clue him in on what they were doing. But he could not find anything. Annoyed, he angrily slapped the wall and killed the light. Just as he was about to leave the room, he spied a black light that was illuminated in the far corner of the room. Its subdued light beckoned him. Even though his nerves were yelling at him to run and claim the light, he calmly walked over to it, picked it up, and slowly ran it over all the walls. It turned up nothing. Discouraged, he threw it on the table without turning it off. He was turning away from it to leave the room when he saw writing all over the table. Excitedly, he picked up the black light.

Maps, writings, passages from books, and quotes from the Bible all jumped up from the table to taunt him. Hungrily, he