The Curia’s Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith’s Intellectual Property department had declared that the scanning of the Blessed Fra Domenico’s brain by atheistic foreign capitalists, motivated entirely by greed, was ‘an act of diabolical piracy’.

‘He is one of our own,’ said Cardinal Lagerfeld, pacing his magnificent apartment in the Vatican City, ‘nursed at the bosom of Mother Church since he was a child.’ He paused next to a small but exquisite Madonna and Child by Raphael, as if to emphasise the magnitude and depth of Father Guido’s betrayal. ‘And you have allowed him to be raped – the word is not too strong: it is not strong enough – by worshippers of Mammon and the machine.’

It was undoubtedly the most humiliating dressing-down of Father Guido’s life, delivered by the Vatican’s most ferocious enforcer. The Cardinal gave Father Guido a contract, drawn up by The Pontifical Council for Legislative Texts, securing fifty per cent of the revenue from the sales of Brainwaves’ Capo Santo helmet, payable into an account newly opened at The Institute for the Works of Religion. Father Guido’s mission was to fly to Nice immediately and persuade Hunter Sterling to sign the contract.

‘If he signs,’ the Cardinal explained in a more emollient tone, ‘he will benefit from a harmonious, collaborative promotional campaign. We will recommend our product from every pulpit, make it available in every cathedral gift shop, and have it endorsed by the highest authorities of The Prefecture for the Economic Affairs of the Holy See and possibly,’ Lagerfeld paused tantalisingly, ‘by His Holiness Himself.’

‘That would be wonderful,’ said Father Guido, smiling incredu-lously.

‘But,’ said the Cardinal, returning to his more familiar tone as a servant of God’s Vindictive Side, ‘if he fails to sign, we will tie up this predator in red tape for decades to come in every country in the world. Not only do we have two thousand years of experience with red tape,’ he added, standing beneath a sumptuous tapestry depicting the decapitation of Holofernes, ‘but ours is drenched in the blood of Christ.’

In Father Guido’s modest opinion, there was something distasteful about this remark, but who was he to question the authority of Cardinal Lagerfeld, even if he was the sort of monster who would force an ageing Abbot to confront one of his lifelong terrors? On the way to the airport, Father Guido telephoned his secretary, Brother Manfredi, to tell him that he had left the Vatican, ‘with my tail between my legs’.

‘Do not reproach yourself, Father,’ Brother Manfredi replied. ‘We are simple Franciscans and do not understand the politics of The City. You were motivated by the purest ideals: to give ordinary people the chance to enter into the highest union of which the human mind is capable.’

‘Where are you now?’ asked Father Guido, clutching at any alternative as he saw the control tower of Leonardo da Vinci airport looming through the taxi window.