bound. (6) I believe I even saw him hold his nose with his front paws. Now it was my turn to give proof of my masculinity, which could hardly mean that I cautiously dipped one paw into the water to guess the temperature.

Just like Antonio I eventually made an effort and jumped into the boisterous waves. My worries about the water temperature immediately proved well-founded. Had I been pretty cold on the sh.o.r.e, I now believed to instantly die from freezing. Even the warmth of spring hadn't been enough to heat up the river a little bit. The winter frost was still snoozing in its black bowels. But that was the smaller problem, the other and bigger one was the struggle against drowning. In the boisterous waves Antonio and I paddled as panic-fuelled as if we were begging for mercy in sped up sign language. While we performed water gymnastics with four paws, we tried to hold our heads or at least our noses up just as desperately. But the waves weren't considerate of us and kept splashing on us with roaring screams. We swallowed so much Tiber water that, if we didn't drown, we would probably die from the countless poisons in this sludge.

But the pathetic paddling was rewarded. The sh.o.r.e, which consisted of cobbles at this spot, got closer, and after some more paw-rowing we were finally able to escape to the mossy stones. Due to the different water temperatures the rain suddenly felt like a warm shower. While we threw up the Tiber's overabundant gift, we also enjoyed our heroic deed a little.

In the twilight of the streetlights the Tiber Island from here looked romantic, even behind the rain curtain. Antonio and I turned towards the box-shaped cabin in the shrubs. Compared with the bridge element of the Ponto Rotto, which was decorated with fish bodies, the smudgy, wooden little rat-shop reminded of illegally disposed bulk garbage. Antonio jumped on the sill of the only window that was enlightened. He made his head spring back and forth in rapid succession to gain better eyesight. Then he stood on his hind legs and pressed his whole body against the window frame. After a couple of times it yielded with a squeaky sound, and the window was open.

"Let's go, come up here! The going seems to be good", he whispered from above.

"Slow down", I warned. "Maybe the guy's in there."

"Even better. Then he can immediately be part of a scientific experiment, which doc.u.ments the effect of twenty claws on a human face!"

He didn't wait for an answer but jumped inside. I hesitated for a couple of moments, while I eyed the surroundings. Inside the rubber raft, which was tied to a stone, four longish wooden boxes peeped from underneath a rain blanket. Maybe these contained oxygen bottles for diving, I guessed. And maybe we did wrong by Umberto, and he wasn't more than an obsessed nerd, who wanted to pursue his bizarre projects in complete isolation and who also enjoyed some water sports. Just a lovable weird guy. A little like Gustav. Hadn't Sancta mentioned that he loved our kind to death? Why would he perform such b.e.s.t.i.a.l things? I had to follow Antonio if I wanted to find out why. In a moment of extraterrestrial braveness I did just that. I jumped onto the windowsill and rushed into the cabin.

The first impression turned out to be like expected. I stood in the workshop of some Gyro Gearloose, where there was no hint on humane living except for a sleeper and a fridge at the age of Noah. An old-fashioned black reading light illuminated the right side of the room, which was dominated by two pasting tables. On top of these there was a sheer unbelievable clutter of electronic parts, cable reels with different colors, indefinable devices, soldering irons, meters with small black and white monitors, a real screwdriver pick-a-stick and countless manuals. Next to that gobs of boards, microprocessors, gutted video eyes and small gas bottles, everything looked like exploded and spread in chaos. Some parts cast long shadows on the wall, which even intensified the effect of this mess.

Cautiously, I dared to enter this battlefield, always anxious to not step on something sharp with the sensitive pads of my paws. Then I jumped onto the tables and sniffed at every single exhibit. Although the first impression totally matched Sancta's picture of a obsessed married technical nerd, and although there were no hints of b.l.o.o.d.y excesses, little by little irritating details came to light.

Yellowed clippings, torn-out pages from pictures books and private photos were crooked at the wall with duct tape. The topic, which combined the single parts of this collage, slowly filtered through. They were shots from old paintings, which heroized the invasion of the crusaders in Jerusalem or the garden of paradise; press photos of the disastrous attack on the twin towers in New York: the h.e.l.l explosion of the gla.s.s facades, people, who fell into death with struggling limbs, the crashing cathedrals of the Western world and next to that the mildly smiling faces of Osama bin Laden and other Arabian terrorists. Then again pictures with family motives: a young family with three little children in the backyard of a house with the unique Tuscan landscape of broad vineyards behind it. The same family at the beach, the kids looked a little older now, or at the fun fair. And an Italian funeral parade with a lot of pomp and three children's caskets. Although the unhappy father of these kids looked very young in all of these pictures and he must have aged since they were shot, I believed to know him from somewhere. I could have sworn that I had run into this man just a couple of days ago. A moment later it got happy again. An almost endless photo series showed Sancta in the most stunning poses. Sancta on pillar rudiments at the Forum Romanum, Sancta sleeping on the giant head of a statue, Sancta in front of the Temple of Saturn ...

Suddenly I spotted a rather crinkled and brownish picture, which struck me with horror. If a lightning had shot through the window and hit me directly at the head, the effect couldn't have been more devastating: The medical ill.u.s.tration showed a perfect profile of a feline inner ear. Worst of all was the many blood drops on the paper!

"Francis!"

I hastily turned around and tried to trace Antonio's voice while my heart beat like a drum. At that I noticed how much had been unrevealed due to the pale light. The left part of the room was totally dark, and hadn't I had the guiding green eyes in the distance, I would probably been lost. I jumped down the table and went to Antonio. He was also standing on a table, a table with a single broad base in the middle. The thing seemed to be metallic.

After I had jumped on it in a single bound, I made the second terrible discovery. Underneath our paws was a little operation table with straps on its sides, which was used for operating animals. Swiveling operating lights hung above us. Next to us anesthesia and ventilator machines, inhalation masks and a wheeled table on which several surgical instruments were lined up. There was no doubt that the reprehensible amputations had been performed here and that the obtained organs then had been manufactured into high tech products in the "electrical goods department" a few steps away. It was incredible, we had found the monster's cave!

But the most terrifying still waited for its discovery. Directly in front of our paws a green surgery drape seemed to cover a congener. Anxiously, I looked into Antonio's eyes. Given this horror, these were frozen. The Oriental's facial expression was totally numb, he didn't even try to cover up his fright with an ironic remark like he usually did. Also, he made no move to remove the drape. In the darkness he simply sat there and breathed like someone who had shaken off worry. He even purred!

I bit in one corner of the cloth and ripped it off ...

Revealed was ... it was insane ... it was ridiculous ...

There was a toy missile lying on the table! The anthracite-colored thing was only about 1.5 feet long. On its front were two tiny video eyes in the dedicated orbits, on side of the fuselage it had short, stable wings and tillers, and there were fins fixed to its rear. The whole construction looked like a military missile had shrunk to the size of children's hands. Yet, the "brain", which could be seen through an opened little door at the front, revealed a totally different function. This part was full of electronics. A staggering arabesque of boards, microprocessors, ultra-thin cables and blinking electroluminescent diodes hinted at the weapon's intelligence. In all this technical clutter a feline vestibular organ was placed, which swam into a little gla.s.s ball full of nutrient solution and exchanged information with the rest of the electronics through subtle connecting wires!

"Have you seen Sancta in the pictures, Francis?" Antonio said in a quiet voice that was almost lost in dreams and sounded like a call from a very far galaxy to me.

"Sure", I said. "She is in cahoots with this Umberto. She killed Samantha, so that I ..."

"She's so gorgeous, isn't she? What a perfect symbol of harmony she is. The picture of Sancta has always been our ideal, when we thought about the future world. Beauty, dovishness, justice, love for life and tolerance. The ideals of ancient philosophy. The TV news speak another language though. All this sc.u.m, which they show, all the evil and the pain. During the last centuries our world has dramatically changed, Francis, and society rules like the discrimination of race, s.e.x and breed are not accepted anymore. The bad genie from the bottle has vanished. The monsters of intolerance, mutual suspicion and polarization march through our streets. Dialogue is nothing more than a poor relative or terror and intimidation. These prosimians with their primitive religion, which only preaches murder, with their freaking ape culture, which only issues prohibitions and only allows being a dead man walking! Intolerance against dissidents, against women, against h.o.m.os.e.xuals and against animals. They let sheep and cattle bleed out through a cut at their throats before they eat them, did you know that? They buckle dynamite belts on donkeys, just to fire them from distance. They s.h.i.t on animal rights, Francis. Samantha knew this and was pleased to offer help. And Sancta shines, she resembles our culture of soulfulness."

Although my fur was still soaked in the cold Tiber water, I suddenly was so hot as if someone had put me into a microwave for a moment. This whole d.a.m.n workshop seemed to expand like a gum in front of my eyes, and I felt how I gradually got weak in the knees. Yet, I had the strength to remember something Sancta had mentioned casually: "... Umberto is obsessed with our kind, and besides me he also keeps some black rascal on this site, who runs away pretty frequently though. At least, I don't see him very often ..." The black rascal stood in front of me.

"Whom do you mean by we, Antonio", I wanted to know.

"If I were George W. Bush, I'd say Western civilization, il mio amico. But I'm not George W. Bush, only a little f.a.g who doesn't want anything but to clear the world of intolerance once and for all."

"Why did you bring me here?"

Tears flooded out of my eyes and dripped on the operating table. The world was a cesspool!

"So that you will bring the last sacrifice, Francis. As you can imagine that such an important thing like world peace can hardly be achieved by droning Urbi et Orbi down from the benediction loggia at Easter."

Suddenly I felt an unyielding grasp in my neck! A hand had grabbed me and had me immobilized now. Then I was slowly picked up and got turned around in the air. I faced an old acquaintance's flawless visage. It was the very young man of G.o.d, in whose bag I slipped in my distress at the airport, when I started on my journey to Rome. Although I really wasn't in the mood, I couldn't help but admire the stunning looks of this angel of death in his long ca.s.sock. The elegant hair, which was combed backwards in shiny thin flicks, the sharp facial outlines which reminded of a master painting, the delicate hands, everything on this guy redounded to heavenly perfection. He paid close attention to me though his golden gla.s.ses, and the reflexion of the silver cross around his neck blinded me so much that seemed to translucently shine at me through a halo.

I knew this cross very well, as it was the same that the Roman macho in my dreams used to wear. This figure inspired by Antonio's confessions had never existed though. Il mio amico had lied to me, he had never been abandoned. Quite the contrary, master and pet got along so well that it even created a deathful, extremely mysterious symbiosis. And also the other figures had never existed. The hooded guy was Umberto in a theater costume, who collected donations for his research from the theosophists at regular intervals. The hobbling priest, who had gone into the chapel with me and Miracolo to prepare the blessing ritual, was Umberto, who always had shown his back to us and had grabbed the bowel with both hands at the moment of the reputed miracle; from the gunshot wound at his right arm blood had run into the water through the sleeve. But it was also Umberto, whose family had died in the infernal a.s.sa.s.sination on 9/11 in New York and who had vowed vengeance after that.

What this vengeance was actually supposed to be and what kind of stunts the missile on the table was able to perform, I had failed to find out. And it seemed like I wouldn't be able to find out anymore. Adieu, you beautiful world, adieu you beautiful ears! I yelled in my mind and was close to laugh and cry at the same time. Umberto bowed out in his own way.

"Thanks, Antonio!" he said in a mellifluous voice that what a match to his grace. Then he used his free hand to press the little anesthetic mask on my snout, which was connected to a tube and especially designed for my kind.

When I regained conscience, I was in heaven. And this heaven looked like a church! But somehow I had always sensed that the pipe dreams of a heavenly Disneyworld, where fried pigeons fly into one's mouth and Mercedes sport sedans grow on trees, are nothing but pipe dreams. No, when you return to G.o.d for good, you have to worship Him all day. And this works best in a church.

Although I felt pretty dizzy I probably still battled the aftermath of dying I managed to pull myself together. According to old custom, I stretched myself a little and then moistened one paw to rub it over my face and behind my ears. At that I noticed with some surprise that my good old funnels were still in their place. The real ones in the living world of course had already been converted into gyrometers by Umberto, but in this pseudo-life at least I still had the illusion of ears. Without ruffle or excitement I dwelled on thoughts for a while until I finally started to suspect that this might be the afterpains of the anesthesia and until in the distance I saw Antonio!

Instantly I felt like I got a kiss from a power cable, and even the last remains of anesthesia deserted me at once. I turned my head and looked around nervously to find out more about my whereabouts. And then I saw it: I actually was inside of a church. But it wasn't a heavenly church but an earthly and actually pretty big one: miraculously I had gotten to St. Peter's Cathedral!

The more than 160 000 square feet big site lay in the pale twilight of only a couple of torches and giant candles. It was still dark outside, and one could hear the rushing rain, only now and then interrupted by roaring thunder. Streaking thunderbolts, whose glaring light shone through the building-sized windows, enlightened a kingdom of unbelievable dimension and opulent art but also of papal vanity. It was the pomp and the glory of the Catholic Church, a baroque landscape of bold arches and superb arrangements of the folds, showroom and manifestation of faith in perfection.

I stood in the center nave of the infinite looking room, directly in front of the pope's altar with its almost 100 feet high brazen canopy, at which the pope occasionally consecrate priests. This baroque masterpiece, flanked by two brazen pillars, caused awe and feelings of triumph at the same time. 95 gilded oil lamps surrounded the Confessio, the subjacent room at the high altar, in which the marble statue of the kneeling Pope Pius VI. stood.

403 feet above my head arched the dome, which had been created my Michelangelo. Four giant pentagonal pillars with a huge diameter and volume were the fundament. Above those a cylindrical attachment arose, which was broken by countless windows. The light of the thunderbolts was refracted in the gla.s.s and created bulky blocks of brightness in the darkness. In this colossal resonance chamber the thunder resounded like the hammering of a giant for a long time. From up here I could easily see the interior surface and the outer canopy. The lantern hallway was in this double hemisphere, which allowed walking around the dome.

How much would I have enjoyed a sightseeing tour without any disturbing photoflashes of tourists. Even from this point there was already a lot to see. At the farthest end the Cathedra Petri, a giant fantasy in gilded bronze and as outsized as an upended tanker truck. On the right the grand alter of the saints Simon and Judas, on the left that of the saints Processus and Martinian. One could have spent days between those alters, marble statues, memorials, monuments, equestrian statues, baptisteries and sacrament chapels until one turned into an angel ascended to the dome and through this directly to Catholic heaven.

But unfortunately there was more pressing concerns right now. The main door with its giant brazen gate built by Filarete was closed. Apparently all guards had been sent home and one had made sure not to be disturbed tonight. At the end of the center nave Antonio sat on his rear legs and watched me with his turquoise emerald eyes. He was only a small shadow in the distance but I noticed him immediately. He somehow appeared to be down. Next to him his master Umberto stood in his black priest's robe, whom he was connected to by a fateful affection and the same view at the world. The man looked pretty pale. His bullet wounds probably still bothered him. Cattycorner the rough older man with the snow-white hair showed up, whom I had seen talking to my reputed Samaritan two days ago at the airport. Back then I had wondered about the military insignia on his lapel. Now I realized that he was a general of the US Army. The talk between the two men of different professions, which I had kind of overheard, had been about an event at some church. Now I was even allowed to attend this secret meeting!

Umberto also had brought a toy: the miniature missile. It was put on a small ramp, and pointed at the vast of the church. A few feet away I saw a laptop, which was very obviously the commander of the high tech device. The padre began to speak now, and thanks to my uber-ears I was able to hear every single word despite the distance.

"You know what this house of G.o.d means to me", he said in his angelic voice to the military, who was dressed in the finest English tweed. "And exactly for this reason I have invited you here for a test screening of Miracolo. If I weren't confident, I hadn't done this. Because if this holy house or one of its artworks were hurt by just a single scratch, I would never forgive myself. Even more, being security chief I would hold myself accountable. I wouldn't be ruined in an earthly view, as I don't have any property and will therefore give this prototype to your government without rewards, but at this place there is a downfall beyond monetary considerations."

Umberto, the handsome guy, turned away and began to wander around with his head bowed. He seemed incredibly tired, just as if he had been forced to bear an incubus for years.

"Miracolo is a self-regulated missile with a usual warhead. Just that he isn't just capable of destroying espied buildings and sites, but ..."

He paused meaningfully and freakishly smiled at himself.

"... but people it knows. He can be fed with a certain person's biometrical data even a newspaper picture will do , and its ready for hunting. This technology is neither new nor unique. I guess your cruise-missiles theoretically also are able to perform such missions, at least in open country. The problem starts when it comes to maneuverability of the self-regulated missile in a localized manner and by that I mean a radius of less than 7 feet! A self-regulated rocket is able to turn around corners and blocks and then destroy the prescribed building but it is not capable of dashing through a door independently, flying upstairs and from room to room and eventually hitting the target on the toilet without causing any damage. Why? Because they don't have a real balance system and because of that no real sense of balance! It is and will remain an inflexible missile, a bullet with a little bit of accountability, nothing more. Miracolo is the opposite!"

In Antonio's face I could see a certain stir now, which I took for a proof of conscience. He starred at me with a regretful mien as if he begged forgiveness and suffered from the spirits that he had cited. I clearly felt the urge in him to say some final explaining words to me before ... before what would happen? Very slowly, just as if a ball was starting to roll down a hill and was steadily increasing speed, I realized kind of trick I had been supposed to do tonight. Umberto hadn't been interested in my vestibular organ. The project already was that well advanced that they wanted to start rehearsal. But he needed a guinea pig for the last and final proof. I couldn't help it but think that I was supposed to play the target!

"Every peace-loving human's dream will come true tonight", Umberto said and hobbled around the general with increasing excitement. This guy didn't seem as impressed as expected and killed time with only a couple of gestures. Now and then he scratched his head and folded his arms in front of himself. Apparently he also waited for the final proof.

"Miracolo will save mankind from their most evil scourge from war and terrorism. Both issue from the sick brains of single persons. And we know their faces. And if we don't know their faces, we know their distinctive voices or their individual smells Miracolo can be programmed for all of these features. It is the thinking bullet from the barrel of a killer, just that it doesn't take any killer anymore. Pushed off by a launcher system, this missile is capable of dashing through urban canyons at racing speed, entering buildings independently without destroying them and even orienting itself inside extremely mazed architecture. The targets can't get away from it, regardless of where they are fleeing. And if it finds them and blows them up, one can sit next to them and enjoy one's dinner. The innocent will be spared. Civilian casualties within a war or terroristic conflict both are a thing of the past. There won't even be material damages. Look at this ..."

He put out his hand and pointed at me. I already felt like I was shot and opened my eyes to the size of golf b.a.l.l.s. Every single hair of my fur stood on end, as if I was sitting inside a tumbler.

"... This animal was just biometrically recorded by secret cameras at the Forum Romanum yesterday morning. We have his optical imprint, and this imprint has already been saved on the computer of the missile. Miracolo's job is to follow the animal and eliminate it without causing the death of a non-partic.i.p.ants or any material damage. In order to clear up any doubt that the device doesn't just orient itself by the optical pattern of a certain sort of animal, I brought my own pet. As you can see it's of the same species, and as you will also see, Miracolo will spare it ..."

I took to my heels and ran. At the right side of the wall was a plain pa.s.sage in the dark. I didn't know where it let. Headless and only inches away from totally freaking out, I decided on this escape route and senselessly ran towards it.

"The little one tries to get away!" I heard Umberto shout behind me. "Even better, this way we can have a long close look at Miracolo's skills."

I quickly looked back and saw him bend over the laptop and press a key. With an explosion-like bang a ray of fire shot out of the rocket nozzle, changing its color from blood orange over mint green into a light blue in a split second. Dragging this blue fiery tail Miracolo take off of the ramp and dashed towards the dome with an expansive bend. But I sensed that it was still in the warming phase and slowly probed, which of the breathing attendees underneath matched the biometric pattern in its memory. Absolutely, it had already seen me.

The pa.s.sage came closer and closer, and after a sheer senseless sprint I finally arrived there.

"Francis! Francis! ..." I suddenly heard Antonio's voice behind my back. I yanked my head around and saw the Oriental running towards me. Umberto didn't seem to be very happy with this twist. He catcalled at his partner in crime and ordered him to come back as if he were a dog. Understandably, at the moment I wasn't in the mood to deal with their relationship problems. When I looked up, the shock almost paralyzed me. The flying monster had reached the highest point of the dome by now and curved in an amazingly precise and small-radius semicircle. Then it dashed down at me with its flaming tail ...

I jumped into the pa.s.sage and to my horror I noticed that nothing more hid behind it than a circular staircase, which was hewn in ma.s.sive stone. By the look of it, it led to the lantern hallway. What was I supposed to do? Going back would have been sheer suicide. Standing still also! Without further thinking I started to run upstairs. Breathlessly, I speeded upwards, and the steps underneath my paws quickly turned into a striped pattern on a twirly strap.

"Francis, you stupid smart-a.s.s, why did you have to poke your nose into this dirty deal!" Antonio yelled at me out of the tunnel. Panting, he also rushed up the staircase. As he was located a couple of turns below me, we couldn't see each other. Actually, right now I wasn't in the mood to see the henchman of death anyway. Instead I was interested in the other messenger of death. Through a little hole in the wall I saw how the rocket rushed into the dark tunnel downstairs. Soon it would be up here.

"d.a.m.n idiot", Antonio yelled, and his voice sounded broken. "The Siamese would have been the last victim. Everything would have sorted itself out, and a few weeks from now n.o.body would have ever spared a thought about it again. And if you had swallowed the thing with Samantha, I wouldn't have decoyed you to the Ponte Rotto. d.a.m.n idiot!"

By now the capacity of my lungs was exhausted up to the border of a collapse. The steps I climbed up didn't seem to end. Through a hole I saw the whole nave, which almost reminded of the view from a plane. Umberto and the general by now were only ant-sized dots on the marble floor, which was decorated with artful intarsia and bathed in pale light. Yet, my eyesight was enough to read the unequaled fascination in their faces, absolute enthusiasm about this launching, which merely intoxicated them. Their mouths stood open, and they were hunted by twitches of excitement. I dared to predict that in a hundred years even devices a hundred times as smart as Miracolo wouldn't be able to stop all the torturing and murdering in the world given such a reprobated species!

I cut myself with the whip and climbed up the stairs at a terrific speed. Although I was suffering of breathlessness and felt pretty giddy, a magical force moved me on without mercy. From the lower part of the tunnel I heard the squealing nose of the rocket, which got louder with each second. The encounter of Miracolo and I seemed inevitable. Umberto's crafting skills hadn't left anything to be desired until now. The thing worked perfectly, and despite the extreme sport I was just doing, the question what I was supposed to do when I reached the lantern hallway kept pushing into my mind.

All of a sudden the last question became a highly urgent subject. Pale brightness greeted me, and before I knew what was happening I was standing at the 142nd step of the dome! Through the metal bars of the railing the first thing I spotted in the inside of the dome were the Latin words according to Matthew, which were shaded in gold: "You are Peter, and on this rock I will build my Church, and the gates of h.e.l.l will not prevail against it". The words sounded like a prayer to me. As praying was probably the only thing that remained to me in my desperate situation, I asked Peter for help, gasping and panting. After all his bones were buried directly underneath the pope's altar, so the transcendental way of communication between us was relatively short.

But although I was asking for heavenly a.s.sistance, I wasn't neglecting the search for an earthly escape from this dilemma at all. Without taking a breather, I ran down the gallery, in the elusive hope Miracolo would be distracted by that somehow. Underneath the dome in the niches of the pillars there were four giant figures of saints, which were connected to the Pa.s.sion. Their blessing also found my ready welcome. Through the big windows of the dome I saw mighty bunches of thunderbolts, which illuminated the city for split seconds. Rome was at my paws now. My eyes could see from St. Peter's Square to the Alban and Sabine Hills and into Vatican City, which was surrounded by a big wall. In the distance the obelisks, the colosseum and the metropolis seemed to burn, and at the lonely Campagne the Tiber sparkled in its countless windings. And as if this wasn't my demise but something like my resurrection, I could see the first crimson spark of dawn far away in the dark belly of the sky. At the time I faced death the sun was rising. Now that was an exit in style!

Antonio jumped out of the tunnel into the lantern hallway, saw me on the other side of the tribune and came at me without hesitation despite his bad condition. Totally pumped out and rather messed up we now faced each other next to the line of bars. Our fur was totally ruffled and our ears hung down like kinked branches. In the Oriental's coal-black face I noticed a mix of worry and some rest of morosity.

"You die for a good cause, Francis", he said. "Because of your death thousands, maybe even millions will survive. Our kind also."

"Thanks for the comforting words, Antonio, that's very sweet of you", I replied. "But I would have preferred if you had played the role of the martyr. It would have, how shall I put this, suited you better than me."

The boiling green magma in his eyes thoughtfully leaned on me for a very last time. Strange, I still liked him although of course I couldn't let him off his penalty.

"Intolerance, Francis, must be exterminated, and all these monsters, who want to tell others the way they have to live, must be killed! But in the end: Life is beautiful mankind is ugly. I beg you to forgive me."

With a deafening whining sound the missile shot out of the exit and turned into the lantern hallway, fast like an animal and without any hesitation. Its maneuverability really was unbelievable, and its agility to make turns with the smallest possible radius reminded of the lightning-fast sidestepping of our kind. Getting louder, it flew alongside the dome, until eventually it was only a few feet away from us.

"Ciao, Francis! We will see each other again some time in a better world ..." Antonio said and was about to bow out to make room for the explosive finale.

"Why wait so long, il mio amico!" I replied, sprang at him and plunged all of my claws into his fur. Wedged like that we rolled towards the railing until we broke through the gap between two bars and fell down together ...

In free fall we kept spinning over and did a couple of full turns. At that also the inherent parachute-reflex was employed, which causes our leg muscles to switch to muscle relaxation at maximum crashing speed. So we reminded of a natural parachute, using the braking effect of the air. We used our tails to balance us out, and our heads automatically faced the ground. Despite of those small tricks, I bewared of letting go of Antonio because I knew that a fall from this height was going to be my certain death without his future sacrifice. Regardless of how hard he tried to get away and how much he twisted and turned, my claws were stuck in his fur.

But the old danger hadn't been outgrown at all. Directly after the grasp at nothing I had seen from the corner of my eyes that due to the changed situation Miracolo hadn't at all experienced an ident.i.ty crisis and hadn't ended the hunt being a fair sportsman. The missile had just rushed over the railing as if nothing had happened and had performed a sharp course correction downwards. Like a whirling knife it know vertically shot at us and threatened to destroy us in case the dash on the ground wasn't going to manage this first.

Shortly before we dashed to the ground, Antonio gave up resistance and looked at me with his beautiful eyes. I read sadness in them, but also resignation to his fate.

"I forgive you!" I said and pressed his body under mine.

Antonio plunked onto Umberto's laptop and was instantly dead. Just a nano-second later his soft body ma.s.s clasped me like an airbag and cushioned my fall to a certain degree. When I rolled to the side right away, I saw that the rocket was only a few inches away from my nose. With a desperate jump with my strong rear legs I catapulted myself out of the danger zone. That close to the finishing line even Miracolo wasn't capable of speedy maneuvers. It crashed into Antonio's body and exploded into a thousand pieces. On the marble floor, on which il mio amico had just been lying, now was nothing more to see than an annular trace of ash and tiny metal parts.

My ears were still partially numb, when I heard another squeal. I looked around and with horror I saw three new Miracoli take off. From hidden corners of the left and right naves and from behind the socket of the Cathedra Petri one rocket a time shot to the top of the dome. It looked like fireworks in honor of Saint Peter.

"f.u.c.k, what does that mean?" the old general asked and, flabbergasted, he backed away from Umberto.

The priest with the angel-face also didn't look that attractive anymore. He rather gave the impression that G.o.d for once had allowed him to get a glimpse of the place, which was already impatiently waiting for him. With uplifted hands he tumbled backwards, his head strangely bopped up and down like that of an old man, and he kept licking his lips. A flick of hair had broken away from the rest of his neatly combed hair and naughtily dangled in front of his eyes. It was hard to say, if Antonio's explosive exit or the dancing missiles underneath the dome had thrown him for a loop.

"A safety measure", he said, almost stuttering. "It is a safety measure."

"Safety measure?"

The general now gave the impression that a lot of things were put together inside his skull. Obviously he didn't like the result.

"I was shot last night, and I thought, maybe you were behind that, General. Maybe mighty governments don't like that guys with my kind of knowledge keep living after they have developed a weapon of such importance. Maybe they think that I will pa.s.s this knowledge to ..."

"Jesus Christ, talk faster, dude!"

The military officer had already turned away from his high-tech-dealer and totally addicted himself to the observation of the ado at the dome. Meanwhile the three miracoli had ended their recon flight and formed for a nosedive.

"This is why I brought these additional three missiles for my personal safety", Umberto went on. "They are fed with your biometric data and with those of the killers, who also were captured by the cameras at the Forum Romanum."

"Call it off!" the general yelled and also began to tumble. "Do it, gosh darn it, call it off!"

"That, that, that isn't possible. Antonio, my Antonio, fell on the laptop and activated the ignition. And the laptop is ..."

With his hands, which he had stretched like he was about to pray, he pointed at the ash trail on the ground.

"You G.o.dd.a.m.n son of a b.i.t.c.h!" the General shouted and pulled a pistol from a hidden holster under his tweed sports coat.

Then he flipped his fingers. Behind the statue of St. Peter the two CIA killers from the catacomb showed up now! They had their weapons with m.u.f.flers thrust out and approached Umberto cautiously. Despite the dull light the sungla.s.ses with almost black gla.s.ses flaunted on their noses. But their cool ado didn't keep them from casting worried glances on the missiles, which came rushing down from the dome.

"This is my safety measure, b.a.s.t.a.r.d!" the general yelled and flicked his fingers again.

The killers shot their clips almost completely. The angel-faced man of G.o.d was. .h.i.t by so many bullets that for a while he didn't even have a chance to fall down. Every time a bullet hit him and he was about to keel over with a clenched grimace, the next bullet was already on its way and kept him upright. The wounds in his face and throat were the worst. The gla.s.ses fell out of his face, and also his fine hairdo couldn't be saved in the end.