Raising Atlantis Read Online Free PDF Page B

silver hair. He looked every bit an urbane, handsome man of the faith, and the eyes, when he glanced up from the file he was reading, were clear and intelligent.
    “Sister Serghetti,” said her Jesuit escort, “His Holiness.”
    The pope, whom Serena instantly recognized, needed no introduction. “Your Holiness,” she said as the Jesuit closed the door behind her.
    The great man seemed neither stern nor beatific to her.
    Rather, he radiated the businesslike aura of a CEO. Except that this corporation was not traded daily on the exchanges of New York, London, and Tokyo. Nor did it forecast its future growth in terms of quarters, years, or even decades.
    This enterprise was in its third millennium and measured its progress in terms of eternity.
    “Sister Serghetti.” The pope’s voice conveyed genuine affection as he gestured to a chair. “It’s been too long.”
    Surprised and suspicious, she sank into a leather chair while he looked over her Vatican file.
    “Ozone protests outside the United Nations headquarters in New York,” he read aloud in a quiet yet resonant voice.
    “Global boycotts against biomedical companies. Even your Internet home page registers more hits than mine.”
    He looked up from the file in his lap with quick, bright eyes. “I sometimes wonder if your obsession to save Earth from the human race is motivated by some deeper, inner desire to redeem yourself.”
    She shifted in her leather seat. It felt hard and uncomfortable. “Redeem me from what, Your Holiness?”
    “I was acquainted with your father, you know.”
    She knew.
    “Indeed,” the pope went on, “I was the bishop to whom he came for advice upon learning that your mother was pregnant.”
    This Serena did not know.
    “He wanted your mother to have an abortion.”
    “That doesn’t surprise me,” she said, scarcely able to contain the bitterness in her voice. “So I take it you advised him not to?”
    “I told him that God can make something beautiful even out of the ugliest of circumstances.”
    “I see.”
    Serena didn’t know if the pope expected her to thank him for saving her life or was simply relating historical events.
    He was studying her, she could tell. Not with judgment, nor pity. He simply looked curious.
    “There’s something I’ve always wanted to ask you, Serena,” the pope said, and Serena leaned forward.
    “Considering the circumstances of your birth, how can you love Jesus?”
    “Because of the circumstances surrounding his birth,” she replied. “If Jesus was not the one, true Son of God, then he was a bastard and his mother, Mary, a whore. He could have given in to hatred. Instead he chose love, and today the Church calls him Savior.”
    The pope nodded. “At least you agree the job is taken.”
    “Indeed, Your Holiness,” she replied. “He gave you a pretty good job too.”
    He smiled. “A job which I’m told you once said you’d like to have someday.”
    Serena shrugged. “It’s overrated.”
    “True,” the pope replied and eyed her keenly, “and rather unattainable for former nuns who have repeated the sins of their fathers.”
    Suddenly her camera-ready facade crumbled and she felt naked. With this pope, a private audience was more like a therapy session than an inquisition, and she had run out of righteous indignation to prop herself up.
    “I’m not sure I understand what His Holiness is getting at,” she stammered, wondering just how much the pope knew.
    Then, remembering the fate of those who so often underestimated him, she decided it was best to come clean before she further embarrassed herself. “There was one close call, Your Holiness,” she said. “But you forget I’m no longer a nun nor bound by my vows. You’ll be happy to know, however, that I plan to remain celibate until I marry, which I suspect will be never.”
    The pope said, “But why then did—”
    “Just because we did not physically consummate our relationship did not mean we did not emotionally,”