Undeniable

by Tom Grace

  “Only one, sir,” Peng replied. “When do I leave for Hong Kong?”

  EIGHT

  VATICAN CITY STATE

  10:30 AM

  “Just one more minute, Your Holiness,” the papal physician said. “We are nearly done with this test.”

  The leader of the Roman Catholic Church continued to walk briskly up the slightly inclined plane of the treadmill. He wore a medical examination gown open in the front and loose-fitting pants of the same lightweight material. A thick umbilical of wires ran from ten electrodes attached to various points on his torso to a portable workstation monitored by the doctor and a medical technician.

  Yin Daoming, the former bishop of Shanghai, had arrived in Rome the previous November under a veil of secrecy—a gaunt, frail old priest who had somehow managed to survive decades of abuse and neglect in a Chinese prison. Now in the fifth month of his reign as Pope Gousheng, he had regained a physical vigor that matched his indefatigable spirit. The physician kept careful track of his patient’s rehabilitation and found the man’s determination and honest love of life remarkable.

  Following his election, the new pope had endured a full battery of tests at Gemelli Polyclinic to determine the status of his health and to chart a course for rehabilitation. There, the pope asked as many questions as he answered and found both the process and the hospital’s vast arsenal of modern diagnostic and life-saving equipment fascinating. Subsequent examinations were primarily conducted in a medical suite housed within the papal apartments on the top floor of the Apostolic Palace. Today’s tests were routine checks to monitor the pope’s cardiovascular fitness.

  The pope inhaled deeply through his nose, feeling the air expand his chest down to his navel, then completed the rhythmic cycle by slowly releasing his breath through his mouth. Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead and moistened the cotton gown—he dabbed at them from time to time with a hand towel. The pope paid no attention to the display of squiggly colored lines scrolling across the workstation’s LCD screen—the electrocardiogram readout meant nothing to him. He instead watched the morning report of the BBC World News on a flat screen television placed on a cart directly in front of the treadmill. The television was muted. A young nun with a Bluetooth earpiece under her habit stood beside the pope, softly translating the audio from the news reports into Mandarin Chinese.

  “ . . . And from the United States,” Sr. Mary Song said, “a seventh child has been safely recovered just days after his abduction. This bizarre string of child abductions has thus far baffled authorities. The perpetrators have neither demanded a ransom for, nor apparently harmed, any of the abducted children.”

  “For that, we thank you Lord,” the pope murmured.

  “Amen,” the nun replied.

  The news program broke for a commercial.

  “The test is complete, Your Holiness,” the physician announced. “You may step off the treadmill.”

  The pope nodded and carefully dismounted the device. The physician and his patient were both of average height, but the swarthy Italian still enjoyed a distinct weight advantage. He studied the readout as the pope’s heart rate gradually returned to normal.

  “This all looks very encouraging. I see none of the irregularities that were evident in your first stress test. Please, allow me.”

  The pope unfastened the ties on his gown and the physician carefully removed the wires from the pope’s body.

  “So my heart is beating well?” the pope asked.

  “It is indeed. And you’ve put on weight, which is good—you were far too thin when we started. In fact, now that you are near your ideal body mass, I will modify your diet regimen to stabilize your weight. I must admit I admire your determination regarding diet and exercise.”

  “Life is a gift to be treasured as a sacred debt to the Creator. And to truly enjoy the gift of life, one must tend to the body, the mind and the spirit equally.”

  “I can only speak to the matter of your body, which now appears sound and fit. The last thing I require of you today is samples of your blood. If all is as I suspect, I will recommend a less rigorous schedule for your future physical examinations.”

  Now familiar with the procedure, the pope sat on the end of the exam table and held out his left arm. The physician rolled a stainless steel instrument table into position, placing everything he would need for the blood draw at hand. He tightened a tourniquet around the pope’s arm, just above the elbow and searched for a suitable vein. He then donned latex gloves, sterilized the area around the target vein and inserted the needle. A skilled hand, the physician easily tapped the vein and filled several test tubes with the dark red fluid.

  Within minutes, the pope sat with his arm elevated, a gauze pad pressed firmly on the puncture wound. The physician verified that all of the test tubes were properly labeled and barcoded for lab processing, and then he safely disposed of the used needle and the other biomedical waste from the procedure.

  “Your Holiness, we are finished,” the physician said.

  “Doctor, I thank you for your wise counsel and the care you have shown for my physical well-being. You are in my prayers.”

  “Grazie, Your Holiness.”

  Pope Gousheng traded the medical gown for a robe and left the medical suite with the young nun following a few steps behind. In the hallway, they were met by the pope’s personal secretary, Archbishop Han, who managed the pope’s daily schedule.

  “Your Holiness, you are to receive the newly appointed ambassador from the United States in an hour,” Han said. “I have placed a briefing packet on your desk in the library. Your clothing is laid out for the event.”

  The pope smiled. “I have been looking forward to this for some time. Thank you for all of your careful preparations. Sister, will you be able to attend the ceremony today?”

  “Regrettably no, Your Holiness,” Song replied. “My flight leaves in a few hours, and I must get to the airport.”

  “Your absence will be felt, but your family’s need of you is greater than mine. I will pray for you and your family, and I look forward to your safe return.”

  NINE

  ROME, ITALY

  “The cars are here, sir,” the special assistant to the ambassador announced.

  Sean Kilkenny followed the young man through the front door of the embassy to where a group of long black limousines stood idling. All of the cars bore Vatican license plates, and the flags of the United States and the Vatican City State fluttered from mounts on the front fenders in the late winter breeze.

  He mused on his life’s trajectory—the humble beginning on a family farm in Michigan, the first generation of his family to attend and graduate college, and the marriage that had anchored his life with joy and still proved fruitful in the blessings of children and grandchildren. Sean had also enjoyed a long and successful career in international finance, the coda to which was the creation of the Michigan Applied Research Consortium to accelerate the transmission of ideas and inventions from university research laboratories to profitable commercial use. MARC was his way of giving back to the University of Michigan, and its success was now being replicated at other universities. Entering this unexpected third act of his professional career left him feeling both grateful and humbled.

  Nolan Kilkenny, with Roxanne Tao at his side, followed his father through the embassy’s front door. Nolan’s sister, four brothers, and their spouses continued the procession. The Kilkenny siblings shared certain physical traits of their common ancestry, not the least of which was fair Irish skin. Unique to Nolan and his paternal grandmother, even among a multitude of relations on the Kilkenny side, was a shock of bright red hair.

  Nolan’s lean, six-foot frame was clad in a tailored Italian suit—one of several he had added to his wardrobe during his stint with the Vatican Library. As project director of MARC, he personally favored the jeans-and-sport-coat business casual in Ann Arbor, but when in Rome. . .

  Less visible were the scars Nolan garnered in the weeks
surrounding the death of Pope Leo XIV and the stunning election of a Chinese bishop as his successor to the throne of Saint Peter. His thick red mane was styled longer than he usually kept it allowing the strands to form a subtle wave. He walked arm-in-arm with Roxanne Tao whose tall, lithe body was clad in a tastefully demure yellow silk suit accented with a string of pearls and an elegant hat. In her modest heels, Tao was only a few inches shorter than Nolan.

  Tao was the only ceremony guest unrelated to Sean Kilkenny by blood or marriage, and her presence came at the specific request of the new pope. While her connection to Nolan lacked a romantic component—he being a recent widower still mourning the loss of his wife and their unborn child—the relationship they shared had been forged through incredible sacrifice and difficult circumstances. Their bond ran deep.

  The generous extension of Nolan’s consultation project with the Vatican Library coincided with his recovery from injuries officially sustained in an automobile accident outside of Rome last November. Unofficially, and with a security classification well beyond top secret, the former U.S. Navy SEAL’s consultation with Vatican Intelligence had led to an audacious jailbreak from a Chinese prison. Roxanne, a former deep-cover spy currently assigned by the CIA as a venture capitalist liaison between the agency and Nolan, collaborated with him as part of the covert team in China. Afterward the pair stayed in Rome to recover from the ordeal and quietly help the new pope acclimate to freedom.

  Once the limousines were loaded, the motorcade pulled away from the embassy and headed north down Vie della Terme Deciane toward the Tiber River. Sean Kilkenny sat with Nolan and Roxanne in the lead car. The remainder of the Kilkenny clan and a few key members of the embassy’s diplomatic staff followed in the trailing vehicles.

  “Nervous?” Nolan asked his father.

  Sean continued gazing out the bulletproof window as he considered the question. The car crossed the Tiber and turned left onto the Via della Conciliazione. Ahead stood the towering dome of Saint Peter’s Basilica. The grand avenue was devoid of vehicles, having been cleared for the motorcade, and lined with spectators from the Castel Sant’Angelo to the Piazza San Pietro.

  “In my sixty-odd years, I have met with presidents and prime ministers, senators and governors, and have spent time with moguls of all stripes and individuals of incredible talent. My father taught me, as I have taught you, that regardless of a person’s accomplishments, we all put our pants on one leg at a time.”

  “Wisdom of the ages.”

  “That said, I am about to meet the leader of the Roman Catholic Church and my heart is racing a mile a minute. The last time I shook this badly, I was picking up your mother for our first date. Good thing I brought a wrist corsage—if I had to pin a flower on your mother’s chest, I might’ve drawn blood.”

  Nolan remembered his parents reminiscing about that memorable evening. “It’s hard to imagine you double dating with Cardinal Donoher.”

  “He wasn’t born a priest, and he has more than made up for any youthful indiscretions.”

  The motorcade glided around the northern arm of Bernini’s elliptical colonnade. Swiss guards in full regalia and armed with halberds stood at the ready by a massive open gate at the base of the Apostolic Palace. The cars passed through the archway into the Courtyard of Saint Damaso.

  In a choreographed maneuver, the drivers each brought their limousines to a stop at an assigned place and attendants swiftly opened the passenger doors. Nolan, his father, and Roxanne stepped onto the cobblestone pavers and took in the scene. A four-story loggia framed the courtyard, each level a further refinement in detail and ornament than the one beneath it. The arched openings in the upper floors of the loggia had been fitted centuries ago with windows to protect the delicate frescoed hallways from the ravages of weather.

  As the Kilkenny family and the diplomatic staff gathered together, the prefect of the Papal Household approached with an engaging smile on his face. The prefect, an archbishop, wore a traditional black cassock and mozzetta with a broad sash of amaranth red around his waist and a matching zucchetto perched atop his head. A small detachment of Swiss Guards and a group of gentiluomini, formally attired in white ties and tails and bedecked in the medals and ornaments of their office, trailed behind the archbishop.

  “May I offer you and your family my warmest welcome,” the prefect said, “on this most auspicious occasion.”

  “Thank you, Your Excellency,” Sean replied.

  As they spoke, the Swiss Guards and gentiluomini formed up around the group of visitors.

  Nolan’s sister Caroline sidled up to him and whispered, “Who are the guys in the tuxedos?”

  “Papal gentlemen,” Nolan replied. “Italian noblemen and people who serve the Papal Household—an elegant remnant of the old papal court.”

  “This way, please,” the prefect announced, indicating that they should follow the red carpet into the Apostolic Palace.

  Inside, they ascended the grand Scala Regia to the top floor. There, they passed through a pair of twenty-five-foot tall bronze doors into the first of many ornate rooms and loggias overlooking the courtyard. The spaces bespoke the skill and vision of the high Renaissance masters who created them, each an intricate work of art—the whole a visual statement of faith and the power of the papacy. In one room, they passed an imposing marble throne, a relic of temporal authority unused since the days of Pope Paul VI.

  The procession continued to a large antechamber in which a sole figure awaited them. And though he was robed like the archbishop, the scarlet details identified this man as a cardinal.

  “Your Eminence,” the prefect said. “How good of you to meet us.”

  “Archbishop, I would not have missed this for all the world.”

  The prefect stepped aside and Cardinal Donoher approached the guest of honor.

  “Your Eminence,” Sean said with the appropriate level of respect and formality.

  “Mr. Ambassador,” Donoher replied, basting each syllable in his Irish brogue. He then lowered his voice. “What do you imagine our long-suffering high school instructors—God rest their souls—are thinking as they look down upon us at this moment?”

  “They’d either take it as proof that some scant measure of goodness, knowledge, and discipline actually made it through our thick teenage skulls—”

  “A dubious proposition.”

  “—or as a sure sign of the apocalypse.”

  “I’m inclined to believe the latter.”

  Donoher nodded to Nolan and Roxanne and then moved to greet the rest of the assembled Kilkenny family. He had baptized all of Sean Kilkenny’s children and presided over most of their weddings. Orphaned in his late teens and the only child of Irish immigrants, Donoher found a second home with the Kilkenny family and these children where as much his nieces and nephews as any born through blood.

  “So, you managed to escape without the little ones?” Donoher asked.

  “We did,” Caroline replied. “But not without a cost.”

  “Required bribery, did it?”

  “More like extortion. Grandpa Martin and Grandma Audrey are way too old for full-time childcare, but they can supervise as the teenage grandchildren deal with the younger ones. Those changing the diapers and chasing the toddlers are earning a summer trip to Rome to visit grandpa, sans parents.”

  “That ought to keep them in line.”

  Nolan quietly studied the reactions of his siblings to their surroundings. During the months he spent at the Vatican last year, he developed a strong sense of the place and the effect it had on people. To stand in the inner sanctum of the Apostolic Palace and wait for an audience with a man whose position dated back nearly two millennia—the modern successor of a poor Jewish fisherman who became the rock on which one of the world’s great religions was built—that was something capable of producing awe in even the most jaded souls. And for those who believed, it was so much more.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the prefect announced, “it is time.�
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  The archbishop then led the way into the adjoining papal library. Bookcases lined the walls, and behind their glass doors were rows of large, leather-bound tomes. A border of rich red marble defined the perimeter of the room and framed a floor of large white Carrera marble tiles accented with smaller tiles of red marble. The walls shimmered in the sunlight revealing a delicate stencil pattern featuring a Keys of Saint Peter motif. A photographer and videographer stood ready to record the meeting between the Holy Father and the new ambassador.

  An ornate door on the far side of the library silently swung open and a wisp of a man dressed in white entered alone. His red leather shoes tapped lightly on the marble floor. All eyes were upon Pope Gousheng as he approached his guests in confident, measured strides. A rough hand-carved wooden cross swayed from the leather cord draped over his neck, a solemn reminder of his past life in China and the many sacrifices there that won his freedom.

  As the pope neared, Donoher stepped to the side of his oldest friend.

  “Your Holiness,” Donoher said, “it is my great honor to introduce to you Sean Kilkenny, the ambassador-designate for the United States of America to the Holy See.”

  The pope nodded and extended his right hand. Nolan’s father solemnly took the offered hand and bowed to kiss the fisherman’s ring—the symbol of the unbroken line between this pope and the first bishop of Rome. As Sean straightened up, the pope wrapped his left hand around Sean’s, gently encasing it.

  “Ambassador Kilkenny,” Pope Gousheng said warmly, “it is a great pleasure to at last meet you. I have heard many good things.”