by Doug Walker
“Why, yes. It was to be my surprise for you. I knew you’d be feeling low. I hope it doesn’t disturb you. The guards are totally trustworthy.”
“No, no, I thank you for your thoughtfulness. What kind of wine is it?”
“The same as you always drink, of course. You may not even be able to tell they’ve brought the wine unless you count the bottles. They were to simply fill that wonderful wine rack.”
“I won’t be able to tell the new from the old then?”
“Probably not. Take a sip of mine now. It will warm your heart.”
“Maybe later, Justin.” The cardinal was back to the familiar. “Have you received word on the autopsy yet?”
“I have, Giovanni, but it’s ultra-confidential. Stevens doesn’t even know. This thing has to be handled with extreme delicacy. I’ve spent much of the afternoon reading up on poisons. Do you know much about them?”
“Certainly not. Why should I?”
“No reason. Or maybe there is one. We are in Italy where the Medici family was known for their poisoning.”
“I do know something about that. There may have been one or two incidents, but that they were a family of poisoners is sordid fiction.”
“History does tend to exaggerate certain things and gloss over others. They say never let the facts get in the way of a good story.”
Giovanni had seemed nervous initially, but now he seemed to be getting into the swing of his old happy-go-lucky self. The issue of the wine was out of the way. Mixing up wine bottles in his apartment did seem something of a nuisance, but nothing he couldn’t deal with.
He asked Justin what he had learned about poisons.
“Not much. A few hours of study does not a scholar make. Four major types caught my eye. Botulinum attacks the nervous system. Victim dies in extreme pain. Ricin causes respiratory and organ failure. Cyanide causes cardiac arrest, rapid death. Compound 1080 is odorless, tasteless, water soluble, no antidote, quick yet painful death.”
“You’re a quick study.”
“Nothing wrong with my memory.” Justin finished his wine, then picked up the cardinal’s glass and drained it by half in one gulp. ”No use letting good wine go to waste.”
Giovanni couldn’t suppress a smile. It was a deadly game they were playing.
“Incidentally,” Justin added, “I’ve had Father Parret detained as a material witness. He’s being held in solitary. He is to talk to no one until the interrogation is complete.”
The cardinal was surprised by this turn of events. He had eyes and ears everywhere, yet he had not been told. This young man was turning out to be a bit too clever. First the wine, now this.
“But,” the cardinal began. “He’s probably being held in a drab cell with the minimum of food and drink. Not the kind of life the Vatican usually offers. Perhaps I can see to his comfort.”
“I think not, Giovanni. The guards have strict orders and they know the penalty for disobeying the Pope. Truth to tell, isn’t a drab cell and simple food a life to be welcomed by a Catholic priest?”
“It might be that some orders go for the cloistered life. Not really my style.”
“Well, it won’t be for long. Rome’s municipal homicide detectives should get his complete story fairly soon.”
“You’ve called in the municipal cops and you have reason to believe there’s been a murder?”
“Murder in the Vatican, a great book title, don’t you agree?”
“For fiction, yes. But we have appearances to keep up. The church can overlook an occasional murder in order to preserve its good name.”
“And we can also ignore scores of child molesters for the same purpose. Shame on you, Giovanni. A new age has dawned. Transparency, justice, honesty, living within the law, decency. Do those words horrify you?”
“Certainly not. I am a child of God, just as you are. We move forward as one. But the role of the church has endured for two thousand years. Long after you and I are gone the church will stand as a rock.”
“More likely stoned. With dwindling serious supplicants, a thin veneer of piety masking a multitude of political machinations and arcane mumbo jumbo. Yes, let us move as one to a bright new age, the Pope out front as PR man. That seems to be the job description. And I sincerely believe all is not lost. Our core values are wholesome and have indeed risen above depravity.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
With Black gone and Giovanni a possible threat, a thread of a plan was forming in Justin’s mind. He had established himself as the Pope, a young man to be feared as opposed to a doddering codger to be honored. But the murder of Black had left him somewhat isolated. Who could he trust beyond Sylvia and Hilda?
His next step was to arrange a private, secret if possible, meeting with the Chinese ambassador to Italy. Sylvia operated largely under the radar, so he had her invite the ambassador to her office. After several attempts she was able to cajole Ambassador Lee to be spirited into her office.
When he arrived she informed him that the Pope would like a word with him, then phoned Justin. “Your man is in my office.”
Accompanied by a plain-clothes guard, the Pope entered the office and shook hands with Mr. Lee, knowing the Chinese would not want to kiss his ring. He asked Sylvia, her secretary and the guard to wait in the outer office, then settled himself behind her desk.
“How are things in China?” he asked Mr. Lee.
“Going very well, Your Holiness. We may soon have the largest economy in the world.” Mr. Lee had heard how the Pope should be addressed.
“Of course the economy is important. Your citizens need to be healthy, have wholesome food, education, proper recreation, housing and so forth. Of course my concern is toward the spiritual side of the coin.”
“We are a spiritual people. Confucius and others were Chinese. We are an ancient society.”
“Many years ago our church had missionaries in China. Usually they traveled by the great river roads.”
“That was before my time,” Mr. Lee said, smiling at some secret joke, then adding. “We still have the Catholic church in China with Chinese priests.”
“I’m aware of that. Government sanctioned and some underground activity. As head of the church I would like to see better relations with China.”
Mr. Lee shrugged. “You want to send missionaries back into China. I’m afraid that would be quite out of the question.”
“I didn’t say that, Mr. Lee,” Justin said sharply. He was addressing a diplomat who had not been assigned to a major capitol. “Don’t be so quick to jump to conclusions.”
“I’m sorry, Your Holiness. Please tell me what you have in mind.”
“I can tell you. Or I can send a delegation to Beijing. Which option would you prefer?”
Mr. Lee was quick to think he might be cut out of the loop. Not a good career move. “Please tell me.”
“Closer relations do not necessarily mean an influx of missionaries. It could mean something of benefit to both China and the church.”
“Of course. I’m with you.”
“What I would like to do is send a high level delegation to Beijing headed by a cardinal, possibly half a dozen in all. They would remain there for at least a year, learning Mandarin, getting a feel for the country, looking into what might be possible. It’s as simple as that”
“And, of course, brilliant,” Mr. Lee agreed. “One step at a time.”
“So you have this proposal from the mouth of the Pope. I would like it treated with discretion and confidence while it is considered by your government.”
“Of course, Your Holiness, nothing on paper. I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”
“Marvelous. Your contact here will be Sister Sylvia. You may trust her entirely and she will speak for me.”
“Of course.”
“Please remain and take a few more minutes to chat with the good sister, form a business relationship.” With that Justin rose and left the room, gathering his security man he returned to hi
s office.
Time wore on and Justin continued to get the feel of the job. He would give short addresses to crowds in the square, sometimes using a foreign phrase or two. He continued to learn Italian and work on his Latin. It was odd that the job of pope should require on-the-job training. He had installed his own cook in his apartment, a competent man given to simple recipes, a man careful to select all his food and wine, a trusted retainer.
And there were still the late-night sessions with Sylvia in the room off his small gymnasium. There lovemaking had become a minor part of the night’s routine. Generally they thrashed over Vatican politics. This was the spot where decisions were made.
A couple of things bothered Justin. One was that for appearances in public he had to wear outfits that reminded him of large petty coats, skirts with lace and other adornments.
Then there was the glitch in the investigation of Cardinal Black’s death. Before the municipal police could conclude their investigation, and the progress did seem snail-like, Black’s attendant, Father Parret, was found dead in his cell.
Justin thought it useless to even investigate the event. Parret obviously had been poisoned, likely a little something in his daily rations. So who was involved? Who was to blame? Who knew? Next of kin were notified, the body was cremated, the ashes disposed of. End of story.
In the meantime, Father Stevens had confessed to Justin that Father Pat had attempted to draw him into a conspiracy, but he had resisted. He had been asked to provide information on day-to-day happenings in the Pope’s office. He was certain the other Jesuit, Father Konrad was in on it and possibly Cardinal Piovanelli. Justin was not certain he was being told the entire story.
In less than two weeks, Mr. Lee had gotten back to Sylvia.
“Beijing thinks it’s a great idea,” she said. “Quarters will be provided whenever the delegation arrives.”
“I thought as much,” Justin said. “It does them no harm and it could do them a great deal of good. I’m certain our delegation will be carefully watched. So have a charter flight standing by in two days to deliver our delegates. Make sure certain passports, visas and so forth are in order. Mr. Lee will be of help.”
Next, Justin asked Cardinal Piovanelli to drop by his office.
When he showed up, Justin asked, “Would you like a glass of wine, Giovanni.”
“Too early in the day for me, but thanks anyway. What can I do for you?”
“I have a wonderful surprise for you. An extremely interesting and important project.” Justin paused for a moment and smiled broadly. “You are to head a delegation to Beijing, helping to improve relations between the church and China. It’s the chance of a lifetime.”
Piovanelli sat in stunned silence.
“You will leave the day after tomorrow. So pack for a major trip.”
“How long might we be in China?”
“That’s the beautiful part. It’s open ended. I’ve been talking to the Chinese through their ambassador to Rome and they’re as excited about this as I am. You know China may soon be the world’s largest economy.”
Piovanelli instantly grasped that he was being gotten rid of. “Who might be going with me? Or is this a solo trip?”
“Of course, a delegation. Those two bright young Jesuits, Fathers Konrad and Pat. Then I’m giving up my secretary, Father Stevens to keep track of things. He doesn’t know it yet. I thought I should inform you first.”
“This is an honor I may want to pass up,” the cardinal said.
“But no, the die is cast. The papers are complete. Mr. Lee has the visas. A charter flight will carry your delegation the day after tomorrow.”
“Perhaps I’ve failed to tell you I have certain medical conditions, Your Holiness.”
“I took the liberty to check with your doctors. They say you are as fit as a fiddle. And Beijing has super medical facilities in case something comes up. You and your delegates will be treated like lords of the realm. Now you better get started packing. Time flies like an arrow.”
Completely crestfallen, but not knowing what posture to assume, the cardinal went his way.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
With his chief rival out of the way, Justin was able to turn full steam toward running the church as he thought it should be run. He spent long hours in the study of church doctrine, historic rulings and practices that seemed to have no roots in reality. The church had always been run from the top down.
He was the top dog and the parish priests were beholden, even fearful, of their bishop. It was his ambition to somehow give more power to the rank and file Catholic. This had been done to a certain extent through various organizations, but he wished to place more emphasis on the issue, if it was an issue. He was aware that certain Protestant congregations could hire and fire their clergy, also that a church board would interview candidates for the job. He didn’t want to go that far.
Of course he did not labor alone. He bounced ideas off Sylvia almost nightly. An outgoing person, she had allied herself with a bevy of Vatican friends and had amassed a great deal of knowledge about the church in a short time. He also had a number of lawyerly scholars, considered expert on church dogma and law, with whom he regularly consulted.
Basically his idea was simply how to make the parish priest more responsive to the congregation and in so doing how to increase attendance beyond simply the knee-jerk mass.
Pondering this simple issue, because it was devious and convoluted, his reverie was interrupted by a phone call from Beijing. His new secretary, a parish priest he had picked out of Argentina because he had no Vatican connection, informed him that Cardinal Piovanelli was on the line.
“Good day, Giovanni, or is it night over there?”
“Day or night, it’s much the same to me. I’ve just learned that you want this mission to last at least a year. I’m damned upset.”
“The church moves slowly, Giovanni. You should master Mandarin, become expert with chopsticks, go to school on the Chinese government. These things take time.”
“A year, for the love of God.” There was stress in the cardinal’s voice. “I’ve a mind to pull up stakes and return to Rome immediately.”
“Disobey the Pope? That would be grounds for excommunication. I could leave you in China, penniless, jobless, no better than a street person.”
An enraged Piovanelli shouted, “You can’t excommunicate me. I don’t think you’re a real pope at all.”
“I am the Pope, Giovanelli. I am the Pope by act of God. You know that.”
“That little fraud Hilda Krieg and John Black’s persuasion kicked you into that office.”
“And who’s to say that such a combo was not divinely inspired? The Lord works in mysterious ways. Think of God giving the Holy Land to the Jews. Maybe he did. There’s a mystery for you. The church has many mysteries.”
“Mystery, my ass. Anytime we can’t explain something it’s a mystery. Then you and your midnight assignations with the so-called Sister Sylvia. That’s no mystery. I’ve been on to you from the get-go.”
“And the reverse is true, Cardinal. You seem to be almost demanding excommunication. I could do it yet today.”
“You have no grounds. I could easily block such an attempt.”
“Cardinal, you have your two clever Jesuits and that jerk Stevens. I too have Jesuits, but they are trained in the law and schooled in church doctrine. I am the Pope. So, have a care.”
“Possibly I’ve overreacted, Your Holiness.” Piovanelli was gradually seeing the light. He was isolated in China, far from the Vatican where he had been a wheeler-dealer for many years. Justin was in the driver’s seat.
“There is a bright side for you. Despite your Machiavellian tactics you are still popular among the more senile cardinals and even appeal to some of the younger members. I did not ask for this job. It was more or less thrust upon me, as you say, thanks to Cardinal Black, may God rest his soul. I am not a spiritual person any more than you are. But I am capable of heading the church. Th
ere have been popes, possibly known for their piety, who hadn’t the least notion of how the church operates. They frittered away their short careers in prayer.” Justin paused, waiting for a comment from Giovanelli.
“I’m with you so far, except for how this might be good for me.”
“The fact that I did not want to be pope has helped me considerably to get on top of this job. I see flaws in the church and I can correct them. When I look at you I see ambition. Possibly that ambition led to the removal of Cardinal Black from this mortal coil.”
Piovanelli was quick to interrupt that line of thinking. “Don’t tar me with that brush. I had nothing to do with it.”
“Possibly not. So far it’s gone into the unsolved crime folder, along with the death of Father Parret. Obviously he was also poisoned, but I didn’t bother to have that one investigated. There were many other pressing matters.”
“Things happen.”
“Yes, things do happen, Giovanni. Once I got into the swing of things as pope, once I really put my foot down and took charge after John’s murder, there were a few items on my agenda.”
“Like sending me to China.”
“Trivial, but it seemed a good idea at the time. The urge for persons unknown to slip me a dose of poison might be diminished. But now I’m better able to cope with that. Now I’ll get to my point. For one thing, you’re better off in China at this stage of the game. You’re out of the fray, above dog-eat-dog Vatican politics. You know it’s still a dog fight even though you’ve been removed from the field.”
“I have my sources.”
“Of course you do. And I’ve developed mine. And I hold the aces. But truth to tell, I did not want to be pope and I do not intend to keep the job forever. What I want is the American dream. A wife, a family, a house, maybe a dog. So at some point I’ll step out of this job. You might be my heir apparent.”
Giovanni was truly stunned by this announcement. How anyone might not want to be pope was beyond him. Finally he asked, “How soon?”
“Soon, maybe not tomorrow, but soon. Church time is counted in centuries. My time would be counted in months. I’m looking at a tour, perhaps a world tour. Maybe even to China. That would be mostly up to you. I’ve learned how to be silent, look pious and say a few well-rehearsed words at the proper time. I do not like the odd garments, but I can make subtle changes. But the tour will come first.”