Title: Irretitus
Part: 1
Summary: What if Camerlengo Patrick McKenna was truly innocent and not the manipulative SOB he turned out to be?
Note: I want to thank Rap541, James Axelrad, and Vi for their input and for their expertise. Without them, this story would not be what it is today.
Disclaimer: Angels & Demons and its characters are creations of Dan Brown, scenes are from Ron Howard and Imagine Entertainment. All NCIS characters are creations of Don Bellsario and owned by CBS. I make no money off this endeavor.

This story all started out as a "what if Camerlengo Patrick McKenna wasn't the manipulative bastard he turned out to be?"

Chapter 1

Camerlengo Patrick McKenna sat on a bed in one of the emergency rooms of Santa Maria Ospedale. His whole body hurt. The events from the last few hours were things he never wanted to remember. Yet in his mind's eye he kept reliving his branding, along with the priest behind it and then that frantic helicopter ride.

Time slowed down as he reached for the parachute, which should not have been there, and buckled it into place.

Father, into Your hands I commit my life.

If God was calling him home at this time, then he would come with open arms and an open heart.

Opening the helicopter door, he was blasted with the wind, and the deafening roar the helicopter blades created. For a moment he swore he was back in the military and practicing his jumps. Looking down he was confused at why he was in black and not green. Shoving the thought to the side, he pushed away and down from the dangerous blades, then when far enough away he pulled the cord that opened the shoot. He was jerked up and then his descent slowed. The last thing he remembered seeing was St. Peter's Square below him like a beacon before the bomb exploded.

Patrick shook his head and blinked his eyes. He was alone once more, sitting on a hospital bed. He could feel every ache and pain his previous actions created, and maybe even more. There was a vague memory of him hitting the dome on the way down, but the more he tried to remember, the faster the memories were chased away.

Voices from the hallway sent his mind back to the helicopter…. "Please," he muttered as he rubbed his now closed eyes with the heel of his palms. "Lord, make it stop." Father, into…. Only when he reached the point where he blacked out did he find himself back in the hospital.

"Father?"

Patrick looked up only to find a nurse standing before him, obviously worried.

"Are you all right?"

Patrick entered the bedroom just as he heard his father's week slurring, "Cardinal Strauss. Wilhelm…." He had heard that something was wrong with the Pontiff, but never expected this. Instead of coming near the bed, he remained next to the door.

"In pectore…Pat…." Celestine coughed, a wet rasping sound that also rattled.

The Cardinal looked around and laid his eyes on Patrick for a long time, then his eyes swung back to the dying Pontiff. "Yes, Father?"

"Make it official."

"Yes, Your Holiness."

In a small section at the bottom of the daily published reports, the Cardinal did what was asked of him, and a short time later the Pontiff died.

Patrick shook his head again and squeezed his eyes shut. "I'm okay."

"Father, we were informed that you received a burn." The nurse looked at him expectantly.

The keys. Illuminati…. "No." Patrick shook his head, hoping the images that kept rearing their ugly heads would subside for now. He also resisted the urged not to rub a hand over area where the brand had touched his chest.

"No?"

Patrick nodded. "No." He did not want anyone to look at the upside down keys. Plus he didn't want anyone to know how he received the burn, or what it looked like. No one would believe him, and there would be no way to answer any of those questions and be believed at the same time. He might be the el Camerlengo, but he was still just a priest—

Patrick found himself back in the papal apartments. Several Cardinals stood around the bed. By Strauss' look alone, he knew something was different. When it was over, he forced himself to think of happier times with people he cared for…and loved….

When the nurse realized she wasn't going to get anything else out of him about the burn she called for the orderlies to help him into a wheelchair. Because he was knocked unconscious, they wanted to hold him overnight for observation. Patrick didn't mind the attention, but he still wanted privacy.

Because of the explosion, men and women were flooding into the hospitals. Somehow they found him a private room. This allowed him to change into a hospital gown in private and then slip into bed. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

Early the next morning Patrick sat on the bed, dressed once again in his torn cassock. The medical personnel were very kind in having it cleaned. He never asked for any special treatment, but as long as it was happening, he wouldn't complain. The door to the room opened and a member of the Swiss Guards stepped inside the room. Instead of wearing either the formal or informal ceremonial dress, he was in green fatigues. It was a testament to how worried everyone was added to their heightened state of awareness. He recognized him, but couldn't remember his name at the moment. "Yes?"

The guard spoke in German accented Italian, "Father, the College of Cardinals has requested your presence."

Me? Why would they want to talk to me? He maybe the Camerlengo, but he was only a priest. Patrick knew he could only wait so long, for the Cardinals would not be pleased if he loitered.

Gently, Patrick pushed himself off the bed. His sight grew dim and he pushed out his arms to help balance himself. As soon as his eyesight cleared he slowly limped out of the room and into the corridor. The guard easily outpaced him and was soon half way to the elevators.

"I can only move so fast," Patrick called to the retreating figure in German. With exhaustion washing over him again, he had to reach out and lean against the wall for support. What sleep he managed to get did nothing for this, all it did was stiffen his muscles. It was now even more difficult to walk.

The guard turned to look at Patrick and nodded. At hearing him patients started appearing out of their rooms, if they could stand and move. They all had smiles on their faces and reached out to touch him when he passed them by. They're acting as if I'm the Christ. He wanted to turn and state that he did nothing out of the ordinary, but never did. He ignored the impulse, for the understanding that he was summoned he felt was more important.

The doors closed and he found himself once again rushing out of the Basilica and into the mass of faithful carrying his deadly load. It was night, and a helicopter sat before him. I have to get there before….

"Father?" Patrick heard a voice as if from far away calling to him in the middle of the helicopter ride. He tried to focus on the voice and eventually the night morphed into the interior of an elevator. He found himself on the floor and the guard was standing over him, his face mixed with concern and panic.

"Sorry," Patrick muttered. He put a hand against the back wall and tried to push himself to his feet, but his muscles screamed in protest.

"Here, let me help you, Father." The guard reached out a hand.

For a moment Patrick looked at it, and then slowly reached out and accepted the help. "Thank you."

Instead of leaving the hospital by the front door, they went down to the lower garage where a car with tinted windows was waiting. Patrick hadn't heard if there had been a successful vote from the Conclave or not. He figured there was because of his summons, and so his role as Camerlengo would be ended and he could live out the rest of his life as a priest.

It didn't take all that long to get to the Vatican and soon Patrick found himself at the base of the stairs that led up to the level that held the Sistine Chapel, with trepidation. He wasn't sure if he could make it to his destination. Only the newer buildings had elevators. And so he had to limp his way up the stairs.

The Swiss Guards on duty in their ceremonial dress stood like sentinels up the stairs and down the joining hall. Patrick knew they were watching him closely to make sure he didn't collapse. Exhaustion washed over him again and he had to pause to catch his breath. The guard that brought him from the hospital now stood nearby and supported him with a hand under his elbow.

"I will make it." Patrick nodded to the guard beside him and finally stopped when he reached the top of the stairs so he could catch his breath. More guards were stationed in various places down the corridor.

Stepping through another doorway, there was two guards standing on either side of a door two thirds the way down the hall. That was his final destination. Patrick couldn't help but notice that the doors were still unsealed. He pushed that from his mind and addressed the guards, "Ego sum vocata ad eum stare coram Cardinalium Collegio publicatur."1

It felt like it was an eternity before a guard turned to the side and opened the door. The chains that he personally set in place at the beginning of the Conclave were never replaced after his grievous break of protocol when he entered unannounced the day before. Had it been only yesterday? It felt as if an eternity had passed since those horrific events with the Cardinals.

Patrick stepped inside and the doors closed behind him. Before him the chapel was sectioned off. Where he stood there were some medical personnel, who had vowed secrecy. He limped up the ramp and into the chapel proper, and where the Cardinals were waiting for him.

He stopped when he heard muttering all around him. Patrick turned to look at the men he just passed, but they weren't saying anything. Turning back to the Cardinals he finally noticed that, many he knew personally, were standing in different clusters in the open space. At first one, and then more began taking steps towards him. Their muttering grew louder as they neared. It took a moment before Patrick realized that they were saying a name over and over.

Patrick took an involuntary step back, not quite sure he realized what was happening until he recognized it as his. No…. It's not possible…. Blood drained from his face as his eyesight dimmed. It cannot be…. The last thing he remembered was feeling his legs buckle as blackness enveloped him.

No telling how long it was before Patrick began to hear muffled voices. Those voices were replaced by the sound of a confusing cacophony surrounding him, but he clung to the voices he knew were real. The confusion evaporated when he felt something on his face along with a cool breeze.

"Easy," a gentle voice broke through everything that was happening in his mind. Patrick tried to bat whatever it was off his face. The familiar voices were replaced by gasps as he struggled to open his eyes. If there was anything, he was relieved to see the worried faces of several Cardinals leaning over him, and not what his traitorous mind kept throwing at him.

What are they looking at? Patrick's confusion finally melted away when he looked down to his open cassock. The burn wasn't swollen like yesterday, but it was an angry red and very tender. The image of the two keys was still clearly visible from his branding.

Wilhelm Cardinal Strauss helped him into a sitting position. For a moment Patrick's vision wavered.

No….

Someone placed the mask back over his nose and mouth. At first he tried fighting it again until he felt cool oxygen coming from the hoses that were connected with the mask. As the minutes passed, both his mind and his vision cleared.

"I'm all right," Patrick muttered as he eventually removed the mask.

Strauss leaned back into his heels. The Cardinal's eyes strayed down to the burn.

From everyone's actions when Patrick arrived at the chapel he knew what the Cardinal was going to say. It was something he was not looking forward to hearing either. How could he do this, how could he carry this terrible burden when all he was was a simple priest? I cannot do this Father.

His mind went back to that dreadful night and Wilhelm's reactions to his father's final words, words that he wasn't close enough to hear or understand.

"Acceptasne electionem de te canonice factam in Summum Pontificem?2"

In pectore.

Patrick knew he was doomed.

Trapped.

There was no way for the Cardinals to take back the acclamation, and no way for him to abdicate the position. Patrick was in that strange in-between stage. The Cardinals would not accept his refusal, and it all stemmed from his actions from the night before. He looked down to the gas mask that Wilhelm held and then back to the Cardinal's face. It was obvious what the older man was patiently waiting for.

"Accipio3," Patrick finally whispered.

It was done. He was Pope. There was no backing out now. Patrick let some of the younger Cardinals help him to his feet. Those same Cardinals now led him towards the altar.

"No." Strauss moved to block their path. "It's not needed."

"What do you mean?" one asked. He was both confused and irritated. "His Holiness isn't even a bishop."

Because of the events leading up to and the beginning of the Conclave, Wilhelm went back to the desk he was seated at and brought forth one of the daily reports, specifically the last one that was published before the previous Pontiff had died. He pointed to the bottom of the second page and then handed it to the Cardinal in front of him.

"In pectore?" whispers began swirling around Patrick, and soon he was physically surrounded by even more Cardinals.

"Did the Holy Father tell you?" one asked.

"No." Patrick shook his head. His own mind was swirling with the implication. Had he been a Cardinal all this time? Was this what was said before his father had died?

"This way Your Holiness," Wilhelm indicated a door off to the side.

Patrick knew where it led. Just as he left the chapel he could hear the door to the chamber that burned the votes closing. They're telling the world. I'm doomed…, and there was nothing he could do about it now.

The room he found himself in was larger than he expected. Hanging from a movable clothing rod were three white cassocks of different sizes along with the vestments he would be dressed in. It didn't take that long and soon he reappeared in the Sistine Chapel wearing one of the white cassocks and pectoral cross along with a matching white headpiece and the rest of the vestments. It felt odd not wearing black anymore. His old cassock was like a well fitted leather glove, one that he realized he would not be able to wear again.

The chapel was the same, but this time a chair had been placed before the altar. The Cardinals were also still in their red vestments. They were all smiles and applause as he slowly limped to the chair.

Once seated Wilhelm came forward and took Patrick's hand to kiss it. "Quo nomine vis vocari?4"

Patrick's mind went blank. Of all the things, he completely forgot that he would be asked to take a name to be called for the rest of his life. I have to think of something, something.His mind whirled and he felt lightheaded again, but nothing came to mind. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping the faintness would go away.

"Holy Father?"

Patrick opened his eyes and looked to the Cardinal standing before him. It surprised him to see empathy and compassion in his eyes as he gently placed a hand on his shoulder. Those simple actions helped him recall something from the time after the Crucifixion. Of course.

"Barnabas. It shall be Barnabas."

The Illuminati had tried their hardest to destroy the church he loved, but he wanted to offer a hand of peace to them.

An hour later, he was standing in a room that was at the front of St. Peter's Basilica. Now was the time to let the rest of the world know whom the Cardinals had elected as the successor to St. Peter. The doors had been opened a short time earlier and the red veil that separated them from the outside world hung in the still, late morning air. Barnabas heard voices from somewhere behind him. One of them he easily recognized as Wilhelm Cardinal Strauss, who was now his Camerlengo, while the other he wasn't as sure. Glancing over his shoulder he recognized him.

Langdon.

Seeing the Harvard symbolist there wasn't all that surprising. The man's sympathetic look caught him off guard for a moment. With a nod, he turned his attention back to the veil. In a way he was glad to see him. He wanted to impress on the agnostic that religion was imperfect because man was imperfect, and he was a prime example of it. And the Illuminati proved that man was beyond imperfect. Man was and is desperately wicked. Only God could bring him back to some semblance of holiness.

As soon as the deacons were finished with setting everything up and making sure everything was in place, the Dean of the College of Cardinals, Clemente Costello while still dressed in red, stepped forward when the veil was pulled open, along with two more deacons. One held a microphone while the other a large red folio.

The crowd grew quiet as the announcement was made:

"Annuntio vobis gaudium magnum:
Habemus Papam.
Eminetissimum ac reverendissimum Dominum, Dominum Patricus, Sanctæ Romanæ Cardinalem McKenna, qui sibi nomen imposuit Barnabam.5"

The cry of the faithful far down in the square below could easily be heard when Clemente had finished. The three men slipped back inside and all bowed reverently to him.

"In just a short time," Strauss gave him another compassionate smile, "And it will be time."

It took a bit of time, but as soon as everyone had gathered into position, the doors before them were open. Following the deacon that carried the cross, and flanked by both Costello and Strauss, Barnabas stepped forward slowly to the edge of the balcony. He was tired, but he smiled at the crowds below. The deacon that held the microphone earlier slipped between him and Costello and held it in place.

Barnabas raised his hands in an attitude of prayer. He knew he was not only the first Irish priest to be raised to the Pontificate, but the youngest one ever. Barring illness, he would probably be the longest ever on record to serve.

TBC...

1 I have been called to stand before the College of Cardinals.

2 Do you accept your canonical election as Supreme Pontiff?

3 Yes, I accept

4 By what name will you be called?

5 I announce to you a great joy: We have a Pope! The Most Eminent and Most Reverend Lord, Lord Patrick Cardinal of the Holy Roman Church McKenna, who takes to himself the name Barnabas.