‘It’s not that really. Well, yes that too partially, but it’s the coincidence.’
‘So you’re saying the Pope, just because he’s finally introducing changes, is being influenced by Catharism?’
‘Maybe.’
Karen stiffened in her chair and crossed her arms. ‘That’s preposterous.’
‘At the risk of sounding crazy, I’ll go one step further. What if the Pope isn’t really the Pope?’
Karen looked at Dulac, then suddenly burst out laughing. ‘If it weren’t this early in the morning and I didn’t know you better, Thierry, I’d say you were—’
‘I’m dead serious.’
Karen stopped giggling and stared at Dulac’s somber, dispassionate eyes. ‘I’m beginning to think you are serious. You’re beginning to freak me out. What the hell do you mean?’
‘I’m saying the man, the man I rescued from Libya, the man who waved at the balcony last week, is an impostor.’
Karen sat speechless, mouth agape. After a moment, she spoke. ‘That’s the wildest, most unbelievable thing I’ve ever heard. Surely someone, you, anybody in his immediate staff, the rest of the world would’ve noticed before now. You were sitting next to him in the helicopter.’
‘I was in pretty bad shape during that helicopter ride. His head was heavily bandaged. Speaking of the helicopter, there’s something that happened during our return from Libya that supports my theory.’
‘I’m dying to hear it,’ Karen said, a supercilious smirk across her lips.
‘Stop being so damn facetious for a second. When we were attacked by Libyan jets, Klein was hurt and passed out. The ’copter went into a dive and I asked the Pope if he could take over. He flatly refused, without even trying. Actually, he panicked, saying this helicopter was totally different from the papal helicopter, which by the way, he routinely pilots.’
‘Sounds plausible.’
‘Except that the principles of flying any helicopter are the same: pedals, joystick, throttle. Believe me, I’ve been in enough of them recently to have observed that.’
‘What about his immediate staff? Surely they would have recognized an impostor?’
‘With today’s techniques in microsurgery and plastic surgery, not necessarily. And, I’m told he’s started to replace key members of his staff, including members of the Curia.’
‘Wait a second, you said they checked the blood type when they received the ear, and that it matched the Pope’s.’
‘Yes. That was before we rescued the, the impostor. The switch was made in Libya.’
‘OK, so assuming for a moment I go along with your theory. Who would want to do this?’
‘Hugues de Ségur, for one.’
‘Jesus,’ Karen said, her shoulders hunched, her forearms leaning on the table, her hands crossed as she started to listen intently. ‘Why him?’
‘Suppose you have a Cathar whose only real motivations are revenge and control. By kidnapping the Pope, the ransom money serves as a front, a false flag. A useful one at that. This would be the sweetest revenge of all. Payback for the Catholics’ murderous crusades against the Cathars, and a chance to control the Catholic world, the majority of whose members merely pay lip service to antiquated, irrelevant dogma. They are ripe for drastic changes. His timing is perfect. Think of it: 1.2 billion Catholics will follow his puppet, cloaked in the persona of the Pope, while believing in his infallibility. It’s as ironic as it is brilliant.’
‘Thierry, this is absolutely insane. Surely someone, someone would have noticed and tried to remove your impostor from office.’
‘To answer your question as to why I, or anybody else for that matter, didn’t notice, let me remind you of Saddam Hussein’s doubles. Two have been confirmed only recently. Interpol and MI6 suspect they impersonated the dictator for years. The CIA has proven beyond doubt that President Clinton negotiated the release of the American hostages held in Pyongyang with one of Dictator Kim Jong’s three doubles. That’s only the ones we know about. It took the CIA years to find out. There are other cases of impersonations by—’
‘I get your point. So what now?’
Dulac took another sip of his espresso. ‘I was afraid you’d ask that.’
‘You have no real, tangible evidence, nothing concrete.’
‘Worse. I don’t know whose agenda I’d be playing into.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’ll bet my bonus de Ségur is behind this. Apart from Romer, he had to have someone inside the Vatican. Someone higher up.’
Karen’s eyes widened yet again. ‘You’re suggesting there’s a conspiracy at the Vatican to remove the Pope and replace him by a Cathar impostor?’
‘Why not? Between prelates who want changes at any cost, and can’t afford to wait for reforms that may, or may never occur. It’s perfect. An alliance between the Cathars and some avant-garde prelates in the Vatican. Not all that far-fetched, if you look at the Church’s history of murderous alliances and conspiracies.’
‘This is absolutely mind-blowing, Thierry. But how can you prove any of this?’
‘I’ve got to call Gina.’
Chapter 35
The Vatican, 8.10 a.m., Friday 23 June
‘Cardinal Sforza will see you now, Cardinal Brentano,’ said the elderly nun with the hooked, witch-like chin.
Seated behind his plain walnut desk, Sforza tried to appear somber, trying to disguise his contentment as Brentano walked in. With Brentano’s removal from the Curia, a large power vacuum had been created, a vacuum Sforza intended to fill personally.
Brentano looked as if he hadn’t slept all week. His usually piercing eyes, now encircled by red rims, had dulled to a viscous green. Sforza couldn’t help noticing that the furrows on either side of Brentano’s mouth had deepened noticeably. He looked ten years older than his 65 years. Now ousted from the Curia, Brentano’s authority had all but evaporated. Both knew it and the relationship of former equals had changed forever. Yet Brentano still wielded a significant amount of influence. It was said that he managed to exert that influence by dubious means. Stories were rampant that he kept personal, secret files on everyone of influence. Even on the Pope. Sforza knew that to underestimate such a man would be a grave mistake.
‘How are you?’ said Sforza in a mechanical tone, not really wishing to know the state of his former adversary’s health.
‘Tired. I will not hide from you that these past few days have been
extremely stressful.’
‘I understand.’ Sforza had to be compassionate, but not overly so. To
show too much sympathy would appear hypocritical.
‘Let me get to the point,’ said Brentano. ‘There are rumors circulating
about a movement to depose the Pope.’
‘I’ve heard of it.’ Sforza felt no need to inform Brentano of the extent
of his involvement.
‘Am I wrong in thinking that you support this view?’
‘The matter is under serious consideration by the Curia.’
‘Come, come Cardinal, I’ve heard that you’re one of the instigators,’
said Brentano, his tone caustic.
‘Cardinal, you surely didn’t come here to tell me what you already
know,’ said Sforza. ‘You have surely considered that you will need
support from inside and outside the Vatican for such a procedure to
succeed.’
Ah. Here it comes. The offer of his support in exchange for mine
later, in his bid for the papacy, thought Sforza. ‘Yes I have.’
There was a brief moment of silence, as Sforza waited for Brentano’s
pitch.
‘You are undoubtedly also aware that once the procedure is started, it
will paralyze the Vatican for the duration of the proceedings?’
‘Perhaps, although unlikely.’
Another moment of uneasy silence. Like gladiators before the fight,
each man wan
ted to know where the other stood before compromising
his own position.
Brentano yielded first. ‘The papacy can’t stand to be paralyzed for
six months, maybe more. We are at a crossroads. If you are part of this,
I ask that you reconsider. I will not support any movement to depose
Clement XXI. As a matter of fact, I will oppose it.’
‘Really?’ Sforza sat astounded, as Brentano stood impassive, staring
down at him.
‘I thought this might surprise you,’ said Brentano. ‘But you fail to see
that the papacy itself is at stake here, Cardinal. It goes beyond differing
views on dogma. If you undertake this, it will take years to come to any
kind of resolution. The Church is already weak enough. It can’t take yet
another schism within its ranks. That will kill it as surely as I stand here before you. I ask you to reconsider, Cardinal, in the name of the papacy, in the name of the Church. Let the ecumenical council take a decision on this matter. I always find that it is easy to let things take their natural course, down the path of least resistance, rather than force the issue. Do you agree?’
Sforza sat silent, his mouth agape. Here was a man who had recently suffered the humiliation of being removed from the Curia by the Pope and that would have given him every reason to embrace the movement to depose him. Brentano was the last person, Sforza thought, to oppose the Pope’s removal. ‘The movement has gathered a lot of momentum already. I don’t think it can be stopped,’ said Sforza, now knowing what he wanted to know. He looked at his watch. ‘I’m afraid I must cut our meeting short, Cardinal Brentano, I have a Curia meeting in ten minutes.’
As Brentano walked down the corridor outside Sforza’s office, a warm feeling of deep satisfaction invaded his being. The opening gambit had worked: Sforza had taken the bait and had appeared genuinely shaken. Moments later, Brentano entered his new, minuscule office, went straight to his desk and picked up the phone.
Dulac waited on the line while at the other end, the phone kept ringing. After a moment, he heard Gina’s familiar voice came online.
‘Good morning, Gina. How are things?’
‘Fine, Mr Dulac.’
‘Any news on de Ségur?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘How is Lescop doing?’
‘I’m really not the one to ask. Why don’t you contact him directly?’ She didn’t sound the least bit sympathetic.
‘Just wondering if you’d heard anything. I have a question for you, Gina. Suppose you wanted to find out if someone is being impersonated by another, and you didn’t have fingerprints or DNA samples to compare. What would you use?’
‘Well, we’d probably do a morphological analysis of the body and the head. Then, we’d do an iris recognition scan. It’s more trustworthy than fingerprints.’
‘Interesting. How close would the scanner have to be from the persons you’d be comparing?’
‘With the new OnSight scanner, about two meters.’
‘Not possible. What else?’
‘Mr Dulac, I really don’t have time to—’
‘What else?’
‘There’s the good old voice analyzer.’
‘Gina, let me buy you lunch.’
‘Today?’
‘I can be in Lyon before 2 p.m.’
‘Well, I don’t know. I—’
‘Thanks, Gina. You’re terrific.’
After making reservations at the St Amable, Dulac had taken the 11.54 am TGV train to Lyon. Sitting with Gina, sipping their glasses of rosé, Dulac waited for the waiter to leave before dropping the bomb.
‘What? The Pope an impostor?’ exclaimed Gina, her dark eyes sparkling with disbelief and indignation. ‘You’ve taken me away from my full workload to tell me that?’
‘I know it sounds a bit crazy, but just bear with me a moment.’
‘You really need a rest, Mr Dulac.’
‘Just listen to me for a moment, Gina. There are too many inconsistencies, too many coincidences. I just need a bit of tangible evidence.’
‘Even if I were to agree, I can’t do a voice analyzer test without proper authorization. Besides, use of the equipment must be logged. I can just imagine Mr Schwarz’s reaction if—’
‘But you could get access to the voice files.’
‘Even if I could, there’s no guarantee the recordings would be of good enough quality to make a reliable comparison. There are so many variables and factors.’ She paused, then continued. ‘This is completely off the wall, Mr Dulac, even for you.’
‘You’re probably right. But what have we got to lose? If the voice samples all match, end of story. You’ll have spent a couple of hours—’
‘More like a couple of days on a wild, crazy goose chase. I’d have to dig out recordings of His Holiness’s past speeches, compare them with his recent ones, get at least three different sources of each of the samples.’ She crossed her arms. ‘No, definitely not. I don’t have that kind of spare time when my schedule is quiet, never mind now. Besides, the voice analyzer isn’t a universally accepted detection tool.’
‘I don’t need bulletproof evidence, Gina. I just need something to work with. Something I can sink my teeth into. By the way, the Pope or whoever he is will be giving a special address tomorrow in St Peter’s Square. You could get a fresh sample.’
‘You’re really hung up on this. What other evidence do you have?’
‘None. You’re my only hope, Gina.’
Chapter 36
The hot air was stifling, the sun beating mercilessly on the tens of thousands of faithful, packed tightly in St. Peter’s Square for the Pope’s Special Audience. The Vatican secretariat had announced that the Pope’s address would be given on the steps of the Basilica. A white canvas canopy, supported by four columns, had been erected to protect His Holiness and his entourage from the midday sun. Rumors were flying that the Pope would announce more dogma changes.
‘In nomine patris, et filii et spiritus sancti …’ he began, slowly making the sign of the cross.
The tens of thousands of faithful listened, riveted to his every word.
‘Dear brothers and sisters, I wish to thank you for your overwhelming and enthusiastic support concerning the changes I have proposed recently.’
A loud cheer rose from the crowd.
‘Today, I will not go into the details of such changes. That will be left to the ecumenical council.’ He stopped and took a sip of the water glass beside him, then continued. ‘I assure you that the Holy Spirit has guided me in seeing the light of the Eternal. His wishes for change will be my trusted mission.’ He took another sip of water, and mopped his brow with a small kerchief. The heat had become brutal. ‘Upon me rests the great responsibility to implement God’s vision for our Holy, Apostolic Church, the Church of the Nazarene, and making sure that it—’
Suddenly, a guard collapsed from the row of Swiss Guards standing between the assembled prelates and the crowd. Two of his colleagues immediately bent down to help the stricken man. Moments later, a medical team rushed to his side.
Legnano whispered. ‘Perhaps we should adjourn, your Holiness, before we all faint.’
‘I agree, Cardinal. This is too much. We will resume in the Great Hall.’
Cardinal Legnano stepped up to the microphone and announced that the papal address had been postponed for an hour and would resume at the Great Hall of Audiences. Murmurs of disappointment ran through the crowd. The Great Hall could contain only a small proportion of the faithful, and many would have to follow the Pope’s address on the large video screens on either side of St Peter’s Square.
The prelates started their way across the stage towards the doors of St. Peter’s Basilica. Legnano, slightly ahead, walked up the last few stairs and reached the entrance to the Basilica, when suddenly a small commotion broke out behind him.
‘Someone get a doctor, quick,’ said Sforza. ‘It�
��s the Pope. He’s collapsed.’
A hum rose from the huge crowd as the news spread quickly. Something had happened to the Pope. ‘Has he been shot?’ asked some of the faithful. The assassination attempt on Pope John Paul II of May 13, 1981 couldn’t help but resurface in the collective memory. The Swiss Guards reacted quickly, rushing to the scene, trying to fend off the overly curious.
‘Please, let the doctor through,’ said one of the guards.
Moments later, a doctor arrived, quickly putting on his stethoscope and kneeling down. The look of anxiety on the doctor’s narrow, thin-featured face did nothing to ease everyone’s apprehension. ‘Call the ambulance. We must get His Holiness to the hospital,’ the doctor said.
‘How serious is it?’ asked one of the reporters.
‘No comment,’ replied the doctor, still trying to get a pulse reading.
‘Did he faint? Is it a stroke? A heart attack?’
The doctor didn’t answer.
In the distance, the ambulance siren could be heard above the human tumult, as it made its way slowly through the crowd.
‘Please. Stay back. Give His Holiness room,’ said the doctor as two attendants bearing a stretcher made their way through the crowd.
‘We will issue a statement in due course,’ said Signorelli to the hustling reporters busy snapping pictures as the attendants lifted the burdened stretcher into the ambulance.
Dulac, from the comfort of his well-worn leather couch, looked distractedly at the France 2 brunette anchorwoman, as she impassively described the fuel shortage in Kosovo and its effect on the population. Suddenly, images of the Vatican and St. Peter’s Square filled the screen and she was handed a written report.
‘We have just learned that His Holiness Pope Clement XXI has had a malaise on the steps of the Basilica, during the Special Audience at St. Peter’s Square. He has been taken to Rome’s Agostino Gemelli Clinic and initial reports indicate his condition is serious, but stable. We will keep you informed of further developments.’
The Chimera Sanction Page 25