The Concordat
Page 28
First Lieutenant Phillips reassured Cathy that he had no intention of doing anything other than following US Air Force orders. He then excused himself and returned to the cockpit to prepare for their Russian escort.
“So what do you make of that?” the chief asked Cathy, returning to his seat.
“I’m not sure you can read much into it at this point. But it opens the door to other possibilities.”
“For instance, a military coup?” the chief said.
“Again, we’re grasping at straws,” Rossi said, wondering why his American cousins insist on overcomplicating the obvious. “I suspect the jets have more to do with Russian domestic politics than anything else. The common thread through this whole misadventure is Revealing Light. So let’s focus on them for a while.”
Cathy and the chief glanced at one another, then nodded in agreement.
“You said the forged Concordat and the explosion at Olympisky Stadium are unrelated,” the chief said, flicking back through his notes. “One designed to expand Volkov’s empire, and the other to bring it down.”
“That’s one way of looking at it, Chief,” Cathy said, smiling.
The chief tapped his middle finger rapidly on the table. “To date, we’ve assumed the incident went according to plan.”
Cathy screwed up her face. “You mean an unintended victim?”
“Why not?” the chief said excitedly, resting his forearms on the table and leaning forward. “If the programme had run to schedule, Volkov and the Patriarch would have been down with the athletes when it all went bang – not inside the box.”
“Another nice theory, but highly unlikely,” Rossi said, frustration in his voice. “You said it yourself. This was a professional job. Remotely detonated high explosives. The killer would have had a clear line of sight to the Presidential Box. Missing the target was not possible.”
Without warning, the Boeing rocked as the Russian fighter jets screamed past on both sides. Rossi and Cathy rushed to the windows and peered out. The more seasoned Chief James grabbed his iPhone and snapped pictures.
“Holy shit, what was that?” Rossi asked.
“Wake turbulence from two Russian MiG-29K jets,” the chief said evenly. “Nothing to worry about. They’re announcing their arrival.”
Rossi looked troubled. “What happens next?”
“The fighter jets continue to intimidate us – and we play for time until the cavalry arrives,” Cathy said. “You nervous?”
Before Rossi could reply, the fighter jets reappeared from behind and took up positions off each of the Boeing’s long, flexing wings.
“That doesn’t appear safe,” Rossi said, thinking he’d prefer a thunderstorm.
“Look! He’s waving,” Cathy joked, gazing out of the port window at the MiG’s pilot, who was signalling for them to bank right.
At the controls in the Boeing cockpit, Captain Powell eyeballed the Russian pilot and flashed him the middle finger. Next to Powell, First Lieutenant Phillips frantically tried to contact the US fighter jets en route from Incirlik Air Base.
“Back off, Natasha,” Powell said through clenched teeth as the MiG drew within metres of his port wing tip.
In the boardroom, Rossi stared transfixed at a red and white dogfight missile attached to the MiG’s starboard wing.
Next to him, the chief continued to take pictures. “These photos will give me bragging rights at the club for years.”
“That’s if we make it through this alive,” Rossi said, watching as the wing tips of the two aircraft overlapped.
“Please return to your seats and fasten your seat belts,” Captain Powell announced.
“Seat belts?” Cathy said, looking pale. “Parachutes would be more appropriate.”
Rossi chuckled nervously as he buckled up. “Our oil trader guy’s going to be peeved if we bring the Boeing back minus a wing.”
“Enzo, don’t.”
“I’m trying to relax you.”
“Well it’s not working.”
At that moment, the aircraft lurched and shook violently as it flew into clear-air turbulence. With the MiG in such close proximity, Captain Powell took immediate evasive action. He banked hard right.
The MiG hit the turbulence a split second later. In the cockpit the Russian pilot struggled desperately to control the bucking beast. He didn’t stand a chance. Too close. Eyes wide open, he watched in horror as the Boeing’s enormous wing swept up from below and snapped off his trailing edge flap.
Rossi and Cathy unclipped their belts for a better view while the chief scurried over to the starboard side to see what the second Russian jet was up to.
“Can you see him?” Rossi asked.
“There,” Cathy said, glimpsing the pilot ejecting as the MiG tumbled towards the Black Sea thirty thousand feet below.
“How’s the wing looking?” the chief called over to Cathy.
“There doesn’t appear to be any damage, but it’s impossible to be sure,” Cathy said, holding on tight as she moved from window to window.
On the starboard side, the chief kept an eye on the second Russian jet. The pilot appeared to be flicking switches and readying something in the cockpit.
“What’s he doing?” the chief said, as Cathy and Rossi joined him.
“Hope he’s trying to flush,” Cathy said.
Then their faces lit up as they watched the MiG peeled off to the north and disappeared.
“Run, you commie bastard,” the chief yelled, as three US Air Force jets flew alongside.
Cathy wrapped her arms around Rossi. “Never leave me,” she whispered, bursting into tears.
The chief gazed on with a kind of sad envy. A ladykiller way past his prime.
From the cockpit came an announcement. “This is Captain Powell speaking. I hope everyone’s okay back there. I’m delighted to advise we’ve replaced our escort service. The US Air Force have now joined us for the remainder of the flight to Rome.”
Cathy, Rossi and the chief roared and punched the air in celebration.
“And some good news regarding the port wing. We don’t appear to have sustained any damage. One of the Air Force pilots is presently conducting a visual and if he gives us the all clear, we’ll continue directly on to Rome.”
The stewardess then burst into the boardroom, drying her tears. “Would anyone like something to drink?” she asked, trying her best to stay professional.
“Champagne,” Cathy said, also wiping her eyes. “It’s not every day you live through something like that.”
The stewardess opened a fresh bottle of vintage Moët and poured it with trembling hands. She then moved to the bar and discreetly poured herself a double Scotch and knocked it back. “If you need anything else, please call,” she said, wiping her lips with a napkin as she left the boardroom to convalesce on her own.
“Let’s take a seat and finish the debriefing. Otherwise I’ll have to hound you in Rome after we arrive. And I’m guessing you don’t want that,” the chief said, winking at Cathy.
“But first I insist on seeing the goddamned Concordat,” Cathy said, sliding the plastic sleeve across the table to Rossi. “After what I’ve been through, I’ve earned the right.”
“A quick peek won’t hurt anyone?” Rossi said, removing the forgery from its cover. “Just don’t tell the Pope.”
“What’s this?” Cathy picked up a handwritten note that had dropped onto the table. She read the page, mumbling and shaking her head.
“Are you planning on sharing that with us?” Rossi said, wondering, after all they’ve been through, what could be so startling as to render Cathy speechless.
“It’s from Father Arkady,” Cathy said, reading it out loud.
Dear Friend, if you are reading my note, then you have succeeded in your quest and I wish you a safe journey home.
God willing, I have been equally blessed and have purged the Church of corruption and profligacy and freed her from the tyranny of the Russian state.
But, as you know, God works in mysterious ways and sometimes the best-laid plans go awry.
To mitigate this risk, I took the precaution of having the Patriarch sign a letter (which I presented amongst other routine correspondence that His Holiness never reads) addressed to the Patriarchate of Constantinople, the first among equals. The letter states that after due consideration, and further scientific analysis, the recently discovered Concordat has been determined to be a vicious and sinful forgery, designed to divide the Christian faith. In his letter, Patriarch Pyotr beseeches Patriarch Gregory to help right the wrong by spreading the message of this wicked injustice.
I arranged for the letter to be sent in a diplomatic bag on the morning of Revealing Light’s glorious triumph. This way, if I am called to God, I can go knowing that an unholy war between Christian faiths has been averted.
God Bless you,
A fellow Christian.
Rossi took a deep breath as he rose from the table in silence. His head was spinning in disbelief. How could it all be so suddenly over?
Cathy rushed over and threw her arms around him. “Enzo, we’ve done it.”
“Well I’ll be buggered. It was the nuns after all,” the chief said, already standing at the bar pouring himself another double bourbon.
“We make a great team, Ms Doherty,” Rossi said, looking into her watery eyes, certain he had found his soulmate. “Marry me?”
“Yes,” Cathy screamed, causing the chief to gasp and choke on his drink.
Epilogue
Rossi held open the door. “Set it up next to the bed, please.”
“The newspaper you requested, sir,” the room service waitress said, handing Rossi a copy of Il Tempo.
Two hours earlier, as the Boeing business jet taxied to its parking position at Rome’s Fiumicino Airport, Rossi had phoned Cardinal Capelli’s office. He was informed by Monsignor Polak the cardinal was out of town and would not return until evening. Grateful for the reprieve, Rossi took a room at the Hotel Raphael off Plaza Navona to freshen up, and to order his thoughts.
Rossi opened the bathroom door a few centimetres. “You got any change?”
“What I had left was in my coat pocket which I left on the plane,” Cathy called out from under the shower.
“Mi dispiace. We’ve just arrived from Kazakhstan.”
“Non è necessario, signore,” the waitress said, closing the door behind her.
Rossi poured himself a cup of coffee then sat down on the edge of the bed and scanned the newspaper. The front page was awash with news of President Volkov’s assassination and the threat of nuclear war. An image of the world in flames and Judgement Day popped into his mind. He shook his head to clear the thought and turned the page, continuing to search for news on the Concordat.
“That’s better,” Cathy said, tying her white hotel bathrobe around her waist. “Where’s my coffee?”
“You’ve got to be joking!”
“If we’re getting married, you must learn to share,” Cathy said, kissing him on the top of his head.
“A single column on page seven with a three-word headline.” It was exactly as he had predicted. Repairing the damage done to the Church’s reputation would be nigh on impossible.
“What does it say?”
“Concordat Declared Sham.”
“In more detail?”
“It refers to the letter mentioned in Father Arkady’s note – from the Russian Patriarch to the Patriarchate of Constantinople. In a matter-of-fact way it says the Concordat is a forgery. It doesn’t even attribute blame. It’s unbelievable. There’s no condemnation or commentary. Where’s the outrage?”
“I guess compared to what’s going on in Moscow, the Concordat’s yesterday’s news – especially given it’s a fake.”
“Who on earth will read it back here?”
“Calm down, Enzo. I’m sure the Vatican’s press office will organise a more appropriate level of coverage once the world refocuses. Right now, the world leaders have higher priorities. Your justice can wait.”
“You’re right. I only hope Cardinal Capelli sees it the same way.”
“Stuff him.”
Rossi continued to read. “Fantastico. Father Arkady’s alive.”
Cathy grabbed the newspaper and read the article herself. “He’s now the spokesman for the Patriarchal Locum Tenens, Metropolitan Paul. You heard of him?”
“No. But I know what it means. Metropolitan Paul is one of them. Revealing Light has won,” Rossi said.
“But at what cost?”
“Someone once said ‘peace at any price is no peace at all’. Volkov needed to be stopped before he became too strong. And Revealing Light stopped him. For that we should be grateful.”
“I suppose so. But this chapter of history will be decades in the writing.”
Rossi walked over to the window and drew open the curtains. The low winter sun streamed onto his face and he closed his eyes. To him it was incomprehensible that the most hellish days of his life had turned out so triumphantly. He knew Revealing Light still had way to go before it found true freedom, but the first major battle had been won. And although it was unlikely that Cardinal Capelli would agree, he felt that the trouble caused by the Concordat was a small price to pay.
Then his thoughts turned to Cathy Doherty, and the chance to finally make his mama happy.