by Tom Grace
“Boys and their toys,” Roxanne sighed. “It wouldn’t have come to that. Had you done a biopsy, you would have known immediately that we weren’t a couple with infertility problems. At least not from him.”
“You have children?” Deena asked Nolan.
The question caught him off guard. He turned away for a moment to collect his thoughts. Roxanne squeezed his knee in a gesture of support.
“My wife Kelsey was pregnant twice. Her first ended early in a miscarriage. The second went further, but ended with her death. She’s with them both now.”
“I’m so sorry,” Deena gasped.
“It was a perfectly innocent question,” Roxanne said. “You couldn’t have known.”
“So then you two aren’t—”
“A couple?” Roxanne said, completing the question. “No, just colleagues.”
“There is one last item that I don’t know how to deal with,” Deena said. “If you’ll come with me.”
She led them into her lab to a workbench in the far corner. Nolan recognized the large metal tanks and insulated dewars containing liquid nitrogen, but the rest of the equipment on the bench was unfamiliar to him.
“On Thursday morning, my father brought me two samples—ova and blood—that were to be used to conceive a child,” Deena said. “Friday morning, I fertilized eight eggs with paternal chromosomes derived from the blood sample. By this morning, all eight had ceased dividing. None are viable.”
“Did you have a chance to review the genetic profiles I sent over?” Nolan asked.
“Yes, and I’d rate the probability that the man profiled was to be the next extortion victim somewhere between very high and absolutely certain. From what I’ve sequenced of the maternal DNA from one of the zygotes, I’m pretty sure you found the ova donor as well.”
Roxanne shared a glance with Nolan, but said nothing. Nolan then turned back to Deena.
“I want you to provide me with everything you have regarding samples you received and records of your lab work. For your own safety, you should not retain any copies of records or genetic samples. The people using your father and Toccare for this latest extortion were after far more than money and they can be very dangerous. That’s why the profiles we provided had no names—that knowledge might prove lethal.”
SEVENTY-FIVE
“Good evening,” Peng said as Nolan opened the door to the hotel suite he shared with Roxanne.
“Thanks for coming,” Nolan replied. “Have a seat.”
Peng selected an upholstered club chair while Nolan and Roxanne sat opposite on a matching sofa.
“We have some information regarding your assignment and our mutual suspicions,” Roxanne began. “After I dropped you off at your hotel, I called Nolan’s father in Rome, who discreetly passed our theory on to the head of Vatican Intelligence.”
“Cardinal Donoher,” Peng clarified.
“Yes,” Roxanne said. “Donoher confirmed that a Chinese nun who serves in the papal household did travel to Hong Kong earlier this week—allegedly to tend to an ill parent. She arrived on Tuesday morning, local time.”
“That would coincide with my stop there to collect biological samples.”
“The samples you brought—which Jamison delivered to the Hawthorne clinic—were harvested human ova. Under Donoher’s direction, Swiss Guards searched the nun’s room in the convent and recovered enough material to sequence key portions of the woman’s genetic profile. Dr. Hawthorne compared it to DNA from your samples and found a very strong match. Even if this nun returns to Rome, she will never get near the pope again.”
“After I file my report, I believe she will simply disappear,” Peng said. “What about the samples furnished by the Italian?”
“Human blood,” Nolan replied. “Dr. Hawthorne provided us with the sample tubes. The bar code labels on the tubes allowed us to identify the courier—a known mafiosi named Matteo Molfetta—and the lab in Rome where the samples were acquired.”
“Did the blood come from Pope Gousheng?”
Nolan nodded.
“Then for a second time, my government has conspired with Italian criminals to attack a man they perceive as a threat to China’s interests.”
“Their perception borders on paranoia, but the idea of geopolitically neutralizing the pope with the threat of an indefensible sex scandal is audaciously brilliant and near perfect.”
“Both Sun Tzu and Machiavelli would have been proud,” Roxanne agreed.
“I can only imagine the kind of leverage they would have with scientific proof that the pope fathered an illegitimate child,” Nolan said.
“This proof would have been false,” Peng said. “A lie against an honorable man who has been open and honest in his approach toward China.”
“Which is why we won’t let it happen.” Roxanne said.
“My superiors await my return. What shall I bring back to them?”
“A lie, but with just enough truth to make it seem real,” Nolan replied. “You were following us to figure out why we mysteriously appeared in the middle of your assignment, right?”
“Yes.”
“Report that you discovered our mission, that you entered our hotel and uncovered evidence of a leak on the Italian side of the project. Vatican Intelligence tasked us with investigating this information and it led us to the clinic.”
“We discovered the ongoing blackmail scheme and used that to flip the clinic against your project,” Roxanne said.
“Plausible,” Peng said
“Upon discovering our plans,” Roxanne replied. “You broke into the clinic and destroyed the embryos to eliminate the evidence and prevent any potential backlash against China. I am certain your superiors will approve of your actions.”
“Now, this is where the story gets interesting,” Nolan continued. “The only way to tell if a chromosome came from a true gamete cell or not is to look at the telomeres on the ends. The pope is an old man and the telomeres in his cells are very short. A baby with telomeres that short on half of its chromosomes could only have been conceived in a lab. And since the Vatican knows what to look for, this blackmail scheme no longer works. In fact, the embryos now serve as proof of a plot by China against Pope Gousheng.”
“That should end my superior’s interest in pursuing this project,” Peng agreed. “What about the embryos?”
“Here’s all the photos and documentation you should need to support this story.”
Roxanne handed Peng a flash drive. Peng considered the plan for a moment and could find no weaknesses.
“It is agreed,” Peng said. “I will review these materials tonight and file my report. I expect I will be ordered home immediately for a complete debriefing, so this is goodbye.”
Nolan accepted Peng’s offered hand. “Goodbye, my friend.”
SEVENTY-SIX
VATICAN CITY STATE
WEDNESDAY, MARCH 25; 9:30 PM
Nolan stood with his father, Roxanne, and Cardinal Donoher beneath the great bronze Baldacchino that the renaissance master Bernini constructed over the papal altar in Saint Peter’s Basilica. He and the tiny congregation stood witness to a private funeral mass celebrated by Pope Gousheng this evening in the empty vastness of the church.
In front of the altar stood a small wooden table dressed simply with a white linen cloth. Atop the table was a stainless steel cylinder that contained eight tiny test tubes, each bearing the microscopic remains of a human life that flickered just days from conception to death.
The pope slowly circled the table swinging a golden censer. Incense perfumed the air as the scented smoke wafted toward the heavens.
After Pope Gousheng said a final prayer of commendation, Nolan crossed the altar and, as the sole pallbearer, collected the tiny vessel of remains. He then followed the pope down the stairway by the great pier that held the statue of Saint Andrew into the grottoes beneath the basilica. Donoher solemnly sang “In Paradisum” as they descended.
In comparison to the lumin
ous, soaring volume of the domed basilica above, the windowless remnant of the original church built over the tomb of Saint Peter felt compressed to the point of claustrophobia. In most places, Nolan could have easily reached up and touched the ceiling.
The grottoes contained the tombs of many of the men who succeeded the first apostle as bishop of Rome, as well as a few European royals. Many found their final rest in elaborate sarcophagi. Pope Leo XIV—the most recent to be interred in this sacred ground—lay in the earth beneath a simple stone slab featuring his name and the dates of his birth and death.
Candles marked the path to a secluded area of the grottoes that was closed off with a temporary partition. Notices claimed the closure was due to maintenance. A door in the partition was open and the procession entered the space. Nolan saw that the space did not contain any tombs or other works of art, so the temporary closure did not adversely affect the daily tours. A section of the floor roughly a meter square had been removed and the stones carefully set aside to expose the bare earth. A pair of trusted workmen stood beside the opening in the ground—a tiny grave.
Nolan bowed his head as Pope Gousheng began the Rite of Committal.
“‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father, says the Lord, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world,’” the pope quoted from the Gospel of Matthew.
The pope offered a brief prayer over the grave and then Nolan knelt and gently placed the cylinder into the open earth. The service concluded with three final prayers.
Nolan stood beside the pope as the workmen filled the grave with earth. When the cylinder disappeared from view, the pope led Nolan and the others from the gravesite, leaving the workmen to complete their task. By morning, the stone floor would be restored to its previous state leaving no sign of the clandestine interment.
“Walk with me,” the pope said to Nolan and Sean Kilkenny, Roxanne, and Donoher.
They moved quietly among the tombs. The only sounds were their footsteps and the exertions of the workmen by the grave.
“When my journey is over,” the pope said softly, “I will be buried there with my lost children. I trust that each of us will take the secret of these eight innocents to our final rest.”
“Yes, Your Holiness,” they replied in unison.
The pope nodded his acceptance of their solemn oath and led Nolan and the others back up the stairs to the basilica. Behind the pier in which the statue of Saint Andrew stood with his cross, they stopped at a low balustrade before an ornate marble altar. Six bronze candlesticks flanked a matching crucifix atop the altar, and a bronze grille in the face of the altar bore the gilded inscription S. GREGORIUS MAGNUS P.M. Above the altar rose a magnificent eighteenth-century mosaic that depicted the miracle of Saint Gregory.
Pope Gousheng stood beside of a pair of low wooden doors in the balustrade and offered a prayerful bow to the remains of his illustrious predecessor whose sarcophagus laid beneath the altar. The pope then turned to face Nolan and Roxanne.
“You have protected the Church from a desperate lie and untold disaster.” The pope bowed. “On behalf of the Church, I most humbly thank you.”
“Your Holiness, it was our honor,” Nolan replied.
The pope resumed his erect stance and gazed upon them both with warm affection.
“While certain truths must remain secret for now, I promise that a full accounting of this incident, and the valiant effort to win my freedom, will be placed under seal in the Vatican Secret Archives. The truth of what you have done will come to light one day. For now, I can only privately acknowledge that once again I am the beneficiary of efforts that placed you both in mortal jeopardy. I am thankful that the Lord has guided you safely, and I pray that you will not face any such dangers again.”
“Amen,” Sean Kilkenny said.
The pope inclined his head toward Donoher, who passed through the balustrade gate and retrieved a pair of red leather presentation boxes and two flat document folios from a little cabinet beside the altar. He placed the items into Sean Kilkenny’s open palms, boxes atop the folios. Nolan saw his father’s valiant but failed attempt to suppress a proud smile.
“Nolan Kilkenny and Roxanne Tao,” Pope Gousheng said in an official tone of voice, “it is my privilege and honor to recognize the unusual labors and meritorious deeds with which you have distinguished yourselves in the defense of the Church and the Holy See. I deem your many sacrifices worthy and bestow upon you the Order of Saint Gregory the Great, at whose altar we now stand.”
The pope motioned for Donoher to present the awards.
“Roxanne Tao, Nolan Kilkenny, it is my distinct honor and pleasure to invest you both into the Order of Saint Gregory the Great, Grand Cross of the First Class.”
Donoher took the first box from Sean and opened it to reveal a large, beautifully wrought medal. The emblem of Saint Gregory the Great was set in the center of a red and gold Maltese cross atop a star of diamond-cut rays.
“Congratulations, Dame Roxanne Tao,” Donoher said as he offered the medal to Roxanne with a polite bow.
“Thank you,” Roxanne replied almost breathless.
Donoher retrieved the second box and beamed while repeating the formal presentation to Nolan.
“Congratulations, Sir Knight Nolan Kilkenny.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I wish to thank everyone at Regnery Publishing, a very talented group of professionals who transform my work into published reality. I especially wish to thank Marji Ross and Harry Crocker for their enthusiasm for my fiction, Elizabeth Dobak for her keen editorial eye, and John Caruso for the incredible graphic design. Then there is David Limbaugh and Jack Langer who paved my road to Regnery—I doff my hat to you gentlemen in deepest gratitude.
While promoting The Secret Cardinal in Florida, my wife and I had the pleasure of dining with the former United States ambassador to the Holy See Francis Rooney and his wife Kathleen. I wish to thank the Rooneys for their warmth and hospitality, and the ambassador for his time and patience in answering my many questions. Grazie.
In 1997, through an act either of good fortune or Divine intervention, I encountered a fellow Michigander and graduate of the University of Michigan in the middle of the chaos that is BookExpo America. Esther Margolis took the leap to become my agent and, to my family and me, so much more. In perpetuum gratus.
My wife Kathy is a force of nature as a wife, mother, and domestic publicist. Simply brilliant.
And I must thank my children because they put up with me while I write.