The Pope's Assassin

by Luís Miguel Rocha

  Jacopo smiled. "As you said yourself, it's hard to believe everything

  that comes from there. One needs to question everything, including the heritage they claim."

  Sarah understood what Jacopo wanted to say, or at least she thought she did. "Are you saying that Pope Ratzinger is not the heir to Peter or, consequently, to Jesus?"

  "I'm saying it's possible he's not," the historian corrected her. "We have the right to question everything, Sarah. Think about it. You're carrying a gospel that puts the church in a difficult position. If in fact Jesus was the person who wrote it, how could that be justified? To say nothing of the historical impossibility of connecting Peter to Linus, the second pope, and consequently the popes that followed him."

  "Seriously?" There were things that left even Sarah puzzled. "That connection is the raison d'être of the church."

  "It is, Sarah. But it was fabricated. Conclaves are very recent. The term pope itself came into use only in the third century, though back then it meant all Catholic bishops. In the sixth century it was used to designate only the bishop of Rome, and only in the ninth century did it become the official title it is now."

  "What does pope mean?"

  "It's thought it has to do with the first syllables of the words pater and pastor, but that's only a theory."

  "How was it that a history that began so long ago in Israel could culminate here in Rome and turn Rome into the center of the Chris tian world?"

  "Think about it. Rome was the capital of the empire that ruled Israel. Two plus two . . . for the creation of a new religion to subjugate the population, Rome had to play a predominant role."

  "My God."

  "The truth is, Sarah, that we've attributed what we can't explain to God from the beginning, and we continue to do so. Men in power understand this and use that knowledge for their own interests."

  "But you work for a church that misrepresents things."

  "We all have our price, Sarah," Jacopo confessed. "That said, what better job than to discover what's true and what's a lie?"

  "Have you been able to discover that?"

  "I've only achieved more doubts and questions," he replied with a frustrated smile.

  "Have you seen what's inside here?" She pointed to the case.

  Jacopo shook his head no. "I still don't have the courage."

  At that moment Sarah's cell phone vibrated, announcing a new text message. She felt a moment of anxiety in her heart. Maybe it was Fran cesco saying he'd arrived. She read the text, but didn't understand it immediately, despite its being short and clear.

  "News?" Jacopo asked.

  "The driving around is over. We have to go to this location." She showed the screen to the historian.

  He read the message and swallowed dryly. "Why didn't I stay at home?" he complained.

  The Church of Saint Ignatius of Loyola, 15 minutes was written on the screen.

  68

  Rafael opened the inside door on the right, careful to make no noise, and entered silently. He closed the door and walked agilely through the side nave. He looked around the immense central nave, but neither saw nor heard anyone. The light was dim, favoring both sides.

  He went past Saint Christopher's Chapel toward Saint Joseph's, using the columns and niches to shield himself. He looked over at the side nave on the left and saw Aris and Barry advancing cautiously in front of the chapel of the Sacred Heart of Jesus.

  As he continued, he began to hear voices, imperceptible at fi rst, disconnected, a murmur, and then words, entire phrases, a laugh he didn't recognize, Tarcisio's voice pleading for the craziness to stop, Wil liam's warning that they'd regret all this. The laugh again.

  "God is going to punish us, Prefect?" The same male voice that laughed asked. "Even though you gentlemen hired a criminal to murder a Supreme Pontiff? I really don't know who deserves more punishment."

  Rafael moved a little closer. He hid behind a column and peered around the edge. Tarcisio and William were seated on chairs turned toward the altar on the right side of the transept, dedicated to Saint Aloysius Gonzaga, a Jesuit who died in the prime of life from the bubonic plague. There were four kidnappers, a man in a cassock, much younger than the cardinals, and three younger men in suits. You can't trust a man in a suit or a cassock.

  Beyond Saint Aloysius's altar, next to the high altar, he could see the funerary monument of Gregory XV and of Cardinal Ludovico Ludovisi.

  "What can the pope's assassin do to us?" the priest continued.

  Tarcisio and William were sweating profusely.

  "You're not going to get away with it, Hans. The pope will concede nothing," the secretary argued.

  "The pope has no choice," Rafael heard a voice say from the altar.

  Rafael couldn't see where the voice came from, but he recognized the voice of Adolph, the superior general, who was walking toward the group with firm, decisive steps, a leader of men and the faithful.

  "The pope is the Supreme Pontiff, the pastor of pastors. You can't do anything to him," William shouted.

  "In theory you're right. But that's going to change tonight," the superior general declared with a scornful smile.

  The four kidnappers were silent and lowered their heads in respect. Tarcisio shivered.

  "You're a heretic," William insulted Adolph, outraged.

  "Infidel," Adolph answered with the same tone. "I want the pope to sign an agreement with us. Since that's something you're used to doing."

  "I can't negotiate in his name, and given how you're treating high dignitaries of the church, I don't—"

  "There's one thing I've learned in life, Tarcisio," Adolph inter rupted. "Everything can be forgotten to preserve a higher good."

  Tarcisio spread his arms dramatically. "This can't be forgotten."

  Adolph smiled sardonically. "This never happened, you know very well. It'll never appear in the history books."

  "What do you want?" Tarcisio asked, irritated.

  "That Ratzinger sign an agreement to name a Jesuit to succeed him when God calls him to His side. Obviously."

  "Are you crazy?" William reprehended him. "His Holiness will never agree to that."

  "That's too bad," Adolph replied. "We guard your greatest secrets loyally," he added pointedly.

  "Spare me, Adolph," Tarcisio protested. "You are the loyal guard ians of a fraud. The bones of Christ, parchments that were probably written in the sixteenth century."

  "How dare you repudiate our work that Saint Ignatius—"

  "Don't make me laugh, Adolph," Tarcisio provoked. "Whatever he brought from Jerusalem weren't the bones of Christ but some John Doe nobody knows about."

  Tarcisio sounded as if he possessed a higher truth.

  "You have a very high opinion of yourselves," the secretary insisted. "Do you think if they were really the bones of Christ, the Holy See would have left them in your hands? You were used to carrying them wherever the pope decreed. Nothing more."

  Adolph's face twisted in rage. He looked at his watch. "Ten o'clock. Time's up."

  A cell phone rang loudly at just that moment. Adolph took it out and listened without saying a word. He disconnected and smiled. "It appears His Holiness has conceded. His secretary and prefect are worth something to him, after all."

  Tarcisio and William looked at him, puzzled. Rafael thought it all very strange.

  "It's not what we agreed, but the parchments will be delivered here," the superior general informed them.

  "How do they know we're here?" Schmidt asked, surprised.

  "What does it matter, Aloysius?" Adolph interrupted. "What mat ters is the parchments will be in our power. If Ratzinger gives in on this, he'll give in on the rest." He smiled with good reason. "Tell the men to let whoever the Vatican sends come in, Nicolas."

  Nicolas raised the radio to his lips. "Attention, Giovanni."

  Rafael got up noiselessly. There would be trouble when Giovanni didn't answer.

  "Giovanni, come in," Nicolas ordered.
/>   No one answered.

  "Go see what's going on," Schmidt ordered.

  Nicolas took out a gun and left for the door. "Keep your eyes open," he said to Schmidt as he left.

  Rafael would not have a better opportunity to act. It had to be now, though the telephone call Adolph had received confused him a little. It had to be quick. First the agents, then the priest, if necessary. He waited until Nicolas had walked through the central nave to the entrance.

  One shot. Two. Right to the head to make sure. Schmidt couldn't react, only staring at the fallen bodies of the agents, incredulously.

  Tarcisio blessed himself. William fell out of his chair. Rafael pointed the gun at Schmidt and approached him. "Quiet. Get on the fl oor." He looked at Adolph. "You, too. Get on the fl oor."

  Adolph refused and looked at him sternly. "Do you know who I am?"

  "I don't know, and I don't care," Barry grumbled, approaching them. "Do what he told you, old man, before God calls you to wash His feet."

  Adolph got down, scowling with fury.

  "Check to see if they're armed," Barry ordered Aris, who shook down Adolph and Schmidt, taking a gun and radio from the latter.

  The adrenaline began to kick in.

  "What was all that about the pope giving in?" Barry asked.

  "I have no idea," Rafael answered, turning to the cardinals, who didn't know what was going on, either. "Let's wait and see."

  "Call your man," Barry ordered Adolph.

  The superior general, his head resting on the floor, gestured toward Schmidt. Aris returned the radio to the priest.

  "Nicolas, where are you?"

  The reply was immediate. "I'm up here at the entrance. I'm bring ing you some company. There are Swiss Guards outside. Tell them not to come in, if they don't want to get covered with her brains," he threat ened. "I'm not kidding."

  Rafael felt as if he had been shot by them. Nicolas had said her. His heart was in his mouth, and he was upset, though not showing it. Was he talking about Sarah? If so, what the hell was she doing there?

  "I'm coming back," Nicolas's voice came over the radio. "I'm not afraid of killing or being killed," he stressed so they'd know he wasn't joking.

  Rafael watched the entrance and felt desolate when he saw them enter through a side door. Sarah and Jacopo with Nicolas behind them, a gun in each hand pointed at their heads. They were walking so slowly it would take them an eternity to join them.

  Rafael wanted to know how this could have happened.

  "What are they doing here?" Barry asked.

  "I have no idea," Rafael replied.

  "What now?"

  Rafael sighed. "Let's be very careful."

  "It'd be a shame to waste such a pretty woman," Barry said.

  "I don't want any hasty moves," Rafael warned. Nothing bad can happen to Sarah. He'd never forgive himself.

  Finally the three got to Saint Aloysius Gonzaga's chapel.

  "Let the superior general and Father Aloysius get up," Nicolas ordered.

  Rafael let them up. There were too many Aloysiuses in the story. Aris and Barry placed themselves behind them strategically, with guns pointed. They had to keep the game counterbalanced.

  As Adolph regained his posture, his arrogance doubled. "Did you bring the parchments?" he asked.

  Jacopo hung on to the leather case that Nicolas was trying to grab from him.

  "This should be it," Nicolas said.

  "You're not going to get away with this," Rafael warned. "There are agents everywhere outside."

  "Shut up," Nicolas said. "This isn't over until we say it's over."

  "Sons of bitches fanatics," Barry swore.

  "Bring me the case," Adolph said.

  Nicolas obeyed promptly.

  "What now? Are we going to stay here staring at each other?" Rafael asked.

  Sarah's frightened expression broke his heart. This wasn't in his plans. He wanted to avoid it at all costs.

  "Let's stay calm," Tarcisio asked. "No one else has to suffer."

  "I have what I want," Adolph said, holding the case tightly.

  He opened it and cautiously took out the contents, handling them like the most valuable of prizes. He checked them and his solemn face turned angry.

  "Is this some kind of joke?" He grunted, waving the pages in the air with no attempt to protect them. "Are you joking with me? Did you think you could fool me?"

  No one understood, but the papers certainly didn't seem ancient rarities.

  "That's what they gave me," Sarah argued.

  "Do you think I was born yesterday?" Adolph shouted. "All that's in here are the agreements the Holy See made with Ben Isaac. "Don't fuck with me." He was completely beside himself.

  "Let's stay calm," Rafael requested.

  Things couldn't get out of control, precarious as they already were.

  Sarah was mystified. Jean-Paul had gone to the vault. She'd seen

  him go there. He had given her the case, and no one had opened it until now. How could . . . ?

  The superior general's cell phone rang. He listened. Someone said something, and he immediately disconnected and put it back in his pocket.

  "How are we going to resolve this?" Rafael asked.

  It could turn into a bloodbath.

  Another phone started to ring. After a few bars the ringtone became clear: "The Star-Spangled Banner." Barry's phone.

  "Barry," he said, answering it.

  He listened a few seconds, then took the phone from his ear and punched a key. "Okay, you're on speakerphone."

  "Good evening, gentlemen," they heard a voice say.

  Sarah managed a half smile as she recognized JC's voice.

  "Who is it?" Adolph asked angrily.

  "You're very rude, Adolph. Hanging up without hearing what I have to say," the voice reproached him.

  Adolph was not worried. "Who are you?"

  "The last person who hung up on me is no longer with us. I have a very quick temper when it comes to bad manners."

  "Cut the shit," Schmidt said arrogantly.

  "Oh, oh, oh! What impatience, Reverend Father Hans Matthaus Schmidt, or do you prefer your Jesuit name, Aloysius?"

  The voice made Adolph and Schmidt uncomfortable.

  "My own name doesn't matter. You can call me JC."

  "Pope Luciani's assassin," Schmidt whispered to Adolph.

  "Men are the most predictable creatures in existence," JC contin ued over Barry's speakerphone. They don't understand each other, they don't share, they don't like to lose. I'm including myself. I'm the same."

  "Is there some point to this conversation?" Adolph asked.

  "I've decided neither one of you will get the parchments. I shall be their faithful guardian."

  "That's not what we agreed," William put in, visibly discouraged.

  "We agreed to recover the parchments. I never said I'd give them to you."

  "That was implicit," William argued.

  "I can be slow to understand," JC said ironically.

  Adolph looked at Tarcisio furiously. "Do you see what happens when you get involved with criminals? The pope's assassin, for the love of God. What were you thinking?"

  "I must add allegedly to your name-calling," JC corrected him. "In any case, I want you to lower your guns and go your separate ways."

  Nicolas laughed; so Schmidt did.

  "And we should just because you say so?" Schmidt asked.

  "I'll excuse the reverend father because he's never heard of me. But I won't repeat my order to lower your guns," JC declared.

  The impasse and tension remained: Nicolas with two guns pointed at Sarah and Jacopo, Aris covering Schmidt and Adolph, Rafael and Barry pointing their guns away.

  "Kill them," Adolph ordered Nicolas.

  "Stay calm." Rafael tried to aim in Sarah's direction to see if he could hit Nicolas, but Nicolas was shielded by the two of them. It would be a diffi cult shot.

  Sarah closed her eyes in panic.

  "Oh, my
God!" Jacopo stammered, terrifi ed.

  "Kill them," Adolph said again, without a trace of emotion.

  Two shots echoed through the immense structure of the church. Nicolas was thrown forward, arms wide, pushing Jacopo and Sarah aside with the impact of the bullets between his shoulders.