The Last Pope

by Luís Miguel Rocha

  Sarah didn’t like his manner. He had just dashed her theory that bald men were usually nice. One more myth crumbled, on a night when everything she had taken for granted had gone on to a better life. All of it because of that Firenzi, whose connection to the whole thing she still didn’t understand.

  Rafael walked quickly to the room where Margulies should still be working.

  “Do you think the professor has deciphered the message?” Sarah asked softly, trying not to disturb the oppressive silence.

  “No.”

  “If he’d deciphered it he would have called.”

  “Is it that complicated?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “It seemed like rapid scribblings, like our reporters’ scrawls at press conferences. Whoever wrote it was in a hurry.”

  Upon opening the door to the room where they had last seen Margulies, they did not anticipate the scene awaiting them. Three men sat there, dressed in black like Rafael. Professor Margulies was with them, his face badly bruised and smeared with blood.

  “Jack,” the fat man said.

  “Barnes,” Rafael said calmly.

  “Jack?” Sarah wondered, confused by the new name. She instantly forgot her confusion when two men pounched on Rafael, striking a blow to the back of his neck.

  Rafael fell, but wasn’t knocked out. He instinctively raised his hand to his neck.

  “And the girl can only be the famous Sarah Monteiro,” Barnes remarked from his comfortable perch.

  Sarah was startled to find herself the center of attention.

  “Geoffrey Barnes?”

  Rafael’s words resurfaced in her mind: “Believe me, sooner or later they’re going to find us. It all depends on the cards we get to play at that point.” Dread paralyzed her; she couldn’t think.

  “Isn’t that Sharon Stone?” Professor Margulies asked, gasping with pain.

  Geoffrey Barnes roared with laughter.

  “Sharon Stone? I assure you she’s not Sharon Stone. Give me the papers,” he ordered.

  “The papers?” Sarah looked at Rafael, who stood up with difficulty. Of the two men, the one who’d struck him took this opportunity to grab him by the collar of his coat while the other searched him. They removed two guns equipped with silencers and used one to cuff him on the head, sending him back to the floor.

  Geoffrey Barnes looked at Sarah.

  “The papers?”

  Sarah saw a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel.

  “They’re in a safe place.” Her voice didn’t quite carry the assurance she’d hoped to project. A slight quaver signaled the precarious value of the card she was playing.

  “Don’t make me laugh. And, above all, don’t waste my time.”

  “Do you think I would come here holding that list so I could hand it to the first person who asked for it? Who do you take me for?”

  “You didn’t know we would be here. Don’t make me lose my patience.”

  “Don’t you make me lose mine.”

  I’m digging my own grave, Sarah thought anxiously, but I can’t turn back now. She continued the argument.

  “How dare you underestimate me like that? I knew”—and here her words started to fail her—“I knew that sooner or later you were going to find us. The only question was when.”

  Rafael looked up at her, out of the game for the time being. Barnes had a thoughtful expression, never taking his eyes off Sarah. For her part, she opted to gaze straight back, trying not to betray the fear threatening to consume her—fear of him, of them, of everything.

  Barnes turned to face one of the men behind Rafael and Sarah.

  “Search her.”

  It’s over, Rafael thought, half leaning against the foot of one of the several tables around the room.

  The man who had struck Rafael approached Sarah, who stood up and spread her arms, ready to be searched. The man used his hands liberally, patting down the young woman’s body with no restraint. All that remained was to check inside her undergarments, which he promptly did.

  “Nothing,” the agent reported, stepping back with a professional air.

  Rafael looked up at Sarah, intrigued.

  Barnes opted for a change of tactics, He had to give the woman some breathing room, to let her relax for a few moments.

  “We’re going to forget about the papers for now.”

  Sarah tried to compose herself. She had spent the entire night on the verge of disaster, and now would be the worst moment to lose it.

  “Here our friend Margulies was involved in a chore that you asked him to take care of. We know that he doesn’t have the papers. But these books on cryptography provide us with some clues. Do you know what books on cryptography are used for?” The question was addressed to Sarah.

  “To study crypts?”

  Geoffrey Barnes got up, and with two swift paces he stood right in front of the young woman and backhanded her. The pain was instant, and seconds later her tongue tasted blood. A red trickle flowed from a corner of her mouth.

  Bastard, she thought. Immediately her eyes welled, but she avoided shedding a single tear, not wanting to show any sign of weakness.

  “To a crypt is where you’ll be going, and very soon,” Barnes said, looking at her with the same coldness as before. Then he returned to his seat and again made himself comfortable. “Now that we’ve clarified this point, let me explain to you what I think has happened. You received something besides the papers. A coded message that in my opinion your limited brain capacity wasn’t capable of deciphering. Because of that, you resorted to Professor Margulies. Am I right?”

  “Yes, you’re right, he ought to have the message,” Rafael said, trying to shift the focus of attention to himself.

  “Correct,” Barnes agreed. “But, unfortunately, your loyal friend swallowed it before we had a chance to read it. And, as you can see by his condition, we tried to get him to tell us what he had discovered. But it seems we haven’t made any progress.”

  “Great, Margulies.” Rafael’s voice was sarcastic. “You did it. You swallowed the coded message. How remarkable.”

  “And, because of that, he’s no longer of any use to us,” Barnes announced, signaling to the agent behind Rafael. The man went up to Margulies, dragged him to the center of the room, and ordered him to kneel. The professor’s hands were tied behind his back.

  Sarah didn’t even want to imagine what was about to happen, and turned her head in order not to look. She had never seen anyone die, even of natural causes. Sensing Margulies’s presence a couple of steps away, kneeling before an inevitable fate, she was unable to hold back her tears.

  “So, now Sarah doesn’t want to watch the spectacle we’ve prepared for her,” Barnes boomed, displeased. “We can’t have that.”

  Again the man who had searched Sarah approached her. A strong hand gripped the back of her neck, forcing her to witness the scene.

  “No,” she protested.

  “Yes,” the man holding her head answered in her ear. “Enjoy the unique experience of watching a body abandon life. It’s a most beautiful spectacle.” A snide chortle reached her ears.

  The professor, on his knees, mumbled a litany to himself. It was his farewell, the offering of his spirit to the Creator, so that He would receive him under the best conditions. The way in which one faced one’s last breath gave humans greater or lesser dignity. And Margulies did it with integrity.

  Rafael looked at the professor very soberly, showing no feelings. He seemed to be an impassive bystander, lacking sentiments, as the drama unfolded before him.

  Margulies’s head bent forward in submission, for the executioner to pull the trigger. The silencer was pressed against the nape of his neck. Margulies looked at Rafael for the last time.

  “Count the letters,” the cryptographer whispered.

  Sarah did not hear what the professor said to Rafael. She was about to immerse herself in darkness. They could make her face Margulies, but not force her to keep her eyes open.
Shut your eyes fast, shut them. Defend yourself against this violence, don’t let them torture you.

  A dull thud marked the end. The body dropped to the floor, inert, in the middle of a pool of blood that Sarah imagined but didn’t see. The tears flowed uncontrollably down her face. Margulies had fallen forward, his head turned toward Rafael, a red hole at the base of his skull.

  Bastards! Sarah thought, aware for the first time that, no matter what she did, she wouldn’t get out of there alive.

  “Now we return to the whereabouts of the papers,” Barnes said. “I’m sure that you’re readier to reveal it than a moment ago.”

  The agent who had killed Professor Joseph Margulies still stood, gun in hand, ready to kill his next victim, the man he knew as Jack and who had turned out to be a double agent, the highest treason, always punished by death. Once Jack was dead, the woman would say where the papers were, and then—

  And then nothing. A tremendous kick broke the agent’s knee and made him fall, screaming. Before he knew what was happening, he lay dead with a bullet from his own gun, which Rafael had snatched from him in the blink of an eye.

  Rafael then shot at the head of the man to Barnes’s right. The agent to his left and Barnes himself took cover behind the first thing they could find. Meanwhile, the agent holding Sarah tried to use her body as a shield, but she elbowed him powerfully in the chest, making him double over.

  “Get out! Fast!” Rafael shouted at Sarah. “Run! They can’t shoot at you!”

  Sarah ran toward the door. Barnes and the other man aimed at Rafael, but he protected himself with the body of one of the fallen agents. He fired for cover and rushed out of the office.

  “The woman has to be captured alive!” Barnes yelled. “Son of a bitch.”

  33

  Rafael flew down the corridor with no idea where he was headed, opening doors at random. His priority was to find Sarah. They found each other quickly, at a nook in the hallway.

  “I told you to run. If they’d caught you, you’d be completely fucked.”

  They ran blindly. The light was minimal, but their eyes eventually adjusted. The interior of the British Museum was an immense labyrinth.

  At the end of the hallway was a door providing access to one of the stairways. They descended to the floor below.

  When they got to the lower landing, Rafael opened a door and cautiously peeked through.

  “Let’s go. Stick close to me.”

  Barely visible signs pointed to the emergency exit.

  They came to an enormous hall, the King’s Library, and stopped in front of a huge door, leading to the museum’s covered grand atrium. The large annex was a recent addition, with a rotunda in the center that housed the Reading Room, various shops on the ground floor, and a restaurant on the floor above. On the other side, facing the exit, were numerous tables and chairs anchored to the floor that belonged to the snack bars that offered fast food to the thousands of daily visitors.

  Sarah and Rafael hugged the wall of the grand atrium, quickly moving toward the exit. The stretch that remained before them was like an open, barren field. The moonlight, now visible through the glass dome, gave the area a grayish white tinge.

  A flash cut through the shadows and Rafael was hurled against the wall by an unknown force: he’d been hit. Sarah instinctively knelt and tried to lift him. He groaned, but the wound didn’t appear to be too serious.

  Two shadows darted out from the bar area, moving toward them.

  “Take the pistol.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  “Shoot two or three times, at random,” Rafael insisted.

  Sarah looked back. The shadows were gaining ground. Finally she took the gun Rafael was handing her, and fired three times without turning her head to aim. They were both barricaded behind the museum reception desk. Rafael took off his overcoat and ripped his clothes in the area where the bullet had grazed him, almost by his shoulder.

  “I was lucky.”

  “Really? I thought you were going to die in my arms.”

  “That could still happen.”

  “Jack,” boomed a voice from somewhere in the atrium. It was Barnes.

  Rafael got up and roughly pulled Sarah to his side.

  “What are you doing?” she asked in a low voice. Her heart seemed to be stuck in her throat.

  “You can’t kill her because you don’t know what she’s done with the papers. She’s the only link you have to them. What’s gonna happen if she dies now?” He raised his gun and pointed it at Sarah’s temple.

  “What are you doing?” Sarah thought she was about to faint.

  The cards were stacking up against Barnes.

  “C’mon, Jack, are you really capable of taking an innocent’s life?”

  “Barnes, you know me very well. I’m made of the same shit as you.”

  “What do you want?” he asked, already guessing the answer.

  “Pay attention. I’m going to leave here with her, and you’re going to tell your men to put away their guns and let us go. You’re going to tell the guys with you and the ones you’ve got posted outside.”

  “Let’s be reasonable, Jack.”

  “Even more reasonable?” Rafael tossed back sarcastically.

  Barnes had no choice but to accept.

  “Abort the operation. Lower your guns. Let them go,” he said, turning his head to the tiny microphone on his lapel.

  Rafael dragged Sarah out from the protection of the counter, backing toward the exit.

  The cold night air wrapped around them. They went downstairs and to the giant doors bearing the Queen Elizabeth II coat of arms. The gun was still pressed against Sarah’s temple. From there to the car was a very short stretch.

  34

  What were you thinking?” Sarah yelled at the top of her lungs, while the car turned toward Bloomsbury Street at top speed.

  “I was trying to save us,” Rafael answered, not looking at her.

  “To save us?”

  “Stop asking questions. They’re following us and it’s not going to be easy to shake them.”

  They turned right on New Oxford Street. Rafael grimaced as pain blazed through his shoulder. At the Tottenham Court Road intersection, the light turned red and he stopped the Jaguar.

  “Let’s trade places,” Rafael asked.

  “What?

  “You drive. I’m not in any shape for it.”

  Sarah proceeded on Oxford Street, London’s main business thorough-fare. She leaned over to the glove compartment and took out the list, which she threw in Rafael’s lap.

  “There you have it. I’d left it here and forgotten it when we got out of the car.”

  “Your forgetting it saved us this time.”

  They drove on in silence for several minutes.

  “I don’t know where I’m going,” Sarah said finally.

  “It doesn’t matter, keep going. It’s all right if you go by the same place several times.”

  “Were you really planning on shooting? If things had gone badly, would you have been able to kill me?”

  “Yes,” Rafael answered without hesitation. “And I would’ve killed myself next. Believe me, it would have been a favor for you if things had turned out badly. It’s better to be dead than in their hands. Not having the list with you, whether you forgot it or not, was the best thing that could have happened. It was wonderful.”

  “So if we find ourselves in the same situation again, but with no cards to play, you wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger, first on me and then on yourself?”

  “Exactly,” Rafael affirmed, without showing the slightest emotion.

  “Did my father give you that order?”

  Rafael looked at the girl, who looked back at him, both of them for a moment taking their eyes off the street traffic.

  “No. But I’m sure that, given the situation, he’d approve.”

  “Of course.” Sarah looked ahead again. “Of course, Jack.” She pronounced the name with deliberate e
mphasis, as if it were the key to all the lies, doubts, and frustrations torturing her. “Is your real name Rafael?”

  “Who knows?”

  “Jack?”

  “No.”

  “So?”

  “It’s better for you not to know. Look, Rafael is the name of your savior, who hasn’t turned out bad, so far. A few ups and downs, of course, but also with a certain success. Jack is the alias of John Payne, member of the P2, who was unmasked as a double agent. So, technically because of that, John Payne is dead.”

  “And Geoffrey Barnes—who is he?”

  “A director of the CIA. Immoral and corrupt. I did some operations under his orders, and I assure you, if he left his office to come looking for us in person, it’s because we’re giving him a devil of a time.”

  “Fine. Jack Payne or Archangel Rafael, I have to ask again, what is your real name?”

  Rafael laughed for the first time since they’d met.

  “Nice try.”

  “You can’t lose by trying.” Sarah took her eyes off the road for a few seconds. “Rafael Jack Payne, what do we do now?”

  He looked at her closely before answering.

  “Now? We’re going to disappear.”

  35

  TO CAESAR THAT WHICH IS CAESAR’S SEPTEMBER 1978

  Reviewing his schedule, checking his audiences and meetings for that morning, the Holy Father frowned when he came across a commission from the New York Department of Justice. There was a note stating that this commission would arrive accompanied by representatives of the FBI and of the National Bank of Italy.

  The petition had been sent months ago, when Paul VI was still alive. The pope’s illness must have prevented that very strange meeting. In the notes for August, besides the indefinite postponement of the meeting, it was specified that the members of said commission would be received in a public audience, between a group of Belgian nuns from Liège and a group of orphans from Genoa.

  The last note did not suspend the meeting, but wedged it between a representation of pious widows from Piedmont and of a religious school from Spain.

  Pope John Paul I went into one of the auxiliary offices and observed at length the two priests acting as personal secretaries.