The plane touched the ground at La Guardia international airport and Franciscos eyes slowly opened. Sweat formed as drops on his forehead, his hand still firm around his krucifix. He was the first one of the plane, carrying no handluggage except a small package containing a very old document.

A document dated 1492, written by a french monk and stored in the vatican secret archives ever since. Francisco had studied the text many times but did not fully comprehend its deeper meaning. He knew this text was one of the reasons he had been called to this meeting in New York.

Francisco picked up his two old leather bags and walked thru customs. At the passport control, he was stopped but when the customs officer saw his priestcollar he waved him thru. Francisco DiStephano proceeded to the exit and got into the first yellow cab in the taxi line.

-"Phoenix Tower"

He said to the cabdriver who nodded and started the car. When they arrived at the building, DiStephano payed and walked in at the front door. At the reception he was asked to follow a man into an elevator taking them to the top floor.

There he was escorted into a large room with a few others present. They all looked at him as he came in. First at his face and then at his collar. After that most eyes fixated on the packet he squeezed to his chest. After a while they all turned back to what they were doing before and Francisco DiStephano sat down in a couch close to the window....