A young woman from Rodriguez’s office met Nate at the Porta Sant’Anna. “I’m Sandra Orsuto,” she said, introducing herself rather formally. “I’ll take you up to Monsignor Rodriguez’s office. It is a bit of a labyrinth, and he was afraid you would get lost.”
On the way up, Nate was led through the series of rooms painted by Raphael of Urbino, the famous Stanze of Raphael. He vaguely remembered them from Janson’s History of Art, which he read in college.
The Stanze of Raphael are designed to impress visitors with the power and historical reach of the papacy. Second only to the frescoes in the Sistine Chapel, the stanze are among the most impressive works of art in the Vatican. Like the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, the stanze were commissioned by Julius II.
The rooms had their desired effect on Nate, who slowed his gait as he passed through them. He figured he might never get a chance to see them again, since this was not a public part of the Vatican.
He turned to Miss Orsuto and asked her, “What’s it like working around such art?”
“Well,” she said, “you get used to it. It would be a good place if you were an art student.”
“Are you an art student?” asked Nate.
“No,” said the rather formal Miss Orsuto. “I actually came to Rome as a theology student at the Gregorian. I work here part-time to help pay the bills while I am doing postdoctoral work. Monsignor Rodriguez wanted someone who could read English, Italian, and Spanish, so I got the job.”
“What do you know about these rooms?” asked Nate.
“Well,” she said, “I know this room is called the Sala Constantino, after the Emperor Constantine. It shows Constantine on his knees giving power over the city of Rome to the popes just before he moved the capital of the empire to Constantinople. It’s called the donation of Constantine. A pretty good donation, I’d say—the western Roman empire.”
“Ever since Constantine,” said Orsuto, “the popes have claimed dominion over Western Europe, and consequently the right, for more than one thousand years, to appoint its monarchs. If you are going to tell a lie, might as well make it a whopper. No one will dare contradict you,” she added with an ironic smile.
Nate was impressed as much with her candor as with her historical knowledge and delighted by his private tour. “What’s this?” Nate asked, pointing to a wall with a man in military dress on a white horse, with angels flying above him.
“It’s the Battle of the Milvian Bridge,” she said. “Legend has it that Emperor Constantine heard the words In hoc signum, ‘in this sign,’ in his dream. He saw the cross in his dream, so he assumed that it meant that he would win the battle at the bridge and conquer the city of Rome in that sign. So he had crosses put on the top of his battle standards. Later he discovered that the cross was the sign of the Christians’ god. He was so grateful that he became a Christian.” She added, “He hedged his bets, though. He didn’t actually get baptized until he was on his deathbed.”
They both chuckled. “Not a bad idea,” said Nate. “That way you don’t have to confess your sins.”
They passed into another room and stopped in front of a painting of the coronation of Charlemagne. “All Western European kings took their lineage from Charlemagne,” she said. “And he was crowned by the pope, who derived his authority from God. So basically this reminds kings that they get their authority from God through the pope.”
By the time they got to the next room, she was warming to her role as tour guide.
“This room is called the Eliodoro, or the room of Heliodorus. He was a Greek general mentioned in the book of Maccabees. He was sent to take over the temple of Jerusalem and put an end to Jewish worship. He was stopped by the prayer of a priest. An angel came down and beat the Greek general and threw him out of the temple. I guess it’s a metaphor saying, “Don’t mess with us priests.”
She turned to another fresco in the same room. “Over here,” she continued, “is Pope Leo the Great persuading Attila the Hun not to sack Rome. Leo was only partially successful. Attila merely postponed the sacking for a while.”
“What’s this?” asked Nate, pointing to another wall.
“It’s the deliverance of St. Peter from prison,” she said. “There is an account of it in the Acts of the Apostles. I guess it’s here to show that the papacy can’t be kept prisoner by anyone.”
They came to a final frescoed room. “I like this room the best,” said Ms. Orsuto. “It’s called the Sengatura, because it was once the Vatican tribunal. I’m told that it is the only one that Raphael actually painted himself.
“This fresco is called The School of Athens. I only know that because they had a copy of it in a lecture hall at the University of Virginia, where I did my BA. It shows the philosophers of the ancient world, like Aristotle and Plato. I guess they are seen as antecedents of Christian wisdom.”
Nate was impressed with her use of the word “antecedent.” He also made note of the fact that she could read English, Italian, and Spanish.
Taken together, the paintings had one message to any visitor, thought Nate. The papacy was around before your ancestors were born and will be around long after your children are mere dust.
Raphael’s frescoes had their desired effect on Nate. He almost forgot the reason for his visit.
When they arrived at Monsignor Rodriguez’s office, the handsome Latino priest was standing at the door. He seemed to suspect the reason for the long delay. “Been getting an art lesson on the way up?” he asked with a smile.
Miss Orsuto closed the door separating the priest’s office from hers and left the two men alone.
“Welcome, Mr. Condon. I’m Father Henry Rodriguez.”
Nate didn’t really hear the priest for a moment, he was so transfixed by the view of St. Peter’s Square from Rodriguez’s office. This is some impressive office, thought Nate, still a kid from Charlestown.
Rodriguez noticed Nate looking out the window, so he gave him a little tour. “Out there is an Egyptian obelisk brought here to Rome by one of the Caesars. Beyond the square, up there on the hill, is the North American College, where I went to seminary. I haven’t moved very far since I was ordained.”
Father Rodriguez motioned Nate to one of two armchairs near the desk. Rodriguez sat in the companion chair facing him. “How can I help you, Mr. Condon?” asked Rodriguez.
After a moment Nate said, “I’m here to find out a little about the Soldados de Cristo. Monsignor Ackerman thought you could help me.”
“Smart man, that Matt Ackerman,” said Rodriguez with a mixture of irony and honest praise. “You’ve come to the right place. Do you want the Wikipedia version or a doctoral dissertation?”
Nate liked Rodriguez’s deadpan delivery and world-weary tone. The priest reminded Nate of the guys he worked with at the federal prosecutor’s office in New York—no bull, just straight talk.
“I think the Wikipedia version would be fine for now,” said Nate. Then he added, “I’ve heard of the Soldados before, but only know them vaguely. My wife met a soldado priest at the Vatican Embassy in Washington last week. But that’s about all I know. Why does Monsignor Ackerman think the Soldados might have something to do with the deaths of the cardinals?”
“I’ve found it risky to speculate on Matt Ackerman’s thoughts,” said Rodriguez. Nate gathered that there was no love lost between the two monsignors.
“Let me pour you a cup of coffee,” said Rodriguez. “Even the Wikipedia version is complicated. This might take a while.” He went across the room to a Mr. Coffee type of coffeemaker. “I drink Cafe Americano,” said the California priest. “If I drink the local brew, I’m wired all day. I like to sleep at night.”
He poured two cups of black coffee and gave one to Nate. He didn’t offer cream and sugar. Then he sat down again in the armchair.
“I hope that you are not easily scandalized, Mr. Condon,” said Rodriguez.
“I have a reasonably high tolerance for scandal. I spent a decade as a federal prosecu
tor.”
“Good,” said Rodriguez. “You’ll need a high tolerance for scandal if you are dealing with the Church. We have more than our share.” Nate liked him better and better.
Rodriguez continued, “First a little history. The Soldados de Cristo is a religious congregation founded in Mexico in the late 1940s by a guy named Marcel Marcelino. He fancied himself another Ignatius of Loyola.”
As a graduate of Georgetown, Nate vaguely recognized the reference to the founder of the Jesuits.
Rodriguez paused for a moment, apparently weighing his words.
“Marcelino had a love of three things: power, money, and sex—not uncommon things for men to love, of course. But his love of those three sins was an obsession. Of course, he cloaked everything in what he claimed was his love of Jesus Christ and the Church.”
Rodriguez let out a little “ha.” Then he took a breath and looked away for a second before he continued.
“Marcelino wanted to build a big religious order. His ambition was to set the direction of the Catholic Church for the next few hundred years, not just in Mexico, but around the world. Marcelino always thinks big.”
“So, he’s still alive,” said Nate.
“Oh, yes,” answered Rodriguez. “He is under house arrest here at the Vatican. He has a little apartment on the other side of the gardens. I’m his jailer, so to speak. He even wears an ankle bracelet.” Nate’s eyes widened. Rodriguez wasn’t kidding about being Marcelino’s jailer.
Rodriguez picked up the story again. “To tell you the truth, I think that Marcelino just wanted to use the Church. He saw it as a necessary, if inconvenient, vehicle for his own ambition. If he could have been a Mexican politician, he would have done that instead. But Mexican politics was closed to him. Politics in Mexico in those days was only open to the few who were part of the inner circle of the ruling party, the PRI. To be part of the PRI you needed to have money. Marcelino didn’t have money, so he couldn’t play in that game, so he turned to politics in the Church, the next best thing. The Church welcomed Marcelino as a player. I’m not sure he was ever really religious. In fact, the more I come to know him, the more I wonder if he even believed in God at all.”
Nate raised his eyebrows. It was a revelation to him to think that a priest might not even believe in God.
Rodriguez continued with a smile, “An old Jesuit once told me, ‘If you can’t be guided by morals, at least be deterred by shame.’ Marcelino had neither morals nor shame. He was an unguided Mexican missile.”
Rodriguez chuckled to himself, pleased at his little touché.
“One thing about Marcelino is that he is a very charismatic man. Even today, under house arrest, he charms his visitors and gets them to do him favors. I always have to watch that. He is not supposed to be running anything anymore, but he is hard to contain.”
Nate noticed that Rodriguez never referred to the founder of the Soldados by his title of monsignor. He just called him Marcelino.
“What’s he under house arrest for?” asked Nate.
“Everything,” said Rodriguez. “Sex crimes, theft, fraud, pedophilia, you name it. Pope Thomas assigned him to a life of penance and removed his faculties as a priest.”
Rodriguez took a sip of his coffee and then continued. “Marcelino was well connected in Mexico, but to carry out his great plans, he needed two things: people and money. Mexico is a big Catholic country. It had the people. But the United States had the money. It has a rich Catholic community.”
“So, Marcelino and the Soldados were more about money than sex?” asked Nate.
“No,” answered Rodriguez. “Not exactly. It was really about both—money and sex.
“In Mexico, Marcelino recruited young men, mostly from devout middle-class families. He had a very clear physical profile for any young man entering his order. He told his recruiters, ‘No fat guys, no ugly guys, no effeminate guys, and no poor guys.’ He wanted only the most handsome guys, if you get my drift.”
Rodriguez paused and smiled. Nate nodded. The monsignor did not need to spell out Marcelino’s love of handsome young men.
“Money was a bigger problem for Marcelino than people. So, he looked al otro lado, as we Mexicans say, to the other side of the border. Marcelino founded seminaries and houses in the United States. He was blunt about it. He said he was looking for ‘fountains of dollars,’ as he told his local superiors. All his houses were in places like Greenwich, Connecticut, or Grosse Pointe, Michigan.”
“And, I suppose, in Bethesda, Maryland, and Palm Beach, Florida,” interjected Nate.
“You catch on quickly, Mr. Condon. Marcelino never founded a house in a poor neighborhood. He was not Mother Teresa.”
Rodriguez continued, “Marcelino even bought the old Watson estate in Greenwich from the founder of IBM. He said he wanted to do ‘youth’ ministry in the United States. Evidently, he was only interested in the kind of youth who played polo. What he was looking for, of course, was wealthy young men.”
Nate chuckled and thought to himself, Now I know why Peggy Tracy is drawn to the Soldados. Nate realized that he had actually run into the Soldados a lot over the years, without knowing who they were. Some of his friends from the Knights of Malta had once tried to get him to go up to Greenwich on a retreat there.
“Money was not an absolute requirement,” continued Rodriguez, “but he wanted his seminarians to bring a big donation with them when they entered the order. It was like a dowry. In a way, Marcelino was very much like Ignatius and the early Jesuits, focused on the elites. Of course, the Jesuits would be offended by the comparison today.”
Nate nodded. Who wouldn’t be offended? he thought.
“Did most of his recruits come from the States?” asked Nate.
“No, actually,” said Rodriguez. “He did best in Mexico and Latin America. Colombia was a big recruiting ground for him. Never underestimate the power of a common language bond. There is quite a Latino confraternity in the Soldados. But Ireland was also big for him for a while. Marcelino realized that Americans like Irish priests, and Irish boys want to go to America.”
Rodriguez stood up and went over to a file cabinet behind his desk. He pulled out a file folder containing newspaper clippings as he continued talking.
“Marcelino also made it his business to cultivate rich widows. He ministered to grieving women, who felt forgotten by God. He let them know he had not forgotten them. Sometimes they were even allowed to live in guesthouses on his estates and pretend they were nuns or hermits. People with money get lonely, too.”
Rodriguez handed Nate a clipping from the Hartford Courant.
“Look at this. He got this lady to leave all her money to the Soldados while she was living in a guesthouse on the old Watson estate in Greenwich.”
Nate looked at the clipping. There was a headshot of an elderly Connecticut socialite in pearls. There was also a companion shot of her in a modest dress, like a nun’s habit. The headline on the article read “Area Socialite Leaves Fortune to Priest.” The article said that she had left thirty million dollars to the Soldados.
Rodriguez gave Nate a second to read the article, then continued, “Her children are still suing the Soldados to get it back. I hope they win. What a bastard!”
Rodriguez clearly hated this guy, but he was just warming up.
“But what the Church didn’t know was that Marcel was a sexual omnivore. He liked men and women. Nobody was safe.”
Rodriguez handed Nate another clipping from The New York Times detailing a lawsuit brought by several former members of the Soldados, who were claiming they were sexually molested by Marcelino when they were in the seminary.
“There had been rumors about him and boys for a long time. He summoned seminarians to his private rooms, where he would get them drunk and proposition them. When they left, they were often too terrorized to say anything.” Rodriguez paused and shook his head.
“He had it all figured out. See, the Soldados take a special vow beyond the ord
inary ones of poverty, chastity, and obedience. They promise never to speak ill of their superiors. He felt he was safe, but rumors were around for a long time about sex with seminarians.
“Eventually, however, we found out that he also liked women—several women, in fact. He had children by them. He had not one, but two secret families. He fathered a total of five children.”
“Wow,” said Nate.
“Marcel kept them the way upper-class men keep mistresses in Mexico. He set them up in houses and paid for the child support. The neighbors thought he was a wealthy businessman who traveled a lot. Neither mistress knew about the other until recently. He paid for them out of the funds of his order.” Rodriguez handed Nate another clipping from the National Catholic Reporter.
“No one suspected?” Nate asked.
“People must have suspected,” answered Rodriguez. “Officially, of course, the order says it never knew about his mistresses. But the comptroller, who was a pal of Marcelino’s, must have known. Sometimes Marcel would draw out ten thousand dollars in cash for travel expenses just before he went to visit his families. If the order didn’t know, they were just plain stupid.”
“Amazing,” said Nate. “This guy Marcelino has brass balls.”
Rodriguez chuckled in agreement. “The man has solid brass cojones. When John Paul II came to Mexico in 1979, Marcelino even got his mistresses and children into the front-row seats at a papal Mass. Afterward he took them to a reception, so they could get their pictures taken with the pope. Yes, sir, solid brass balls. When he dies, we should make them first-class relics of the patron saint of con artists.”
The two men sat there laughing for a moment. Nate liked Rodriguez’s bluntness. “I know mob bosses that have more shame,” said Nate.
“Like I said,” continued the priest, “Marcelino has several children. Five that we know of, anyway. There may be more. He was a good Catholic father, though. He never used birth control, and he made sure they all went to Catholic schools.”
They laughed again. Rodriguez was clearly enjoying the storytelling. So was Nate.
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