The Debt

by Glenn Cooper

  Her cheeks were already flushed but pride made them even redder. She told him she had always wished she could do more.

  ‘I imagine you could do a lot more with twenty-five billion euros,’ Cal said helpfully.

  ‘We have done some research. This would be the third-best endowed foundation in the world,’ the pope said, ‘closely behind the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation and the INGKA Foundation established by the Swedish family that owns IKEA stores. We could do some marvelous good, in my opinion.’

  Marcus grimaced as a way of previewing his concerns. ‘Assuming we went along with this, how would the governance work? Who’d control what? Who’d choose the trustees and the administrators? Where would it be based? How would the investment decisions be made?’

  The pope, who had been leaning forward, sat back and folded his hands over his cassock. ‘These are all relevant technical questions, Mr Sassoon. I am ignorant in the mechanics of foundations but I am sure we can find experts who might assist us in creating a strong framework. All decisions would have to be reached mutually. The purpose of this meeting is to see if the Vatican and the Sassoon family might agree on a broad concept of cooperation. If so, we can decide on next steps.’

  Gail nodded vigorously. ‘In the brief time since Professor Donovan reached out to us, my husband and I have talked at length. Henry and I are in agreement. We want to proceed and take the conversation forward. We are enthusiastic.’

  ‘Marvelous news,’ the pope said, ‘truly marvelous. In that case I would like to share with you the name that I thought we might call this foundation, subject to your approval, of course. I thought the Interfaith Fund for Humanity captures the essence of the credo.’

  Gail warmly endorsed it, letting ‘the IFH’ trip off her tongue.

  Marcus, however, clearly felt the pope needed to know that all was not sweetness and light in Sassoon land. ‘My cousin is the chairman of the firm and he has a controlling interest but I would be remiss if I didn’t express some concerns.’

  ‘Please, Mr Sassoon,’ the pope said. ‘I value your input.’

  ‘I am deeply concerned about anti-Semitism,’ Marcus said. ‘Many will say that it’s the Jews’ fault that the Vatican had to sell off assets. They’ll say that we could have forgiven the debt. Personally, I think this could get very ugly.’

  ‘I am not naive,’ the pope said. ‘There will be plenty of criticism to go around but I will make it known that I was the one to insist on repayment provided that a foundation was the beneficiary. Surely my fellow Catholics will be divided in their opinions. Some will agree with my intentions. Others will see this as a betrayal of our traditions. But let me say this: I am prepared for the slings and arrows. I will gladly martyr myself on the altar of charity and mercy.’

  When the meeting was over, Monsignor Moller was summoned to lead Gail and Marcus back to the reception area so Cal and the pope could have a chat.

  ‘I wanted to express my concern, Professor,’ Celestine said. ‘Moller passed along what happened to you the other evening. To take a life is a horrible event but if you had not, I would have lost my friend. God has already forgiven you.’

  Cal thanked him and admitted that he remained shaken.

  ‘Tell me,’ the pope asked. ‘Do you share my concern that this attack upon your life might have been related to your search for the loan contract?’

  ‘I’m afraid I do.’

  ‘Then you must be very careful, Professor. I would never be able to forgive myself if you came to harm because of your kindness in assisting me.’

  ‘I promise I’ll be careful, Your Holiness.’

  ‘Please reinforce with the Sassoons the necessity of keeping our conversations private. There will be elements inside the Church and outside who will not want us to succeed. I will try to confine the knowledge of our plans to the smallest possible circle of confidants.’

  ‘The Vatican has never been leak-proof,’ Cal said.

  ‘Indeed not. Tell me, what are your plans? Will you finally be able to return home?’

  ‘Tomorrow morning. The Sassoons are going to drop me in Boston on their way back to New York. I’ve got a new semester coming up, lectures to prepare, papers to write.’ He noticed the pope’s mouth open at the last item on his to-do-list. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t be writing a paper about the Sassoon debt just yet.’

  Marcus blew off dinner plans in favor of room service but Cal agreed to join Gail in the restaurant at the Excelsior. She was buoyant about meeting the pope and hadn’t come down from her cloud. Sampling the champagne the sommelier had recommended, she told him the only thing that would have made the day even better would have been posting a photo of her with the pope on her Facebook page.

  Cal repeated the admonitions about confidentiality but added, ‘If this deal closes, you’re going to have more publicity than you’ll know how to handle. This is going to be big, Gail. You sure you’re going to enjoy the hot light of celebrity?’

  ‘I guess I’ll find out but I think I’ll be fine. Of course Marcus believes it will be bad for the family and bad for business.’

  ‘It’s possible he may be right, no?’

  ‘We’ll see. Marcus is a difficult man but he’s smart. But the way I look at it, the IFH is bigger than the bank. It would be a chance to do philanthropy on a truly global scale. Hopefully the positives will outweigh the negatives. Henry won’t live forever. It will be his legacy.’

  ‘And yours.’

  ‘And mine.’

  ‘What about your son? What’s his take likely to be?’

  ‘Julian will support his father, even if the bank’s business suffers in the short term. I’m not even certain he’s going to want to join the firm when he graduates. He’s more of a Silicon Valley than a Wall Street type of kid. Hopefully you’ll meet him one day.’

  ‘Hopefully.’

  ‘So, Cal,’ she said, after putting a dent in her drink. ‘Will I be seeing you again soon?’

  He knew this was coming. ‘You know, I think my work here is done, as they say. I was happy to facilitate this, despite what happened the other night. But I’ve got a day job and it’s time to get stuck back into it.’

  She reached across the table and touched his hand. ‘No time for your personal life?’

  He didn’t exactly pull his hand away. It was more like a gentle retreat.

  ‘I think it’s best if we kept this professional.’

  She found another use for her hand, curling it around her champagne glass.

  ‘Oh well,’ she sighed. ‘I wanted to meet the pope, I wanted this foundation to get off the ground, and I wanted you. Two out of three isn’t bad. Will you do something for me?’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Come to the bar with me. I don’t want to drink alone tonight.’

  Marcus was seated at a table in his suite, eating chicken and watching CNN, when the doorbell rang.

  ‘I don’t want housekeeping,’ he shouted.

  The bell rang again.

  ‘Can’t you see my do not disturb sign?’

  There was a third ring.

  Disgusted he got up and opened the door, ready to give the housekeeper a good dressing-down.

  The thin, distinguished man standing there was dressed in black clerical robes accented by red trim and a red sash.

  ‘I am terribly sorry to disturb you, Mr Sassoon, but I think we need to talk. My name is Cardinal Pascal Lauriat. I am the Vatican secretary of state.’

  Cal lost track of several things. The number of vodkas he put away at the hotel bar. How he made it through the lobby to the elevator. Whether he offered any resistance. The time.

  When he opened his eyes the first thing he saw were three glowing numbers from the bedside clock: 4:04.

  His mouth was dry as hell.

  It was dark but there was a sliver of light shining below the bathroom door. Except that he was sure it was on the wrong side of his room.

  Unless. Unless it wasn’t his room.
>
  He moved his hand around the bed until he came upon an expanse of naked flesh.

  Gail stirred.

  ‘Oh shit,’ he said.

  ‘Cal?’ She sounded hoarse and far away. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘It’s late. Or it’s early. I’m going back to my room now.’

  ‘Do you have to?’

  ‘Yeah, I do.’

  She was snoring as he crawled around the floor looking for his clothes.

  Damn you, Cal, he thought. So much for being professional.

  TWENTY

  No one could remember the last time the pope had visited the Palace of the Governorate. It was an imposing symmetrical building located behind St Peter’s Basilica on the edge of the Vatican gardens, a short walk from Celestine’s guesthouse residence. Although visitors passed it by without a thought, it was the nerve center of administration for the City State. Moller had reserved a small, nondescript conference room in one of the wings, across the hall from the Vatican motor vehicle registration department, of all places.

  Awaiting the pontiff was a small group of individuals who, with one exception, either knew each other in passing or were close colleagues. The most senior figure, Cardinal Sandro Portolano, was the president of the Pontifical Council for Culture, the organization that presided over the guardianship of the historical and artistic patrimony of the Church – all the works of art, historical documents, books, everything kept in the museums, libraries, and archives. One of his direct reports, Professor Daniele Boni, the director of the Vatican Museums, sat to his left, busily answering correspondence on his phone. Another direct report, Archbishop Gabriel Thorn, the Luxembourgian archivist and librarian of the Holy Roman Church, sat quietly to his right, bridging his fingers. The Pontifical Commission for Sacred Archaeology was also part of Cardinal Portolano’s brief. Ordinarily, inviting the secretary of the Pontifical Commission rather than its president to a papal meeting would have caused something of a political earthquake, but everyone knew that Sister Elisabetta Celestino was the pope’s favorite. Her special status harkened back to the extraordinary services she had provided to the Vatican during the stormy time of Celestine’s conclave. The one person who was a stranger to the others was a Canadian, Monsignor Trevor Joseph, the secretary of APSA, the Administration of the Patrimony of the Apostolic See, the department within the Secretariat for the Economy tasked, among other functions, with controlling the Holy See’s real-estate portfolio.

  After a while, Professor Boni looked up from his phone and asked if anyone knew the purpose of the meeting.

  There were headshakes around the table and even Cardinal Portolano admitted he had no idea.

  ‘And we’re sure the pope is personally attending?’ Joseph asked.

  ‘That’s what Moller said,’ the cardinal replied.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been to a meeting in this palace,’ Elisabetta said. She had come from her archeology office located outside the Vatican on the Via Napoleone.

  ‘It’s a strange venue for a meeting with the pope,’ Boni said. ‘It’s where I come for my parking stickers. It’s almost like he doesn’t want to be seen with us.’

  ‘Well, I’ve never personally met the Holy Father,’ Joseph said. ‘I must admit, I’ve got butterflies, but I can’t imagine what I have in common with the rest of you.’

  ‘All will be revealed, I expect,’ the cardinal grumbled.

  When the door to the room finally opened, a plain-clothed member of the Vatican Gendarmerie entered first and glanced around the room. When he exited, Moller came in followed by Celestine, who warmly greeted everyone by name, spending the most time with Elisabetta, inquiring about the health of her family. When everyone settled back down, Moller pulled out his ubiquitous notebook and recorded the names of the attendees.

  ‘Thank you for taking the time from your busy schedules,’ the pope began modestly. ‘I am in need of your expert service. But I must ask you to hold this meeting in confidence. May I count on your discretion?’

  Whispered assents floated around the table.

  The pope thanked them and said, ‘I’m sure you’ve all read in the papers rumors about my displeasure with the state of Vatican finances, about the lack of data for certain departments, the failure of transparency. That is why I wanted to solicit your help.’

  Cardinal Portolano waited until Celestine paused to take a sip of water before saying, ‘But, Holy Father, what can we do to assist you in this endeavor?’

  ‘Something that has troubled me is that we seem to have no idea about the value of many of our assets. What I have learned from the accountants is that any organization, whether a business or a not-for-profit, needs to have a clear understanding of its liabilities and its assets. With our recent initiatives we are making some progress in learning more about our liabilities. As to our assets, we have no idea, no idea whatsoever. For example, do you know the value we carry on our books for all the artwork in the Vatican Museum?’

  When no one replied, the pope answered himself. ‘One euro! How ridiculous is that? Today, I want us to begin the exercise of correctly valuing our assets – our buildings, our land holdings, our paintings, our sculptures, our manuscripts. You are the ones who can do this. What do you think about this exercise?’

  Again, no one seemed to want to offer an opinion.

  Celestine laughed and said, ‘Never mind. Let us start somewhere. What about real estate? Tell me about the value of our real estate, Monsignor Joseph.’

  The monsignor, an energetic fellow from Toronto who had been an accountant before entering the priesthood, nervously scratched his thinning blond hair and wondered out loud where to start.

  ‘Wherever you like,’ the pope replied.

  ‘Well, Holy Father, as you know, the bulk of our properties are within Italy although we do have significant assets throughout Europe. Each diocese around the world is an independent legal entity and their real-estate assets are on their books, not ours. It is no easy thing pegging a value to the Holy See’s real-estate holdings as market conditions may fluctuate. If pressed, I would say that the value would be well in excess of ten billion euros. At last count, we own over one hundred thousand properties in Italy alone, although the great majority are churches, convents, and monasteries.’

  ‘I see, good,’ the pope said. ‘What about non-religious properties?’

  ‘We own hotels, office buildings, apartment blocks, buildings housing retail tenants, banks, insurance companies, and the like. Some of them in capital cities like London and Paris would be considered trophy properties owing to their prestige value. And we own a good deal of agricultural land that we lease to individual farmers and collectives.’

  ‘And the value of these properties?’ the pope asked.

  ‘I would have to do some work, Holy Father, but I would say several billion euros.’

  ‘I see. That was very helpful. Now, let us turn to other categories. Who would like to go next to hazard an opinion about the value of assets in their departments?’

  Archbishop Thorn tentatively raised his hand and said, ‘Holy Father, I have to tell you that the Vatican Library and Vatican Secret Archives have never undertaken an exercise of placing a value on our collections. Most of our books, codices, manuscripts, maps, letters, papal bulls, pronouncements, and concordats are unique items of the sort that never go under an auction hammer. How can one put a value on the Concordat of Worms? The Pax Veneta? A letter from Genghis Khan to Pope Innocent IV? A scroll that transcribes the trial of the Knights Templar? The tract from the English Parliament to Clement VII regarding the “Great Matter” of King Henry VIII?’ He stopped there but his exasperation lingered.

  The pope said, ‘Of course I see your point but surely there are experts who are able to appraise unique pieces. I won’t hold you to any figures but what does your gut tell you about value?’

  ‘I don’t know, Holy Father,’ he sputtered. ‘Of the most important historical pieces? Tens of millions? Hundreds of mil
lions? I’m at a loss.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ the pope said, ‘this is only the beginning of a process. Let’s keep going around the table.’

  Although Sister Elisabetta’s face was turned downward, the pope seemed to notice a small smile. He smiled back and said, ‘Sister Elisabetta, tell me what you think about our antiquities.’

  Professor Boni stiffened as a show of his annoyance. Her organization, the Pontifical Commission for Sacred Archaeology, was the group responsible for directing excavations in the catacombs of Rome and other sites of Christian antiquarian interest and of safeguarding artifacts found during digs, not curating and maintaining them for exhibition. That was the job of the Vatican Museums. But there was little he could do or say. Everyone knew she was the pope’s fair-haired girl.

  Elisabetta, aware of the sensitivity, prefaced her remarks with an acknowledgement that the staff of the museum was best positioned to give an opinion on value but that she would tentatively weigh in.

  ‘From what I’ve read,’ she said, ‘the auction market for important works of antiquity has been quite strong. This would be particularly true for works with the kind of provenance as pieces within the Vatican collections. Unless there is a clear chain of ownership, most museums won’t bid on ancient artifacts because they won’t risk trafficking in looted goods. My personal view is that our Greek, Roman, Etruscan, early Christian, and Egyptian collections of statuary and art are unparalleled in their excellence and significance. Add to this our amazing ethnological collection of regional antiquities. I would be happy to work with Professor Boni’s people to do valuation exercises but I would think the value is in the hundreds of millions if not considerably more.’