Peniel

[Patricus I]

After the call ended, Philip passed the device to the priest that waited further along the path. Minutes passed with Philip motionless, peering far as heaven itself before he suddenly moved forward. With a start, the assistant, an Italian priest by the name of Floriano Presto, hurried after. Floriano long ago learned that the Holy Father explained his mind to none, so he was wise to remain quiet.

After Philip returned to his vehicle, Floriano took up the front seat, and the Secretary of State climbed in the back with Philip. The convoy resumed its trip an hour after the Holy Father’s sudden and urgent need to halt for prayer; a prayer answered.

After a few minutes of contemplation, he leaned against the door, watching the trees sweep by, and explained their next move. 
“We are not returning to Rome,” he said. His Eminence, Cardinal Benedek lay a tablet aside and looked at him.

“Where are we going, Holy Father?” he asked with all the patience of one accustomed to the unpredictable Patricus I.

“You’re going to proceed me to make the preparations for my arrival in Moscow. The time has come to meet this Ascendancy.”

Boros jaw dropped. “Holy Father? Are you serious?” In all the years of Philip’s Papacy, he adamantly refused any and all communication from the CCD, let alone hold an audience with Nikolai Brandon.

“I will come after,” Philip said, spotting larch trees buried among the blur of green and brown.

“Where will you be going, Your Holiness?” Boros asked.

With only a bare nod, Floriano passed the tablet to the backseat. The map was up when Boros accepted it.

Philip rolled his gaze aside just long enough to tap the spot.
“There,” he said.