Archangels: Rise of the Jesuits

by Tavakoli, Janet M.

  “I am afraid that is no longer possible, Papa.” Father Herzog used the Latin term for the Pope, making it sound like a childish nickname.

  The Pope’s face reddened and he glared at Father Herzog. “If you cannot turn over all the evidence, there must be a good reason, and We are prepared to hear that reason now."

  Calmly, Father Herzog delivered his bombshell. “We—and by ‘we’ I don’t mean the Papal ‘We,’ I mean The Society—have already turned over copies of the evidence to the Specialists in Rome. The Specialists are in the process of distributing information to the international press.”

  The Pope clenched his hands around the documents. “What possessed you to do a thing like that? You should have come to Us first. This is a disaster! Why did you do it?”

  Father Herzog gave his best guileless smile. “Because I knew Your Holiness could not rest unless this corruption and those guilty of it were exposed once and for all.”

  “We should have made that decision. We rule in the Vatican.”

  “Without doubt, Your Holiness rules in the Vatican,” Father Herzog said evenly. “It is a shame that so many of these crimes occurred off Vatican soil and broke laws in other countries. From that list, Your Holiness can see that many of the perpetrators are now in the United States, Italy, Switzerland and Latin America.”

  The Pope stared long and hard. Father Herzog waited, calm and sure of himself. After several seconds, the Pope’s stiff posture sagged slightly. “What do you suggest We do next?”

  Father Herzog reached again for his black leather briefcase. He took out three additional documents and a gold pen, and set them down. He rose and walked to the Pope’s private desk, took up the Papal seal, returned to his chair and placed the seal next to the pen on the table in front of him. Then he picked up the documents.

  “I suggest Your Holiness write a Papal encyclical giving broad administrative powers, including the power of excommunication, to the Society. We have taken the liberty of drafting one. If Your Holiness approves, Your Holiness need only sign these documents and affix the Papal seal. I have provided Your Holiness with three translations: one in German, one in Latin and one in English. Father Heilman is waiting outside this room to act as another witness.”

  Father Herzog handed the German version to the Pope. The Pope took it as if it were a small dead animal. He read through the document, and when he looked up, his face showed fear.

  “You are asking to preempt the tribunal of Cardinals,” the Pope said, his voice shaking. “You are asking for broad powers to police the other Orders. You are asking Us to authorize a Jesuit Rota. And you ask for Our censure of sexual activities by members of the clergy, in effect admitting their wrongdoing.”

  “I realize it is a lot to digest in one sitting,” Father Herzog said. “Take all the time Your Holiness needs, but I urge Your Holiness to sign sooner rather than later.”

  The Pope’s voice hardened. “You have gone mad. Why would We relinquish this much power to the Jesuits?”

  “Because Your Holiness cannot pay Your Holiness’ bills,” Father Herzog said, as he took one last sheet of paper from his briefcase and handed it over. “We have diverted all of the money from Vatican-related accounts to a temporary safe place. We are prepared to give it back as soon as Your Holiness signs these papers.”

  The Pope scanned the paper. He turned a deeper red and his eyes bulged. “Thieves!”

  “The Vatican is no stranger to theft. I recall us paying $250 million in reparations to Banco Ambrosiano after the embezzlement three decades ago.”

  Father Herzog sat back in his chair. He took up the encyclicals and held them out, his gaze never leaving the Pope’s. He watched a succession of impulses play across the Pontiff’s face: throw Herzog out, call the guards, defy him and the Society somehow. Then, finally, reality sank in. The Pope looked down at the paper in his hand, then back to the encyclicals Father Herzog held. He hesitated a full minute and then took the documents with trembling hands.

  Father Herzog called to the Maestro di Camera. The bishop entered the room so quickly, Father Herzog knew he had stayed right by the door. Trying to listen, probably. “Please show Father Heilman in,” Father Herzog said smoothly in Latin, as the Pope picked up the gold pen. “We are ready for him now.”

  CHAPTER XXIII

  Ostia

  Friday, June 21

  Michael struggled to find a comfortable position in the shower. Everything hurt. He had gratefully gone to the emergency room after his encounter with Father Pleurre. He’d luckily avoided serious injuries, but his ear and scalp needed stitches, and two painful broken ribs sported tape. His head and face were bruised and swollen in spots, and deep breaths caused him stabbing pain.

  He lathered his arms, trying to keep the adhesive on his ribs dry. A sudden noise almost made him drop the soap.

  Through the shower door’s wavy glass, Michael saw Helena enter the bathroom. She wore only a towel. She came over, and her towel slipped to the floor as she opened the shower door and stepped in beside him.

  The sight of her made him forget his pain. “Good morning,” Michael said with a huge grin.

  “Good morning, yourself.” Helena reached for the soap. She lathered herself quickly, then rubbed against him.

  He loved the feeling of the warm water cascading down his back and her slippery body next to his. She smelled clean and fresh. They stood pressed against each other with the water raining down on them. Michael knew his tape was getting wet, but he didn’t care anymore.

  Helena pressed her hips against him. He kissed her long and hard on the mouth, and felt himself grow hard against the lower part of her stomach. His hands slid down her back, then up around her breasts and back down between her legs. Before she could move his hand away, he began rubbing her in deft circular motions. He laughed with pleasure at her moans when she reached a shuddering orgasm. She tried to reciprocate, but he wouldn’t let her. They rinsed off the soap and quickly toweled each other off, and Michael led her into the bedroom.

  They made love, moving carefully because of his ribs, both of them taking their time. “Michael,” Helena said after they’d gathered their strength.

  “Yes?”

  “I drove Susan to the airport.”

  He nodded, suddenly almost afraid to speak.

  They both said nothing for a few moments. Finally Helena spoke again. “Michael, did you think all of this was an accident?”

  He didn’t understand. “All of what?”

  “Happiness. The way we live our lives, the way our children are, the way our home is, the way our employees respect us, the good friends we have, our marriage. None of that is an accident. It comes from the conscious decisions we make every day of our lives.”

  He hadn’t thought about it quite like that before, but he realized he had been happy. Between his career and his other responsibilities, he’d simply taken it all for granted. “I know,” he admitted finally. “For a long time, I’ve just been along for the ride.”

  “But no more,” Helena said firmly. “If you’re in, you’re in one hundred percent.”

  He shifted position, ignoring the sharp twinges in his side, to look directly at her. “One hundred percent.”

  He expected her to smile, but she didn’t. She looked at him as if analyzing a problem, distant and dispassionate. A chill of anxiety ran down his spine.

  “After this case is prosecuted, I’m leaving the Specialists,” he said. “You were right. The risk isn’t worth it.”

  “Do you think it’s as simple as that? A little sex, a few words and all is forgotten? After everything that’s happened, I’m not sure I know who you are, Michael. But I’m willing to give you a chance.”

  “A chance. Helena, I’m your husband.”

  Her expression then made Michael sit up. “Only when it suits you,” she said coolly. “You’ve acted like a guest in this house. You’ve put all our lives in jeopardy. You’ve left the makings of this family to me, and I nearly
saw it destroyed.” She glanced away from him, then turned back and rested her hand on his. “I’ll give you a chance, Michael, but I want to see if you can go the distance.”

  CHAPTER XXIV

  Vatican City

  Saturday, June 22

  Father James looked around the conference table at the remaining members of the Rota. They had won; they could operate with virtual carte blanche under the Pope’s authority. The leaders of the other Orders had been contacted and stood ready to support the Jesuits. But the cost was enormous. The Rota now numbered only nine, and they had another decision to make.

  Father Herzog spoke. “Early this morning, all of the money in the Archangeli accounts reappeared in the Society’s accounts. Shortly afterward, the Archangeli found that all of their data had been destroyed. Nothing was left but a message flashing on their computer screens: ‘Ad majoram Dei gloriam.’”

  Father Aiello made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh. “One of Saint Ignatius’s favorite mottos. All their friends will think the Archangeli double-crossed them. Unless they can trace it back to us?”

  James smiled. “Unlikely. They’re preoccupied trying to save themselves.”

  Father Herzog went on. “I have ordered all members of the Archangeli in Latin America back to the safety of Rome, so they cannot be prosecuted or harmed by their tax dodging friends. We will excommunicate them, and then release them in Italy. “Our Latin American friends, meanwhile, will help us clean house and reclaim the Church. So now, only one question remains: What do we do with the money from the Archangeli accounts?”

  “We keep it,” Father James replied.

  All eyes turned toward him. “The way things now stand,” he continued, “we can’t hurt anyone in the Archangeli by keeping it. I can’t see returning money to tax dodgers. If they complain, they may expose themselves. And the Society can use more cash right now.”

  A murmur ran around the table. “What about taxes?” Father Aiello asked.

  Father James gave a broad smile. “Have we ever paid taxes on donations to the Church?”

  CHAPTER XXV

  Ostia

  Sunday, June 22

  Father James said a family mass at the villa, and afterwards he and Michael sat in the shade of a trellis on the terrace. The breakfast table was set with bone china and held platters of fresh fruit, croissants, and boiled eggs. James poured himself some freshly squeezed orange juice. “Now that you’ve solved your case,” he said, “what do you intend to do with your life?”

  “We still have to prosecute. There’s still a lot of work to be done.”

  “But after that?”

  “I’m leaving the Specialists, but beyond that, I haven’t had time to give it much thought.” Michael said. He watched James peel a blood orange. “Did you know about Father Pleurre?”

  “I guessed. I warned the Society, but they didn’t believe me, and I had no proof. Only suspicions, and a diagnosis that made him among the most dangerous types of people. A malignant narcissist. But a diagnosis is both art and science. There is room for error, and I was overruled.”

  Michael knew the term. He had taken a criminal psychology course as part of VICAP, the Violent Criminal Apprehension Program, at the FBI National Academy in the United States. They taught foreign counter-intelligence to law enforcement officers from all over the world.

  James went on. “Narcissists have poor self-esteem, but they are typically very successful. They feel entitled; they’re self-important; they crave admiration and lack empathy. They are also exploitative and envious. The malignant types never forget a slight. They may kill you ten years later for cutting them off in traffic. But they act perfectly normal while plotting their revenge.”

  “When Father Pleurre thought Father Matteo had betrayed the Society, it must have felt personal,” Michael said.

  “I think it was more than that.” James took a deep breath. “I think Father Pleurre wanted Father Matteo’s admiration. Father Pleurre may well have been a latent homosexual, but he couldn’t admit it to himself. So he jumped to the wrong conclusion that Father Matteo betrayed the Society, partly to justify murdering him for a slight he couldn’t acknowledge. He wanted Matteo. But Matteo was oblivious to his interest.”

  “He was enraged when I confronted him,” Michael said. “He couldn’t accept that Matteo wasn’t a traitor.”

  James finished the orange and helped himself to a croissant and eggs. “At any rate, now the Society needs someone to replace Father Pleurre. Someone more balanced. We were thinking of recruiting outside the clergy for the job. Perhaps a family man.” He grinned at Michael. “I believe you’ll find it very lucrative.”

  Michael thought about the implied offer. Managing enormous wealth with the kind of edge the Jesuits could offer was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. He could keep his promise to Helena and have the job of his dreams. With the kind of wealth he was being offered and connections unmatched by anyone, he’d have power to rival the U.S. Federal Reserve Bank, the most influential financial institution in the world. “It’s tempting,” he said finally.

  He looked across the garden, where Helena played with Luke and Anthony. He didn’t want to give James an answer just yet. He wasn’t sure how much of a commitment he wanted to make to the Jesuits or to the Church.

  “This has been a difficult time for the Society. We’re saying a requiem mass next week to again mourn the deaths of all of our fallen Jesuits. Will you come?” James asked.

  “Yes, of course I’ll attend.” Michael scanned his friends face for any sign of regret, but found none. “I hope it was all worth it. You have everything you wanted: control of the Vatican Bank, control of the congregation’s global finances, and the authority of the Pope to clean house.”

  “No,” said James. “This is just the beginning. We have much bigger plans.”

  Michael took care not to bump his sore ribs against his armrest as he turned to face James. “What do you mean by much bigger plans?”

  “Come to the mass and after that we’ll meet again with Father Herzog.” James refused to say more.

  They sat for several minutes watching Luke and Anthony play and listening to the summer sounds of splashing water and the boys’ excited voices.

  James followed Michael’s gaze with a knowing smile. “You seem very far away.”

  “No, I’m not far away at all,” Michael said. “But I have a long way to go. A very long way. I need to see if I can go the distance.”

  “And where will you end up?”

  “I’m not sure,” Michael answered. “But I have the feeling the best is yet to come.”

  Afterword

  Although this is a work of fiction, references to the Vatican Bank financial scandal in the 1980’s, the 1982 murder of Roberto Calvi, and the present day prosecution of priests in the United States for sex crimes against children are inspired by actual events.

  In 1974, the crash of Franklin National Bank was the largest in the history of the United States. The Vatican Bank lost $55 million when Franklin collapsed. Michele Sindona, a Franklin National Bank officer, ran a money-laundering operation for Sicilian and U.S. Mafiosi, and he was sentenced to twenty-five years in the Otisville U.S. Federal prison. A United States Comptroller of the Currency’s report unearthed the secret account of “Big Paul” Castellano, underboss of the Gambino crime family. At the time Sindona was internationally famous for his bold financial crimes. His marriage also got a lot of press, as did his several mistresses.

  When Sindona’s friend Roberto Calvi, the chairman of Banco Ambrosiano—also known as “the priests’ bank”—turned his back on him, Sindona told Italian banking authorities to start investigating Calvi’s foreign special purpose corporations and links to the Vatican Bank.

  Paul Casimir Marcinkus was born in 1922 in Cicero, Illinois, Al Capone’s neighborhood. By 1969 he had risen within the Catholic Church to become Archbishop of Orta and Secretary of the Roman Curia. Marcinkus was a hulking, charming American o
f Lithuanian heritage. His lucky break arrived in November 1970 when a knife-wielding would-be assassin lunged at Pope Paul VI during a papal tour in the Philippines. Marcinkus tackled the assassin, saved Pope Paul VI’s life, and instantly became a shooting star in the Vatican. The grateful Pope appointed Marcinkus head of Vatican intelligence and security. In 1971, with Cardinal Spellman’s backing, Marcinkus became head of the Instituto per le Opere di Religione, the Institute of Religious Work, better known in Europe as the IOR and in the United States as the Vatican Bank. He remained in that post until 1989. In 1981 he was appointed Pro-President of Vatican City, the third most powerful person in the Vatican, a sixth of a square mile sovereign state surrounded by Italy. Marcinkus attended a wedding for Michele Sindona’s daughter in the Caribbean. Marcinkus also knew Roberto Calvi, whose links with the Vatican Bank inspired Calvi’s nickname, “God’s Banker.” The Vatican Bank facilitated some of Calvi’s shady business dealings.

  After Pope Paul VI died in August 1978, the College of Cardinals elected Albino Luciani, the Cardinal of Venice. He ascended to the papal throne as Pope John Paul I. It was rumored the new Pope was furious with Marcinkus. Marcinkus had sold the profitable Venetian Bank, Banco Cattolica del Veneto, to Roberto Calvi over the then-Cardinal Luciani's vehement objections. Luciani was said to have vowed that if he became Pope, he would put an end to Archbishop Marcinkus’s power and influence over Vatican affairs.

  Pope John Paul I didn’t have a chance to implement his plans; he unexpectedly died on September 28, 1978 after reigning only thirty-three days. Vatican intelligence said he died of natural causes, even though he was reputed to be in good health. Speculation over the cause of his death inspired a scene showing the murder of the Pope in the movie, The Godfather Part III.

  Pope John Paul II’s October 1978 election was a stroke of luck for Marcinkus. The Polish Pope was initially an outsider in the Vatican power structure; he was the first non-Italian Pope since Hadrian VI in 1522. Marcinkus and the Pope became fast friends, and the Pope became one of Marcinkus’s supporters. In 1982 Marcinkus foiled an assassination attempt against Pope John Paul II in Fatima, Portugal. By then Marcinkus was implicated in Mafia-linked financial scandals splashed on the front pages of European newspapers.