“Your Eminence, thank you for joining us.” Cardinal Alejandro Obregon, the Archbishop of Lima, Peru, hurried over to greet his distinguished guest. “It's not often that we in Latin America have a chance to meet privately with the Vatican secretary of state.”
“Thank you for inviting me, Alejandro.”
Obregon took Barbo's hand and kissed his ring. The tradition of one cardinal reverencing the ring of another was sharply criticized by those in the liberal wing of the Sacred College. Diefenbacher had given several speeches in which he called the tradition a medieval practice of self-glorification. Therefore, Obregon's public gesture of reverencing Barbo's ring caught everyone by surprise. The Peruvian cardinal was sending a message to his colleagues. It was unclear, however, whether the message was one of respect for Barbo or contempt for Diefenbacher.
“Francesco, come join the discussion. Cardinal Ramera had just begun talking to us about the poor in his diocese. Continue, Ramera!”
“One night, about a month ago, I walked through the streets of Recife. I saw a young boy no more than ten years of age lying in the streets. He was dying from AIDS. I drove the flies away and kissed him. He died in my arms. Madonnas and wooden santos are not what he needed. He needed to be given a chance to live a fully human life. A chance to have a wife and family—a chance to have friends and to laugh and sing.”
Cardinal Chavez, the Primate of Mexico, angrily interrupted Ramera.
“Your Eminence, Jesus said that the poor would always be with us. The Church cannot correct disparities between rich and poor. All we can do is provide the poor with the hope of an afterlife.”
Cardinal Viateste, the Archbishop of Managua, Nicaragua stood when Chavez had finished speaking.
“The Church is all that the poor have. We cannot desert them. If we need to confront the social order to help them out of poverty, then we must do so.”
Cardinal Obregon made a sign of mock horror. “I don't know how to load a gun, Viateste. Short of that, all of us in this room do try to help the poor. Every Sunday in Lima, my staff gives away tons of food and medicine.”
Viateste challenged Obregon. “But the poor come back the next week. In reality, there is no change.”
Chavez was adamant. “In my country, the poor worship Juan Diego and the Madonna of Guadalupe. When I see their faith and devotion, I cry. They believe so devoutly in their God—it gives them hope.”
“I wonder, Chavez, whether Juan Diego and the Virgin would satisfy you if you had no bread for your children.” Viateste stared angrily at Chavez. The room suddenly grew quiet.
Obregon broke the tension by changing the subject. “Gentlemen, in a few days the conclave will open. We must choose Pope Benedict's successor. The fundamental question seems to be, do we look for another pastor like Benedict or an administrator?”
“That is not the right question, Alejandro.” Cardinal Ignacio Munoz of Ecuador spoke from his seat.
“Well, how would you phrase it, Ignacio?”
Muñoz declared loudly. “Do we choose a pope who will decentralize power or one who will keep it in Rome?”
“And how would you answer the question, Ignacio?” Cardinal Barbo smiled at his old friend from curial days.
“Our distinguished guest puts me on the spot. Well, I will answer his question. In Chavez's country, there are Mexican bishops who preach that the story of Guadalupe is merely a myth — that the Virgin never appeared to Juan Diego. Can you imagine a churchman in Mexico calling the central symbol of Mexican Catholicism a myth! But these bishops do it and get away with it. Benedict would not silence them.”
“It's worse than that, Ignacio.” Chavez's face was flushed with anger. “Bishops throughout Latin America openly flaunt Rome on theological matters. Some even intimate that the Eucharist contains the body and blood of Christ only in symbolic form. Bishops like these must be excommunicated if we are to maintain one universal church with one set of beliefs.”
“But, Your Eminence, whether the Virgin appeared to Juan Diego or not is hardly a question of theology or dogma. It's a question of belief.” All eyes turned toward Cardinal Calvaux who stood near the back stairs of the conference room. “We must always uphold the truth. Obviously, a powerful force touched Juan Diego. It changed his life and the life of the Mexican people. In all this debate about whether the Virgin appeared to Juan Diego, we should not lose sight of the fundamental truth. God touched the Mexican people deeply through the story of Juan Diego and the Virgin.”
“But would you vote for a centralist or a decentralist, Jean?”
Calvaux spoke from his heart. “I will look for a pastor. The Holy Father is the spiritual leader of a billion Catholics. Whoever is chosen as Benedict's successor should have the ability to project his care and love to all of the faithful.”
Cardinals Ramera and Viateste nodded in agreement.
“I cannot agree with Cardinal Calvaux, even though we are distant cousins.” Obregon was no longer the gracious host. “The Holy Father has been an inspiration for me and for Catholics everywhere. But he seemed afraid to uphold the Magisterium of Rome. He was too tentative when it came to clamping down on rogue bishops. We need a pope who will reassert the central authority of Rome. Wouldn't you agree, Francesco?”
Barbo smiled. “I will not be drawn into the debate, Alejandro. But I do know that many who were in the conclave that elected Pope Benedict told me they could feel the presence of the Holy Spirit in the Sistine Chapel.”
Chavez nodded. “Francesco is right. I was there. There was a feeling of incandescence in the room — as if the air in the chapel was about to ignite.”
Barbo looked at Obregon. “We must keep our hearts and minds open. The choice of pope is not ours. The Holy Spirit will guide us to the right man.”
Cardinal Obregon could not resist a chuckle. “I see the Cardinal Secretary of State will not be pinned down.”
Cardinal Chavez looked at his watch. “It's after ten o'clock, gentlemen. Tomorrow morning we have Mass and then we meet in General Congregation. I for one need to be rested if the Holy Spirit is to guide me.”
As the cardinals bade their farewells to their host Cardinal Obregon, Barbo walked over to Calvaux.
“Jean, I didn't know you would be here.”
“Nor did I until earlier this evening. The Montelamberts might be better described as a dynasty than a family. Obregon is a distant relation. He called and invited me to the reception.”
“You spoke eloquently tonight. I was impressed with your candor.”
“Thank you. I believe strongly that the next pope should be a pastor. What about you, Francesco? You were close to Benedict.”
Barbo smiled. “Jean, I'm a member of the Curia—I've had no pastoral experience.”
“I said we should choose a pastor, not necessarily someone with pastoral experience. They're not the same. The qualities of a good pastor can be found even among the members of the Curia.”
Cardinal Barbo could not hold back a laugh. “‘Even among the members of the Curia!’ Jean, by this time you must have some inkling of how the Curia works. A bureaucratic process determines orthodoxy. If I were to advance a position, it would be reviewed and compromised for weeks until what emerges would bear no resemblance to my initial position. In the Curia, you'll find your share of canon lawyers and theologians, but not too many pastors. Benedict tried to dismantle the bureaucracy but with little success.”
“You said tonight that we must open our hearts to the Holy Spirit. We priests often forget that the advice we give others applies to us as well.”
Barbo's limousine left the Angelicum and headed toward the Vatican. As the car approached the Tiber, Barbo saw flashing lights ahead. A police barricade blocked the street. Barbo got out of the car and walked inside the stanchions.
A police officer pushed Barbo back. “You must stay behind the barricades.”
“What happened?” asked Barbo.
The policeman answered. “A woman is threatening t
o jump from a building. She's holding a baby.”
“I'm a priest. Let me through.”
“I guess it can't hurt.” The policeman pushed the barricade aside.
Barbo ran toward the building. When the cardinal reached the entrance way, he was stopped. Barbo recognized a familiar voice. “Detective Cameri, let me try to save the woman.”
“I apologize, Your Eminence. I didn't recognize you. But you cannot go inside the building when someone is threatening suicide. It's against policy.”
“For God's sake, Cameri, let me try.”
The detective looked up at the woman standing on the ledge of the building holding her baby. He shrugged his shoulders. “All right, go ahead. She's a prostitute. We think she was beaten by some junkies and then gang raped. They went after the baby too. It's not a pretty sight.”
“Thank you, Detective.”
“I'll go with you. Try to get her to give up the baby. It'll give her a reason to live.”
Barbo climbed the stairs and walked out on the roof. He tried to sooth the woman. “I'm a priest. Are you a Catholic?”
“I was a long time ago.” The woman began to cry.
“What is your name?”
“Maria.”
Barbo moved closer to the woman. “God loves you, Maria. He loves your baby, too. What is her name?”
The woman hugged the baby. “I call her Eva. It was my mother's name.”
“Where was Eva born? Here in Rome?”
“Yes, but there's no life for my baby here. Look what they have done to her!”
She lifted the baby for Barbo to see. The movement caused her to lose her balance. Barbo caught the baby as the woman fell from the ledge to the street below.
“I must anoint her.” Barbo pushed the baby into Cameri's arms and ran down to the street.
A police car had broken the woman's fall. When Barbo reached the street, she was still breathing.
Barbo bent down and kissed the woman. “God will lead you into paradise, Maria.”
Barbo blessed the woman and held her hand while she died. Cameri placed the baby in her dead mother's arms for a final farewell.
When the ambulance took the baby away, Cameri walked over to where Barbo was standing. “Tonight took guts, Your Eminence. You tried. Just remember one thing. Maria is just another casualty of your friend Visconti's clients.”
Barbo stared for a moment at Cameri and then walked slowly back to his limousine. Cameri could see that the secretary of state was holding back tears.
Barbo showered when he returned to his apartment on Via Mascherino. The water washed away the blood but not the emotions he had experienced on the street tonight. For the prostitute Maria, he was not Francesco Cardinal Barbo, Vatican Secretary of State, but a simple priest helping another human being die. He hoped he had mattered in the woman's life.
“Open your heart to the Spirit.” Calvaux was right. Barbo had spoken those words on innumerable occasions to innumerable people, but he had never opened his own heart.
Barbo's thoughts returned to Visconti. He could easily justify giving in to Visconti's demands — after all, he would be acting to protect the Church and the papacy, let alone the millions of poor and uneducated Catholics who would be scandalized by the contents of the parchment. If protecting the Church meant that Visconti's clients would profit, then so be it. The profit would be the unintended consequence of achieving the greater good. But tonight, perhaps for the first time in his life, Barbo had seen the faces of those unintended consequences—Maria and her baby.
“Open your heart to the Spirit. You might be surprised at what happens.”
Barbo poured brandy into a snifter. Suppose he told Visconti there would be no deal — that he would not help those who contributed to the death of Maria and the rape of her baby. Suppose he told Visconti that he would not compromise the Church's integrity or his own for this piece of parchment?
The phone rang, and Barbo looked at his watch. It was almost two o'clock in the morning. The caller-ID panel showed the call originated in Castel Gondolfo. He picked up the receiver.
“Francesco?” The pope's voice was strong despite the lateness of the hour. “I could not find the telephone number for your apartment. I had to wake Sister Consuela to get it.”
“Tell Sister Consuela that I was not the cause of her losing a night's sleep.”
“I will, Francesco. I was kneeling by the side of my bed praying when I saw you kneeling next to me. You were troubled by something. We are old friends, Francesco. Can I help?”
Barbo yearned to ask his old friend about the Magdalene parchment and Visconti's blackmail but dared not. Doctor Hendricks had laid down strict rules that the Holy Father must be shielded from any talk of problems or difficulties. They would only deepen his sense of guilt over abdicating.
“Whatever it is, Francesco, have the courage to put your trust in God. He will help you.”
Pope Benedict clicked off the phone.
Rarely in one's life — never for some — there are moments of moral clarity when a person sees exactly what must be done. For Barbo, that moment came when Benedict said: “Have the courage to put your trust in God.” Calvaux's words, the sight of the dying prostitute, Benedict's phone call—they were all parts of the same message. Barbo knew what he had to do.
Fellows had said there would be a preliminary report on the carbon dating at about nine o'clock this evening. If, by some miracle, the parchment turned out to be a hoax, the force of circumstances would end the deal with Visconti. If the document proved to be genuine, however, he would tell Visconti there would be no deal. Barbo would put his trust in God.
As Barbo took his seat in the General Congregation, Cardinal De-sion, the prefect of the Congregation for Bishops, sat next to him. The prefect's position perfectly suited Desion's personality. Anyone who sought an episcopal appointment had to pass his scrutiny. In many ways, Desion was a bellwether. Because of his dealings with the hierarchy, Desion knew the thinking of most Church leaders around the world. Even more significant, perhaps, many of the cardinals who would select Benedict's successor owed their episcopal appointments to Desion.
“Francesco, come join me for a cappuccino at the coffee bar. We have a few minutes before Marini starts the meeting.”
Barbo and Desion found a table in the corner farthest from the door. Although Desion exuded Gallic charm, Barbo knew him to be a wily and tough adversary.
“Extraordinary—the pope abdicating like this. Who could have predicted such a thing?” Unconsciously, Desion put his hand to his face to conceal a childhood scar.
“Pope Benedict was a great leader, Desion. In our ranks, there are few like him.”
“You are right, Barbo. The Church will miss his gentle but steady hand.” Barbo knew that Desion's words were leading to a different subject.
“You know, Barbo, as prefect of the Congregation for Bishops, I met weekly with the Holy Father to review episcopal nominations. We spoke often about the future leadership of the Church. He told me once that he gave you a cardinal's hat not as a reward for your past accomplishments, but for what you would do in the future. Pope Benedict had a high regard for your talents, Barbo. “
“I was privileged to work closely with the pontiff. He had a firm grasp of even the most complex problems.”
“The Holy Spirit will guide us to the next pope. But many think they hear him hovering over you, Barbo.” Desion chuckled.
“I will not be chosen, Desion. There are many others.”
“The papers mention you as a cardinal who has many of the qualities the Church needs on the Chair of Peter.”
“Desion, I'm too old to be elected.”
“You're seventy. After the long reign of John Paul II, some of our colleagues will regard your age as one of your most appealing qualities.”
Barbo smiled. “In other words, Desion, my pontificate will be short.”
“I'd rather say that your pontificate would not be too long.”
&
nbsp; “But longevity runs in my family. My father died when he was ninety-four.”
Desion chuckled. “Keep that fact to yourself, My Lord Cardinal Barbo.”
A bell rang.
“Cardinal Marini calls us to our task, Francesco.”
The camerlengo rapped his gavel to bring the session of the General Congregation to order. “My brothers, we have much to do.”
As he rapped the gavel a second time, a Vatican staff member hurried up to the podium and handed Marini a note. The camerlengo was dumbstruck at what he read. “His Eminence Cardinal Obregon has suffered a massive stroke. The doctors say he will not live out the day.”
There was stunned silence in the room.
His face ashen, Cardinal Chavez rose from his sear. “Alejandro was my close friend for many years. I must go to his bedside.” Tears rolled down the Mexican cardinal's cheeks as he tried to remain composed.
Cardinal Muñoz stood up and started to follow Chavez out of the room. Chavez shook his head. “No, Ignacio. Alejandro would want us to proceed as before. The Church must have a new Holy Father.”
When the shock of Cardinal Obregon's stroke had worn off, Cardinal Marini opened his briefcase and took out a letter. “There is more bad news. Cardinal Tien has emailed me from Hong Kong. His doctors are concerned that he may have been exposed to a new and virulant strain of Kowloon flu.”
“Then he must not come,” insisted Cardinal Vaggio from Florence. “Can you imagine a serious outbreak of flu in the conclave?”
Marini nodded in agreement. “I will inform Cardinal Tien. I'm sure he won't be surprised by the decision.”
Marini bent over and rummaged through his briefcase. He took out an envelope sealed with red wax. “Yesterday the papal chamberlain found this among Benedict's papers. It is labeled ‘cardinal nomination in pectore.’” There was a murmur in the room. Barbo stood to be recognized. “Pope Benedict did tell me at the last Consistory that he was nominating one cardinal in pectore. The pontiff was convinced that public nomination of the individual should be deferred to a later date. Cardinal Krause, you are the most knowledgeable canon lawyer among us. What should we do?”
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