“Marcelino brought three of his kids to Rome for schooling. He put them in the international school out by the Via Aurelia. One of them has recently written a book, Mi Padre, El Sacerdote.”
Rodriguez went over to the bookshelf behind his desk and pulled a copy of the memoir from the shelf and handed it to Nate. “I guess the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree. Even his kids are exploiting the Church connection.”
Nate took the book and leafed through the pages, looking at the pictures of Marcelino with his kids and mistresses.
“You know,” said Rodriguez reflectively, “you just can’t make this stuff up. I admire his audacity. Train robbers are more timid.”
Nate was beginning to see what Rodriguez meant about a strong stomach for scandal. The average Catholic has no idea about such things, thought Nate.
“All of that was only rumor for years,” said Rodriguez. “Nobody high up in the Church believed the rumors. Marcelino was protected in Rome. He had powerful friends in the curia like Cardinals Crepi, Salazar, and Mendoza.”
Nate was busily taking notes. “I’ve heard those names before,” said Nate. “Tell me about them.”
“Well, Crepi is the governor of Vatican City. In a sense, he is my landlord. He controls everything within the walls of the Vatican and its Roman properties. If you want something done in the Vatican, talk to Crepi.
“Salazar is the prefect for the Knights of the Holy Sepulcher. It’s a nothing job these days, but it lets him travel around the world and talk to rich people. He raises money for the charities of the Holy See. Salazar had the Latino bond with Marcelino. He was largely responsible for all the recruits the Soldados got in Colombia. He certainly opened doors for the Soldados in Latin America.
“Mendoza.” Rodrigquez paused, breathing in and putting his folded hands to his lips. “Well, now there is a piece of work. Mendoza is one of the original Soldados. He rose through the ranks in Mexico and then got himself appointed a cardinal here in Rome. He really is their cardinal protector. He is the perfect soldado in the mold of Marcelino: secretive, conspiratorial, conservative, and mean. Don’t underestimate Mendoza.”
Rodriguez was not done. “Remember, Marcelino still has friends in the Roman Curia. Mendoza is his first friend, but there are others. After all, Marcelino gave millions of dollars to papal charities. Back in the 1980s when the Vatican Bank was in trouble, it is rumored that he kicked in money for an out-of-court settlement made in secret in Switzerland. But what really impressed them here in Rome was the growth of his order. He got vocations to the priesthood at a time when all the other orders like the Jesuits were going out of business.
“Eventually, he moved his seminary from Mexico to Rome to give himself more visibility. He bought the old Christian Brothers’ place on the Via Aurelia. It was convenient to his kids’ school. He sent his seminarians to the Gregorian University for philosophy. Every morning, he delivered them to the front door of the Greg in a Mercedes bus with each seminarian perfectly dressed in a tailored, clerical black suit. He ordered them to read their breviary while they were on the bus, so as not to be tempted by what was out on the street. They even had to draw the curtains in the bus, so the seminarians could not see the corrupting world of Rome. What a show! The curia was completely snowed, even your patron O’Toole.”
Nate was intrigued to hear O’Toole referred to as his patron. He realized that Rodriguez saw Nate as an ecclesiastical insider.
“And conservative!” said Rodriguez, throwing up a hand. “The man was more conservative than the pope, any pope. He was more conservative than the Latin Mass crowd. They loved him. Everybody said he was the modern Ignatius of Loyola. Marcel ate that stuff up. The only one more conservative than Marcel is Mendoza.
“Marcelino made sure that all the ordinations of the Soldados were done here in Rome, in Latin, so that everybody around here would notice. He had more ordinations than the North American College. He had more than the Mexican College. Hell, he had more than both of them combined.”
“What did Marcelino want? Was he setting himself up to be pope?” asked Nate.
“No,” answered Rodriguez. “He knew he would never be pope. It was all about ego, I guess. He wanted to be a power player in Church politics. More than that, he wanted to leave a legacy with his religious order. He figured that the Soldados would set the direction for the Church for the next five hundred years, like the Jesuits did for most of the past five hundred years. But mostly it was about power. He wanted to show that they had power.
“In Church politics, people are sensitive to symbols. Let me give you an example. When I was a student over there at the North American College, the Soldados bought the old NAC summer villa in the hills outside Rome, near Castel Gandolfo, right next door to the pope’s summer place. The Soldados could look down on the pope from their windows. Marcelino wanted to be sure that the popes noticed him. That real estate sent a message.”
“A message?” asked Nate.
“Yeah,” said Rodriguez, raising a finger and pointing out the window again toward the North American College. “It told the American bishops that this little Mexican guy had more money and power than they did. It told anybody who was looking that the Soldados were neighbors of the pope and that they had a villa bigger than the pope’s.”
“Who did Marcelino want to impress?” asked Nate.
“Anyone who was looking,” answered Rodriguez.
“But why was he so insecure?” asked Nate. “What was he trying to prove?”
“Look,” said Rodriguez, “my family is Mexican American. I know how it feels to be put down by the gringo. It feels good to us Mexicans to take you Anglos down a peg or two. It’s a little payback for the condescension of the gringo toward us.”
Nate nodded.
Rodriguez looked out the window again and said reflectively, “Marcelino was on a roll so long as he had the popes hoodwinked. They kept telling other religious orders that they should be more like the Soldados. When I was in the seminary, our rector invited the Soldados over to the college for dinners and plays. He was always saying, ‘You guys should be more like the Soldados.’ If he only knew what the Soldados were really like.
“In the past few years,” continued Rodriguez, “some of the former members of the Soldados have been suing their order. You might have seen some of them on 60 Minutes last year.”
“Oh, yeah,” said Nate. “I saw part of that, but I didn’t really know who they were then.”
“The big newspapers and scandal sheets in Mexico ran exposés on Marcelino’s families. He was unashamed. I guess he thought he was untouchable.”
“So, what did him in?” asked Nate.
“Sex with women,” said Rodriguez. “When Pope Thomas found out about the mistresses and the secret families, that was it. The pope put him under house arrest in the Vatican and took away his faculties. He’s no longer allowed to say Mass. Basically, Marcelino is supposed to live a life of prayer and penance.
“I was appointed to supervise the order and clean up the mess,” said Rodriguez. “Believe me, it’s a mess. Basically I’m what you lawyers would call a trustee in bankruptcy.”
“Well, if Marcelino is under house arrest and you’re in charge, why would Monsignor Ackerman say that the Soldados have so much influence?”
“’Cause they still do,” said Rodriguez. “They have cardinals here in the curia. They still have lots of friends in high places—friends with money. They might even have connections to the Mafia.”
Nate smiled as he realized Monsignor Rodriguez’s “dissertation” was definitely a bit more than the Wikipedia version promised.
Nate looked at his watch. It was past noon. “Why don’t you let me buy you lunch? Then we can walk and talk a bit more.” Nate sensed this priest would be a good source.
“Fine,” said Rodriguez. “In the seminary they told us never to turn down a free meal. I know a little trattoria in the Borgo Pio that serves great penne arrabbiata.”
> They stood up together. Rodriguez put on his suit coat. He was dressed in a clerical suit, not a cassock. Nate took that as a sign that he was a more “modern” priest than the ones wearing cassocks.
On their way out of the office, they said good-bye to Miss Orsuto.
Walking down the stairs of the Belvedere Palace, Nate mentioned that he was looking for an assistant, someone who could read English, Italian, and Spanish. “Do you know anybody like your assistant, Miss Orsuto? Someone who knows the Church, and languages, and who could be discreet.”
“People like her are hard to find, even in Rome,” said Rodriguez. “But I’ll tell you what. Why don’t I just detail her over to your investigation for a while? I have other staff who can look after Marcelino. Besides, I’m going on vacation for the next couple of weeks. She is very knowledgeable.”
“Thank you,” said Nate, realizing that he didn’t have the vaguest idea how to search for an assistant in Rome. “That would help me get things moving.” Nate liked the idea that his assistant already knew her way around Rome and had intimate knowledge of the underbelly of the Church.
“We don’t really need to say anything to Cardinal Crepi, since she is already on the Vatican payroll. That way Crepi won’t be able to put a mole in your investigation,” said Rodriguez.
Nate was beginning to realize that the Vatican was full of intrigue. It was best not to trust too many people. He hoped he could trust Rodriguez, though.
“I’ll ask Sandra to come work for you for a while. If she agrees, we can work it out for next week.”
When they got settled in the little trattoria, Nate started the interview again. “Tell me a little more about who the Soldados can count on in the curia,” said Nate.
“Well, you already know about Crepi and Salazar,” said Rodriguez. “And their best friend is, of course, Cardinal Mendoza.”
“I thought that when you became a cardinal, you left your order,” said Nate.
“Technically, that’s true,” answered Rodriguez. “But people are people. If they came up through their order, they maintain their allegiance.”
“Does Mendoza have any real power?” asked Nate.
Rodriguez looked around the small restaurant, apparently checking for people who might be listening. After all, they were only a couple of blocks from the Vatican gate.
“Mendoza is the head of the Sacred Penitentiary,” said Rodriguez. “That’s not a prison. That’s the office that gives out dispensations and indulgences. They also can impose penances. It has been very hard to discipline Marcelino, because his pal Mendoza is always looking over my shoulder.
“The other thing about Mendoza’s job is that he is one of two guys in the Vatican who does not lose his job when the pope dies. It’s no secret that Pope Thomas is not well. Mendoza will be in charge of Marcelino when Pope Thomas dies. We aren’t supposed to even talk about the pope’s death, but you can imagine where that would put me. I’d probably be out on my ass.”
Nate realized that Rodriguez had real reason to fear Mendoza.
When their pasta arrived, Rodriguez dived into it with enthusiasm. Nate pushed it around on his plate before starting up the questioning again. “What do you know about the dead cardinals?” he asked. He figured that it was all the gossip of the Vatican and that Rodriguez would know the speculation.
“Well, I don’t know anything for sure,” said Rodriguez cautiously, looking around again.
“Knowledgeable speculation is welcome,” prodded Nate.
“There are rumors,” said Rodriguez, lowering his voice a bit. “You know that the cardinal from Mexico, Ignacio Garcia of Guadalajara, was killed three months ago in a shootout at the airport in Monterrey. At the time, the papers reported that he just happened to get caught in the cross fire between the Zetas and Sinaloa drug cartels.”
Nate nodded. He knew there was open warfare between the cartels in Mexico.
“But,” said Rodriguez, lowering his voice another notch, “now we are not so sure.”
“What aren’t you sure about?” Nate prodded.
“Well, nobody else was killed in that shootout. The cartels are reckless, but they are not stupid. It makes no sense for the drug cartels to shoot up an airport and kill a high-profile guy like a cardinal, unless they are going after somebody really big. They don’t want any unnecessary trouble with the Mexican police. You wouldn’t take a risk killing people at the airport unless you were going after a pretty big fish.”
“So, who would do it?” asked Nate. “Do you think it was the Soldados?”
“I wouldn’t put it past them,” said Rodriguez, absolutely deadpan. For the first time, Nate really was shocked. “But they probably needed help. Maybe the Sinaloa or the Zetas were hired by someone to do the job—someone who wanted Cardinal Garcia dead. I can’t imagine that drug cartels really care much about cardinals. I don’t know.” Rodriguez fell silent. Nate noticed him looking out the window.
Nate shook his head in amazement. “Priests killing priests! It’s hard to imagine.”
Monsignor Rodriguez arched an eyebrow and asked, “Haven’t you heard of the Borgias?”
“But why kill this cardinal?” asked Nate.
“Well, Ignacio was on to Marcel years ago. He was also the biggest threat to Mendoza. He evidently knew something about Mendoza. I’m not sure what. Maybe sex, maybe money.
“Also, Cardinal Garcia knew about Marcelino’s mistresses and their families. He knew a lot about the Soldados’ finances. He told me once that there were a lot of wire transfers around the world. Suspicious transfers to strange groups in Belgium and Italy. The cardinal also interviewed former soldado seminarians for the investigation of their order. He once came over to Rome to see John Paul II. He even tried to shut down the Soldados. Obviously, he wasn’t successful. But if there is anyone that Marcelino really hated, it was his countryman Ignacio.”
“What would be the motive to kill somebody?” asked Nate.
“Silence,” said Rodriguez. At first Nate was not sure if he was telling Nate to be silent or that silence was the motive for the killing.
Suddenly Rodriguez stopped talking while some people squeezed past them in the tiny trattoria.
After a couple of minutes, Rodriguez whispered, “It’s probably not safe to talk any more. But I will tell you this: Maybe the drug cartels pulled the trigger at the airport. But to me it seems the Soldados had a lot more motive to kill the cardinal from Guadalajara than the cartels. Whoever pulled the trigger, they did a favor for Marcelino.”
“Why would the cartels do Marcelino a favor?” Nate asked in a low voice.
Rodriquez shrugged and continued quietly, “Maybe they just did it for money. I don’t know. Marcelino has been friendly with everyone in Mexico who had money, which certainly includes some drug dealers. Maybe they were using him to launder money. He certainly could travel freely. Maybe they just killed Ignacio as a favor to their old pal Marcelino.”
The inner workings of the Vatican left Nate speechless for a moment.
After they finished their wine, Rodriguez collected his coat while Nate paid the bill. The monsignor stood at the restaurant entrance waiting, looking out the window. Nate noticed him peering out the glass at a black Mercedes parked in front of the restaurant. Two men were sitting in the car, looking straight ahead.
“What is it?” asked Nate, nodding toward the car.
“Oh, nothing, probably,” said the monsignor. “It looks like somebody is interested in where we are having our lunch.”
They turned right out of the trattoria and walked back through the Borgo Pio. As they walked, Rodriguez began to talk in a normal voice again.
“Really,” he said, “we’ve had a lot worse scandals than this in the history of the Church.”
“Worse than this?” asked Nate. He could hardly imagine how you could get any worse than a philandering pedophile who kept two secret mistresses and consorted with drug cartels to kill a cardinal. But then, the Church has a long hist
ory. “How do you figure?”
“Oh, my dear Mr. Condon, it has been a lot worse. Just take my department, as an example. Five hundred years ago the Vatican Secretary of State was called the office of the Cardinal Intimus. It was set up to handle correspondence with foreign governments. Pope Julius III gave the job to his intimus ‘cardinal nephew,’ a fourteen-year-old boy ironically named Innocenzo. The pope’s brother had adopted the boy as his son, at the pope’s request. They had seen Innocenzo when he was a beggar on the streets of Parma. The boy was illiterate, but exceedingly handsome. Julius showered him with gifts and money, and even bragged about the boy’s prowess in bed.
“Imagine,” said Rodriguez, “the pope bragging about how somebody was in bed. All of Europe at the time was scandalized. The Calvinists and the Lutherans at the time jumped all over the scandal. But the Church survived. We even reformed. We haven’t really had any big scandal in my office for five hundred years, so I guess we’re due.”
Nate thought to himself, This guy has become cynical.
Rodriguez looked back down the street toward the black Mercedes that was crawling after them through the narrow street of the Borgo.
“You know,” he said, “I don’t think I’ll go back to the office right now. Nobody does much work right after lunch in the Vatican anyway. I think I’ll go home for a little nap. I will talk to Miss Orsuto about working for you, Mr. Condon. If she is agreeable, I’ll have her call you at the Columbus. Ciao. I wish you well in your investigation.”
The monsignor abruptly turned left and jogged down a narrow side street, passing under a high archway that looked like it was once part of a Roman aqueduct.
Nate watched him go, surprised by the priest’s abrupt departure. After a few steps, Rodriguez broke into a run. He dodged a car on the Via dei Corridori, just beyond the archway, and flagged down a passing city bus. Once on board, the priest waved back to Nate from the window.
Meanwhile, the black Mercedes had paused at the corner where the monsignor had abruptly turned left. Then it started to crawl past Nate, who watched the car turn right at the corner and disappear from view.
Strange Gods Page 14