Strange Gods

by Peter J. Daly

  Their walk led them to the Piazza del Duomo, the cathedral square. In the light of the June sunset, the façade of the cathedral actually appeared to glow as the orange light struck the hundreds of thousands of bits of gold in the mosaics. They stood there in silence, transfixed for a minute by the sight of the shimmering cathedral.

  Brigid broke the silence. “What kind of faith and love motivates such art?” she asked rhetorically.

  “I don’t know,” said Nate. “Sometimes we lose sight of the miracles of our own religion. It is easier to find miracles in things that are strange. That’s why Westerners turn to Buddhism, and Asians turn to Christianity.”

  They tugged on the front doors of the cathedral, but they were already locked for the night. Inside was the cathedral’s prize relic, a bloodstained napkin called a corporal from the miracle of Bolsena. Legend has it that a twelfth-century priest, who doubted the transubstantiation of the bread and wine into the body and blood of Christ, saw the host bleed. The bloodstained corporal was preserved and brought to Orvieto. For centuries, hundreds of thousands of pilgrims have come to see it. Even today, they come. Whether the pilgrims are faithful, curious, or merely gullible, what they see is in the eye of the beholder.

  As they walked back to the hotel, Brigid took Nate’s arm. “I have to tell you something that Sister Miriam told me yesterday. When I was in Bruges, I visited that guy Bernard Willebroeck, the one you asked me to see. Sister Miriam tells me that our visit really upset him. He was even more upset to learn that some Vatican investigation was focused on him. Miriam thinks he might be dangerous. His group has been responsible for demonstrations in Flanders and maybe even a few cases of arson. Apparently, this guy had been a priest in the Congo, where he got a woman pregnant. He was sent home, and she died in childbirth. He always had it out for the cardinal who sent him home. The retired cardinal died in a fire not too many years ago, and people say that Bernard may have been responsible. Miriam thinks this Bernard fellow has even more reason to be angry at bishops, because his nephew was molested by a priest and the bishop did nothing. Then it later came out that the bishop himself was molesting his own nephew.”

  They stopped walking. Sometimes, news is so shocking it is necessary to stop to take it in.

  “Whew,” said Nate. “I had no idea when I first started turning over rocks in this investigation what kind of vermin I would find living underneath. It really shakes your faith. I wonder if I’ve made a mistake putting my faith in the Church all these years.”

  Brigid could see that all the scandal was actually painful to him.

  “Well,” she said, “our faith was never in this Church anyway. It was always in something bigger and more mysterious than any institution, no matter how old. It was in God, I guess,” she said, “and in each other.”

  “I’m really happy to hear you say that,” said Nate.

  “What, the part about God?” asked Brigid.

  “Yes, but more the part about each other,” said Nate.

  They stepped into a darkened doorway, and he pulled her to him. They ambled back to the hotel, hand in hand. They hadn’t walked that way in years. In the room, looking out at the floodlit walls of the Cathedral of Orvieto, Nate said, “I’m glad you came over.”

  “So am I,” said Brigid.

  26

  THE AUTOSTRADA

  GOING BACK TO ROME, THE TRAFFIC ON THE AUTOSTRADA was terrible. Sundays are the worst days to drive in Italy, because Italians vacate their cities every weekend for houses in the mountains or at the seaside. The return is pure gridlock.

  Brigid and Nate were reluctant to leave Orvieto, but Nate had a presentation to make on Monday to Cardinal O’Toole, Tracy, and the police. The cardinal needed to hear the results of the investigation before the conclave began on Thursday.

  Once on the autostrada, surrounded by noisy trucks and speeding cars, it was not very pleasant to have the top down on the Alfa, so they stopped at the Autogrill to put the top up and to buy gas. Brigid went into the gift shop and bought a half-kilo bar of Torrone, a super-sweet nougat bar loaded with nuts. “In the States we can only get these at Christmas,” said Brigid when she came back to the car.

  As Nate was pumping gas, Brigid noticed two men leaning against a black Mercedes, parked at the entrance of the Autogrill. They seemed to be looking in their direction. One of them had a ponytail. Looks like that guy, Bernard, thought Brigid. The other had a shaved head and big arms like the guy who broke into their room at the Four Seasons.

  Once back on the autostrada, cars were at very close quarters. Italians tailgate recklessly and drive incredibly fast. In Europe they say that Germans drive fast because they are in a hurry. But Italians drive fast because it is fun.

  Nate mostly played it safe, staying in the poky lane on the right-hand side as they headed south. After they had traveled only a few kilometers on the highway, the black Mercedes they had seen at the Autogrill started keeping pace with them, to their left, in the passing lane.

  “Why doesn’t this damn guy just pass?” wondered Nate.

  “I saw those two guys back at the rest stop,” said Brigid.

  Just then, the man in the passenger seat near Nate rolled down his window and pointed a long black object at them.

  “Oh, God, he’s got a gun,” screamed Brigid. Nate later said it was a nightstick or a piece of black pipe.

  Just then the Mercedes seemed to swerve into their lane. It hit the left fender of the Alfa. Nate jerked the wheel to the right, and the Alfa veered onto the shoulder. There was no way to stop, because cars were bearing down on their tail.

  When the Mercedes hit the Alfa, the man in the passenger seat made a jerking motion with a stick, as if he were going to shoot them. Nate was trying to control the car, but Brigid got a good look at them.

  Nate got the car under control and brought the Alfa to a stop on the shoulder. Brigid was screaming, “Oh, my God! Oh, my God!”

  Nate’s heart raced, but he said nothing. He got out to inspect the damage. There was a gash in the left front fender, but the tire was intact. They were shaken, but there was no serious damage to them or the car.

  “What was that about?” yelled Brigid out the window.

  “I don’t know,” said Nate as he got back in the car. “I think someone is trying to send us a message.”

  “They could have killed us,” said Brigid.

  “If they had wanted to kill us, they would have,” said Nate. “I think this was just a warning. Get out your cell phone and call the police.”

  “I don’t speak Italian,” said Brigid.

  “Doesn’t matter,” said Nate. “They can trace our location from the cell phone. Just keep saying ‘help, accident, autostrada.’ They’ll figure it out.”

  While they were waiting for the police, Brigid told Nate, “I think I saw the man who was in the passenger seat back at the rest stop. He looked sort of like that guy Bernard that I met back in Bruges.”

  Ten minutes later, two Italian traffic police officers arrived on their Moto Guzzi motorcycles. They took an accident report, but there was nothing to do. Nate called his contact at the Carabinieri in Rome and asked him to do a little investigating.

  “Somebody in a black Mercedes just tried to run us off the road. It was a big car, probably E class. It had EU plates, but I couldn’t get the number. See if you can check this out for us.”

  “Va bene,” said his contact and hung up.

  After the traffic police left, Nate pulled the car back onto the roadway. The Alfa roared up to 120 kilometers in a matter of seconds.

  “Who was it?” asked Brigid.

  “Not sure,” said Nate. “Maybe the Mafia, but I don’t think so. They would not hesitate to pull the trigger.”

  “I wonder if it was the Bruges crowd,” said Brigid. “Miriam said they were pretty angry about our visit. But why would they do that? They could have killed us.”

  “Somebody may want to silence me,” said Nate. “There is a lot more at st
ake than a few reputations.”

  * * *

  The dome on St. Peter’s was lit up by the time they got back to Rome. As they turned onto the Conciliazione, they were glad to get back to the safety of the hotel.

  “I don’t look forward to dealing with the insurance on this car,” said Nate. “From what I hear of Italian insurance bureaucrats, I’ll probably have two years of paperwork just to get this dent repaired.”

  “I’ll leave the paperwork to you,” said Brigid. “I want a hot bath.”

  * * *

  Nate’s presentation to the panel that would review his investigation was Monday morning. He was up early and off to his office before Brigid was awake.

  Preparations were already underway for Thursday’s conclave to elect a new pope. Cardinal O’Toole needed the report before the conclave began, so that an explanation could be made to the other cardinals.

  Nate packed up like he was going to court. He had a big briefcase, like lawyers carry to court, plus his laptop and some background material on each of the deceased cardinals.

  Just as Nate loaded up his briefcase, Brigid walked through the door. “Surprise,” she said. “Just thought I would wish you well.” Nate beamed and gave her a big hug.

  His assistant, Sandra, interrupted. “The captain from the autostrada police is here,” she said. “He has some information about the accident.”

  A tall policeman stood in the doorway behind her. Nate motioned him into the room.

  “Good morning,” the captain said in English, tipping his hat toward Brigid.

  Nate noticed the gesture and said, “Oh, scusi, this is my wife, Brigid.”

  The policeman said, “Piacere signora.”

  Nate asked, “What have you got for us?”

  “I have some information about your accident yesterday on the autostrada. We ran the plates on the black Mercedes that hit you on the A1. It is registered to a Mexican national, a Jorge Carillo. He works for the Collegio degli Soldados de Cristo in the Via Aurelia. That’s the seminary of the Soldados de Cristo.

  “We went to the car owner’s home on the grounds of the seminary. There we found the Mercedes, with some damage on the right front fender. Red paint, too. Could have been from your Alfa.”

  “We interviewed the owner of the car and another man with a ponytail who matched the description you gave us. We took them down to the Questura and charged them with leaving the scene of an accident. We also gave them a citation.”

  “So it evidently wasn’t your Bruges crowd,” said Nate to Brigid. “Looks like it was the Soldados. You know the Soldados, that group Bill and Peggy are so fond of.” Nate chuckled to himself. “Odd,” he said. “I’ve been threatened by the mob, but never by a couple of guys working for a seminary. Rome is surreal.”

  The police officer opened a leather case and placed two photos on Nate’s desk. “Do you recognize either of these men?” he asked.

  Walking over to the desk, Brigid said, “We didn’t see the driver.”

  Picking up one of the photos, she said, “This is definitely the passenger. The guy with the ponytail.” Then, picking up the second picture and raising her voice, she said, “Look, Nate, this is the guy from Washington. The one with the big arms who was with Peggy at the hotel, and in the picture in The Times.”

  The police captain said, “Grazie, we will prepare the papers for the complaint and get back to you.” He packed up his briefcase, made a little bow toward Brigid, and left the office.

  27

  THE PRESENTATION

  NATE HAD RESERVED THE LIBRARY OF THE KNIGHTS OF Malta on the Via Condotti for his presentation. It was a twenty-minute ride in morning traffic through central Rome.

  Nate was the last to arrive. When he entered the high-ceilinged room, the representatives of the police, Bill Tracy, and two cardinals were already seated in high-backed leather chairs arranged in a semicircle facing a screen. There was a projector sitting on a table in front of the screen.

  Besides Cardinal O’Toole and Bill Tracy, the group included the head of the Vatican police, a regional inspector for Interpol, the commandant of the Swiss Guard, an Italian magistrate who was in charge of investigating the Camorra, and Cardinal Paolo Santini, the vice camerlengo of the Vatican. He ran the mechanics of the Vatican after Crepi’s suicide.

  After introductions, Nate went right into his presentation.

  “Gentlemen, we are here to review the findings, thus far, of the Holy See’s investigation into the murders of Cardinal Manning from New York and five other cardinals of the Roman Catholic Church.

  “As you know, these deaths have been widely reported in the news and have been the focus of an enormous amount of official and unofficial investigation. To our knowledge, no other investigation is attempting to link these deaths to one another, but we believe they may be connected. We are also investigating two other deaths, the suicide of Cardinal Crepi and the murder of Monsignor Ackerman, which are related to this investigation. A brief report and biography on each of the six murdered cardinals, as well as crime-scene photos, if we have them, were distributed to you as you arrived.”

  Nate switched on the projector, and photos of the dead cardinals appeared on the screen as Nate called each name.

  “The six murdered cardinals are Cardinal Alfonse Lohrman, the Archbishop of Santiago, Chile, who died in a clinic in Santiago where he had gone for a routine outpatient operation.

  “Cardinal Ignacio Garcia of Guadalajara, Mexico, who died at the airport in Monterrey, Mexico, where he had gone for a meeting of the Bishops’ Conference of Mexico. He was caught in the crossfire of what appeared, at the time, to be a fight between two drug cartels.

  “Cardinal Modesto Rondo, Archbishop of Manila, who died in a horrific ten-car pileup on an expressway in the Philippines. Two other people were killed in that accident.

  “Cardinal Patrice Musaku from Kinshasa in the Congo, who died one year ago in a fire at his cottage on the grounds of the provincial seminary.

  “Cardinal Antonio deCapo, Archbishop of Milan, who apparently died from food poisoning three months ago after dining at one of Milan’s finest restaurants.

  “And finally, the Cardinal Archbishop of New York, Francis X. Manning, who was assassinated about one month ago at St. Patrick’s Cathedral just as he began a funeral for the former US attorney general, Frank Sullivan.

  “Of course, you are all aware of the details surrounding the suicide of Cardinal Crepi and the gruesome murder of Monsignor Ackerman, which have been widely reported in the media here in Rome.

  “The question for the Holy See is twofold: Are these deaths related and, if so, what group or groups are responsible?”

  “There is another question,” interjected the head of the Swiss Guard, Klaus Speirman. “How do we protect the cardinals in the conclave next week?”

  “I’ll leave that question for you,” said Nate. “My portfolio only extends to who and why. The police are investigating these deaths in each of their home countries, and we have used their investigations in our own inquiries. Here is what we know so far about these various cases.”

  Nate clicked the projector again, and the picture of Cardinal Musaku reappeared on the screen.

  “We can eliminate two cardinals from the list of criminal or suspicious deaths: Musaku and Rondo.

  “It appears that Cardinal Patrice Musaku died in an accidental fire when his retirement cottage on the grounds of the seminary burned to the ground. The cardinal was a heavy smoker, and there was evidence that he fell asleep while smoking in bed. There was no evidence of arson or foul play, despite persistent rumors that a group called New Church in Belgium may have been behind the fire. New Church is headed by ex-priest Bernard Willebroeck.”

  Nate pressed the projector’s remote control, and a picture of Bernard appeared on the screen. “Authorities are continuing to monitor Willebroeck and his group. There also seems to be some connection of this group to the Mafia, which sent him substantial sums through inter
national wire transfers.

  “Since he has violated money-laundering statutes in the European Union, we have requested his arrest by the authorities in Belgium. I understand that was accomplished this morning. His computers and communications equipment have been seized. If his group is a threat to anyone, it has been neutralized for the present.”

  “Good,” said Tracy.

  O’Toole nodded, apparently satisfied. “What about Cardinal Rondo? He was such a young man. You said his death was not suspicious. What happened to him?”

  “Well,” said Nate, “sometimes a traffic accident is just a traffic accident, and that seems to be the case here. The traffic in Manila is notorious. Visibility was very poor in a rainstorm on a divided highway. Cardinal Rondo was driving in a small car, a Hyundai Accent. There were ten cars involved in the accident. Cardinal Rondo’s car was sandwiched between two larger trucks, and he was killed instantly. In my estimation, it was just an accident.”

  “There’s the argument for a big car,” interjected Tracy with a chuckle. The others turned and looked at him. They did not see any humor in the moment.

  Nate looked in Tracy’s direction and cleared his throat. “The deaths of the remaining four cardinals are suspicious, as are the deaths of Crepi and Ackerman. Our investigation has uncovered evidence definitively linking Cardinal Crepi and Monsignor Ackerman to the Camorra. It also appears that the deaths of three cardinals, Manning, Lohrman, and deCapo, may also have been related to Mafia activity. All three of these cardinals served on the board of the IOR. It has been suspected for years that the Mafia has been using the Vatican Bank to launder money.”

  Nate clicked to the slide of Lohrman’s face. “Cardinal Lohrman was a reformer. He wanted to clean up or close the bank. But he was compromised by his cooperation with the Chilean generals in the 1980s. Perhaps the Mafia used his vulnerability to pressure him to allow the IOR to continue laundering money. In any case, it appeared he wanted to stop it, so they might have wanted to kill him.”