by Pat Mullan
“He could stay here. I know that that’s what Cardinal Volpe wants.”
“Yes, that’s right. But I’m convinced that Father Roland’s coming back with us. Look, he’s still responsible for Terry’s death. I came here to bring him back and I’m not leaving without him. If he doesn’t make the flight, you go on without me. I’ll go after him.”
“You don’t think that something happened to him?”
“You mean, from Father Flaherty?”
“Why was he at the Irish College? You said yourself that he must have come to kill Father Roland, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I believe that’s why he’s here. And Father Roland’s been under police protection since. So if they haven’t found Flaherty, he’s probably lying low somewhere. When he finds out that Father Roland has come back to Ireland, he’ll probably follow him back. Hopefully the police will catch him before then.”
“You don’t believe they will, do you?”
“No, I don’t. He’s avoided everybody so far. And it won’t surprise me to find out that he’s given them the slip here as well.”
At that moment a very red faced Father Roland rushed, breathless, into the terminal. He saw them immediately and ran towards them but they pointed to the check-in desk and urged him to go there instead. He had barely time to check in and get through departures to the gate. As they walked together toward the gate, he blamed the traffic snarls in Rome for almost causing him to miss the plane. He also said that there was no news about Father Flaherty. Apparently no-one knew where he was.
“But I still think I can talk with him.”
“Look, he came to Rome to kill you. How do you think you can talk to a crazy man who’s on a mission from the Lord?”
“I have to try. I owe it to Monsignor Fallon and to President McCafferty.”
“But you owe me first. You owe justice to young Terry. Even more than that, it’s time to tell the whole story. You agreed. I’m going to arrange that with Sean Coyne as soon as we get back. Where can I reach you?”
“I’m going to stay with Uncle Desmond. For the next four weeks.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t know. I’ll probably be assigned to the Archdiocesan office until all this is cleared up.”
The plane had started boarding and they parted as they climbed the stairs to the cabin. With a last minute reservation, Father Roland Cormack was seated toward the rear of the plane, whereas Ed and Maria were close to the front. So they had no opportunity to talk on the flight.
Cardinal Volpe had accumulated much power and prestige within the Church hierarchy, much of it based on his political acumen and managerial ability. In addition to his degrees of divinity, he held a magna cum laude MBA from Harvard, and a Ph. D in political science.
The Pope had discovered that the Holy See had few religious or lay people on its payroll with such expertise and ability. And the Holy See was struggling to match its income to its growing expense base. In recent years, spending had doubled or tripled, income had failed to meet expenditures, reserves had been depleted to cover shortfalls, and the decline in the dollar’s exchange rate had reduced the value of much of the annual Peter’s Pence collection that was sourced in the US. So the Holy See needed some urgent and vital strategic planning and fiscal management, as well as a top to bottom policy review and departmental restructuring.
The Pope was relying on Cardinal Volpe to deliver. He had assigned him a special project, Renewal for the New Century, and funded him for a staff of ten of his own selection. He’d also assigned first class office space in the sprawling Palazzo San Calisto apartment and office complex in the trendy, high-rent neighborhood of Trastevere. And he’d given Cardinal Volpe a sumptuous, 3,000-square-foot penthouse apartment on the top floor, at a rent less than ten percent of the cost on the open market. The cardinal had undertaken the project with great diligence, had hired his first three staff members, and had prepared a weekly ‘one-pager’ for the Pope. ‘One-pagers’ had become his classic method of distilling the hard facts of a management report, complete with risks and opportunities, into a succinct communication.
Being an American, the cardinal expected to have the latest creature comforts in his apartment. Being an Italian-American who grew up in his immigrant mother’s kitchen in Brooklyn, watching her teach him how to prepare her matchless sauces, his love of cooking stayed with him. So the kitchen would be the most important place in his apartment.
Fortuitously, he had discovered that Pope Benedict had found that the Papal Apartments had been in disrepair and had commenced refurbishment. The project, carried out over three months while Benedict was in summer residence at Castel Gandolfo, included the building of the new library to accommodate Benedict's 20,000 books, upgrading for electrical wiring and plumbing. The heating system was repaired and the kitchen was refurbished with new ovens, ranges, and other appliances donated by a German company. Cardinal Volpe chose the same contractor to redesign the kitchen at his new San Calisto apartment. But he chose the appliances himself. He chose cutlery made by Wilkins, an old Bremen company, and he settled for nothing less than fine Solingen for his cleevers and other working knives.
He took a small tray holding his freshly brewed pot of morning coffee over to the kitchen table that faced out of the window to the city below. He looked at his watch. Eleven a.m. Father Roland would be at the airport now, checking in, preparing to leave. Going back to Ireland to ‘face the music’, the term he’d used. He’d tried hard to dissuade him. He knew that Father Roland was making a terrible mistake. Yet his years of political know-how had failed to persuade Father Roland not to go. He had failed. And he seldom failed at anything. He also thought about this mad, murderous priest who had come here to kill Father Roland. The police had not found him. No-one seemed to know where he’d gone. And no-one seemed to know how he’d managed to travel unnoticed from Ireland to Rome. He may be crazy but he’s also very clever, thought the cardinal, probably knows that Father Roland’s on his way back today, so he’ll most likely go back after him. Well, at least Father Roland has that guy, Burke, in his corner. He drained his coffee mug and said a silent prayer for Father Roland.
Father Bernard Flaherty knew Rome intimately and he had become fluent in the language during his time in the city. A lifetime ago, and yet just yesterday, he contemplated, as he emerged, totally sated, from the little family run trattoria, near the Piazza San Calisto, where he had had lunch of home made gnocchi and gorgonzola cheese. He laughed to himself as he remembered the day, when he was only fifteen, that he had brought home some gorgonzola cheese. An exotic and unheard of thing in his home. He could still see his sister crunching up her nose in disgust. But he’d loved gorgonzola ever since. Dressed in his priestly attire, they had treated him with great deference and respect in the little restaurant.
He’d had already been to the Palazzo San Calisto. Housing many of the congregations of the Holy See, it hadn’t changed since his time in Rome with the Marists. Using a false name, he had arranged an interview for a position with the Renewal for the New Century project. The interview had gone well and he’d arranged an appointment with Cardinal Volpe, in his private apartment on the top floor. He had not expected to fail the interview because he knew that he was the Lord’s emissary and the Lord would prepare the way for him. With time to spare before his appointment, he sought out a small shop that sold hardware and other household items, where he bought three rolls of duct tape and one of those ankle length plastic raincoats that tourists use.
Cardinal Volpe looked at himself in the full length mirror in his bathroom. Red piping ran down the borders of his long black robe and red buttons adorned the front. He adjusted the red silk cummerbund around his waist, then hung the heavy silver cross around his neck. He was due at the Vatican within the hour but he’d made time to talk with the priest who had interviewed for one of the positions on his project.
All his books had arrived and he felt comforted by the floor to ceiling shelves tha
t lined his study. He crossed softly over the fine oriental rugs to his large antique desk and sat down. Looking at his watch he could see that his interviewee was due in ten minutes. Time to catch up on some correspondence.
Absorbed in his work, he had not heard the priest he was expecting being ushered into his study until he heard the rustle of pages. He looked up to see a tall priest, with his back to him, browsing the books on one of his shelves. Taken aback by the audacity, he said, sternly, “Excuse me! May I help you?”
The priest turned around and, said, disarmingly in a soft Irish accent, “Oh, I beg your pardon. I didn’t want to disturb you. And I’m addicted to books.”
“Are you Father Carmody who interviewed for the position on my project?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Well, come into the light where I can see you better. Sit down here.”
Father Bernard Flaherty knew that this moment could be crucial. He wasn’t sure if the Cardinal had seen him at the Irish College or if Father Roland had given him a description, or even a photograph. As luck would have it, neither had occurred. Cardinal Volpe had not seen Father Flaherty that day. He’d only seen the commotion caused by the chase. And Father Roland had not given him a description, or photo, of Father Flaherty. Father Flaherty saw no recognition in the Cardinal’s eyes as he sat down in the chair positioned at the side of the desk.
The Cardinal reached across to his in-box and retrieved a curriculum vitae on Father Carmody that he’d received earlier in the day from his project team. He noted the words they’d scribbled on the edge. Good candidate! Hire him! He’d take their word for that so he wouldn’t need to probe Father Carmody’s expertise. In the twenty minutes he’d allocated for the meeting, he would probe his personality instead.
“I see that you have spent the last few years teaching mathematics. Tell me what you learned that you could use as a member of my team.”
“I learned that numbers can lie. And they can be manipulated by those who lie.”
“And you think that insight can help us.”
“Yes. Obviously the Vatican’s numbers lied. Or somebody used them to present a rosy, but false, picture of the health of the church’s finances.”
“Are you suggesting that some church leaders are liars?”
“Yes. Or, if not, then they’re incompetent.”
“Maybe it’s because they’re only human …”
“No. They thought that they were infallible. In matters other than faith.”
Cardinal Volpe was beginning to feel uneasy. Even though this Father Carmody was speaking with great assurance, he detected an undertone of threat. He paused to take stock and change tack on the interview.
As he did so, Father Carmody asked, “Tell me, is it true that you head the secret society of defilers in our church? In your USA it’s been called The Lavender Mafia.”
Cardinal Volpe’s heart jumped in his chest. Always in command in every situation, he now felt very vulnerable. But his shock quickly turned to anger.
“How dare you! Who are you? You’re not a priest. What do you want?”
“Oh, I think you know what I want. I do the work of the Lord. I am His Avenger!”
As recognition spread across the cardinal’s face, Father Flaherty looked again at the golden chalice he’d admired when he sat down. A replica, at least twice the size of a normal chalice, It sat on the corner of the desk, facing him. Now he understood. The Lord moves in mysterious ways. And the Lord provides. A vessel that held the body of Christ. Placed there for him. He jumped up abruptly. And Cardinal Volpe, startled by his rapid movement, was unable to deflect the blow from the chalice and he fell unconscious to the floor.
Cardinal Volpe woke up to a splitting headache, his first feeling of consciousness. He didn’t know where he was or what was happening to him. Thinking for a moment that he was in bed having a nightmare, he felt the urge to urinate and attempted to swing his legs out of bed. But he couldn’t move. And the bed felt hard as iron. Suddenly his memory cut through the pain in his head like a lightning flash and he remembered trying to deflect the blow from the chalice. Gradually he opened his eyes and saw the light hanging from the ceiling overhead. It was either turned down low or the blow to his head had affected his vision. As his senses returned, he knew that he was lying on his back on the dining room table. He seemed to be tied down and he felt like Gulliver. Something had been taped across his mouth so he couldn’t speak. He tested each arm and felt restrained by something that bound his wrists. Then he tried each leg and got the same feeling that something was holding his ankles firmly to the table. He couldn’t move his upper body and his waist and stomach seemed to be constrained, as though he was wearing a belt much too small.
“Duct tape. A great invention, don’t you think?”
The voice, loud and clear, and unmistakeably Father Carmody’s whom he now realized was the mad Irish priest, Father Flaherty, who’d come to Rome to kill Father Roland.
The man behind the voice moved closer so that he could bend his head to see. The priestly clothes were gone and he seemed to be dressed in black inside a long transparent plastic raincoat.
“The plastic raincoat. Another great invention. Keeps out all rain and other liquids.”
He could see that Father Flaherty held a book in his hands. He watched as he opened it.
“My dear Cardinal Volpe, are you ready to listen to the words of the Lord? They were written for you. The Lord finds you guilty, Cardinal Volpe! And what did the Lord say about the punishment that must be meted out for such crimes. He was very clear about that. You must know what he said …”
“ From Matthew 5:29 If your right eye makes you do wrong, take it out and throw it away. It is better to lose a part of your body, than for your whole body to be thrown into hell.”
Father Flaherty put down the book and approached Cardinal Volpe whose eyes showed absolute terror and tears flowed freely down his cheeks. He could see that the cardinal was trying to speak but the duct tape across his mouth prevented that. Father Flaherty walked behind the cardinal, held his head firmly with his left hand and ruthlessly gouged out the cardinal’s right eye with his right thumb. At some point the cardinal’s body ceased its thrashing and twitching and went still.
It seemed ages later when he regained consciousness. The pain in his head was now no match for the excruciating pain coming from the empty socket of his right eye. He could hear Flaherty’s voice again.
“You’ll have to look to your left to see me now. I’m afraid the Lord has thrown away that right eye that made you do wrong. I have moved to this side to accommodate you.”
He waited until he saw that the cardinal had forced himself to turn his head to the left.
“Are we ready? The Lord is getting impatient, I’m afraid. Do you remember what he said in Matthew? Well, I’ll read it for you.”
“From Matthew 18:8 If your hand or your foot makes you do wrong, cut it off and throw it away! It is better for you to enter into life without hands or feet than to have two hands and two feet and be thrown into the fire that burns for ever.”
“And you don’t want to be thrown into that fire that burns forever, do you?”
Father Flaherty’s voice seemed to have changed, to have deepened, to now sound animal-like, deranged. Even through the pain he was suffering, Cardinal Volpe could hear the change. And he knew he was about to die. He said a prayer asking that his death be swift. He looked blearily out of his one good eye to see that Father Flaherty was now holding his Solingen cleever in his right hand and feeling the edge with the thumb of his left hand. Suddenly Father Flaherty swung it over his head and brought it down with a thump on the table. Cardinal Volpe’s right arm swung free of its restraint but he knew that his wrist and hand remained bound. Strangely, he felt no pain this time. He could see the cleaver swinging overhead once more as he began to lose consciousness for the very last time.
57
At Dublin Airport, Father Roland climbed into the large bla
ck limousine waiting to take him to Castle Cormack and Ed and Maria caught the next taxi to Ballsbridge.
They dumped their bags inside the door of their apartment, kicked off their shoes, and hung their coats in the closet. Maria disappeared for a moment and returned with two glasses, a corkscrew, and a chilled bottle of McGuigan’s Black Label Australian chardonnay. Ed opened the bottle and poured. They clinked glasses, kissed, and sank deep into the living room couch. They could feel the weight of Rome beginning to lift. But just as quickly the phone rang, jarring them back into the real world.
“Don’t answer it. Let it ring. If it’s important, they’ll leave a message, “said Ed. But Maria was halfway to the phone when he said that.
Ignoring him, she said, “Hello,” and listened, uttering “Oh, My God!” and “When did it happen?” and “Yes, he’s right here.”
Turning the phone over to Ed, she said, “It’s Tom Buckley.”
“Tom, what’s up?”
“It seems you don’t know.”
“Don’t know what? We just got in from the airport.”
“There’s been another killing!”
“Who?”
“Cardinal Volpe. In Rome.”
“Oh, no! When?”
“A few hours ago. You were probably in the air when he was killed. Butchered!”
“Where?”
“In his apartment. In broad, god-damned daylight!”
“Father Flaherty?”
“Who else?”
“How did he die?”
“Horrible death. He was tortured and, like I said, butchered. His right eye was gouged out of his head. Both hands and both feet were chopped off with a cleaver. He bled to death. Pages of the bible were ripped out, you know those parts from Matthew where it says ‘if your hand scandalize you, cut it off’. The hands and feet were stacked on top of the pages. That’s his signature. The Avenger. He’s telling us he’s doing God’s work.”