The Parchment

by McLaughlin, Gerald T.

  “We have been friends for a long time, Francesco. You have grown in the job of secretary of state. I've watched from the sidelines. You have the natural instincts of a diplomat.”

  Barbo laid a hand on Galliardin's shoulder. “I had a good mentor. You taught me the importance of nuance and subtlety—how an arched eyebrow can speak volumes.”

  “I understand there's much talk of your becoming our next Holy Father. Some see it as a choice among Diefenbacher, Chavez, and you. They say Diefenbacher will come close but fall short of the necessary eighty-three votes. Chavez will not be able to get that many either. Both sides will turn to you as a compromise choice.”

  Barbo laughed. “What's the saying? ‘He who enters the conclave pope comes out cardinal.’”

  Galliardin got out of bed carefully and walked slowly to a chair. “Before I was admitted here last night, I received a call from an old friend, Aldo Cacaglio.”

  “The mayor of Palermo?” Barbo had met Cacaglio at a dinner party at Pietro Visconti's home.

  “Yes. He wanted to know what would happen in the conclave.” Barbo gave Galliardin a good-natured look. “Cacaglio chose the right person to call.”

  “Thank you, Francesco. But there was more to what he said.”

  “More?” Barbo bent down to pick up the magazine Galliardin had thrown on the floor. Barbo saw that the front page story was an interview with Cardinal Calvaux.

  “Cacaglio was quite circumspect, but he was clearly using me to pass a message to you. He knows that we are friends.”

  “What was the message?”

  Galliardin hesitated before continuing. “The Mafia could help you become the next pope. There are at least five cardinals who will do their bidding.”

  Barbo smiled at his old friend. “There's always talk of this or that bishop being connected to organized crime, but to say that there are five electors who would vote for the candidate selected by the Mafia—I refuse to accept that.”

  Galliardin poured himself a glass of water. “I'm amazed that there aren't more of them. It's costly to run a diocese.”

  “And the price for Mafia support?”

  “Cacaglio didn't say. I'm not sure he even knows. All he said was that Barbo would know what the price is.”

  “Was there anything else in Cacaglio's message?”

  “Yes. If you wish the support of the five cardinals, submit a blank ballot on the first vote of the conclave. When the tally comes up one short, they'll know you've agreed to what the Mafia wants.”

  “As well as anyone, you know that I won't allow myself to owe the papacy to the Mafia. I've already told them that I will not do business with them.”

  Galliardin cleared his throat. “The Catholic Church is like an old tree, Francesco. It produces good fruit and bad fruit. What is so remarkable is that with all its imperfections and with all its faults, it perseveres.”

  “You're not suggesting that I do the bidding of the Mafia?”

  “I suggest nothing, Francesco. All I say is this. Anyone who sits in the Chair of Peter has made compromises along the way. The Church has learned—wisely I think—not to shine too much light on the complexities of a papal election. A glimpse or two by candlelight is more than sufficient. We all talk of the will of the Holy Spirit, but in the end, it is compromise that elects a pope.”

  “But these are criminals — they....”

  “Francesco,” Cardinal Galliardin scowled at his friend. “Didn't Pius XI sign the Lateran Treaty with Mussolini? Didn't he also sign a concordat with Hitler?”

  “Yes.”

  “They were distasteful compromises, but Pius agreed to them because he was a man who had both feet rooted here on earth. He was a realist, not a dreamer.”

  “There's a difference between what Pius did and this. Mussolini and Hitler were heads of state; they were not ordinary criminals like those in the Mafia.”

  “So where does this logic lead us? Nations perform criminal acts just like individuals do. We could write a criminal history of any country. You choose — Italy, France, the United States. There's little difference between making a compromise with Mussolini and making a compromise with the Mafia.”

  “You argue your case well, my old friend, but I'm not convinced by your realpolitik.”

  “Francesco, I don't know what the Mafia wants of you and I don't care to know. But I do know one thing. You understand diplomacy, and you are a courageous and compassionate man. I would rather see you on the Throne of Saint Peter than Chavez or Diefenbacher.”

  “Even if I owed my election to the Mafia?” Barbo asked.

  “Yes, even if you owed your election to the Mafia.”

  A lonely church bell rang eleven o'clock. Barbo looked at his watch. “I must go, Pierre. The camerlengo wants me to attend this morning's session of the General Congregation to answer any last-minute questions about the situation in the Middle East. Once we are out of conclave, I will come back to see you.”

  As Barbo stood up to leave, Galliardin took his hand. “You told me once about an image that the Templars used in their meditations. They concentrated on the place on the Cross where the vertical and horizontal bars come together.”

  “Yes. For them, it was a symbol of the need to integrate the spiritual and the material. You have a good memory, Pierre.”

  “The image stayed with me. I have often thought of it in my own meditations. Francesco, all I ask you to do is think of the problems facing the Church—the scandals in America, relations with Islam, the rise of Christian fundamentalism in Third World countries. Then decide where you should center yourself on the Cross.”

  “You leave little room for the Holy Spirit.”

  “The Holy Spirit works through our heads and our hearts. Consider what I've said, Francesco.”

  Anticipation filled the streets of Rome as the cardinals met for the final session of the General Congregation. Cardinal Marini's agenda listed only a few last-minute items. Two cardinals, each with a pacemaker implant, asked that medical technicians be allowed to accompany them into the conclave. The requests were granted without debate. The only item that required discussion was an unusual request from Cardinal Stewart, the Archbishop of Melbourne, Australia. Stewart had undergone hip-replacement surgery. The cardinal's doctors would not let him fly until a month after the surgery. As a consequence, the earliest flight he could take would arrive at Leonardo da Vinci Airport late on the first day of the conclave. His request to enter the conclave late was granted, although several Latin American cardinals supporting Chavez voted against it. They assumed Stewart was a supporter of Diefenbacher.

  As the cardinals left the final session of the General Congregation, several reporters tried to interview Cardinal Barbo but he smiled and continued walking. He did stop to speak with a troop of boy scouts from Milan. With their sleeping bags and knapsacks, they planned to sleep in the St. Peter's Square until the new pope was chosen. He blessed the group and jocularly prayed that the weather would not turn cold.

  As Barbo walked into his office, Detective Cameri was sitting in the reception area.

  He jumped to his feet when Barbo entered the room. “Your Eminence, I must have a word with you right now. Professor Mi-chellini is dead.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  Barbo escorted Cameri into his office and closed the door behind them.

  “You know more than you're telling me. Who is behind this homicide? Visconti?”

  Barbo did not respond. He knew what the alternatives were. He could meet privately with Diefenbacher and threaten that, unless the South African withdrew his candidacy for pope, Barbo would rise in the conclave and accuse Diefenbacher of having bought stolen property from Visconti. An accusation like this coming from a respected cleric like Barbo would doom Diefen-bacher's chances of being elected pope. Not only that, the accusation would publicly humiliate him in front of his colleagues in the Sacred College. Given the consequences, Diefenbacher would have no choice but to withdraw his candidacy. If Barbo d
id that and nothing more, however, Diefenbacher would escape punishment for his possible complicity in Michellini's death. When the scandal over priestly sex abuse surfaced in the United States, Barbo was outspoken in his criticism of the subsequent cover-up by members of the episcopacy. If he failed to divulge Diefenbacher's possible involvement in Michellini's death, how was he any different from those American bishops? Failing to accuse a prince of the Church of possible complicity in murder was morally indistinguishable from failing to accuse wayward priests of child abuse.

  “You must make me one promise, Cameri?”

  “What is that?”

  “What I tell you must be kept in confidence until you have proof of what I say.”

  “You have my word.”

  “I believe one of my colleagues — Hans Cardinal Diefenbacher— was involved in Michellini's death.”

  “A prince of the Church?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why would Cardinal Diefenbacher conspire to kill Michellini?”

  “Look at this, Cameri. It's a copy of a manuscript that Professors Bielgard and Michellini found in the Vatican Library. They used it to blackmail the Church.”

  “What does it say?”

  “It says that Jesus and the Magdalene were married and had two children. Bielgard and Michellini hired Visconti to blackmail the Church on their behalf.”

  “But it didn't turn out that way.”

  “No, it didn't. Once Visconti knew what the parchment said, he decided that he would use it against the Church in his own way. He had two of his men take the manuscript away from Bielgard and Michellini that night on Via di San Marco.”

  “How much did he want from the Church?”

  “It wasn't money. Visconti wanted favors for his clients — the use of Vatican bank accounts to transfer money, Vatican pressure on the Italian government to remove troublesome prosecutors. When I refused, he said he would sell it to Diefenbacher.”

  “Why would Diefenbacher want it?”

  “Votes in the conclave!”

  “Ah, now I see. The parchment showing Jesus was married would allow him to attack priestly celibacy and the role of women in the Church.”

  “Yes, he would become an instant hero of the liberal wing of the Sacred College. The parchment might be enough to put him in the Chair of Peter.”

  “And the connection to Michellini?” Cameri thought for a moment. “Of course, she would be the only person who could realistically hurt Diefenbacher's chances. It would not help his papal aspirations if he were found to have bought stolen goods from the Mafia.”

  “No, it wouldn't.”

  “So you think Diefenbacher arranged her death?”

  “‘Arranged’ may not be the precise word, but at some level, I'm sure Diefenbacher was involved in it.”

  “Why have you told me all of this, Your Eminence?”

  “I don't want Michellini's death on my conscience.”

  “I cannot prosecute you as an accessory in the murder of either Bielgard or Michellini.”

  “Can't or won't?”

  “Can't. The Italian Government grants diplomatic immunity to both the pope as head of the Vatican state, and the secretary of state as head of the Vatican government. Office has its privileges.”

  “I will not hide behind my office or a technicality.”

  “I doubt the prime minister will want the Italian government caught up in a diplomatic controversy with the Holy See — particularly when it involves the Vatican secretary of state. But such immunity does not extend to Diefenbacher.”

  The phone rang at Interpol's headquarters in Paris. “This is Detective Cameri from the Rome Police Department. Is Ira Panner there?”

  In a moment, a man came on the line. “How can I help you, Giorgio? You never call just to say hello.”

  “Ira, I need a quick search done. In the last week, have there been any major bank transfers from Durban, South Africa, to any accounts in Rome?”

  “How big is major?”

  “More than a million dollars U.S.”

  “That should be easy enough. I'll call you back in a couple of hours.”

  Later that day, a police officer handed the phone to Cameri. “It's for you, Sir. I think it's from Interpol.”

  “Cameri, this is Ira. I have the information you wanted. During the past week, there's been no transfer of more than a million from any Durban account.”

  “Damn it. I was sure there would be.”

  “Wait, I'm not finished. There has been lots of traffic out of Durban, but in amounts under $500,000 — $300,000 to an account in Turin, $420,000 to one in Palermo. As of yesterday, the transfers totaled more than $2 million. What drew my attention to them were the transferee bank accounts — they're all on Interpol's watch list — suspected of being controlled by the Mafia.”

  “Thanks, Ira. I owe you one.”

  Barbo was exhausted as he unlocked his apartment door. The death of Michellini, the visit to Galliardin's bedside, the meeting with Cameri had all left him emotionally drained. As he took off his cassock, he noticed the message light on his phone was flashing. He pressed the button. It was a message from Cameri.

  “Your Eminence, there has been an interesting series of bank transfers from Durban to Italian accounts. By the way, Gemelli thinks Professor Michellini died from minute amounts of cyanide injected into her IV. We're looking into it.”

  As he listened to the message, Barbo noticed that his housekeeper had left a FedEx packet on his desk. The return address was Castel Gondolfo. When he opened the envelope, he found a one-page letter from Benedict written in his own hand.

  Barbo's heart jumped a beat when he read it. He quickly rang his office. “Enrico, arrange for a car to Castel Gondolfo. I must leave immediately.”

  “You sound upset, Your Eminence. Is Pope Benedict alright?”

  “Have the car at my apartment in ten minutes.”

  CHAPTER XXIV

  EXTRA MNES

  THE OPENING DAY of the conclave dawned cold and blustery—an inauspicious beginning for so momentous an occasion. Days before, the news media had staked out places in St. Peter's Square to film the cardinals as they processed from the Apostolic Palace to the basilica to celebrate the Mass of the Holy Spirit. Curious bystanders watched as cardinals arrived in limousines from their lodgings throughout Rome. Vatican staff removed suitcases and garment bags from the car trunks and carried them into the Domus Sanctae Marthae, the Vatican hotel that would be used for the first time.

  At precisely 9:00 A.M., the door of the Apostolic Palace opened and a contingent of Swiss Guards paraded into the square. A large crowd of onlookers cheered as Cardinal Marini, the camerlengo, appeared in the doorway. The rest of the Sacred College followed behind him in order of ecclesiastical rank—cardinal bishops ahead of cardinal priests, and cardinal priests ahead of cardinal deacons. Loud applause erupted when Cardinal Chavez, the most senior cardinal priest, walked out into the square. Smiling, he waved to the crowds and blessed a group of Mexican tourists who held up a picture of Our Lady of Guadalupe.

  The loudest applause, however, met the Archbishop of Tokyo, Misho Cardinal Yapok. Yapok had suffered a stroke several months before and had to be taken into the basilica in a wheelchair. Drums began to sound when the six-foot-five Archbishop of Kinshasa, Uganda, Aloysius Cardinal Muramba, processed across the square. As if embodying the confidence of the African continent, Muramba wore his tribal dashiki over his cardinal's robes.

  The only disturbance occurred when Cardinal Diefenbacher appeared in the square. A woman pulled out a placard from under her raincoat. “The Archbishop of Durban is the Anti-Christ.” Luckily for an embarrassed Diefenbacher, the message was written in Afrikaans, understood by few of those watching the procession. Swiss Guards wasted no time in escorting the woman out of St. Peter's Square. As he processed across the square, Cardinal Barbo looked tired and preoccupied. He barely responded to the applause of his staff, watching the procession from their office windows.r />
  As the cardinal electors entered the great basilica for Mass, no one would predict how long the conclave would last. Three names continued to be mentioned as successors to Pope Benedict: Cardinals Barbo, Chavez, and Diefenbacher—the “B, C, D candidates” as one newspaper humorously referred to them. The consensus among experienced Vatican watchers was that, in the end, Diefenbacher or Barbo would win. Diefenbacher either did or did not have the necessary votes, which would become apparent early in the balloting. If he did not have the votes of eighty-three electors, the cardinals would most likely turn to a centrist member of the Curia like Barbo rather than to an archconservative member of Opus Dei like Chavez. Rome's influential daily, II Messaggero, however, disagreed. Chavez knew the members of the Curia from the days when he worked in Rome. His charm and sense of humor made him a popular figure among liberals and conservatives alike. In the end, many cardinals might choose to overlook his conservatism and vote for his humanity. The fact that he was seventy-nine years of age was also a positive factor. If Chavez turned out to be a mistake, his advanced age might at least limit the damage. Rome's odds makers seemed to agree with II Messaggero. In the Totopapa, the daily betting pool on the papal election, the odds were three to two for Chavez, and five to one each for Diefenbacher and Barbo. No one seemed to care that betting on a papal election could result in excommunication from the Church.

  The master of ceremonies stood in the center aisle of the basilica. As each cardinal elector approached, the master of ceremonies bowed and escorted him to his seat in front of the high altar. Following tradition, the Mass opening the conclave, the Missa Pro Eligendo Papa, was concelebrated by the oldest cardinal elector from each of the three cardinatial ranks — in this case, Cardinal Bishop Bernardo Filistrini from Albano, Italy, Cardinal Priest Stephen Verebrand from Munich, and Cardinal Deacon Agostino Marini, the camerlengo.

  As Cardinal Barbo was ushered to his seat by the master of ceremonies, he thought of last night's sudden trip to visit Pope Benedict at Castel Gondolfo. He hardly heard the camerlengo's homily on the significance of what was about to take place. The sound of communion bells jolted Barbo out of his reveries. He received the Eucharist from Cardinal Filistrini and returned to his pre-dieu. The three concelebrants intoned the closing words Ite Missa Est—“Go forth, the Mass is ended.” Barbo rose from his seat and processed with the other electors to the rear of St Peter's, where a corridor connected the basilica to the Apostolic Palace, where the conclave would take place. Once the cardinal electors had entered the Apostolic Palace, the area would be cordoned off from the rest of the world.