Phew. Finally a new chapter.

Again for catsvsdogscatswin for her constant support :3

Chapter 9: Running with the devil

Rome, Iscariot training facility, April 10th, 2015

Enrico lost his balance and painfully crashed to the floor. His head was spinning and immediately wood pressed against his throat.

"I don't have to tell you you would be dead in a real battle, right? ...Sir?"

"Save it," Enrico snapped and got up, only to almost trip over his own feet. The fall had made him dizzy, not to mention the countless bruises he already had. And now his hand hurt like hell, too, after falling on it. Renaldo patiently waited until he had gathered himself and then raised the wooden sword again. Enrico pushed his sleeves up and did the same, although reluctant. He had presumed himself to be more or less fit, but after two hours he was drenched in sweat and trembling with exhaustion. And Renaldo did not seem to be willing to let him off yet.

"You're dropping your guard again." Enrico forced himself to concentrate. Why did he have to do this again?

Ah, right, he had been sick of being protected by the girls. Even his cute little sister. It was supposed to be the other way around. Some part of him knew he would never match the paladin's superior abilities, but that was no excuse. He had not expected it to be that hard, though.

Only a reflex let him block the next blow. He stumbled, almost losing his balance while trying to attack himself. Merde! He was no paladin and lacked the talent. This was not fair.

Renaldo tripped him, the sword hitting his wrist. Enrico cried out and fell. Again. When the world had stopped spinning he was able to sit up, rubbing his aching hand. The sword had clattered to the floor. "What is this good for anyway? How am I supposed to learn anything if you don't give me a chance?", he complained.

Renaldo extended a hand to help him up. Enrico ignored it. He was not that weak. He got to his feet, picking up the sword. "Are we finished for today?"

The old paladin sighed. "I suppose."

"About time." Enrico dropped the sword on the table at the wall and rolled down the sleeves of his shirt. Probably not the best clothes for fighting. What fighting? Most of the time he had tried not to get hurt too much. By now he regretted this silly idea. Even if he could master this somehow, Lisa would be a lot more skilled anyway.

That didn't change his promise, though.

He pushed the loose strands out of his face. The ponytail didn't really hold, but now it didn't matter anyway. He needed a hot shower. Maybe he wouldn't hurt all over then tomorrow.

"You should think about what you want," Renaldo said. He didn't betray any emotion, but Enrico wouldn't have been surprised if he had been laughing inside. After all, his desperate attempts at so-called fencing had to look completely ridiculous. Renaldo was only too polite and loyal to show it. Enrico shot him a cool glance. What did he know? If it was like Enrico wanted, he wouldn't be here at all. This was only an unpleasant duty and nobody had any right to mock him.

"Every leader of Iscariot has fought a battle at some point," Renaldo said.

"Well then we don't have to wait much longer. With Millennium surfacing there will be a battle soon. What's your point?"

The old priest looked at him with these unnaturally calm eyes. Was that pity? "Not all of them survived."

Enrico abruptly turned, strutting out of the room with his head held high, not bothering to answer. What did Renaldo think him to be?

No one would ever look down on him.

July 13th, 2016, underground interrogation chamber, location classified

"Have a seat, your grace." Maxwell smiled. Bishop Joseph Brown tried to return it, and failed miserably. He was shaking like in a fever. His nerves had never been particularly good, especially now, in this age. He was brought in by a paladin with neck-long blond hair falling in his face. The paladin melted into the shadows once they were in the room. The only light source was directed at the table Maxwell sat at. One side was stacked with papers, the other completely empty.

Brown slowly walked around the table to Iscariot's infamous young leader. Maxwell was a good deal taller. There were more people in the room, other paladins, Brown assumed. They were concealed by the shadows. Sometimes, a cross blinked.

Maxwell was friendly. They shook hands and sat down. Maxwell picked up a pen and crossed something on a sheet out. "I hope the travel was not too uncomfortable. You understand why this meeting place is required, right?" Brown nodded.

A bit too friendly, maybe. Being interrogated by the Iscariots could never mean anything good. The last time Brown had anything to do with them directly had been in World War II and after that he had been happy to keep his distance. In Section X he was just at the right place. Files and information. Not the smallest chance of active danger. Funny, he thought miserably, back then the head of Iscariot had been named Maxwell too. The first one had been a horrible person, to put it mildly.

"Why am I here?", Brown asked, trying not to let his voice shake.

"We found a lot of information has gone missing concerning the Vatican's work regarding Nazi Germany. We are trying to sort this out."

"So you're researching?", Brown asked. This wasn't half bad. He was working in the filing department after all. And he had been just a young priest back then, with no real jurisdiction. Iscariot should rather sort through their own mess. Brown had hoped to have put this behind almost sixty years ago.

"I'm not the only one you're interrogating?"

Maxwell smiled. Brown had the uncomfortable thought that the young bishop was mad. You could see it in these unnaturally bright green eyes. "Interrogating is such a dreadful word. It's just after such a long time it's quite difficult to find anyone still alive to give us any information. And it would be a shame if we would let our files get into disorder, right?"

Brown nodded. Shouldn't he know about this? He had been working for Section X almost his whole life. Of course, every Section looked into old files then and now, but something that big... But maybe he was just being paranoid. He couldn't know for sure how much Section XIII actually knew.

"The remaining files tell of an organization preparing for a possible defeat even during the early stages of the war," Maxwell said, shuffling the papers, more for show than actually looking up something. He didn't even bother hiding it.

"I wouldn't call it a possible defeat." The same instant Brown knew he had said too much. Maxwell didn't show any specific reaction, though. He just waited for the much older bishop to elaborate. Brown had to gather all his remaining courage to go on.

"They called themselves Millennium. I... I always had the impression they were not taking precautions, but were planning for a defeat from the beginning. At least of what I heard. I never had much to do with it."

"Now, let's stay with the truth," Maxwell said, almost amused. "You were one of the main connection agents."

Brown interlocked his fingers on the table to keep his hands from shaking. "I-I wouldn't say that. It was mostly Section Thirteen who coordinated the work. Archbishop Maxwell, actually." He had expected to catch Iscariot's director by surprise, but it didn't seem to work.

Brown could vividly imagine the old archbishop, with his limp and the scarred face and mean eyes. Would it be such a surprise to find out Giacomo Maxwell was actually an ancestor of this youth? They even looked similar. And both were dangerous.

Brown tried to get rid of the lump in his throat and found he couldn't. He swallowed again. What had he known back then? He had only been a little priest responsible for filing. Maybe his name was even on the reports lying in front of Maxwell now? That would explain how they had found him.

"There are a few names mentioned here. In 1945, there was a secret meeting between you, the Archbishop and two agents of Millennium."

"I was not present at that time. Only later, when the girl was alone." Maxwell raised one eyebrow and Brown hastily went on. "She was part of the Wehrmacht... I only know the names from the files. The so-called Werwolfs. I was only on filing duty," he repeated.

Maxwell tapped on the table with the tip of the pen. "Of course. You were... what, twenty? Younger than me now." He chuckled.

"Yes, exactly," Brown said miserably. What was the point in this?

"The leader of Millennium... did you ever meet him personally?" Brown wished he could wipe the sweat off his head, but he didn't dare to. Maxwell could not overlook his panic, of course. Brown only feared he might hit himself accidentally. He didn't know how to start. How could he describe this man?

"The only name given is "The Major"," Maxwell said.

"Yes." The name immediately brought a picture to his mind. "His real name was Max Montana - I think. He was quite a mysterious man." Brown couldn't suppress a helpless smile. He regarded Maxwell closely, but the younger bishop didn't show a reaction. The smile never left his face. Brown shuddered. This reminded him too much of this monster of a man in World War II.

"I met the Major for the first time in 1941, after the commencement of Barbarossa. He... he was still a lieutenant back then, but... the Führer's proxy, so to say. He had a decree from just below Hitler... It was quite astounding, actually."

"What was astounding about that? After the concordat in 1938 it was not exactly surprising they addressed the Vatican again, was it?"

"No, of course not... I mean the Major himself... He was... he was a disgusting man."

Maxwell spun the ballpoint pen between his fingers. "Like it would be expected of a heathen," he said with open disgust. "Describe this first encounter, please, your grace."
Brown was a bit relieved. This was easy. "He was in his twenties, about twenty-six or twenty-seven. His height was about 160cm... awfully short for a soldier. Also quite pudgy, too. No, obese even. He didn't look like an SS officer at all, if you know what I mean."

Again this smile. "Of course, your grace."

"He had this... detestable grin that never changed. It seemed to split his cheeks while never being a true smile. And those unpleasant eyes, almost as if he was leering directly into your soul. They were golden and very bright, I remember that vividly. Really golden, almost yellow. You could see the madness in them. And despite being so fat he was always perfectly dressed. He could have very well been the Führer himself, his attitude being... being like a commander of Hell itself. Even now when I look back at it, he was a truly disgusting man."

"You are no doubt correct, your grace," Maxwell agreed. "What about the actual escape? The Major used a zeppelin, it says here."

"Yes. Walhalla, it was called. It was located in an abandoned factory in the countryside. As I said, I was only from filing... What I know is, we helped transport provisions and kept the operation secret from the public. It always seemed to me the Nazis were somehow involved with Iscariot anyway..."

"Oh really?" Maxwell propped his elbows up on the table. "Thank you for the hint. We'll investigate that of course." Was he even making an effort to hide he was lying? Or was Brown being paranoid?

I'm almost 90, he thought with bitter amusement. How much do I have to lose?

"So the Major was not a very pleasant man, to say the least," Maxwell summarized. "And yet you helped him transport goods and capital." The smile had become a bit more triumphant, Brown thought. Maxwell was greatly enjoying this.

"You have to understand, Father... Bishop Maxwell. He coerced us into cooperating. We would have never-" Brown broke off. "You should have heard him. "To savour the joy of war limitlessly. For the next war, and the next, and the next." It was... We had no choice!"

"No choice, you say," Maxwell said, amused. "Let's see. There was the project of transporting materials and personnel from the occupied territories. But of course, this was merely a plan for hiding their true intentions. Or, no, I should rather say it was a means to an end. The end being called Vampire production program, right, your grace?"

Brown felt himself grow cold. "What-?" He automatically wanted to stand up, but there was a strong hand on his shoulder pushing him back into his seat.

"Code name Last Battalion, if I'm not mistaken." Maxwell closed the ballpoint pen and laid it on the table. The little click sounded like a gunshot in Brown's ears.

Even if Brown had wanted to fight – a bad joke at his age – he would have been trembling too badly to even stand up. He felt icy sweat running over his face. "What- How much do you-"

Maxwell leaned back, crossing his legs. "Your grace, this is the very reason we exist. You should not underestimate us." A grin spread over his face, almost splitting it, the eyes wide. "You seem to misunderstand. This is neither an investigative enquiry nor a debriefing. An internal affairs enquiry? No! A court of impeachment? No!" He made no effort to lower his voice.

Good Lord, Brown thought.

Maxwell raised his hand and snapped his fingers. "This is an inquisition!"

Brown was grabbed, his head forced on the table. He had to painfully turn his eyes to see something. "They coerced you? Absurdity! All of you gladly offered your assistance. Pro-German? Pro-Nazi? Ridiculous! You wanted to become vampires, didn't you?" A look of rage crossed Maxwell's face. One eye was squinted, the other wide. Maxwell's voice was trembling with hate, but also... excitement? I was told he was dangerous, Brown thought miserably. But how could the pope get a madman to such power? Does no one see?

"His honeyed words awoke desire in you and you acted. You wanted it badly enough to turn your back on God-" He slammed his hand on the table. Brown flinched in panic. "-and sell your soul?! For a thing like that?! A bishop should know better!" The smile returned again. Brown could only try not to whimper. "However, the vampire research was not completed in time. All that was ultimately perfected was imperfect ghouls. Even so, the ability to place ghouls at the front line would have been fearful indeed, had the program not been destroyed by Hellsing."

Brown jumped up, desperately trying to make them see. "I- I was deceived! It was him! It was his fault! It was not just me! He got to- to all of us back then!" He could hear steps behind him. Shuffling of fabric. A gun being drawn. Somehow Brown knew it was the same blond paladin from before.

Maxwell seemed to try to look pitying, but all he managed was an expression of annoyance. He began pushing the papers on one heap and picked them up. "It pains me to think, even for an instant, that a bishop did this. Your grace, you should really try to contain yourself."

"Please, have mercy on me!", Brown begged. His terrified mind even tried to make him flee, but where should he run to, even if he still could have run? He didn't even know where he was. "Maxwell, for the love of God! I... I-" The clicking of a gun. A cold hard piece of metal pressed against his head.

"Unfortunately, I cannot," Maxwell said. He smiled and stood up. "If you were truly a servant of God, you would understand the Vatican could not permit your survival after you sided with people like them." Maxwell actually raised a hand as if to wave him goodbye. "Amen."

Please God, no- Darkness fell. Brown didn't even hear the shot anymore. A better death than a heretic like him deserved. Maxwell left the interrogation room. Another name off his much too long list. Traitors seemed to be especially long-living.

Rome, Iscariot-HQ, September 7th, 2016

"You are still here?" Lisa poked her head through the office door. Enrico didn't answer. He was focused on whatever was lying on his desk. Looked like some kind of old MP3-player. His phone was lying there as well. What was he doing now again? He had still not fully recovered yet. Music was playing in the background. Soft music. Nice trick, but not for me, brother, Lisa thought. But obviously he could not openly admit to some preferences. The thought made her giggle. Maybe not the right choice of words.

"Something funny?" His voice was absent. There were sparks of electricity and he jerked back, barely avoiding getting a load in his face. "Damn it!" For a moment it seemed he would direct his anger at her, but then his expression softened. "Hi there."

"What are you doing?", Lisa asked.

He grinned, making him look a bit like a child. "Oh, just a little gadget that might turn out to be useful at some point."

"So you're being mysterious again?" She pretended to yawn. "Suits me. You still on these investigations?"

"No, we're through. There weren't an awful lot of people left."

"Not surprising after such a long time, eh? I mean, who would guess that – the actual Nazis resurfacing?"

He leaned back, spinning a little screwdriver between his fingers. "Even if there was nobody left alive, we have the reports from back then."

"The Vatican likes to keep track of everything."

He laughed. "Indeed. They are a lot better than any individual memory."

"You were in the secret archives, right? How were they, except for big?"

"They were amazing." Lisa really wished she could have been there. Even among the clergy it was rare to get full access to everything. "Though not as dangerous as in Angels & Demons."

"Saw something interesting except for what you were searching?"

"Tons of it, but my shadow wouldn't have approved of searching anything unrelated."

That struck Lisa to be somewhat ridiculous. "You're a bishop!"

Enrico didn't seem particularly upset or offended. "Standard procedure. Now listen up. Millennium was a secret project inside a secret project. Our code name for it was Project Aristotle, for some reason."

She raised an eyebrow. "I already know all that, we went through the files together."

"Yeah, yeah, but here's the funny part: The jurisdictions were wide-spread so nobody knew something specific. Except for a certain Archbishop Maxwell, back then leader of Iscariot."

Lisa had been studying the "gadget" lying on the table without understanding it. Technology had always been her brother's talent. Now she looked up, frowning. "Sorry?"

Enrico laughed at her confusion. "My reaction exactly. Archbishop Giacomo Maxwell. I checked, he's actually my grand-uncle... how do you call that? Even looked a bit like me. Though he was by far not as handsome." Another childish grin while he swiped a loose strand out of his eyes. Lisa tried to nudge him, but the desk blocked her way.

"God doesn't approve of arrogance."

"True." He shoved the gadget – whatever it was – aside and booted down his laptop. The music died. "Anyway, I still got to check on something in Section IV."

They walked to the exit together. "Another top-secret operation to protect our beloved church?"

"Nah, just a little project I thought up. Private interest, you could say."

He was keeping a lot from her lately, she thought. First these interrogations – nobody not directly involved even knew about it. But she thought she was actually quite involved, so she deserved to know. And now these things? Maybe he was just fooling around like so often. Or...

"How is the training with Renaldo going? I mean, you were sick of course, but in general?"

His glare told her he didn't want to talk about that topic. Lisa linked arms with him as they walked down the street in the direction of St Peter's basilica. The HQ of Section IV, Andrew, was located in direct vicinity. All headquarters were. In the case of an attack that was pretty stupid. But of course, most regular priests and nuns working here didn't know of such dangers. They wouldn't even dream of anyone daring to attack the heart of Catholicism. That's what the secret Sections were for.

They had reached the HQ of Section IV. It was not exactly flashy, just like Iscariot HQ. It also seemed to be shut down for the night. "You sure you'll get in?", she asked, eyeing the dark windows.

"I'm meeting someone. Had to call in a favor, but what do we have those for?" Another careless smile. He had been distracted, ever since these interrogations started. Lisa found it increasingly difficult to read him, something disturbing her more than it should.

Jeez, Lisa, you're sounding like a jealous girlfriend!, she told herself. You're his sister and he's an adult. That happens. The more childish part of her insisted that it was not right either way. Not for them.

"Okay then," she said. "Then I'll see you later." He already wanted to go, but she grabbed his hand, almost hesitating. He didn't seem to notice. "Watch a movie this evening? Or read Heinkel's latest report? It's quite a page-turner. Especially the bit where she runs around on all those trusses."

"We'll see. I think I'll go to bed early."

"Dinner's on you, just so you know. Besides, we haven't talked properly in an eternity."

She could tell he was far away with his thoughts again. "We're talking now."

Lisa shrugged. "Forget it. Ciao." She turned and walked down a bit of the street, then stopped. Enrico rapped on the door. After a few seconds, he was let inside. No light shone from the building, let alone show any person.

"Idiot," she mumbled. Lisa turned around and walked back to their flat.

The door had opened itself, it seemed. Automatics. He should have expected something like that from the technology department. Those geeks loved playthings. Understandable. Although Enrico would never become as good as them, it was still fascinating. Fascinating enough to ask for help (for counsel) even if that was the last thing he normally did.

The lights were shut off. Only a few small colorful spots blinked occasionally, leading the way. Enrico didn't check for cameras, although there were some, no doubt about it. The dark would make it impossible to spot them. Knowing the Andrews, it would be impossible to find them even in bright daylight anyway. He smiled and waved casually in a random direction.

Lisa's casual question had angered him a lot more than he wanted to admit. After that Romania thing he was in no state for fighting anyway. Renaldo said he was making progress, and Enrico knew it was true to some extent, but by far not enough. The number of bruises had decreased though. That was nice. Normally he would say to hell with it. He had no talent for things like that. He was the director and his paladins were experts. His teacher and best friends were the Vatican's elite. When would he ever need to fight on his own?

Except Romania. He didn't really want to think about that.

But he didn't want to give up either. It would make him look ridiculous. Nobody except for a few picked individuals knew about it of course. No, he would appear weak in front of Lisa. And that wouldn't happen. Ever. If he failed her, he failed all.

She had been bitchy for days even before Romania. He couldn't figure out what was going on. The work kept him busy. Now that he thought about it, it had already started with the secret interrogations. Lisa hadn't been part of it and she didn't like that. But he had his reasons. She hated killing, even in the name of God. An inquisition like that would only make her angry. She just didn't see it was necessary. That was okay. She would, someday. Until then it was his task to keep her out of trouble. It always had been and always would be. Enrico knew he was giving her privileges for being his sister, but he just couldn't help it. Luckily, all of those traitors were finally dealt with. Time had spared him some work, but the wicked were always long-living.

Besides, what was she yapping about? She knew everything important. He'd have loved to take her to the archives, but even though the Pope had given the direct order to give him full access, that extended only to Enrico himself.

The archives had been fantastic. He had been there a few times, but not to the part containing the volatile issues. The secrets one could find leafing through only one of those giant shelves! You'd need more than one lifetime to look through all of it, and that meant getting little more than a brief glimpse at everything. Of course he had no such time and his shadow – someone from Section X, he presumed, even though he wasn't told a name and didn't really care for it – wouldn't have let him, either. No specific orders were needed for that.

Millennium's history was worthwhile, despite being a huge shame to the Vatican. But so was the Protestant Church. In a matter of months both of them would not be a problem anymore if everything went according to the plans of the Holy Father.

Or what Enrico thought to be his plans. Officially, there were no plans, not even for Section XIII. It was guesswork, but simple one. For what else would they want an external-

"Ah, scusate, Monsignore!" Enrico was ripped out of his thoughts by almost getting a door in the face. He seemed to attract that kind of events the last weeks.

The boy in the door was roughly his age, but looked a lot younger. He had disheveled brown hair hanging in his face, dull gray eyes in a pale round face. He was in jogging trousers and a crumpled shirt, emphasizing his chubby body in a not too favorable way. Enrico looked him up and down while walking into the room. The boy – actually a man, unless Enrico called himself a boy too – blushed. He seemed somewhat familiar, but Enrico couldn't nail it just now.

"I'm terribly sorry for the mess, Monsignore. I literally worked on your request to the last minute." While in Iscariot the primary language was English, the young man used Italian.

There were technical parts, books and whatnot strewn over a large table in the middle of the room. Also not quite few empty packets of takeaway food.

Enrico frowned, looking at the monitors in what seemed to be the main room. Cameras everywhere, as expected, except for the director's office. Interesting. "I thought you opened the door?"

The boy hovered nervously at the edge of his vision. "Oh no, that was our visual recognition system." He blushed even more at Enrico's skeptical glance. "It's an experimental system. Sorry to use you as a guinea pig, Sir."

Enrico didn't pay attention. "Who programmed that?" He'd have loved to check on the code. Such a system would be useful for their own base at the orphanage.

"A-A friend of mine. A colleague, I mean. His name is Anthony Blake." This was the control room. There should be some little workshops in the building. The big ones were outside the city. Enrico had only been to the director's office on one or two occasions. Most people here were technical geniuses, but rather drawn-back. Too bad he couldn't check on all those cool little experiments. But he had enough to do for now.

"Well tell him it's a good idea. I might come back on it at some point, if you don't mind." It had surprised him a bit, knowing that the best programmers (hackers, to make it more precise) were all employed by Section VIII. Or so they thought. "Are you finished?"

"Yes, Sir. May I ask... where you got this?" The boy went over to the desk and showed him the sword and scabbard Yumie had brought. "It's actually made of steel and galvanized with silver. We couldn't exactly figure out the stones without a real analysis. Look like real, but have a few really strange reactions towards electricity. Almost fried myself." He laughed uncomfortably and was, at least physically, utterly ignored. "Pretty old, too, at least two-hundred years. Seems a shame to destroy it," he added quietly.

"Well, then it's good we're not doing this, right?" Enrico let his words sound sharper than necessary. The boy winced. Enrico took the sword and examined all the little changes this talented youth had made. "Is it still stable?"

"Yes. Though I don't get what you are-"

Enrico cut him off, not even looking at him. "And my other request?"

The boy nodded and pointed at a bag with seemingly unconnected technical parts. Enrico sheathed the sword and went over to look through the parts. There was his hand-written list, every point neatly ticked off, even with one little addition made by the boy. Of course the perfectionist in this undoubtedly talented young engineer couldn't have resisted to add what he thought to be missing, despite never being told what it was for in the end. Enrico smiled. This was perfect. All he needed to do was figure the rest out himself. Which would be pretty difficult, especially while keeping it from his sister. A surprise weapon should stay a surprise as long as possible. That should be logical. Besides, if he failed he could still silently dispose of it. That would truly be a shame. It was a beautiful weapon.

His irritation about Lisa's weird behavior was gone. He couldn't wait to get started on this. And maybe, just maybe, he could even test it against Renaldo. See what he said to his student beating him all of a sudden. He would need to practice in secrecy before. "Benissimo!", he beamed. "That was brilliant work. You really are the best of this bunch." The boy nodded, happy about the compliment, but already turning red again. "I didn't even ask your name. Seems I forgot." He did know the name. Theoretically. After the information he had about his surroundings had enabled him to come here like this. In all this mess he couldn't keep track of every little detail, could he?

"Cristoforo," the boy muttered. "Cristoforo Panini." Well, that was one unfortunate last name, Enrico thought with amusement. Now he also remembered where he knew him from: Cristoforo's twin was one of the newer paladins. They had the same face, with the difference that Giorgio was tall and slim.

Enrico put the sword in the bag. He could get started on this tomorrow. Either that or he worked on his other little project. Maybe better that, no matter how much he wanted to start right away with this one. He got to set priorities. He would soon meet this Hellsing woman and who could tell how fast things would develop in the future?

"Well then, good work, I've got to be off. And thanks." He started for the door when Cristoforo pulled together all his courage to actually raise his voice. One of these rare occasions passion overwhelmed fear.

"Sir, I just have to ask: If you make it, can you tell me how? We've been puzzling over this for an eternity. Please, Monsignore." He had the pleading sad eyes of a beaten puppy, Enrico thought in irritation. That was only fitting for cute little animals, not a Vatican operative, no matter if he worked public or not. "What are you talking about?"

Cristoforo followed him like a plump pet. "We've been researching this for months. The sword would help us a great deal. I-I mean it would still be yours, you would get it back with everything we accomplished." Enrico ignored him, but the boy followed. He was getting more desperate while this unique piece was getting out of reach for Section IV.

"Monsignore Maxwell, this is dangerous," the boy pleaded. "Even if you can generate enough energy, how do you want to channel it into the right form? We tried anything-"

Enrico smirked at him without stopping. "I really don't know what you are implying. I'm not an engineer. This is just some hobby of mine and I'd like to keep it private. Didn't we agree on that?"

Cristoforo stopped. He nodded nervously, shuffling his feet. Enrico raised a hand for saying goodbye. "Bene. Good night, Signore, keep it up." He left the room and walked down the hallway.

The boy had done amazing work. Their bargain was completely fulfilled. The boy didn't need to know Enrico had already removed all files he had found about the devoted, but unlucky family Panini in the archives of Section VIII. Not without getting himself a copy, of course. Digitization was a wonderful thing. Nobody checked the files marked as scanned ever again. Cornelius thought he was so clever. But Enrico Maxwell was a lot better. He grinned.

Of course, the problems the boy had mentioned had troubled him too. But he thought he might have a solution for that. The silver and gemstones should help. He hadn't been lying to the boy from Section IV: He was not an engineer. He had taken advanced physics and technology classes in senior secondary and always stayed interested, but that was about it. He never exceeded more than little gadgets like the one he was working on now. Programming had always been his stronger talent. This would take a whole lot of luck. And a lot of research of course. He had already read the reports from Section IV over and over, googled everything he didn't understand and finally came to some kind of idea what was necessary. It actually came to him in a really weird dream, just after that Romania episode. He wasn't so delusional or arrogant to think he understood this, though. But maybe this would not be necessary.

Somebody from Section IV, he didn't remember the name, it sounded Slavic, had had the right idea already, only lacked the results. So Enrico just borrowed these plans. Nobody would ever notice. He was not planning to go public with this as long as he was in any kind vulnerable to charges that would no doubt be led by Reinhardt Cornelius himself.

Enrico automatically scowled, thinking of Cornelius. He was over 80, for god's sake! Section VIII was long overdue to get a new leader.

The scientist should rather be happy about this breakthrough should it ever get published. They were working all for the same greater good, right?

Enrico's steps were lighter than at any point in quite a while. This would be the stepping stone for great triumphs. He could feel it. Becoming a bishop at his age had already proven him to be qualified. The Vatican would need a strong leader once the old Pope was no longer. That would take a few years still (Enrico could very well understand he was too young for such a position), but he could be patient. Until then, Cornelius wouldn't bother him anymore either.

First, he would prove Anderson and the girls he didn't need them for his protection. Then he could take the next steps. Millennium was just perfect for showing he could be just the leader they all needed.

After all, Enrico Maxwell was destined to become great.