“Father, if you were convicted of spying in Chile, you’re lucky to be alive.”
“I was never convicted of anything.”
“Then you didn’t talk?”
“On the contrary.” Father de Aragon looked down at his deformed hands. “I told them everything. Their torture techniques could make anyone talk.” He let out a deep sigh. “My hands were the least of it.”
“Then why—”
“I told them everything,” the priest continued. “But they couldn’t make sense of the information. I didn’t know what it meant myself. I was only the courier. The information was in code, an unbreakable code, a Jesuit code.”
CHAPTER V
Rome
Sunday, June 16
Michael looked at James in surprise. He had studied codes as part of his training for the Specialists. Most codes were mathematical, or a combination of math and words, often with a code book as a reference key. Some codes posed an enormous challenge, but breaking any code was just a matter of time, intelligence and patience. The closest thing to an unbreakable code used a onetime pad as a key, which had to be delivered to everyone who needed it, and it could only be used once. Even that could be cracked if the pad was intercepted.
“Father, I’m sure the code was ingenious and your captors couldn’t figure out how to break it. But there’s no such thing as an unbreakable code.”
Father de Aragon gave a deep, throaty laugh. “You should have spent more time in our libraries. We have an unfortunate habit of underestimating our ancestors.”
Michael remembered the huge libraries filled with accounts of the Jesuits and the learning they had picked up from other cultures throughout the world. Centuries’ worth of information written by history’s most famous intellectuals. Part of the wealth of the Jesuit community was this vast collection of ancient books, meticulously catalogued and cross referenced.
Michael had assumed the works were pedantic religious texts, irrelevant for his study of international business, and later, international crime. Apparently, he had missed something important.
Father de Aragon explained. “We first got the idea in the sixteenth century from Matteo Ricci, who applied masterful memory techniques to learning Chinese and classical Chinese on his mission to China. The Chinese had great respect for scholars, and Matteo Ricci's feats of memory further endeared him to Governor Lu Wangai in the 1500s. Ricci became a favorite in the Chinese court, but jealous Dominicans and Fransicans successfully petitioned the Vatican to outlaw Ricci’s approach of embracing Chinese culture to win converts.” Father de Aragon’s face darkened when he mentioned the Dominicans and Franciscans.
“Father de Aragon is the Society’s foremost scholar in memory science,” James added.
Michael was intrigued. “So what were his memory techniques?”
Father de Aragon seemed energized by his interest. “Ricci created memory palaces in his mind. Each item in the palace represented a series of concepts. The rooms and locations within the palace served as directories and files, similar to computer data storage. Ricci instantaneously learned, retained and retrieved hundreds of new Chinese kanji, to the astonished delight of Chinese nobles.”
“Did he invent that technique?”
“No, but he developed it. Written evidence of mnemonic arts dates as far back as 2,000 B.C., and people likely used memory techniques long before that”
Father de Aragon rose and began pacing as he went on. “Aristotle was convinced that a trained memory helped the development of logical thought processes. Pliny wrote of Roman memory experts in his Historia Naturalis. Cicero praised memory training in his De Oratore. In Ad Herennium, another Cicero text, he discussed several memory devices employed in his time. Quintilian wrote a handbook on oratory, in which he explained his own memory devices. He believed that a trained memory was essential for an accomplished orator. St. Thomas Aquinas, born in 1225 A.D., a year after the death of Francis of Assisi, used memory arts in the study of philosophy and theology. Francesco Panigarola, born a couple of decades before Matteo Ricci, could recall hundreds of thousands of ideas at will, and he documented his memory techniques.”
“Why is this so important to the Jesuit community? And what does it have to do with why you’re here?” The lecture was fascinating, and any other time Michael would have enjoyed it, but he couldn’t forget what James had said earlier…or the events of yesterday morning.
Father de Aragon answered the first question, but sidestepped the second. “When St. Ignatius of Loyola founded the Society of Jesus in 1540, he was an avid student of memory arts. Matteo Ricci studied to become a priest in the late 1500s, and memory training was a required part of the curriculum at the Jesuit college in Rome. After Ricci, we explored and expanded the limits of the mind for more than four hundred years. We traveled and learned control of mind and body from the fakirs of India, control techniques of the Buddhists in China and Japan, the spiritual arts of shamans in Africa, trance states of Indian medicine men in North and South America, the magic of the Mayan shamans, hypnosis, extra-sensory techniques and telepathy. Year after year we improve, free of the nagging responsibilities of earning a living, raising a family, caring for aged relatives or shepherding a community of the faithful. We are always expanding the collective consciousness of the Society.”
Michael laughed. “‘We are the Borg. Resistance is futile.’”
Father de Aragon glanced down at him with a friendly smile. “Yes, I see how it could sound funny, at first. But it is a serious business. Language is an example of a combination of memory techniques and codes, but at a largely unconscious level. We’re a symbolic species. Symbols are the heart of all human communication.”
Michael nodded. “We encode a sound to an object or meaning.”
“Yes, and more. We encode feelings. Sometimes even against our will. The name of an enemy, for instance, can cause a change of feeling or state within a person, even when one doesn’t want it to.”
“I’ve had that experience,” Michael said dryly.
Father de Aragon smiled. “Of course, it works the same for positive feelings. Formal memory training consciously employs techniques our brain naturally uses on an unconscious level.”
“How does it work?”
“Picture in your mind ten pretty virgin girls sitting on chairs reading the Bible,” Father de Aragon said.
Michael smiled. “Got it.”
“Now think of this sentence: ‘Pretty Virgins Never Read Trash.’”.
“Okay.”
“Tell me the first letters of each word in the sentence.”
“PVNRT,” Michael responded.
“Right,” Father de Aragon said. “You may remember from high school chemistry: PV = nRT, the equation for the gaseous equilibrium of pressure, volume, and temperature where n is the molar value and R is a constant."
Michael grinned. “Yes, but it’s much easier to remember your way.”
“Now let’s get more complicated. I’m going to match numbers with phonetic sounds. Double letters don’t count. For instance, 0 is an ‘s’ or a ‘z’ sound; 1 is a ‘d’ or ‘t’ sound; 2 is an ‘n’ sound; 3 is an ‘m’ sound; 4 is an ‘r’ sound; 5 is an ‘l’ sound; 6 is a ‘ch’ or ‘sh’ sound; 7 is a hard ‘g’, hard ‘c’ or a ‘k’ sound; 8 is a ‘v’ or an ‘f’ sound, and 9 is a ‘b’ or ‘p’ sound.”
Father de Aragon paused to let Michael get the gist of what he was saying. Then he spoke rapidly: “It is much easier to remember the sentence, ‘Michael Visconte makes excellent coffee,’ than the string of numbers the sentence represents: ‘375807213707052178’.”
He slowed his speech and continued. “It’s a code. Once one knows the code, it is simple to create words to match numbers. Words are easier to remember than numbers. Then one can make mental pictures out of the words. Pictures are easier to remember than words.”
“You make it seem easy,” Michael said.
“The Jesuits have developed hundreds of memory techn
iques.”
“So what does this have to do with creating an unbreakable code? Any code that incorporated these techniques could be broken.”
Father de Aragon nodded. “You are correct, provided one can establish the frame of reference. Without that, one cannot break the code.”
“I don’t understand,” Michael said.
“During World War II, the Americans used the Navajo Indian language to transmit messages. It was a clever idea and a successful ploy for a very long time. The transmissions were frequently intercepted, but the other side couldn’t crack the code. No frame of reference. The Axis powers didn’t know the transmissions were a language until a linguist figured it out.”
“But they eventually cracked the code.”
“That is the problem with using a language, however arcane,” Father de Aragon agreed. “Even the language of a dead civilization can be deciphered if there is enough information to establish the frame of reference. Hieroglyphics is an example.”
“Latin is another,” Michael said.
Father de Aragon let out another deep throaty laugh. “Latin is still young and alive for Jesuits.”
“But how can you make an unbreakable code without a frame of reference?”
“You can’t really,” Father de Aragon admitted. “You can, however, limit the number of people who know the frame of reference.”
“By using code books.”
Father de Aragon shook his head. “Very messy. Code books can be copied or found. And they are damning evidence.”
“You’re telling me the Jesuits have a code without code books?”
“I’m telling you that the Jesuits have many such codes.”
Michael stared at de Aragon in amazement.
“Code study is voluntary, of course,” the priest said. “Soon after ordination, three compatible Jesuits work together for five years developing their own secret code. They eat, sleep and think together, combining their common experiences, their knowledge of Greek, Latin, math, private childhood experiences, parts of the Mass, memory arts and whatever else they want to throw into the mix.”
Father de Aragon paused again to let the implication of that sink in.
Their coffee had long since gone cold, and Michael reached over and snuffed the flame underneath the samovar. The coffee in it must have the consistency of mud. “Why three people?” he asked. “Doesn’t the risk of a leak increase exponentially, by the square of the number of people who have access to the information?”
Father de Aragon gave Michael a slight nod. “Impressive observation. We accept that risk. The investment of time and energy is enormous. When a code master dies, or is inaccessible, the third priest is a backup.”
“Then why not use more than three?”
A pained expression flashed across Father de Aragon’s face, and he glanced at Father James. For a moment he seemed to retreat into his own thoughts. Then he spoke again. “We are, after all, only human. It is better to limit the number of code masters in each group. When two of the priests in a group are gone, the code dies with them, and it is up to the remaining groups of code masters to pass information.”
“You were carrying a memorized coded message that you couldn’t break,” Michael said with dawning awareness. “Your Chilean government captors had no proof, no code books, even though you were cooperating.”
Father de Aragon nodded, in the manner of a proud teacher. “Eventually, the Society found me and used their influence to free me.” He paused, then smiled slightly. “My reception in Chile has improved since then.”
His voice was compelling, almost hypnotic. Michael felt as if the sound was carrying him along. He wasn’t in charge of the conversation, he realized. The priest was revealing things in the order he wanted them revealed.
“You sought me out,” Michael said. “Why? Why show me and tell me everything you have so far? What do you want from me?”
“The Society needs a favor,” Father de Aragon answered. “Do you recall Father Mark Manion?”
Michael frowned. “He was beaten. A Vigilo found him. Then Father Manion disappeared.” Two weeks ago, give or take a day, if Michael remembered correctly.
“He was bludgeoned to death in the Vatican,” Father James said. “We found his mutilated body in the catacombs under St. Peter’s.”
CHAPTER VI
Rome
Sunday, June 16
Michael sat motionless, staring across the coffee table at the two Jesuits. Father Mark Manion. He remembered the incident too well. Two weeks earlier, a priest in his early sixties stumbled out of the Vatican into the arms of Lorenzo Colonna, a startled rookie Vigilo. Blood had run down one side of the priest’s face and matted in his hair. He was incoherent and disoriented.
When Michael later questioned the frightened Vigilo, Colonna explained he didn’t know what to do. The priest’s injuries looked grave, and the man’s greyish pallor and unintelligible muttering horrified him. “I propped him up, and he vomited,” Colonna had said. “Almost hit some bystanders. If it weren’t for his cassock, I’d have thought he was an addict who’d just been roughed up. Then two more priests showed up and led him back onto Vatican soil. They said they would take care of things. I was relieved. Who wouldn’t be?”
Colonna couldn’t tell Michael the order to which the priests belonged or even if all three belonged to the same one. It happened so fast, and the priests seemed to know what they were doing. Not that Colonna ever would have thought to question a priest’s judgment.
Later, when he got off duty, he grew worried about the injured man. He made inquiries as to how the priest was faring, but the Vatican denied knowledge of the incident. He walked around the Vatican, looking for the two priests who had come to the other one’s rescue, but now every priest he saw looked alike. In his confusion, he hadn’t taken a good look at their faces.
Colonna at least had the presence of mind to file a report. A member of the Polizia, who wanted no trouble with the Vatican, referred the matter to the Carabinieri. They handed it on to the Specialists since, among other things, the Specialists were rumored to be involved in an investigation that had something to do with priests and the Vatican.
Michael’s own inquiries turned up a name, Father Mark Manion, but nothing more. Michael’s staff checked Rome’s hospitals. A priest had broken a foot and another fell off a bicycle and injured a shoulder, but no priest was brought in with head injuries. They checked hospitals on the outskirts of Rome, but nothing turned up there either. Private doctors known to treat injuries on the quiet were close-mouthed, and neighbors near their clinics didn’t remember seeing an injured man being brought in for aid that day.
Michael’s further inquiries in the Vatican were met with either polite stonewalling or assertive denial. Now he knew why.
***
“Let me guess,” Michael said slowly. “Father Manion’s genitals were cut off and found in his mouth.”
He waited for a reaction, but Father de Aragon didn’t flinch. The priest must know the details of Father Pintozzi’s death. In fact, he seemed to take it for granted that Michael would fill in the blanks; de Aragon seemed to know what was in his mind. Michael felt a renewed respect for the man, and he also knew it would be very dangerous to underestimate him.
“Why didn’t you go to the Roman police?” Michael asked.
“This has nothing to do with Rome. I chose you because Father James trusts you. That means everything in the Jesuit community,” Father de Aragon said. “And because…”
“Because you knew Father Manion. He was a member of your code group.” Another guess, but Michael felt confident of it. Father Manion was the right age, and Father de Aragon seemed to have a personal interest in the case.
“No, he wasn’t.” Father de Aragon said. “I believe you met Father Graf in the Vatican Museum yesterday. He is in my code group. Soon you will meet the third member, Father Pleurre. Father Manion was merely a good friend. I chose you because you found the body of Father
Matteo Pintozzi.” Father de Aragon paused, then said the last thing Michael would have expected. “My friend…and former lover.”
Michael’s stomach knotted in revulsion. Father de Aragon had seemed like the perfect priest—poised and calm, with the dignity that comes from years of self-respect and self-knowledge. He had not pegged the man as a homosexual. He felt a stab of betrayal. He glanced at Father James, but James’s face was neutral.
Michael looked back at Father de Aragon. The priest’s expression held no apology. He looked serene, as if he had never experienced fear or pain. His face was that of a saint.
Quietly, Father de Aragon answered the question Michael had not asked. “It was just after Father Matteo moved to the Vatican. Everyone liked Matteo. He was vibrant and seductive, full of life and ambition. He was blessed with a quick mind and uncommon physical beauty. We had an affair for about a year. He initiated it. I broke it off about five years ago to renew my vows of celibacy.”
“What do you mean, you renewed your vows?”
“I had been celibate since ordination. I knew I was a homosexual when I joined the Society, but that isn’t why I became a priest.”
"What do you mean by that?” Michael’s voice held a trace of accusation.
“When I was ordained,” Father de Aragon said, “many homosexuals became priests because it was one of the few places to run. In the mid-sixties, when I took my vows, homosexuals were vilified by society.”
“I’m not sure things are much different today, especially in Italy,” Michael said. “But you’re a priest. Priests are supposed to be celibate.” He gave James a questioning look. This time James nodded. Michael felt a surge of relief. At least one icon had not been destroyed.
“Yes,” Father de Aragon said, without apology. “But Matteo never took the vow of chastity seriously. The priesthood, and the access it gave him to other young adult men, was his private candy store. He was an ambitious opportunist. I am highly placed in the Society. Matteo thought I could help him.”
Archangels: Rise of the Jesuits Page 5