Dahlia asked the four experts, in English, to introduce themselves.
"I am Dr. Forghetti," said the tall one who had done most of the talking.
"Dr. Mazzono," said a heavy man with fake looking black hair. They all had black hair except for the tall one's blonde mustache.
"Professor Gilloni," said a wrinkle-faced man.
"Cardinal Sputoni," said a short man who dressed no differently than the rest.
"Hey, you're names rhyme," said Dahlia, laughing. They did not laugh. She decided not to waste too much time with them. "Are you aware that Rota Fracta is a terrorist organization?"
All four responded at the same time.
"We are not affiliated with Rota Fracta."
"Who is Rota Fracta?"
"Rota Fracta is an independent organization."
"There is no Rota Fracta."
"Please," said Dahlia, "one lie at a time."
"You have heard of a connection between Rota Fracta and the Catholic Church?" asked Dr. Forghetti.
"Never mind what I heard of. What does what I heard of have to do with what you're going to tell me? Honesty, gentlemen. If you want me to answer your questions, you better give me some honesty."
"Rota Fracta is independent," said Dr. Mazzono, shifting his bulk in an uncomfortable-looking chair. "The Vatican made them that way, so what Rota Fracta does, the Vatican does not get its hands dirty. But since that time they have become something like a rogue organization. Technically, though, I will admit, they have never defied the Pope. That is my perfect honesty to your question."
"Do you know they killed someone?"
"Ah, this is what bothers you?" replied Mazzono. "This is a drop in the ocean of what is to come."
"What does that have to do with Christ?" asked Dahlia lividly. "What could you butchers possibly have to do with Christ? Imagine these words coming from Christ's lips. You cannot. How dare you shrug off the compassion of Christ in your obsession to see some prophesy fulfilled? And if these are the last days, as you believe, then you will sorely need Christ's compassion."
At this, the Cardinal spoke, "I have devoted my life to Christ, young lady."
"Young lady," thought Dahlia. "Imagine being called a young lady again."
But she said, "Sir, you might have a purple skullcap under that hat, but it will not protect you from God's law."
"Of course not!" the Cardinal almost shouted. "Dr. Mazzono was being flippant. I apologize for his saying. We knew nothing about this murder. We hear about like you do, on the news. What can we say? We do not approve of such monstrosity."
"The you will punish them?"
"We have no authority for that. We have already reprimanded them, but they are like become a millennial cult. Whereas we are simply scholars of the Church."
As the Cardinal finished his declaration, Dahlia heard a voice. Dahlia was not prone to hearing voices, but she could distinguish that this voice came from within. In fact, the voice didn't actually say anything at all, per se, because she heard the meaning of the words rather than the words themselves. Still, Dahlia thought of it as hearing a voice because the meaning was distant and did not seem tied to any conclusions she could draw herself. It was like God were talking to her, but was it God? And if she were a saint, shouldn't she be able to tell? Regardless of who or what it was, he or she or it had pronounced one simple message and said it only once, though now it echoed in Dahlia's head:
Get out.
She was more polite about the matter. She said, "Good-bye, gentlemen." There was no one between her and the door, so she simply took two quick steps, opened it and left.
Object: to get out