“To say nothing of the Orthodox Christians,” added Cardinal Bakony. “You saw on the news what has been happening in Istanbul between Moslems and Greek Orthodox Christians. It isn’t only the political situation that brings the trouble about. It is more basic than that.”
“Yes. It is on account of this woman,” said Cardinal Jung, all but pouting. “You all are attempting to deny what is so obvious that you must wear blinders not to see it. You are ignoring the shame and disgrace brought upon us through her elevation and you are excusing the terrible consequences of having her wear the tiara as the result of social pressure and unrest.” He paced the other side of the table. “You cannot continue this way. You are party to the ruin of this Church and the hope of the world. You must face the facts. You have to acknowledge her position and her responsibilities, which you will not do.”
“She was validly elected,” said Cardinal Llanos, but without the kind of strong purpose that the others expected.
“She may have been elected, but it was not valid, not the first or the second time,” said Cardinal Jung in a tone that permitted no cavil.
“If you challenge this election, you challenge the election of all the Popes who have been elevated and all those who will be elevated,” said Cardinal O’Higgins. “If this election is declared invalid, no Pope may think his reign secure, and no Catholic can trust the Papacy. Prudence must guide us. Our position is very delicate. None of us can move without creating danger for the rest of us. Think of whomever succeeds her as Pope, if we disallow her election. He would be powerless. There are some of us who would prefer not to have the elections questioned. Better to endure this one woman than to endanger the whole procedure of election.”
“Yes,” said Cardinal Tsukamara thoughtfully. “The Japanese and the Chinese are not very good friends, but I will not dispute the Chinese woman her right to the throne. I don’t like it, but I will not be one to refuse her the right to her position.”
Cardinal Bakony sighed and shoved back from the table. “Cardinals, I know we have been over this before and nothing was decided. Each of us must defend the Papacy as well as the Pope. So I don’t see the point of all this. Do not be offended, Cardinal Jung,” he added when he saw the look in Cardinal Jung’s glittering eyes.
“How can I not?” answered Cardinal Jung, taking a deep breath in preparation for further harangue. “You suppose that the world applauds your caution, but that is not the case. You are fooling yourselves if you believe otherwise. Read the papers. Watch the news. Listen to what is being said by ordinary people. We are castigated everywhere for our lack of action. People expect us to bring this calamity to a halt. If we do not, in time that will cause us to be undermined. We must begin now to put distance between ourselves and that woman or the Church will suffer for it.”
Cardinal Hetre put one hand to his brow. His headache was not too adamant just now, and his own knowledge of his arrangements with Rufus Greene gave him a serenity that he would not otherwise achieve. “She is not to continue. It cannot be permitted for her to continue,” he declared.
“I’m sorry,” said Cardinal O’Higgins, ignoring Cardinal Hetre. “I don’t know about the rest, but I cannot do that, Cardinal Jung. I have vows to the Church and I intend to keep them.”
Cardinal Bakony nodded. “I must stand with you, Cardinal O’Higgins. I don’t want to bring any more upset on the Church, but I must abide by the rules she has made for herself. The Church is more important than any one of us, and that includes Pope An.”
Cardinal Llanos contemplated his folded hands. “I don’t trust this woman. Even if she were Catholic I would not trust her. But I will not act against her.”
“How magnanimous,” sneered Cardinal Jung. “Because you are ambitious you will not act for the benefit of the Church, so that if you are elected to succeed her, you will not be questioned.” His high color turned more intense. “You are despicable cowards, all of you.”
“We are true Churchmen,” said Cardinal Llanos. “I am not a coward, Cardinal Jung. I have stood against armed men and been wounded. I have the scars to prove it. I have been confined to a stinking cell for three months, and I did not give in to the demands of my captors. So you may not tell me that I am a coward. God has given me all the strength I need for His battles. But I have no strength to fight this woman. God will not permit it.” He looked at the rest. “If that offends any of you, I ask your forgiveness, but I will not change my position.”
“I will agree with you,” said Cardinal Sinclair. He glanced at Cardinal Hetre. “You may agree with Cardinal Jung, but you will not find me an ally. Not now. After Cardinal Gemme’s…misfortune, I will not oppose Pope An actively again. I may disapprove of what she does, but I will not stand against her.”
“That is an act of folly,” said Cardinal Jung with contempt.
Cardinal Tsukamara regarded Cardinal Jung steadily. “What you are doing is an act of folly. You put every one of us at risk by speaking to us this way. And we are in error to listen to you.”
“You are a traitor to the Church if you permit this woman to continue to destroy her.” Cardinal Jung took a stance, his feet spread beneath his cassock, his hands clasped behind him.
“Possibly,” said Cardinal Sinclair. “But if the Holy Spirit wanted the woman done away with, she would be dead long since. There have been efforts to be rid of her, and doubtless there will be more. Yet she is alive. Because she still lives, I must assume that her actions are the will of God. It is not my place to question the will of God.”
“And if it is not the will of God?” Cardinal Jung demanded. “What if we are all victims of a clever ruse? Have you forgot our concerns that we were influenced by forces other than the Holy Spirit? What if it can be shown that her presence is part of a conspiracy?”
“When that happens,” said Cardinal Sinclair rising from the table, “I will reconsider my position. But as long as she appears to hold the favor of the Holy Spirit, I will do nothing to impede her work. I will not support her, but I will not oppose her.” He started toward the door.
“Suppose this is a test of faith, to determine how genuine our belief is?” Cardinal Jung insisted. “Couldn’t it be that this woman is the emissary of the Devil, the handmaiden of the Antichrist? God would expect us to recognize her for what she is, but He would not compel us, so that it would be our faith that triumphed.”
“I, too, have read Job, and not one of us wishes to curse God,” Cardinal Sinclair said. “This is not wise, Cardinals. You would be well-advised to leave. As I am going to do.”
Cardinal Montebranco nodded heavily. “You may be certain that one of us at least will be speaking with Dionigi Stelo about this meeting, and there will be a record of who was here and what was said. I will not be the one to inform, but I am certain that some of you will have to ease your conscience with treachery of one kind or another. Informing Vatican Security would seem the lesser treason.”
Cardinal Bakony called out to Cardinal Sinclair as the Irishman reached the door, “Wait a moment. I’ll join you.”
As the Irish and Hungarian Cardinals departed, Cardinal Jung glared at the rest. “Are you all cowards, or will some of you stand with me?”
Cardinal Hetre wanted to talk with Cardinal Jung, to tell him of the plans he had assisted in establishing. But he had been sworn to secrecy by Rufus Greene, and he suspected that Cardinal Jung would not approve of dealing with men associated with Protestant ministers, no matter how sympathetic they were to the dilemma of the Cardinals. He faltered, then said, “If God brought her here, He will find the instrument to end her reign.”
“You assume a great deal,” said Cardinal Jung, glowering as Cardinal Llanos left the room.
“It is the nature of faith, isn’t it?” said Cardinal Hetre. “We must assume that God exists and is concerned in our welfare. If we are willing to accept that, then we must suppose that He will not desert us, or leave the Church to flounder.”
“Strange sentiments comin
g from you,” said Cardinal Jung, his attitude less formidable than a moment before.
“Oh, hardly that,” said Cardinal Hetre, excited by the prospect of being part of the end of the reign of Pope An. He started toward the door but looked back at the fulminating Cardinal Jung. “There is no reason for anyone to do anything rash. I am convinced of that.” For the first time in months he felt a surge of euphoria that was as intense as it was brief. “Doubtless events are in motion that will settle the matter once and for all.”
Cardinal Jung was too caught up in his own angry thoughts to pay much attention to what Cardinal Hetre said. “Believe that if you like,” he said.
“With all my soul,” said Cardinal Hetre, unaware of how smug he sounded.
* * *
In the shadow of the Castel’ Sant’ Angelo Martin Bell waited, his arms crossed, his head lowered in thought. He had spent part of the afternoon with Cardinal Cadini in the Vatican Library examining the fragile, crumbling copies of the Acta Dinura, the newspaper of Imperial Rome. There were no more than a dozen of the precious documents left, but what they imparted was astonishing and enthralling. As a scholar he had been engrossed in the blatantly yellow journalism features in the ancient pages, but as a man with orders to follow, he had been distracted with what he had been told to pass on to Cardinal Mendosa. Now that he was waiting for the Texan, he wished he had spent more time with the two-thousand-year-old documents and left the messages for another time.
A very pretty woman in a fashionable silk ensemble walked by, and Martin Bell watched her with a distant appreciation. He liked what he saw and at another time might have tried to strike up a conversation with her. Now all he did was notice the fine curve of her thigh under the bronze-colored silk of her full trousers, and the ample curve of her breast where the deep neckline revealed it; a number of delicate gold chains draped with the cloth emphasizing the décolletage.
“Window-shopping?” asked Cardinal Mendosa from a few steps behind him. He was in his usual dark business suit and conservative burgundy tie, but he had left off his lapel pins. His cowboy boots were glossy with polish.
“Something very like,” said Bell, turning to face the new arrival. “Worth a second look, wouldn’t you say?”
“And a third,” agreed Cardinal Mendosa. He held out his hand for form’s sake. “What was so urgent that you left a message for me with my staff?”
“Word from our…associate.” As always when he referred to Dmitri Karodin he seemed a bit awkward. “I didn’t expect it. But there was a call early this morning, from.…”
“The associate,” Cardinal Mendosa supplied. “Is something the matter?”
“In a manner of speaking,” said Martin Bell, indicating the crowd. “What say we pick up a taxi and get away from here?”
“Any particular reason?” asked Cardinal Mendosa, marginally less cordial in his manner.
“I was faxed something from our associate. There are several pages. I think you’ll want to look at it someplace private.” Martin Bell patted his briefcase. “It’s not the sort of thing you’d want getting out.”
“Serious?” Cardinal Mendosa’s expression hardened. “Are you concerned?”
“I think it is serious,” said Bell carefully. “And I don’t think you want to be seen with the material, if you want to preserve your deniability.” He watched Cardinal Mendosa’s face. “Well?”
“Get a cab,” said Cardinal Mendosa in resignation. “You choose where we’re going.”
Martin Bell complied promptly, and his signal brought one of the new electric blue Peugeot-Ferrari cabs to the curb. He held the door for Cardinal Mendosa, then clambered in after him. “San Giovanni in Laterno,” he told the driver. “And do not rush.”
The cab driver gave a two-finger salute and charged into traffic.
“Surely you don’t mean to go to church?” said Cardinal Mendosa, a little taken aback at their destination.
“No. I have a friend who keeps a flat very near there. I have the use of it when she is away, as she is now. We can be private there.” He was also reasonably sure that no one had wired the place. “We can also use the telephone, if that’s necessary.”
“That wouldn’t be very wise, would it?” asked Cardinal Mendosa, who knew that many of the conversations with Russia were still monitored by Interpol and NSA and the Eurocops. “We have to keep our asses covered.”
“There’s a number in Austria we’re to use if we require it. No one pays that much attention to Austria, or so I hope.” He said this with forced laughter, in case the driver was listening. “The Austrians are the least of our concern.”
“I should think so,” said Cardinal Mendosa, more puzzled than before.
They went some distance in silence. When traffic was diverted near San Andrea della Valle, Eurocops manning barriers and shunting cars away from the Piazza Venezia, Martin Bell asked, “What’s going on? Do you know why this detour is—”
“A protest,” said the cab driver laconically. “Starting at the Gesu and going to the Vatican. They’re protesting the ruling on divorce.”
“Why on earth?” Cardinal Mendosa inquired, doing his best to sound mildly curious and little more.
“Who knows?” the driver asked with a breezy motion of one hand. “Maybe they think everyone should be miserable. Maybe they don’t think divorce is fair. Maybe they don’t like the law being changed. Maybe they want to speak out against a woman. Or men. They’re crazy.” He continued slowly through the side-streets, heading toward the Teatro Marcello.
“How much time can you spare me?” asked Bell as he realized that this trip was going to be longer than he had first supposed.
“I have almost three hours before my next appointment.” Cardinal Mendosa looked out the window, his eyes narrowing. “How many demonstrations does this make this month?”
“I don’t know,” said Martin Bell. “A dozen or so.”
“Fifteen,” said the cab driver. “One almost every other day.” He shook his head. “They say that there is going to be a big demonstration at Christmas this year. I forget who is doing it, or why.”
“Let’s hope that the participants have a better sense of their duty,” said Cardinal Mendosa sharply. He realized that he had been expecting some extensive demonstration at the end of the year. 1999 would become 2000, and although the millennium was still a year away, he knew that the world would accept the three zeros as the beginning of the Third Millennium rather than end of the Second.
The cab driver chuckled and began to hum bits and pieces of Sergio Drivas’ latest hit, Nunca Sorrisa.
“When you go back, suggest that the driver cross the river and come up the west bank,” Martin Bell recommended as the cab continued its slow progress toward the southeast.
“Sounds like a good idea,” said Cardinal Mendosa. He pushed back in the seat and let his mind wander for several minutes. Then he turned to Martin Bell. “I don’t know what to think. Our associate.…”
“So far he has been willing to observe.” Martin Bell contemplated his briefcase as if it were an unknown object.
“But recently.” Cardinal Mendosa shook his head. “He was here not long ago, did you know?”
Bell looked surprised. “No.”
“Willie’s lady saw him at a function. He was among the guests.” He was convinced that the driver was listening, and that made him more cautious than ever. “He spoke with her.”
“I see,” said Bell, having no idea what he meant.
The driver dropped them across the street from San Giovanni in Laterno, accepted his fare and a generous tip, then rushed away, back toward the center of Rome.
Martin Bell led the way for two blocks, then unlocked the carved wooden door fronting one of the anonymous stone buildings. They went through a short passage into a pleasant courtyard where flowers bloomed in tremendous pots. There was a subtle air of quiet elegance in the beautiful inner garden, and as Bell crossed the mosaic tiles, he said, “You wouldn’t expe
ct this from the outside, but it’s quite luxurious here.”
Cardinal Mendosa knew that Rome had greater secrets than this, and shrugged. “How fortunate for your friend.”
“She enjoys her quiet,” Martin Bell assured him, as they went through one of the doors to climb up a wide marble staircase two stories. On the landing, Bell took out the key and opened the door, standing aside so that Cardinal Mendosa could enter the flat first.
“Very nice,” said Cardinal Mendosa as he looked at the splendid furnishings; they were an unlikely but successful blend of oriental and Roman baroque.
Martin Bell shut the door and came after Cardinal Mendosa. “Take a seat, why don’t you?”
“All right,” said the Cardinal, choosing a long sofa covered in damask tawny silk. He watched Bell as the man paced the length of the fine Persian carpet. “You might as well give me the documents.”
“Yes. Yes.” Bell stopped and opened his briefcase. “I don’t know how to deal with this. I feel out of my depth.”
“So do I,” Cardinal Mendosa admitted. He leaned forward, hands loosely joined, while Bell drew out the pages and gave them to him.
“I’ve read them. You have my word that I will say nothing.” He looked suddenly guilty and miserable. “If I went against my word, Karodin would make life very difficult for me. You can…trust me.”
“Meaning I can trust Karodin,” said Cardinal Mendosa, his eyes fixed on the information on the first sheet. “Sweet Jesus and Mary,” he murmured as he read. “Is he sure of this?”
“Absolutely. He said his man in the Vatican—and I have no idea who that man is—has the proof ready. It’s specified on the next page.”
Cardinal Mendosa read the material again. “We investigated this man. He was one of the first. Dionigi Stelo gave him a clean bill of health. He said there was no way he could have administered the poison.”
“Dionigi Stelo does not know everything,” said Martin Bell sharply. “And Karodin is aware of it. Ask Cardinal Pugno.”
Magnificat Page 59