“What could be worse than a mob?” asked Cardinal Tondocello. “Are you afraid that there might be a deliberate attempt to disrupt the Pope’s arrival? I don’t mean Requiems on the bridge or Masses at Sant’ Angelo.”
“It is something we must anticipate, little as we might want to. It would not be difficult to work the crowd into a frenzy, and then it could turn violent quickly. We don’t want anyone getting hurt or killed because the Chinese Pope is coming. We may have to take necessary steps to reduce the volatility of that crowd. But we do not want to use aggressive measures, not here, with the whole world watching. It would be a very bad beginning for the new Pope. If there is a riot here, then it will signal more of them in other places. And there could be more dangerous factors here than we know,” said Commander Bouleau.
“How do you mean?” asked Cardinal Tondocello. His back was sore and his eyes were tired; it was only three in the afternoon. He longed to be back in Palermo.
“Well,” said Inspector Cervi in a studious and polite manner, “as far as we are aware, there has been no official notice from the Vatican that the…the Chinese woman has arrived in Italy, and yet everyone out there is here, expecting to meet her. How did they learn she had arrived?”
Cardinal Tondocello shrugged. “Someone might have noticed her landing at the airport. All those police were not inconspicuous. Someone might have recognized one of the Cardinals at the train station. They all wore secular clothes, but Cardinal Gemme and Cardinal Cadini are familiar faces to the public. The whole world has been waiting for Zhuang Renxin to come here. There is likely to be a vigil, no matter what announcements are made, and so we’ve said nothing. I am not surprised that we could not keep so momentous a secret.”
“But so many people. The Mass at Castel’ Sant’ Angelo. There are groups carrying banners and placards protesting the election of this woman, including about twenty Chinese students here to learn musical composition.” Inspector Fleche leaned forward in his chair, a scarecrow-thin man with wiry mop of khaki hair. “Twenty Chinese students are nothing. If they were all we had to contend with, we would not need to speak with you. But for every supporter of the new Pope, there is at least one detractor. Many protesting are Catholics, Eminence. This concerns us all very much.”
“No more than we are concerned here at the Vatican,” said Cardinal Tondocello. He was afraid he was whining when he wanted most to be forceful. “We do not want to alienate anyone who might come to salvation through the Church, but we cannot defy the Holy Spirit because there are Catholics who have forgot the obedience that is part of their faith. Perhaps if we make a formal announcement, people will understand.” He hoped he expressed himself emphatically, but could see from the expressions of the Interpol men that he had not.
“Such an announcement should have come earlier, if at all. It will not make much difference to that crowd,” said Commander Bouleau. “It could easily make things worse, and we cannot condone any action that might turn the balance to violence.” He folded his hands; his square, stocky body and thinning hair reminded Cardinal Tondocello of a determined monk. “We must agree on a strategy, Your Eminence.”
Cardinal Tondocello sighed again, wishing now that he had never consented to work with the police in this matter; he had wanted to show that he was not a reactionary and at the time he was offered the task, it had seemed a good way to prove it. “I am at your disposal, gentlemen,” he told them, resigning himself to a dreadful afternoon.
* * *
By the time the train reached Empoli, news had spread that the Chinese woman was aboard. Seven thousand people poured into the station in the hope of getting a glimpse of her in the Vatican’s private car as it rolled on toward Siena. Police were called out, the newsmedia descended in noisy gaggles, and a riot was narrowly averted, but warnings flashed south along the route of the train, informing stations and crossings to be prepared for trouble, and all but two halts along the line were canceled to avoid another gathering like this.
“But this is ridiculous,” said Magistrate Zhuang as she peered out the window at the milling crowd with the armored police driving them back from the rails. “If I were to go to the window, wouldn’t that satisfy their curiosity?”
“Keep away from there, Worthy Magistrate,” Cardinal Mendosa cautioned her in his clumsy Chinese. “It’s not bullet-proof.”
“Bullet-proof,” she scoffed. “You tell me that religious figures are men of peace. Why should bullet-proof glass be necessary?” She looked over at Willie Foot, who was at the other end of the car drinking espresso with Cardinal Cadini. “If this position has such privilege and beneficence, as you inform me it has, why should I fear being shot?”
“I got most of that,” said Cardinal Mendosa.
Willie picked up his little cup and came closer to Zhuang. “I should not have to explain to you, Worthy Magistrate. You are familiar with the theory: any position of power, beneficent and respected or not, is a position that is envied and sought by others. It is prudent to guard against the actions of those who are envious.”
“There is more to it than that,” Cardinal Mendosa went on, letting Willie translate for him instead of struggling to find the right words in Chinese. “It isn’t simply envy that drives men to struggle and bring down Popes. Power is part of it, yes, but there is the more complex aspect of faith. Whenever you question a man’s—or a woman’s—faith, there are problems.”
“Indeed?” said Zhuang Renxin. “Why should this be a question of faith at all? This is a matter of standard procedure. You Cardinals are the committee who selected the leader, and your decision is regarded as final. You made that clear to me. The only thing that is unusual in my case is that you have chosen me instead of one of your own number to be leader. You have acknowledged this. Why should it have any bearing on faith?”
The train was moving again, slowly at first, but gathering speed.
“It goes to the heart of—” began Cardinal Ochoa forcefully.
“We’ve been over this before, Worthy Magistrate,” Cardinal Mendosa interrupted. “You know most of the answers already. And I am afraid some of my colleagues do not enjoy intellectual fencing as much as you and I do.”
She looked over at him when Willie was done. “Mendosa, you are wily.”
“Thank you, Worthy Magistrate.” This was in Chinese, so that the other Cardinals would not be offended by her title.
“Still,” Cardinal Cadini said as he strolled the length of the car, only once pausing to hold the back of a sofa as the train accelerated around a very long curve, “it will be a problem, Holiness. You are entering a convoluted world and you are not truly prepared for it. We, who have given most of our lives to the Church and her workings are never truly prepared for it; you have more to learn in less time than we do. You saw those people at the station. There are millions of them all over the world who are going to be satisfied or upset by your election, and they will want their feelings known.”
“You’re a unique event in Church history,” added Cardinal Gemme, abandoning his newspaper and coming to the cluster of sofas where Zhuang sat.
“You make her sound like a volcanic eruption,” said Cardinal Mendosa with an edge to his voice.
“It’s an apt description,” said Cardinal Gemme as he considered his remark. “Nothing like her has happened before. That makes her doubly interesting: she is unique and unexpected. There are those who will want to reach you because of your uniqueness, if nothing else.”
“And there are hunters who would kill the last of an endangered species to have the unique distinction of killing the last of its kind,” said Cardinal Mendosa, this time deliberately in English.
“Charming image,” Willie remarked over his shoulder to Cardinal Mendosa. “Do you want me to translate it?”
“Not especially,” said Cardinal Mendosa. “It’s too near the bone.”
Cardinal Gemme had been expanding on his thesis, and now Cardinal Cadini said, “This occasion is unique for a numb
er of reasons, and one of them is the world-wide attention focused on you, Holiness. We are privileged to witness these events, the more so because we are near the person—you, Holiness—who has brought them about. Our proximity gives us credibility.”
“This is not a carnival, to entertain, or a debate among diplomats, to negotiate. This is the Church, where we strive for the redemption of the world,” grumbled Cardinal Ochoa.
“Not quite so fast, Eminences,” Willie requested as he continued to translate.
“Everywhere in the world, yes, that is the issue, the world,” said Cardinal van Hooven, who had been so silent that the others assumed he was napping. “Everywhere in the world they are watching. Everyone in the world will know within minutes that the tiara has been placed on her head, and almost all of them will have an opinion about it. This will be the one activity most observed. We must not do this in secret, behind doors with the excuse of doctrine and clandestine purpose to mask our celebration. This time we must change clothes, as it were, in full view, in the light.” He looked toward the connecting door to the private compartments. “Should we call Cardinal Shumwoe and Cardinal Pingari? Did they say when they wanted to join us?”
“They’re at devotions: leave them be. If something arises, they’ll know,” said Cardinal Cadini amiably, glancing the other way toward the locked door between the Vatican car and the rest of the train. “Perhaps we should request more guards? At the next station, there might be a larger crowd waiting. It would not be wise to have an incident now, and the guards might want a freer hand in controlling the people.”
“Do you think we need more? You, of all people?” asked Cardinal van Hooven. “We are not an armed camp.”
“We have three armed guards the other side of that door. Two more are at the rear of the train.” Cardinal Cadini looked from Zhuang to Cardinal Mendosa. “You’ve had the most experience, my friend. Do we have sufficient protection? If the crowds are any greater we might—”
Cardinal Gemme straightened his jacket and tie and touched his lapel pins. “I’ll attend to it.” He started toward the door. “What shall we tell them?”
“That we don’t want them to endanger themselves needlessly. If they believe they cannot contain the crowds, they should increase their numbers so that they can,” suggested Cardinal Cadini. “We have an obligation to protect the Pope.”
“In the full glare of public attention,” added Cardinal Gemme before he released the locks on the door.
“So much attention creates demands of its own,” said Zhuang Renxin, watching the Cardinals while listening to Willie translate for her. She did not want to appear as baffled as she felt, for she took Mendosa’s warning to heart—that any sign of weakness could be exploited by the Cardinals, and any appearance of confusion would be regarded as incompetence by many of them—and was at pains to reveal little of her growing consternation to any of them except to Mendosa himself, and that only in private.
“To say nothing of the controversy,” Willie added. “If this election were more regular, it would be nothing more than the usual hype.”
“There are many people who are waiting for an excuse to criticize you, Holiness, because they are upset at the changes taking place.” Cardinal Cadini met her steady gaze with a merry glint in his raisin eyes.
“There was the reason I requested as much material as you could provide in my language, so that I might have a better understanding of the nature of this Church.” Zhuang started to give him an answering smile; it faded quickly. “There is so much to know. I am very ignorant, and that must not continue. You are right: there are those who will challenge my position, just as I question it myself. But I have been reading, and I will shortly have many matters to ask you about.”
“You’re all gonna love this,” said Cardinal Mendosa softly.
“Especially since most of them will be directed at you, I suspect,” Willie observed. He nodded toward the window, indicating the voluptuous contours of the Tuscan hills and implying the world beyond. “They are the ones who will demand answers.”
Imperceptibly the train began to slow.
Zhuang looked sharply at Willie. “How can these people demand answers, when they are supposedly subjects of the Church, and as such must accept its teaching?” She leaned back against the deep sofa cushions; the tapestry upholstery made her simple blue-black garments seem out of place. She gave Willie the chance to turn her question into Italian and English; when she went on there was a slight smile on her mouth. “It is good that they demand answers, I think. Everything I have read tells me that they are entitled to answers, and that the Church has been remiss in providing them, too much like an autocratic parent.”
Cardinal Cadini laughed as Willie translated. “Very good, Holiness,” he approved.
“It’s a spanner in the works, right enough,” Willie confirmed.
“It is folly to let our flock mill about without guidance. If we permit endless questions, Catholics will lose confidence in what we say. Tell her that her parental analogy is apt: we must guide the children of the Church,” said Cardinal Ochoa, doing his best not to be indignant. “I doubt she can understand how important it is for the Church to guide her children. She is not from a country where such guidance is fostered.”
“There you are wrong,” said Zhuang Renxin when Willie finished translating. Her tone was firm and cordial at once, as it had been when she was announcing her magisterial decisions. “In China we are taught responsibility for the welfare of the people. Your Jesus spoke of the same thing. From what I have read, he asked the people to come to him if their burdens were too great and he would provide sustenance and comfort. He said nothing about making decisions for the people, but encouraged them to decide responsibly. Have I misunderstood?”
Cardinal Cadini grinned. “You have understood perfectly, Holiness,” he said. “Better than most of us do.”
Zhuang did not share his amusement. “I have been asked to take on a task. It was not a task I sought; nevertheless I will do it as well as I am able, because I believe that it is proper to serve the interests of the people. We may have learned the dictates of Chairman Mao and his illustrious successors in China, but we have also been taught the ways of Kung Futzu—”
“Confucius,” murmured Cardinal Mendosa.
“—and we know what is required for correct living. I will maintain my integrity, Worthy Officials, and I will not be turned from the purpose you have asked me to direct.” She raised her head, startled as she noticed the train slowing down. “What is this? Why are we stopping?”
“I don’t know,” admitted Cardinal Mendosa, who looked out the window and saw up ahead only a simple country crossing with vineyards to the east of the track and orchards to the west. Four police cars were blocking the road, two on either side of the crossing. “Our extra protection?”
Cardinal Cadini followed his glance. “Goodness. What now?”
The train was almost at a halt, the brakes groaning.
“What is this all about?” demanded Zhuang in heavily accented English.
“There are police cars,” said Cardinal Mendosa. “Interpol or Eurocops, I guess,” he said, using the standard nickname for the five-year-old European Economic Community Police Agency. “Blue stripes on white.” He said it with satisfaction. “Eurocops.”
Cardinal Ochoa shook his head. “What can they want with us?”
The train lurched and stopped.
“Whatever it is, we’ll find out shortly,” said Cardinal Cadini. He found the most comfortable chair and sat down, completely unruffled. “I have a grand-nephew who is in the EECPA; in the forgery division. He is a specialist in forged antiquities, mostly Etruscan.” He beamed. “Relax, Eminences. There is no reason to suppose we will be harassed.”
“You cannot be sure,” said Cardinal Ochoa darkly. “You are all aware of how quickly we could become enmeshed in legal problems. The police have stopped the train. It does not bode well. What if her”—he flung the word in th
e direction of Zhuang—“papers are not in order?”
“They would have noticed at Milan,” said Cardinal Mendosa quietly. “Or at Hong Kong. Don’t get your bowels in an uproar, Your Eminence. We went through all that protocol-and-papers crap before we left China.” He came away from the window and sat down opposite Zhuang. “Whatever the cause of this delay, Worthy Magistrate, they’ll let us know.”
“Good,” she said, and looked toward the service bar. “Is there tea?”
“There can be,” said Cardinal Mendosa at once, getting up. “Willie, do you want—”
“Coffee for me, if you please.” Willie fiddled with his tie. “Not to seem alarmist, but do you think there could be real trouble in Rome? You saw what the place looked like on the news.” He pointed to the small television set over the service bar. “What if it’s got worse?”
“Oh, there’s trouble in Rome, no doubt of it,” said Cardinal Mendosa as he went about the task of filling the teapot with water and popping it into the microwave, then putting loose tea leaves in a strainer. “But we’re prepared for that. We got plenty of warning. No, I think this is probably just a ploy, something to make sure no one gets caught with his ass hanging out.”
“You mean the cops?” Willie asked.
“I mean the whole bloody government, chum.” Cardinal Mendosa busied himself arranging two cups on a tray. “Anyone else?” he offered before taking the pot from the microwave with mittened hands.
“I would be honored,” said Cardinal Cadini as if Zhuang, not Cardinal Mendosa, had issued the invitation.
“If there’s plenty, I’ll have some,” said Cardinal van Hooven, straightening his glasses on his nose. “Is there any lemon?”
“Probably,” said Cardinal Mendosa. He opened the little refrigerator and peered into it. “Nope. Sorry. No lemon. There’s a lime in here, if you think it might do.”
“It might; I’ll try it.” Cardinal van Hooven got up and came over to the cluster of sofas around Zhuang Renxin.
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