Magnificat

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “A conspiracy, you say? Besides the Tayibha group?” asked Cardinal Mendosa, shocked in spite of his determination not to be. “I thought the matter was settled. Stelo’s gone and the rest are accounted for. Or didn’t we get them all? Is this another branch, or a whole new tree?”

  “It may well be another tree,” said Maetrich, taking up Cardinal Mendosa’s metaphor. “I fear that without Cardinal Tsukamara’s help we might not have uncovered this one in time.” He shifted his stance. “I don’t know what apology I can offer.”

  “You’ve only just got here, Maetrich,” said Cardinal Mendosa, recovering himself enough to speak sensibly. “If anyone should apologize, it’s us. We’ve been here all along.” He studied Cardinal Tsukamara. “What is it?”

  Finally the Japanese Cardinal looked up. “I don’t know if it’s correct for me to discuss this. I am not certain in my heart. I’ve been wrestling with it since yesterday. What troubles me is the man was in front of the altar when I heard him, speaking to God. I may be violating the seal of confession.”

  “Did whoever this is come to you to confess?” asked Cardinal Mendosa, more surprised than ever.

  “No. I…I overheard him praying.” His face, usually impassive, revealed his inner turmoil. “That is what troubles me, that he was at prayer; he was speaking only to God. Overhearing him was an accident. I didn’t intend to. It was never my purpose to eavesdrop on him. If he had not been speaking so loudly, I would not have heard any of this.”

  “Well, thank God that you did, if this is another conspiracy,” said Cardinal Mendosa, trying not to sound too impatient. “Think what could have happened if you had not stumbled upon…whomever you stumbled upon. Perhaps your good angel was responsible.”

  “My good angel,” repeated Cardinal Tsukamara distantly. “I would like to think so.”

  Axel Maetrich gestured toward Inspector Cervi. “It is fortunate that we are able to work quickly and with very little attention. Having Cervi here will make all the difference. It’s just as well we’ve given him a place at the Vatican. He’s already working on the problem.”

  “Which involves the U.S. and Canadian Cardinals,” said Cardinal Mendosa.

  “It may,” said Maetrich. “Not directly, or so we think.”

  Cardinal Mendosa shook his head and moved a little closer to Pope An. “First Gemme, then the Tayibha group, and now this. The newsmedia’s going to have a field day when they find out.” He drew up a chair and sat down a few feet from Pope An. “I’m sorry I got you into this, Worthy Magistrate.”

  “You are not plotting against me, Mendosa,” she said. “Therefore it is not your place to apologize. Those who wish me ill are the ones who have erred.” She shook her head. “If they wish pardon, they may come to me and explain why they have sought to injure me.”

  Cardinal Mendosa nodded. “You’re more tolerant than I am, Worthy Magistrate,” he said.

  “I believe that is expected of me, from what you and the rest have told me.” said Pope An, weariness making her eyes less brilliant than usual. “I am fortunate in my protection, and I appreciate what is being done, and how discreetly. But in this instance, I require more: I need your advice. This particular matter may be very difficult, more than the others.”

  “And something of the difficulty touches the U.S. and Canada, is that it?” Cardinal Mendosa asked.

  “It would appear so,” said Pope An, leaning back against the chair.

  “And why is that?” asked Cardinal Mendosa, puzzled at how much trouble he was having prying the information out of Pope An.

  She had nothing to say for several seconds; the only sound in the room was the soft tap of the computer keys, and occasional squacks from the machine. “From what was overheard, and from a few preliminary checks, it would appear that this conspiracy is directly linked to certain U.S. Protestants, very prominent.”

  Cardinal Mendosa blinked. “Protestants?” He turned toward Cervi, demanding, “Is that true?”

  “I believe so,” said the Inspector Cervi as he stared at the screen. “We are trying to find supportive evidence now.”

  “You say prominent as well as Protestant,” Cardinal Mendosa observed. “Does that mean important or public or both?”

  “Both, I fear,” said Maetrich. “Our inquiries have turned up a few very disturbing…links.” He glanced at Cervi. “Would you agree?”

  “Reluctantly, I would have to,” said Cervi. “We have placed the Protestant’s European representative in the company of the churchman in question on two occasions, one of the instances documented by Eurocops. It would appear that this association has been on-going for some time. There is another factor, more disturbing, in the Eurocops report: present with the representative and the Cardinal was a man who is known as a free-lance intelligence operative from Ireland, originally.”

  “I see,” said Cardinal Mendosa. “What about the Tayibha group—is there any tie to them?”

  “Not that we can find. Nor is there a direct connection to Cardinal Gemme, except that they are of the same rank,” Maetrich responded. “That is one of the troublesome aspects of this development.”

  Cardinal Tsukamara crossed himself. “I ought never to have spoken. If this man is condemned, it will be because of me.”

  “Would you feel better if the Pope were hurt or killed because you did not speak?” asked Maetrich bluntly. “You need to review your priorities, Cardinal. You’ve let yourself be blinded by a sense of duty to the Church at the expense of the Pope.”

  “Please, Maetrich,” said Pope An, lifting her hand to stop her new head of Vatican Security from upbraiding Cardinal Tsukamara. “If the Cardinal had no conscience he would have remained silent. Because he has one, it belabors him now. Don’t hold him at fault.”

  “No, Pope,” said Maetrich.

  Cardinal Mendosa looked directly at the Japanese Cardinal. “Who is it you overheard? And who is he dealing with in the U.S.?”

  A knock at the door announced the arrival of Cardinal Aquilino of Chicago. Maetrich admitted him and his Swiss Guard escort and closed the door at once. “Thank you for coming so quickly, Cardinal.”

  The hawk-featured third-generation Sicilian-American glared around the conference room. He looked tired, but not so tired that he could not deal with trouble. “What’s going on here?” he asked of the occupants at large before he went down on one knee to Pope An.

  “There’s a crisis coming, Andy,” said Cardinal Mendosa.

  “No doubt helped along by you,” said Cardinal Aquilino, taking up position opposite Cardinal Mendosa.

  Cardinal Mendosa’s lips lifted a little. “Not this time. Sorry to disappoint you.” He indicated Axel Maetrich. “He’ll explain it to you. I hope. I’ve been trying to get him to explain all of it to me.”

  Axel Maetrich gave a succinct review of the situation, still withholding names. When he had finished, he turned his attention to Inspector Cervi once more. “Anything else?”

  “Some hotel reservations from France, fairly recent. The account numbers track even if the names do not. They place all three men in the same hotel, and room service has a record that all three of them were in the same suite. It doesn’t look good.” He continued to study his screen.

  “Do you think you can tell us which Cardinal this is?” Cardinal Mendosa urged. “I don’t like guessing about things like this.”

  “And I’m in no mood for twenty questions,” said Cardinal Aquilino, his old voice cracking with authority and bad temper. “Who has been dealing with Protestant organizations and professional spies?”

  “Just the one spy,” said Cardinal Mendosa before Maetrich had a chance to retort. “I suppose that makes it better.”

  “No doubt,” said Cardinal Aquilino, his tone acidic.

  Pope An interrupted Maetrich before he could speak. “I must ask both of you to say nothing of what you learn here. It is very important that the identity of this Cardinal be kept in absolute confidence until Vatican Security can de
tain him for questioning. He must not be alerted for any reason.”

  “I’ll say nothing,” promised Cardinal Aquilino at once, his face rigid with anger. “As if I would betray the interests of the Pope.”

  “It’s not impossible,” drawled Cardinal Mendosa. “Lots of our colleagues seem to be doing it.” He took a deep breath. “Okay. Who are the Protestants and who is the Cardinal?”

  For once Maetrich deferred to Inspector Cervi.

  It was an honor that Cervi clearly did not want. He coughed nervously. “We have discovered a series of direct contacts between a senior official of International Vision, Ltd.—”

  “Williamson!” exclaimed Cardinal Mendosa.

  On the other side of the room Cardinal Aquilino crossed himself. “Jesus and Mary!” he whispered, and was not swearing.

  “—and Dominique, Cardinal Hetre.”

  There was silence in the conference room. Then Cardinal Aquilino glowered at the door. “Are you certain?”

  Inspector Cervi looked miserable. “I’m afraid I am.”

  Cardinal Tsukamara raised his eyes to meet Pope An’s. “I pray you will forgive me for what I have done.” He turned toward Cardinal Mendosa. “If I have broken the seal of confession, I want you to see that I receive full punishment for my sins.”

  Cardinal Mendosa shook his head. “I’ll thank God for you and what you have done. You’ve broken no seal of confession and your vows are not compromised.”

  “No,” said Cardinal Aquilino darkly. “The compromise here is that of a French-Canadian who has forgotten his faith entirely.” He rose, his face more raptor-like than ever.

  Axel Maetrich gave a single nod. “And for that, he will pay in full measure.”

  Chapter 32

  Houghton Carey had just arrived in the Oval Office when Maxine informed him that he had a call from the Vatican waiting. He dropped his topcoat over the back of Maxine’s chair and spent the better part of a minute cursing under his breath. “Which one is it?” he asked when he had blown off the worst of his ill-humor. “Not Walgren again.”

  “Cardinal Walgren is in Los Angeles at present,” said Maxine. “It’s Cardinal Mendosa.”

  “Mendosa!” exclaimed Carey, remembering he had a campaign appearance to make in Houston in ten days’ time. “What on earth—”

  “He’s been waiting for almost ten minutes. He wasn’t willing to hang up and call back.” There was no change in Maxine’s pleasant manner, but Carey could sense her alarm in the way she handled the papers stacked beside her computer terminal. “I think you’d better take it, sir.”

  “You’re probably right,” said President Carey with an exasperated snort. “If I read Mendosa correctly, he won’t be put off.” He indicated the outer office. “Give me a few minutes alone with him, will you?” He was the first President to have his secretary occupy a corner of the Oval Office with him, which made it crowded since the room was not very large; he had come under some criticism for this, especially regarding confidentiality. He often made a point of sending Maxine out of the room when her presence might cause nervousness. Taking his place behind his antique rosewood desk, he pressed the active line button and lifted the receiver. “Cardinal Mendosa,” he said. “Good morning.”

  “I hope you’ll still think so when you hang up,” said Cardinal Mendosa. “Still, good morning to you, too, Mister President.”

  “My secretary tells me this is urgent,” Carey said, not willing to waste time.

  “It is,” said Cardinal Mendosa. “I wanted to prepare you before it’s released to the newsmedia, which we will have to do before the day is out. Advance warning, you could call it.” He cleared his throat. “I’m afraid it’s going to be awkward for you.”

  There were few words President Carey liked less than awkward. He set his teeth, saying, “Go on.”

  This was a task for Cardinal Mendosa. He paused, then made himself continue. “Let me express it this way: the Eurocops have just made two arrests, one in London and one in Rome. There is a third, but it is here at the Vatican, and we are not yet certain how we’re going to proceed. There are others involved.”

  “More conspiracies,” said President Carey, doing his best to make it a joke.

  “Yes, I regret to say. And this one is tied directly to Reverend Williamson’s enterprises. That’s not a guess.” He let President Carey have five seconds to take that in. “We have proof, and we have a confession.”

  “Reverend Williamson,” said President Carey. “Part of a conspiracy? You’re certain?”

  “Yes, we are. The arrest in London turned up a few crucial documents, including tapes of telephone conversations. The tapes are admissible in the European Court. Between them and the memos, they’re pretty incontrovertible.” He gave a diplomatic cough. “There is a man, a free-lance agent, who was working for Reverend Williamson’s organization—”

  “Which one?” interrupted Carey, hoping that it was one of the minor ones, independent enough to create plausible deniability for Williamson. The last thing in the world President Carey wanted was a more explosive relationship between Protestants and Catholics.

  “International Vision, Ltd.,” said Cardinal Mendosa, dashing the President’s hope. “This agent has made a bargain with the Eurocops and the European Court. He is going to make a full, public confession, on television, with names and dates and intentions, in exchange for immunity and a pension for retirement and protection.”

  Knowing he was grasping at proverbial straws, Carey asked, “Can he support his confession? You’re sure the evidence will hold up?”

  “Yes, he can, and it will. The Court would not permit this public confession if he could not supply hard evidence. They’re not about to permit the man to implicate others unless he has the evidence to support everything he says. He has already produced a fair amount of corroboration.” Again he paused. “We can’t extradite Reverend Williamson to Europe, not that it would be advisable if it could be done. It would be more trouble than it’s worth, with religious freedoms involved. We have trouble enough with the conspirators we’ve arrested already. Whether or not you decide to take action against Williamson is up to your courts. But I ought to warn you that Vatican Security is faxing all the pertinent documents to the National Security Agency, for the record, so we can ask for confirming documents from the U.S. It’s not going to be easy to ignore.”

  “Fuck a duck,” muttered Carey. “Why did this have to be in an election year?” He had intended to be amusing but his bitterness came through.

  “It’s because of the millennium, Mister President. All kinds of lunacy can be expected at the millennium. And it seems that Reverend Williamson has been taking advantage of it.” Cardinal Mendosa lowered his voice as if he worried he might be overheard. “From what McEllton has given us, it looks as if they were planning to murder Pope An at the end of March. McEllton was to do the killing, and…one of the Cardinals was to provide access.”

  “One of the Cardinals?” asked President Carey. “This is in addition to the ones you’ve already dealt with? You’re certain of this?” Carey exclaimed.

  “He’s the one Vatican Security has…detained. We don’t call it arrested. That sounds so worldly.” Cardinal Mendosa hesitated again; this conversation was turning out to be more difficult than he had anticipated.

  “And you’re certain of this? About the conspiracy being tied to Reverend Williamson?” asked Carey, certain that Cardinal Mendosa would not say anything if he were in doubt. “Never mind. If you people are faxing the NSA documents, you’re certain.”

  Cardinal Mendosa did not argue the point. “I thought you might want to prepare yourself for McEllton’s confession this evening. INS is carrying it live and international. Gordon Mennell is going to interview McEllton immediately after his prepared statement. You know Mennell’s way of going for the throat.”

  President Carey had been the subject of Mennell’s scalpel-like inquiries twice before and could not help but wince. “I hope your
conspirator knows what he’s getting into. Mennell won’t tolerate loose ends.”

  “McEllton requested him,” said Cardinal Mendosa pointedly.

  “Oh, shit.”

  “Precisely. And it’s about to hit the fan.” Cardinal Mendosa did his best to chuckle and failed.

  Carey stared at the far wall where he had a number of photographs in frames, some of distinguished statesmen, some of world-class sports heroes. Most of the time he felt buoyed by them, but this morning they depressed him. “All right. I’ll contact the NSA at once, and I’ll talk to Justice. They ought to be able to recommend something.”

  “A word of advice, Mister President,” said Cardinal Mendosa. “Don’t try to gloss this over. And don’t wait too long, whatever you do.”

  “Because it would help the Church and hurt Williamson?” asked the President, his tone sharp.

  “Only partly; rumor and innuendo could do more damage than McEllton’s confession, if you don’t make an effort to get at the truth,” said Cardinal Mendosa, unoffended. “Because if something isn’t done, Williamson might decide to try it again, and he could strike closer to home.”

  “You mean me?” Carey asked, incredulity taking hold of him.

  “Probably not. I think there could be a long list of religious leaders ahead of you. Not all of them Christians, but most of them.” He paused again. “And I think his followers could get out of hand very easily.”

  “You think they won’t get out of hand if we file conspiracy charges against Williamson?” Carey inquired. “They’d be picketing every government building from Bangor to Honolulu.”

  “Better than dead ministers and rabbis, don’t you think? It might have the reverse effect—it could shame his followers enough that they would abandon him. That’s a best-case scenario, but it’s not impossible,” said Cardinal Mendosa. “And it might put the brakes on Dean Marcus and Reverend Patton. It’s time they stopped rabble-rousing and got back to preaching the Gospel.”

  “Put the fear of God into them, you mean?” said Carey.

  “I’ll settle for fear of the law,” answered Cardinal Mendosa, then added, “I’ll be available if you have questions.”