Sometimes it was just quiet. This was one of those times.
Father Moreales stood on the balcony overlooking a little-known courtyard in the vast Vatican complex of buildings. It was just after dawn and the courtyard was empty. The usually loud, echoing halls of the building were silent. The rooms quiet.
The balcony itself was ornate, grand, and ancient like almost everything in the Vatican. He liked to think he envied the new, young priests with their simple, modern apartment rooms on the edge of the city, but he was honest enough with himself to know he would miss this formal opulence.
There was a coolness in the air, but no chill, just right for this early time. Only a slight breeze stirred the steam rising from the hot cup of coffee in his hands. He held it close to his face en
