An American Pope

by Doug Walker

  “In league?” Cisco asked.

  “In cahoots.”

  “So, what of it?”

  “If you don’t behead us, there could be repercussions.”

  “Not to fret. Corruption is the name of the game here, on both sides of the border. You can make charges, or you can swear to this or that and your female friend can back you up. Nothing will come of it. We simply want a little money to support our families. We have no desire to behead you. Think of the blood. Think of the mess.”

  They arrived at what appeared to be an adobe hacienda , and once inside the two prisoners were told to empty their pockets. In Sylvia’s case it was a purse. Justin’s pope ring was in his side pocket and he removed it and placed it on the proper finger.

  “That’s a big gold ring,” one the bandits shouted. “Give it to me.” Justin removed it and handed it to the man who hefted it and seemed astounded by its size. “This is worth some money.”

  “I’ll say,” Justin said. “It is the ring of the fisherman, the ring of St. Peter, the founder of the Catholic church. I suppose you have heard the Pope arrived in El Paso?”

  There was general agreement. Justin removed his ball cap. I am the Pope. That is my ring. The lady is Sister Sylvia. We had slipped away from the hotel for a little peace and quiet.”

  “You aren’t the Pope,” came a scornful comment from one of the band.

  “Have any of you seen the pictures of the Pope on TV, or in the paper?” Justin asked.

  Cisco took the ring and examined it closely. He finally said, “St. Peter, the fisherman. I believe this man is the Pope, a very young Pope.”

  “St. Leo XIV.” Sylvia tossed in.

  “Oh, my God, we’ve kidnapped the Pope,” one of the younger gang members said. “Maybe we could take him back.”

  Cisco handed Justin the ring and said, “Accept my apologies, Holy Father. But the alarm may have already been sounded. I’ll have to check with a higher authority.”

  “I understand completely,” Justin said. “You have your line of work, I have mine.” He and Sylvia took seats at a table.

  The young gang member approached and asked, “May I kiss your ring, Holy Father?”

  “Of course.”

  Not much was said until Cisco returned. A couple of bottles of wine were produced along with small glasses.

  When Cisco returned, he said, “Our cartel boss, and you are dealing with the Juarez Cartel, would like you to come to his villa, not as a prisoner, but as an honored guest. I told him you are a reasonable man, just as he is. Of course you will be given an opportunity to phone your people in El Paso.”

  Justin considered the offer for a few moments, and then replied, “That suits my purpose right down to the ground. Sister Sylvia and I will be delighted to accompany you to the villa. Is it far?”

  “Just a short flight away.”

  “Excellent. I’d better call the hotel and tell them I’m going to be the guest of one of the eight cartels. There are eight, aren’t there?”

  “I believe so, Holy Father.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  The time was just after midnight when they arrived at a huge villa set on a large estate. The helicopter set down on a well-lighted pad. Juan Angel Delgado, the Juarez Cartel boss, strode out to meet them as the blades slowed to a halt. Only Cisco and the pilot had accompanied them.

  “I am the happiest man to greet you, Holy Father,” Juan said, kissing the Pope’s ring.”

  “And I am as pleased as punch to be here. May I call you Juan?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Thank you. Ever since I encountered Cisco outside the restaurant in Juarez, I’ve been formulating a plan. Are you familiar with how I became Pope?”

  “Indeed I am. It was very strange.”

  “One way or another it seemed to be the hand of God. Since then I’ve felt at times that I’ve been guided by an unseen hand.” They had walked into the main hall of the isolated mansion. Justin had asked that the helicopter remain until he divulged part of his plan. “Going to the restaurant with Sister Sylvia, then meeting Cisco and his friends after dinner, this seemed to me to be another sign from heaven. I hope you’re not cynical.”

  “Not at all, Your Holiness. Please continue.”

  “Is there a church nearby where I might say mass?”

  “There is a cathedral town not far away. You will find it quite adequate. It would be a great honor for the region to have the Pope say mass.”

  “Excellent. Not to rush things, but the reason I requested the helicopter to remain is what you might expect. I need some correct papal attire. If you could bring some from the hotel.”

  “That will not be a problem.”

  “It would also be welcome if you could deliver one more person. There is a Cardinal Pio Margeot at the hotel. He has been a great help to me.”

  Juan Delgado was all smiles. A genuine cardinal from the Vatican. This would be the icing on the cake. “Certainly, Cisco can go with the pilot.” He turned and asked if Cisco would do such a thing.

  “Quite willingly. But I hope I do not have to kidnap this cardinal and steal the clothing.”

  Justin laughed. “No, a phone call should do the job.” He turned to Sylvia. “It might take some doing to get through the hotel operator to Margeot. Are you up to it?”

  Sylvia seemed to sigh. “If there is some prospect of sleep after I perform this task, Holy Father.”

  “Yes, of course,” Cisco said. “We Mexicans live in the night.” He ordered a guard to direct Sylvia to a telephone.

  It took some time to get through to the cardinal. The hotel operator was reluctant to disturb the papal party. It seemed that no one had missed the two kidnapees. Justin was on the phone quite a while outlining the bones of his plan to Pio. Then the two sat down with Cisco for coffee and late-night snacks.

  “I cannot solve every problem,” Justin said, toying with his coffee cup. “But I try to do a little good where I can. It would be a blessing if you would invite the head of the Sinaloa Cartel and a few of his men to attend the mass we are planning.”

  Juan was thoughtful, finally saying, “Much blood has been shed. Of course there is greed, anger, thoughts of revenge from both sides. Tit for tat. When thieves fall out. But perhaps this is the time for healing. I will make the approach in your name, in the name of the Pope.”

  “We can only try it and see what happens. The cardinal tells me it might be possible that some of the press corps traveling with our party might make it to the mass.”

  Sylvia perked up. “Let’s hope that pretty girl from the Bavarian newspaper isn’t one of them.”

  Juan was all ears, sensing some sort of rivalry of the non-celibate sort.

  “I suppose we should really get a night’s sleep. I’d like to tell you more about my plan at breakfast, Juan. I think it will surprise you.”

  “If so, it will be a surprise piled on a surprise, wrapped up in a revelation.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Morning came and Justin found himself the only one up except for a maid, who brought his clerical clothing to his room and told him breakfast would be served on the patio. The weather was quite warm. He was pleased that his large papal hat was included in the attire that Margeot had brought along. A pope must be dressed like a pope in order to look like a pope. Without the proper attire most popes would appear to be senile old men in the final stages of some sort of dementia. On the other hand, Justin’s youth would deny his hold on such an office.

  The maid had inquired what he would like for breakfast. Justin had enjoyed what he called cowboy eggs, a popular Mexican dish by another name. She seemed to understand and went off to order the eggs and fetch a pot of coffee. Of course there was no morning paper in this remote location, although he guessed Juan Delgado had everything he required helicoptered in on a daily basis.

  Justin was aware that the Juarez Cartel had suffered at the hands of the Sinaloa Cartel in recent months and years, but it was still
a going venture, bringing in millions in drug dollars. The Juarez-El Paso area had at least three established routes from Mexico into the States.

  Justin was halfway finished with his eggs and on his second cup of coffee when Juan took a seat at the table, pouring himself coffee and stirring in cream and sugar.

  “I see you look more like a pope this morning,” Juan said.

  “Yes, a bit muted, but still pope-like,” Justin agreed. “I’m not one for flashy garments. Maybe the cardinal will appear at the mass in full regalia. Do you have a parish priest?”

  “Of course,” Juan said. “An Irishman, Father McCoy.”

  “Fits in exactly with my plan. You see, Ireland has a tradition of young men entering the priesthood, thus it has a surplus of priests. They are sent to the four corners of the Earth. Yet, overall, the church has a shortage of clergy. The reason is obvious, celibacy. The Protestants permit their clergy to marry. They have a surplus. So after the mass I intend to marry Sister Sylvia. I will lead by example.”

  Juan couldn’t believe his ears. He finally said, “This must be some sort of heresy.”

  “Not in the least. Most of the twelve disciples were married. Popes were married. In the 1400s and 1500s several popes had quite a few children. The history goes on and on. Many popes were sons of other popes, or lesser clergy. It just isn’t natural for a man to be celibate. Not a normal man.”

  “Mightn’t the cardinals boot you out of the Vatican?”

  “You cannot un-elect a pope. It’s a lifetime job. Popes can and have resigned, or very likely been murdered. Cardinal Black, who was my mentor, responsible for my being elected pope, was poisoned. Mexico isn’t the only violent place. So I was left in what you might call a vulnerable situation with my right-hand man gone. I think it was meant to frighten me.”

  “And did it?”

  “Yes and no. For some reason I have no fear of death. Don’t ask me why. His murder, and it was obviously murder, made me double down. I had been feeling my way, I thought in a thoughtful manner, with his help. With him gone, I took over. I was pope and I put the hammer down. If anyone crossed me they would pay a price.”

  “So his death was responsible for where you are today, able to conduct world tours, meet your obligations?”

  “Yes, and might that be a sign from above? So far I seem to be leading a charmed life. Knock on wood.” He rapped on the table. Juan laughed.

  During the morning Justin informed Sylvia and Cardinal Margeot of his plans. Startled at first, it was what Sylvia wanted, pope or no pope. She could forget the pretty girl from Bavaria. Margeot was a bit more of a skeptic, but in the end had a fatalistic bent. What would be would be. He was totally aware of the history of the church and the curse of celibacy that haunted the clergy to this day.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  The morning of the third day at the villa was the day of the mass. Arrangements had been made with Father McCoy to marry Pope Leo XIV and Sister Sylvia. It was two for one in leading by example, a cleric and a nun. What a tsunami this would send through the Catholic world. Father McCoy would also assist with the mass and had schooled Justin on a few Spanish phrases, certain to delight the crowd.

  Jose Carlos Vicente, godfather of the Sinaloa Cartel had agreed to come. Both Vicente and Delgado, the two dons, had worked out the number of security men that would accompany each. Mexico is the largest Spanish-speaking Catholic country in the world, so there was no shortage of the faithful.

  The group set off from the Villa with Delgado, Cardinal Margeot, Father McCoy, Sister Sylvia and the Pope being driven ahead of a host of security in a stretch limo. Sylvia was still grousing about being married in a nun’s habit. The cardinal had been thoughtful enough to bring it along from El Paso, and Justin had insisted she wear it. This was symbolic.

  When they arrived at the cathedral, the large crowd went wild. When the cheering and confetti faded away, a large children’s chorus sang “Las Manitas.” Then, as if on schedule, the cathedral bells began their joyous toll.

  Pope Leo XIV emerged from the car wearing his huge papal hat, made his way slowly through the crowd, touching hands, permitting some to kiss his ring. He was led by church dignitaries into the interior of the cathedral, making his way through the jammed interior to an altar that had been lavishly decked out in his honor. He guessed that a ton of drug money had gone into this operation. Some ardent Catholics wept as he solemnly passed by. His feelings were not that of a young American, but he marched as a continuation of a large string of popes beginning with the fisherman. His place was in that line that stretched out centuries behind him and would continue through eternity long after his death. If he died on this day, he would die as the Pope and take his place among that gallery of pontiffs.

  Finally ascending to the altar, he took his seat in a large chair especially made for the occasion. It would forever be known as the Pope’s Chair and never be used during a ceremony unless a new pope came on a visit.

  It took perhaps twenty minutes for the cavernous interior of the cathedral to settle down. Justin noted a roped off area crowded with print and electronic media, many of them he knew from the tour, but there were fresh faces. He searched out the pretty girl from Bavaria and found her beaming smile. She was also trim and sleek of form, with the aura of a wanton.

  Justin nodded to Father McCoy and the high mass began. With that the Pope was in his element. He had been an astute altar boy and had studied every move and gesture made by the priest. And the mass had been in English during his era. He knew his part well and moved with theatrical grace. His homily, which was a combination of religion aimed at the press, the people, the cartels and anyone within earshot, was likely ten minutes too long. He had reminded himself of the adage: the mind can only absorb what the seat can endure.

  “There are members of two of the eight Mexican cartels here today, the bosses of those cartels. My hope is by bringing them together at this spiritual event, some good can come of it. The cartels recruit young men just as the army does, just as the church does, but with the promise of riches. That promise often ends in violent death. But I am not here to judge. What if drugs were legalized? Goodbye huge profits. Let us think on it and pray on it. The cartel life is no life at all.

  “There are good people everywhere, in and out of the cartels. There are children in and outside this great edifice today. Their small voices were combined in lovely song. What hopes do we have for our children? Let us think on that and pray on that. The hopes are obvious. Prayer is a form of reasoning. We pray to our Father in heaven, but we pray for ourselves. Our lives, our hopes and our dreams come alive in our prayers. Do we pray for great riches, for flashy automobiles, for mansions and fine foods? No. The prayers of the simple person are plain indeed. We pray for a good daily life. For hard work and a wholesome family. For generation after generation of worthy souls.”

  Justin was trying to pace himself. Translators were working, attempting to keep up with his talk. He spoke not from a prepared speech, but from the heart, sometimes hesitating to choose the proper words. He rambled on for several more minutes focusing on the good daily life theme as opposed to a get rich quick reckless substitute.

  Then he came to the final shocker and decided at the last minute to put the horse before the cart. That is he had intended to announce his marriage, then try to justify it. But he decided to lay out the justification.

  “I believe as many do that the Catholic Church is the True Church. This is not to put other religions down. Many are spin offs from the True Church. Even the Muslim religion can be traced back to the Universal church. The world is loaded with good people and we must respect those who respect us.

  “But the Catholic Church has been plagued by the demon celibacy. That is that our clergy cannot marry. Now it is natural for a man and woman to form a team to face life together. Because of that nature the Catholic Church finds itself with a continuing shortage of clergymen. Young men shun the celibate life. Protestant denominations hav
e a surplus of clergymen. Here with me today is Father McCoy.” Justin gestured toward the young priest. “He is a native of Ireland, a splendid country where many young men seek out the priesthood. Thus a surplus of priests who are sent off to many lands.

  “He is popular in his own parish, but should we not have courageous young Mexican men doing the work of the Good Shepherd. So what is the history of the church? Most of the twelve apostles were married. Eleven popes have been either sons of popes or other clerics. In the 14th Century women were still being ordained and hearing confessions. In the 15th Century fifty percent of the priests were married.

  “Historically, many popes have had legitimate and illegitimate children. Pope Benedict IX resigned in order to marry. This type of thing has gone on and on through the centuries. My point is that this celibacy demon is working to destroy the church. If there is a devil, he is likely behind it.” This last statement brought a murmur from the congregation, silent up to this point.

  “So I shall act boldly and without fear. I will lead by example, the finest and truest test of leadership. In the next few minutes you will all be witness to Father McCoy uniting me, Pope Leo XIV and Sister Sylvia in holy wedlock.”

  A general clamor from the congregation that had been sitting almost spellbound for the last few minutes listening to the Pope’s discussing the high jinks of past popes and clerics. Now there was a small explosion.

  After the noise diminished to a low rumble, Justin nodded to Father McCoy to begin the brief marriage ceremony. It took less than five minutes. Justin and Sylvia, holding hands, their backs to the congregation, Father McCoy reciting the vows, listening for the I do’s. The deed was done and with a signal by the priest the church bells began a long toll of celebration.

  Still hand in hand, Sister Sylvia and Pope Leo XIV made their way up the aisle to a waiting car, to be whisked back to the villa for what would be a rather subdued wedding night, all parties wondering how world reaction might play out.

  The next day they would rejoin the tour in El Paso and Justin would inform Cardinal Giovanni Piovanelli that he had decided to stay on as Pope. He had heard rumors that Giovanni had hinted that Justin might resign. So Cardinal Sphinx had let the cat out of the bag and would pay the price.