Chapter 6 - The Altar OpensThe heavy steel crowbar rested on the mahogany table like a declaration of war.
Father Thomas’s smile didn't waver, but his fingers twitched slightly against the sleeve of his black cassock. "A vault, Inspector? This is a holy convent, not a bank. The only thing beneath that altar is the crypt of our founding abbesses."
"Then you won't mind if I take a look," Inspector Vance said sharply, striding toward the parlor doors.
"Inspector, you cannot enter consecrated ground without a formal ecclesiastical warrant signed by the Cardinal himself," Father Thomas warned, stepping into his path with an aura of quiet authority.
"I have a federal mandate signed by the high magistrate," Vance replied, pulling a folded document from his breast pocket and thrusting it toward the priest. "Step aside, Father. Or I will have local authorities batter these front doors down within the hour."
Father Thomas glanced at the paper, then let out a slow, heavy sigh. He lowered his head as if yielding to the inevitable authority of the law.
"Very well, Inspector. If you must desecrate the resting place of the faithful to satisfy your secular doubts, follow me," Father Thomas murmured, turning toward the corridor with a calculated resignation.
The android Sister Esperanza remained seated in the parlor, holding the sleeping baby in her arms, her synthetic eyes tracking Vance’s every movement with mechanical precision.
As they walked down the damp, stone-paved corridor toward the main chapel, the air grew noticeably colder. The grand chapel was silent, illuminated only by the flickering glow of red votive candles surrounding the crucifix.
Father Thomas walked straight up to the marble altar, his hand reaching behind a heavy stone pillar. He pressed a hidden toggle switch.
Clack.
With a deep, grinding groan, the heavy marble slab forming the back of the crypt slid open, revealing the dark, winding stone staircase leading down into the subterranean levels.
A wave of damp air, laced with the faint, sickening scent of ozone and sweet lavender, drifted up from the darkness.
Vance pulled a heavy-duty flashlight from his belt, flicking it on to reveal a piercing beam of white light that cut straight down the stone steps.
"After you, Inspector," Father Thomas said politely, gesturing downward.
Vance didn't hesitate. He gripped his service weapon, keeping his hand resting on the holster, and stepped into the dark stairwell. Father Thomas followed close behind, his footsteps echoing softly on the stone.
They descended past the ancient sarcophagi until they reached the hidden drywall tunnel. Vance’s flashlight beam swept across the modern LED strip lights, the electrical wiring, and the sleek digital keypad on the heavy wooden door.
Vance stopped dead in his tracks. He turned around, his eyes locking onto the priest with burning accusation.
"Electricity? A digital keypad? In a medieval crypt?" Vance snarled, raising his gun. "Explain yourself, Father."
"Science, Inspector, is simply the discovery of God's hidden architecture," Father Thomas said calmly, stepping up to the keypad and punching in a six-digit code.
Beep-beep-beep-click.
The heavy door swung open, flooding the hallway with the bright, sterile, humming light of the underground laboratory.
Vance stepped past the threshold, his jaw dropping as his flashlight beam illuminated the centrifuges, cryogenic tanks, embryo freezing units, and computer monitors displaying neural activity charts.
"My God..." Vance whispered, lowering his weapon in sheer disbelief. "Human cloning and illegal genetic harvesting... right beneath a functioning convent?"
"Not cloning, Inspector. Evolution," a cold, clinical voice echoed from the corner of the room.
Vance whipped around, raising his gun—but it was already too late.
Doctor Paloma stepped out from behind a cryogenic tank, holding a heavy-duty pneumatic tranquilizer pistol.
Puff!
A sharp hiss filled the room as a steel dart struck Vance squarely in the neck. The investigator gasped, dropping his flashlight as his knees buckled instantly. The powerful surgical sedative rushed through his bloodstream, paralyzing his muscles before he could even squeeze the trigger.
As Vance collapsed face-first onto the sterile tile floor, Doctor Paloma lowered the pistol, her face completely expressionless.
May you like
Father Thomas walked over, nudging the unconscious investigator with the toe of his shoe.
"Well, that solves the immediate problem," the priest muttered coldly. "Strap him into the secondary neural interface chair next to Mother Caridad. It looks like our facility is about to acquire another very permanent resident."
