by Alex Thomas
The house servant came in with a new bottle of wine and filled their glasses anew. This time it was a Châteauneuf-du-Pape 2002 from Belleville. Not nearly as fine as the wine they had enjoyed at dinner, but a good one nonetheless with which to end the evening.
"I envy you at this moment," added deRossi with a tone of sincerity.
"You have no reason to envy me, Nicola," said the master with a slightly paternal smile. Despite his advanced age, he sat in his red-bordered black robe like a true church dignitary. "One day this will all belong to you. Who knows? Perhaps you will be Pope one day."
DeRossi nodded with satisfaction. In truth he had no interest in becoming Pope. It would only serve to restrict his freedom of movement, especially his nocturnal prowlings around Rome. Power and riches, well, that was something different altogether. Ever since he began working with the master, he had filled his personal foreign bank accounts royally.
"Has Cardinal Ciban heard anything from Rottach?" asked deRossi calmly as he looked over the illuminated evening sky over Rome and took a sip of wine.
"He sent Hawlett on the road this time. If he hopes to help the young man out of his melancholy, that is certainly the wrong way to go about it."
DeRossi grinned into his wine glass. During his studies in Rome, he had spent several semesters with Ben Hawlett. Ever since his childhood Reverend Hawlett had been fighting against an invisible internal demon, an inner darkness whose shadowy death swell would overtake him sooner or later. DeRossi unconsciously traced a finger over the badly healed scar above his left eye. He had had a similar experience over many years during his youth, but it had made him stronger. It made him the man he was today. In contrast to deRossi, it appeared to be slowly but surely killing Hawlett. Yet Ciban wouldn’t give up on the weakling.
"Perhaps a meeting with Catherine would do him some good," mocked deRossi.
The master gave him a conspiratorial look. "The two of them haven’t seen each other in ages. It would be worth a try. That reminds me. Massini is ready to be included in our plans. Our handsome Aurelio has spent a further engaging night with him. We have recorded every word."
‘And certainly every position,’ thought deRossi excitedly. Aurelio was one of the lowly workers in the master’s Roman agent network. The prostitute hadn’t a clue who his true lord and master was and what his objectives were, nor did he know Reverend deRossi. Should he find out, he would share the fate of many other Roman nocturnal revellers.
"When will you send a copy of the recording to Massini, Eminence?"
"Straight away tomorrow afternoon, right before his next meeting with His Holiness, Ciban and Hawlett. That way he will have no time to recover from the shock when he sits across from the cardinal in the papal dining room."
"Ciban?" DeRossi raised his brow, lending him a bizarre and dangerous appearance due to the scar above his left eye.
"Our ammunition is much more powerful than I thought, Nicola. In a moment of passion Massini admitted to our blessed Aurelio his weakness for our incumbent Grand Inquisitor."
DeRossi whistled softly. He rarely smoked, but he now took a cigarette from the case sitting on the table and took a puff. The nicotine immediately calmed his severed nerves. "Miracles never cease." Neither he nor the master could be certain as to whether Massini could be blackmailed when it came to Leo. It could have easily been that the fag admitted his transgressions to the Pope. Leo had a big heart. In contrast to Ciban.
"It’s all well and good in Massini’s case," said the master as he observed his counterpart with pleasure. He had once been a heavy smoker until his doctor made him quit unless he wished to end his life early. "Benelli is causing problems. He’s up to something. But I have yet to find out what it is."
"What could His Eminence possibly have against us? He has nothing on us. But you have something on him. He not only renovated the Vatican bank, but himself as well."
The master laughed. "And he did it so well." He reached into his cassock, pulled out an envelope from an interior pocket and handed it to his protégé.
DeRossi opened the envelope and pulled out the impressive card. "An invitation to a reception at Benelli’s villa?"
The master sighed. "It’s not just a simple invitation, Nicola. It’s also not just a simple reception. There’s more to it. Believe me."
"Do you know who else has been invited?"
"The usual suspects from the Curia. Including Massini. Aside from that a few of Benelli’s friends from the order, including Sister Thea…"
"Sister Thea? Just what we needed."
The master took a deep breath. "Indeed." One thing he would never do again, and he meant never, ever again was to underestimate the director of the Internet office. "But before we turn our attention to the reception and Benelli's guests, we have another matter to discuss so that our mission will continue to be a success." He wrote a short note on a small pad of paper, ripped off the top two pages so as not to leave a traceable mark and handed it to his counterpart so he could memorise the name and address.
DeRossi raised a brow. "Calcutta, the capital of West Bengal?"
The master nodded. "Sister Silvia is a kind of Mother Teresa. She has an immense godliness and compassion for humanity and, unfortunately, an equally immense psychic energy. Leo will immediately feel the loss of her support."
"When should I depart?" asked the Monsignor slyly. He would certainly come across a few interesting nocturnal revellers in Calcutta.
"Day after tomorrow. The arrangements have already been made."
"Good." DeRossi took another drag from the cigarette and ignited the note with its burning tip.
Ashes to ashes.
Dust to dust.
Traitor
14
The black limousine with Vatican plates passed the old stone wall with its wrought-iron gate that separated Cardinal Benelli from the outside world. Catherine noted that there was neither a postbox nor a plaque indicating that a church dignitary lived there. She cast a timid glance at the winding road that lay before them.
The villa was located northeast from Rome and took about one-half hour by car from the Vatican during non-rush hour traffic in Rome. The limousine drove through a wooded area and about one mile uphill. Pushing up beyond the shady trees, the Renaissance-style villa was one of the most beautiful things Catherine had ever seen in her entire life. Benelli’s refuge was a perfect symbiosis between art and nature, vegetation and light. It exuded pure joy and a kind of cosmopolitanism.
"The park is at its most beautiful with the water fountains in the summertime," explained Ben.
He had taken Catherine because Sister Thea had been held up by her work at the Vatican. They had spent the afternoon in Di Marzio, a café with a view of the Piazza near the Basilica of Santa Maria in Trastevere where Fellini had filmed several scenes. Catherine could feel something was up with her friend, but she could also sense that he could or would not talk about it. She suppressed an urge to address it with him.
Afterward they had returned to the Vatican and left with the car in front of the building of the Congregation of the Doctrine of Faith. They had left Rome from the Via Flaminia Nuova and motored north. The landscape around Monterotondo was surrounded by thick chestnut, beech and oak forests that oscillated amongst the fields, vineyards and olive tree orchards. The sparsely populated area with just a few thousand residents was most known for the extraordinary healing powers of its spring water.
"Cardinal Benelli bought the villa from Cardinal Ciban," said Ben. As Catherine looked at him with surprise, he explained further: "Benelli comes from a wealthy merchant family, you must know. The Cibans, well, their family tree extends back to the twelfth century. They are filthy rich. To balance things out, the clan is behind as many charity organisations as there are hairs on your head. Perhaps also as a way to offset the fact that their bloodline did not always stand for virtue and honesty all those centuries."
"Where do you know all this?" In the same breath, Catherine
shook her head. "Oh I see now. Your old tendency to snoop around hasn’t died, has it?"
Ben laughed. "You know that people have always fascinated me. People and their stories."
"Is that why you became an archivist?"
In her mind’s eye, Catherine could see her friend all alone rushing along the shadows of the tall shelves, studying old tomes or losing himself in the secret files in one of the locked rooms of the Vatican’s archives. Years ago she had been allowed access to one of the public areas of the archives and felt extremely ill-at-ease there. Without her guide she surely would have gotten lost in the building’s many corridors.
"Someone has to care for the growing piles of papers."
"And the archived treasures! Admit it."
"His Holiness Pope Innocence once said: ‘Go to the source.’ I’m just following his lead. But honestly, Catherine, have you never asked yourself who the new man is who is so vehemently defending the faith of the Catholic Church against any and all reform?"
Catherine sighed. "Believe me when I say that I have gotten to know our acting Grand Inquisitor through his work in the Congregation of the Doctrine of Faith. His lineage made no difference to me."
Ben parked the car in front of a large bubbling fountain. As they got out and took a deep breath of fresh air, Catherine looked one more time across the estate’s dreamy panorama. She almost felt as if she were in an enchanted fairy tale like the ones she remembered from childhood.
They climbed the broad steps and walked through the tall door where a servant took their invitation. A chandelier as large as a planet hung from the entrance hall ceiling. Valuable old paintings decorated the walls, but the thing that impressed Catherine the most were the wall and ceiling frescos with scenes from classical mythology that, according to Ben, were said to have originated from the builder Baldassare Peruzzi himself.
Music streamed through the wide open side door into the hall, hypnotically pulling the visitors into its sway in the ballroom. A chamber orchestra played Corelli. To the right of the entrance way stood a two-tiered buffet that took up almost an entire wall. Tables decorated with flowers and candles stood like adjacent islands on which the guests could sit to chat, eat and drink. There was no seating arrangement.
Catherine discovered members of the various orders: Jesuits, Franciscans, Dominicans, Benedictines. Groups of the highest ecclesiastical dignitaries. So-called laypeople, men and women in ceremonious clothing and suits. She kept a lookout for Sister Thea, but it appeared that the nun had not yet arrived. Neither had the Chicago Cardinal Bear, one of the few cardinals who dared publicly, if only tenuously, to lend her support.
She cleared her throat in irritation. "Didn’t Sister Thea speak of a little get together?" Before Ben could respond, Cardinal Benelli had already excused himself from a little group of clergymen and started to come at them in large strides. Benelli’s politeness and hospitable warmth was so disarming that Catherine nearly forgot the breath-taking atmosphere that caused her a great deal of anxiety.
"Pardon me, Sister Catherine, I know it is more than what you had expected, but a tad bit of swindling was necessary to get you here."
The young nun let the little portly man with his sparkling eyes stew in his own juices for a moment. He reminded her of the chubby angels often depicted during the Renaissance era. "I must admit that you’ve surprised me, Eminence, but I would love to know what you have planned for the rest of the evening."
Benelli laughed and hooked his arm in hers as if they were father and daughter taking a mundane stroll through the city. "Come with me, my dear. Allow me to introduce you to some of my friends and acquaintances. Ben, I bet you’d like to join us?"
As he told Catherine some historical details about the Cibanean villa, he led her from one group of clergymen and laypeople to the next. The reactions from the clergymen toward the church critic were mixed, but they remained friendly and polite at all times. No one would allow to lower himself to the level of provocation. Certainly not in the presence of Benelli and his exotic guest. No one except Curia Cardinal Sergio Monti who sat upon a high antique purple-covered chair from whence he directed a gathering swarm of listeners.
Catherine knew from various articles she had read that Monti’s mind was still like a steel trap despite his advanced age. Long before Ciban had entered the scene, he had woven a web against Catherine under Innocence. Surely the younger cardinal had learned a great deal from the elderly shyster and former guardian of faith. The old frail-looking dwarf was also known for his biting sarcasm.
"I have heard that you intend to leave the Church, Sister Catherine?" He sounded more like a polite demand to do exactly that.
Some of the guests may have also detected the dispassionate conclusion that the author’s excommunication was now just a mere formality.
"I hope not, Eminence, because the Church is in real trouble and I still have a few things to say to it."
"Oh, I think you’ve said more than enough." The old cardinal looked about the room with amusement as if he had just made a really good joke.
"You know, Eminence," Catherine spoke emphatically and deliberately, "the Church is old and can only comprehend things slowly. But I won’t give up on it for that reason. It is my home and I love it even when it isn’t always loveable."
Some of the listeners suppressed a smile. Others showed open indignation. Monti and Catherine stared at each other for several long seconds. The cardinal then smiled as if he had just enjoyed the bouquet of a high-quality wine or the first act of a very promising symphony.
"I will miss you, Sister Catherine. Oh yes, I will miss you, believe me. I wish you and your friends a lovely evening. Now if you will excuse me."
Catherine nodded politely. "Eminence."
When the old cardinal was out of earshot, Ben said without thinking about Benelli’s presence: "Cardinal Monti has the ugliest character I have ever seen. How can the Church tolerate such a man in its midst?"
"I should like to say there are worse cases," explained Benelli quietly. He turned to Catherine. "You put up an excellent fight."
Catherine sighed. "I’m afraid it won’t help me much in a war like this one, Eminence. And Cardinal Monti knows it."
The host shook his head and said with an ironic tone: "Cardinal Monti knows one thing for certain: he cannot turn back the hands of time, but as you can see, he’s trying anyway." He pointed discreetly toward the old cardinal whose assistant was handing him a pill box in that moment. Monti swallowed the pills, then pulled himself painstakingly up out of his chair. A few moments later he moved toward the buffet as if he had suddenly grown younger by a decade.
"The blessings of modern medicine," explained Benelli. "His Holiness Pope Innocence also benefited from it in the last few years of his papacy. Thank heavens! We would have had a whole range of other problems otherwise."
Catherine gave Benelli a confused look. "Pardon me, Eminence, but I don’t quite follow what you mean."
The cardinal was about to respond when his telephone rang. He made an apologetic gesture as he reached into his cassock for his mobile phone.
"Yes?" He listened for a while in silence, said goodbye and turned off his mobile phone. He then turned back to Catherine and Ben.
"Sister Thea and Cardinal Bear are having car troubles. The tow truck company has been alerted, but I should like to send a car to collect them just in case."
He waved to one of his employees, a stocky giant in a black suit and explained what had happened. The man immediately set off.
"Engine damage?" asked Ben.
"Not entirely," explained the cardinal who looked about him to ensure no one was listening. He then said to Catherine and Ben: "Some crazy person tried to pass them on a narrow mountain road and pushed them to the side. Thank God nothing serious happened. But the car must be towed now."
"I had better accompany the driver then," said Ben.
"I didn’t send Massimo off alone. You should know me better than that by now.
We have taken all safety precautions so no need to worry now."
Catherine looked at the two of them. Her face revealed her puzzlement. What on earth was going on here? But Benelli simply gave a friendly smile and said: "Later," whilst introducing them the next group and the next one until Sister Thea and Cardinal Bear showed up on the scene, of which Cardinal Monti made note with an ungracious look. The host had explained to Catherine that Monti did not like the Americans. He despised Bear in particular. He found the Americans to be utterly corrupt and decadent.
In typical Benelli fashion, he greeted his new guests warmly. Cardinal Bear wasn’t exactly reserved in his greeting either. As he gave Catherine a friendly hug, she couldn’t help but glance over at His Eminence Cardinal Monti. He raised a glass of red wine to her, but the smile on his lips didn’t reach his inscrutable eyes.
"What has happened," asked Ben immediately.
Bear remained calm as if nothing had happened at all. "I’m afraid some crazy person tried to scare the wits out of us. If Sister Thea hadn’t responded as quickly as she had, we may not have made it around the bend."
Sister Thea? Catherine gave the Franciscan nun a curious look.
Thea explained: "In Australia I used to drive in rallies with my brother Toni. It’s in my blood."
"Thank God!" said Bear and gave his companion a grateful look. He was still white as a ghost. The experience had left its mark on him.
"What kind of car was it?" asked Ben. "Did you recognise the driver or the licence plate?"
The cardinal shook his head. "Everything happened so fast and we were in the midst of conversation…"
Thea said: "If I remember correctly, it was a green Lancia. But I didn’t see it in the parking lot in front of the villa."