The Pope sat down and asked Mitchell: “Ready?”
The bishop nodded, then Peter ordered Samson: “Sit down.”
He turned toward Clarence and began walking in his direction.
“Terry? Up here with me.”
Samson froze. Clarence laughed. Peter smiled as their eyes met. “New assignment.” As he seated himself in the vacant chair to the left, the Pope directed his attention to Control. “Is Magi III up yet?”
“No, Holiness,” Delta replied. “We’re still only getting about 30 percent.”
Three communications satellites held the daily operations of the Roman Catholic Church together. Magi I, Magi II, and on good days, Magi III. Ariane, the European space agency, was responsible for maintenance and Magi III had been nothing but trouble since its launch seven months before. Its primary purpose—at a cost of $870,000,000—was to provide a more secured web for the guarded communications passing between Sanctuary Creek and the Vatican, to increase the reach of the Roman Catholic Church Broadcast Network and to facilitate the daily updates from the provinces that Castro had recently urged the Pope were bordering on critical.
“Well, when’s something going to be done?”
“A shuttle was supposed to go up last week to service the properties, Holiness, but weather in Central America postponed it.”
“How long?”
“Indefinitely, Holiness.”
“Call somebody, would you?” he demanded, imperious impatience in his voice. “Tell ’em it’s important.”
“They already know, Holiness.”
“Then tell them again!”
Samson sat up but stared straight ahead. He’d never heard Peter raise his voice to anyone in the decade he’d worked for him.
“I’ll get right on it.”
Peter opened the folder Rosalita had left and quickly read through the three double-spaced pages it contained, leaning twice in Mitchell’s direction to ask questions. Apparently satisfied, he closed it then requested, “Coffee, please.” He turned to Mitchell, who shook his head, then to Samson.
“I’ll have one, sir.”
After the cups were delivered, the Pope asked Delta: “Got everyone on line?”
“Whenever you’re ready.”
“Bring up Cardinal Primovich first. I want to talk off-signal before the rest of the Council joins us.”
The furthest left of the ornate monitors ringing the far wall flashed on, the electric marquee below it announcing SANCTUARIAN PARTY/JOHN CARDINAL PRIMOVICH /BISHOP ANTHONY GILLIS.
“Good morning, Johnny. Tony.”
“Good morning, Holiness,” they responded.
“Uh, John,” he continued, “I’m going to float something later that’s going to be a little dicey but make sure you stay with me so I can dispatch it without the usual posturing, okay?”
“Your call.”
“Delt? Let’s see the rest of them.”
The second monitor flashed on. AMERICAN CONSERVATIVE PARTY/MARTIN CARDINAL ELLIOTT/BISHOP HARRY ALEXANDER.
The third. THE PARTY OF OUR LADY/LOUIS CARDINAL ESCARTES/BISHOP ANDRE LUXION.
The fourth. THE PARTY OF THE FAITHFUL-LIBERAL/ MARIA CARDINAL PELOSI/BISHOP VINCENT GUARINI.
The fifth. THE PARTY OF THE FAITHFUL-CONSERVATIVE/STEVEN CARDINAL DEL MAESTRO/BISHOP ERIC SANGMEISTER.
The sixth. THE PARTY OF THE CROSS/ALBERTO CARDINAL PREZA/BISHOP ALFREDO MARTINEZ.
The seventh. THE LATIN CATHOLIC PARTY/PHILLIPE CARDINAL ESTEVEZ/ BISHOP OSCAR VASCONCELOS.
The eighth. THE PARTY OF THE WEST/SIGEFREDO CARDINAL ROMERO/ BISHOP JOSE CHRISTIANI.
The ninth. AFRICAN CATHOLIC PARTY/THOMAS CARDINAL GAMBOTO /BISHOP THOMAS ZULFIQAR.
The tenth. AFRICAN PARTY OF THE NAZARENE/NELSON CARDINAL SMITH/BISHOP MURTAZA LIGHT.
The 11th. PARTY OF THE SON/KUMIO CARDINAL MIYAZAWA/
BISHOP KARL CHEN.
The 12th. PARTY OF THE EAST/MIGUEL CARDINAL VASQUEZ/BISHOP JOAQUIN FLORES.
There they were. The Council of Twelve and the ever-present bishop assistants. Samson wondered what he looked like to them, if any knew what he was doing here on this particular Monday morning in America—they sitting in the morning or afternoon or night or next morning, spread across the world—summoned at the direction of the Pope.
I don’t know if you’re listening, Sir. Here I am in the Council Room, a place where we mortals are not supposed to tread. But I must assume that there is a purpose for my presence. All I ask is that if I am requested to address this august group, I be allowed to do so in inspired sentences. Thanks.
Peter lifted the remote. “Good morning, priests.”
A score of those assembled returned, “Good morning, Holiness.”
He paused. Focused. “And priestess,” he added.
“Bon journo, Holiness,” Pelosi responded.
“Delta? What are we on this morning?”
“Magi I.”
“Cut audio.”
“I’m on number six if you need me.”
“Seeing we’re Magi I this morning, I’d appreciate if our comments be kept to basic business and we don’t tread into holy waters we’d prefer not leaking into other places.”
“We understand,” Primovich offered.
“Before beginning, I’d like us to share a moment of silence and prayer for the soul of our departed colleague, Cardinal Castro, who served in exemplary fashion for four years as Secretary of Finance.”
Peter lowered his head and closed his eyes, as did Mitchell, as did those on the screens. Samson squinted to Control. Delta caught his impropriety and wagged a finger.
“Thank you. I’ll have more to say about Cardinal Castro’s funeral in a bit.” He turned to Mitchell. “Ready?”
“Yes, Holiness.”
“Start us off with an update from when, Mitch?”
“Close of business, 13th.”
“Proceed.”
“As of the 13th,” the bishop said in his best administrative assistant voice, “the stats are as follows.”
Samson glanced to the right corner of the Council Room containing a monitor showing what was being broadcast from Sanctuary Creek to the Twelve.
“May I interrupt?” Estevez said.
“What is it, Cardinal?”
“Could you please identify the person, the individual to your left?”
“This is Terry Samson.”
“I believe I’ve heard that name, though who is he, please?”
“Presently? Finance Director of my Party.”
“I must object to the presence of a political functionary at a meeting of the Council.”
“I agree,” Elliott put in. “Only the Bishop aides or members of the Cabinet are permitted, your Holiness. I believe we all agreed to that a year ago.”
“And bodyguards,” Peter said, looking to Clarence.
“And bodyguards,” Elliott agreed. “But I must state for the minutes that the presence of Mr. Samson is contrary to the rules of the Council.”
“I’ll explain in a minute, Martin.”
“It’s against the rules.”
“I agree,” Pelosi said.
“You’re technically correct but I’d appreciate an indulgence for this exception. Mr. Samson won’t be present for the entire meeting. There’s some things we’ll be discussing that don’t involve him.”
No further objections were raised so Mitchell began the statistical update. The Church claimed 1,306,004,556 members. There were 635,887 ordained priests and an additional 1,234,698 professed religious. There were 453,900 lay religious. Approximately 500,000 were engaged in various levels of religious studies, a fifth in divinity schools. There were 189,098 catechistic missions and over 35,000,000 pupils in 100,112 primary schools and 35,867 secondary schools. An additional 1.9 million students were enrolled in Catholic universities.
There were 2,533 ecclesiastical territories, 2,124 of which were bishopric dioceses, 506 of which were metropolitan sees, 74 of which were archbishoprics, 12 of which
were patriarchal sees. 399,944 parishes.
Cash on hand: $4,991,134,100.
Mutual funds and non-AMI stocks: $24,934,223,071.
Estimated real estate holdings: $42,665,021,445.
Estimated artifact assets: $19,756,222,846.
Estimated non-artifact assets: $7,736,090,536.
Analog Machinery Incorporated stock held in the Sanctuarian Party Papal Trust: $795,766,635,222.
“Thank you, Bishop Mitchell,” Peter said at the conclusion of the presentation. “Now, I’d… “ He paused. “Before I continue, I’d like to get something off my chest. Cardinal Pelosi?”
“Yes, Holiness?”
“It’s my understanding you’ve directed the term priestess be used by the female members of the clergy in your archbishopric and I want it stopped.” He paused a moment. “I don’t like it.”
“Why is that?”
“Too hocus-pocus.”
“Hocus-pocus? I do not understand this term.”
“It means that I want a…”
“But others, even in the United States…” Elliot interrupted.
“And that ends too, Martin.”
A number of voices broke in and Peter silenced them all, at least at Sanctuary Creek, with a press of a button. He waited until the Twelve seemed to have made their points, then continued.
“Stop it. Now.”
“Marcellus allowed, even encouraged the use of the term, Holiness,” Pelosi insisted.
“And he was a good man and I know he appointed you, Maria. But I am not Marcellus.”
Samson heard Clarence chuckle.
“Isn’t that right, Clarence?” Peter asked as he looked over his shoulder.
“Yes, your Holiness.”
“So that settles it.”
“I would like the Council to vote,” Pelosi said.
“Do you have any problem with that, Cardinal Primovich?” the Pope asked.
“No, Holiness.”
“As I said. That settles it.”
The meeting continued on for another 20 minutes, most of the discussion focused on the dramatic civil and political upheavals in three of Australia’s states and what role the Church should take, if any.
“May I ask a personal question that will only take a moment of the Council’s time, Holiness?” Miyazawa said.
“Go ahead, Kunio.”
“It regards the annulment of a daughter, the oldest daughter of the Japanese Defense Minister? She has a marriage at which I am officiating, in just two, possibly…” He reached for a book, held it close to his eyes. “In less than two months, Holiness.”
“And?”
“And the Marriage Tribunal is dragging its toes. They told Bishop Chen that a package with the particular one in my question was forwarded to Sanctuary Creek some weeks ago. And I have heard nothing about this particular matter.”
“I haven’t been out of the compound for about three months now,” Peter said. “I’m caught up on all my paperwork including anything that requires my signature and haven’t seen anything from the Matrimonial Tribunal in weeks. Short break, please.”
Although he’d done a fair share of traveling, Peter was nothing compared to the marathon missionary machines of either John Paul or Nicholas. With the increasing sophistication and reach of RCCBN, coupled with a brutal murder 15 weeks before, he simply refused to leave the estate.
The homicide occurred in Southern California, in South Laguna Beach, a few miles from the home of the victim. His name was Arthur Guralski. He’d been employed over the years as a salesman, a movie extra, the manager of a lounge and a tennis instructor. But the election of Peter Michael Cardinal Rehmer to the papacy changed both of their lives completely. Peter was the real item, Guralski the perfect double who, after some coaching, could mimic the Pontiff with eerie precision. His imitations became so refined that eventually Peter refused to watch when Guralski occasionally made the news with one of his stunts or paid appearances.
Until one morning when two surveyors found Guralski’s body in some brush 20 yards from a well-traveled road. He’d been ambushed, his left arm hacked off with an axe. He bled profusely before dying but had enough strength to crawl 15 feet from where he was assaulted. The authorities were split on whether the attacker or attackers planned to execute Guralski or only frighten him because of a typewritten note which was stuffed into the victim’s back pocket reading: NEXT TIME WE DO IT FOR REAL.
It was signed C6, as the Cult of the Six always confirmed their warnings. Not that there weren’t a number of other suspects who might eventually take the rap for Guralski’s death: two estranged girlfriends, one of them pregnant. One estranged wife, also pregnant. Two casinos in Las Vegas and Reno where Guralski performed his act and ran up huge debts at the craps tables. Five convention groups who’d paid for his services but never received them.
The threat was interpreted differently at Sanctuary Creek. The notification was not read: “We’ll really kill you next time” but instead: “We’ll really kill the Pope next time.” That was enough for Angelo Cardinal Valenti, the Secretary of Security, and Rick Calvello, the head of the Swiss Guard. Until more was determined concerning the circumstances surrounding Guralski, the Pontiff would no longer travel. The entire Cabinet agreed and Peter gratefully followed their counsel. Not that he had to, but it seemed to Samson that Guralski’s demise gave Peter an excuse he’d been seeking for a long time.
During the first two years of his reign, the Pope had embarked on over 20 pilgrimages or business trips, more than half outside the United States, the most spectacular being a two-week foray into Russia, China, Japan and Australia. But he never enjoyed them the way John Paul or Nicholas did. He didn’t like being the center of attention for crowds sometimes numbering in the hundreds of thousands, if not millions. He didn’t like the pace, the food, the accommodations no matter how luxurious, the reporters, the security. He preferred the simplicity and control of Sanctuary Creek where he genuinely ruled; where he didn’t have to adjust to the complications of life on the road.
Peter raised the remote. “Delt?”
“Yes, Holiness.”
“Could you please find Rosalita and ask her if I’ve received anything from the Matrimonial Tribunal recently?”
“As ordered.”
“So what do you think?” he said, turning to his guest.
Samson looked to the monitors, less than half showing anything except empty rooms.
“It’s pretty interesting,” he replied. “But I had this idea it would be much more formal,” he continued, pointing to the screens. “Everyone dressed up in their, I don’t know, vestments, and everyone very solemn and… It’s different.”
“It’s different, all right. Wait `til we get to your part of the program. Then you’re really going to see different.”
I don’t know if you’re listening, Sir. What’s this different concept all about?
In a few minutes the regulars were back in their seats. Peter asked Delta to kill the audio.
“I have Rosalita, Holiness.”
“Ask her does she have it.”
“There are two cases of annulments and Privileges of the Faith sitting in the work room adjacent to Bishop Mitchell’s office. What do you want her to do?”
“Pull out anything from Japan.”
“As ordered. Killing audio.”
Peter pressed the remote, leaving only Primovich on the screens. “Stay with me, Johnny.”
“Oh? I thought we already did that with…”
“Priestess Pelosi? No, I’ve got something else.”
“Whatever you want.”
Peter pressed twice. The entire Council of Twelve was once again present.
“Kunio? We’ve located some boxes sent by the MT and are looking into the matter you raised.”
“Could you Supernet me a copy?”
He turned to Mitchell. “Send Miy a copy.”
“Right.”
“Well, if we are going to go back to the days o
f Sixtus and start handling these matters in special circumstances, then I…” Pelosi began, but the rest of her thought was cut off by Peter who waited until the muted talking head apparently finished.
“Maria? It’s not an issue of special treatment. If all is in order, I will sign all of them. If they or some are not in order, or have not arrived, or will not arrive, or have not been recommended or even considered by the Tribunal, then I won’t sign them. Is that so difficult to understand?”
“I have a few…”
“End of discussion. Just a few more things on my agenda then Mr. Samson will be excused so we can discuss a rather delicate matter and then I’ll let you return to your duties or your sleep, wherever you might have been. First, I’m going to celebrate a private mass for Cardinal Castro that’ll be announced later in the day. Wednesday morning in my chapel. I want you all here for the service.”
He immediately silenced the flood of comments and protests that poured from the monitors. Samson saw Pelosi pick up a folder and toss it over her shoulder. The harangue went on a good 40 seconds.
“All right. Okay,” Peter said softly as he reactivated the audio. “One at a time. Cardinal Primovich?”
“I’ll certainly be there, Holiness.”
“Well, of course he’ll be there,” Pelosi fumed. “He only lives a few miles away.”
“It’s more than a few miles, Cardinal,” Primovich grinned.
“I must object,” Smith said. “The primaries are only a few days, a few weeks away, the campaigns are in…”
“Don’t start in on the elections,” Peter said as he rubbed his cheeks with both hands. “Terry?”
Samson heard his name but only gazed at the monitors.
“Terry?”
“Hmm?” he asked, shifting to the monitor showing himself and the Pontiff and Mitchell. “What?”
“Tell them about the most recent tracking polls.”
“Who?”
“The Council.”
“But I don’t have…”
“Just the bottom line.”
“Oh.” He thought a moment, trying to form an extremely lucid, articulate statement to sum up the research he’d completed a few weeks before.
“Terry?” Peter ordered sternly.
“Oh, you guys all win!” he blurted. “No sweat.” He looked to Pelosi who seemed prepared to go into the history books as the first Cardinal of the Church to spontaneously combust while on duty. “And girls, too,” he added, reaching for the words as they left his mouth. The Council, the assistants—everyone within satellite earshot—broke into laughter except for Pelosi and Guarini.
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