by Izak Botha
Lioni turned to Santori. ‘Your Eminence, we need a description of the attacker.’
Santori opened his eyes. Staring at the floor, he sighed, ‘Caucasian. Six feet, maybe more. Well built. He wore the cassock of a priest. I think he had dark hair. ... It was long for a clergyman. He had a rucksack with him. That’s all I remember. It was dark.’
‘Be on the lookout for a suspect. A priest ...’
A deadened two-way stopped Lioni in mid-sentence. The radio operator must have heard what the cardinal had said. Impatient for the command operator to respond, Lioni pressed the talk switch again: ‘His Eminence demands a lockdown of the Vatican.’
A moment’s silence followed.
‘Is this a joke?’
‘Negative. No drill. No joke.
‘Stand by. ...’
Chapter 8
Cardinal Cardoni trotted across the Sistine Hall’s black- and white-checkered marble floor. Thirty years of dedicated service at the Vatican Libraries and he still had an almost overpowering urge to stop and marvel at the splendor of the frescoes adorning its walls and ceilings. Now, though, there was no time. With his mind distracted by his altercation with Miss Jaine, as well as by the urgent summons to the Penitentiary, he might as well have been walking through a barren landscape. Descending the steps near the Gallery of Inscriptions, his breath came in short bursts. He must quit smoking. He had tried many times but with little success. He felt guilty when he preached on addiction to his congregations.
His meeting with the journalist had upset him. Miss Jaine had deliberately vented her frustration on him. But what right did she have to use him as a punching bag? The Archives should have done a better job screening her. With so many crazy people in the world these days, one could not be too careful. Had he known she would be so confrontational, he would have gone to the meeting better prepared. He could have taken her to the cleaners. Originals? What bloody originals? Good God! If only she knew. She might as well defy a hurricane. She had no idea what she was up against, or whom.
People like Miss Jaine were exactly why he needed to retire. He no longer had the strength or inclination to deal with them. He was nearing seventy. Surely, he had done his share for Holy Mother Church. Someone else could assume the reins from him now, someone younger. Albani stood next in line, though he doubted the bishop’s suitability. Although the Argentinean had a dedication to the faith fitting any cardinal, he did not have the tenacity the job demanded. Anyhow, seeing Santori now would be the perfect opportunity for Cardoni to discuss his successor.
Cardoni thought about Santori and remembered when Romano had told him to go to the Penitentiary his face had appeared troubled. Something serious must have happened.
Cardoni’s heart began pounding with the ferocity of a kettledrum. Together with a few other cardinals, he and Santori held the highest offices at the Vatican. They had taken up their appointments at the same time and kept adjacent accommodations in the Apostolic Palace. Pope John Paul II had nominated them while they were still in their forties. The late pontiff had spent years grooming them for their positions. Their loyalty had placed them firmly at the helm of the Vatican’s hierarchy. They controlled the Church’s utmost secrets. Their roles superseded everyday duties; in their powerful hands lay the life and fate of the Holy Roman Catholic Church, and they ensured the faith conformed to its stated precepts.
As Cardoni approached the Penitentiary, both Lioni and the Helvetians stood at attention. Father Franco must have ordered them to stand outside. Cardoni greeted them briefly as he passed.
Franco stood cleaning his desk and had his back turned towards the entrance. On hearing footsteps, he turned. ‘Your Eminence, you gave me such a fright!’ he said, clutching his chest with a wet cloth.
The priest’s tears only escalated the cardinal’s anxiety. He had to think quickly. ‘Is he inside?’ Cardoni asked.
‘He’s waiting only for you, Your Eminence.’
Cardoni stopped. He could not barge into Santori’s office without knowing what had happened. ‘Why am I here, Father?’
‘Father Yilmaz, Your Eminence.’ Franco’s head dropped. ‘He was ...’ He could not finish the sentence.
Cardoni lingered before Santori’s office door. ‘Did you call anyone?’
‘The Colonel.’
Cardoni opened the door and entered. ‘Don’t call anyone else,’ he said, closing the door behind him.
*****
Santori stood by the hearth, his back towards the entrance. On a chair lay a heap of bloodstained clothes. ‘Pass me my cassock,’ he said, pulling on clean red hose.
Cardoni crossed the room. Taking the clean cassock from the hanger, he held it out to his friend. Santori looked pale as a newly washed sheet. ‘What happened? Franco says Father Yilmaz has been hurt.’
Santori bent his head under the garment. ‘He was killed.’
‘What?’ Cardoni released the cassock, letting it crumple on Santori’s head. Yilmaz worked for him. He had seen him earlier that morning at breakfast. When Santori grumbled from beneath the cassock, he lifted it. ‘Where?’
‘In the vault.’
‘Inside?!’ Cardoni looked at the hearth. ‘How did he get in?’
Santori prodded Cardoni’s arms up to lift the cassock higher. ‘There were two.’
Santori’s composure surprised Cardoni, though his friend had always been the stronger of the two. He had a knack for taking things in stride. His position as Major Penitentiary demanded an astuteness and composure Cardoni had never possessed. He knew he could never take Santori’s place. He would not be ruthless enough to excommunicate the sheep who strayed from Mother Church’s narrow path. He pulled the vestment over Santori’s head.
‘Do you think they saw?’
Santori shrugged on the cassock. ‘It’s gone,’ he said, adjusting the vestment so it fell in decorous folds.
‘Holy Mother of God!’ Cardoni extracted his asthma pump. He took two full puffs before putting it back in his pocket. ‘Where is it now?’
‘I told you, damn it. It was stolen.’
‘I thought Yilmaz had it.’
Santori stepped in front of the mirror behind the conference table. Even in the face of crisis he never lost sight of his image. ‘The other priest has it,’ he said, smoothing his cassock.
‘A priest?’ Cardoni felt the blood drain from his head. ‘Who?’
‘For God’s sake, Giovanni, how should I know?’
When Santori returned to the hearth, Cardoni sat down on a chair. ‘I thought you saw him.’
‘A glimpse of a glimpse. A cassock, a satchel. That’s it. It was dark.’
Cardoni’s mind raced. ‘We must inform the others.’
‘First we must talk.’ Santori pointed to the rest of his vestments on the hearth. ‘My sash, if you don’t mind.’
Cardoni sat staring at Santori. He remembered seeing the vault for the first time. He would not forget the day. He had felt intimidated. Only the highest-ranking cardinals knew of the Vatican’s innermost secrets. ‘You know the bloody consequences,’ he said.
‘Don’t lecture me,’ Santori snapped. ‘Help me.’
Cardoni had worked with Santori for long enough to know he had something on his mind. Standing again, he unwound the red sash. Fitting it around Santori’s waist, he said, ‘We must inform Fra’ Dubois—and the pontiff.’
‘Now, now.’ Santori draped the pectoral cross over his shoulders. Finally, he put on his plush black hat and pushed the red and gold tasseled cord to one side. ‘First you and I must talk.’
Cardoni sat again. ‘We cannot let whoever it is leave these walls. We have to get him, before he escapes.’
Santori headed for his office desk. ‘I asked for a lockdown,’ he mused.
‘Lockdown? For a murder?!’ Now Cardoni was certain of the consequences. ‘Won’t that draw unnecessary attention to the artefact?’
Santori sat down in his leather armchair. He stared across the table at his col
league. ‘Who can say? This is catastrophic. What does one do at a time like this?’
Cardoni stared back, his mind blank. A priest dying in the secret vault was tragic, but the theft was a disaster of the highest order. ‘How in His name are we going to explain this? What if he gets away?’
‘Colonel Schreider will be here any minute, I suspect. I need you here when he comes.’
Cardoni stood up and walked to the window on the far side of the lounge. ‘I have a problem at the library, but that can wait.’ He pulled the curtain back and opened the window. He drew a cigarette from his pack, lit it and inhaled. He held the smoke in his lungs until it burned. Exhaling slowly, he let smoke filter through his nostrils: ‘We can’t keep this secret forever, you know that.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. We’ll get it back.’ Santori brooded, then picking up the phone to call Franco. ‘Now where is that damned colonel?’
Cardoni hit his cigarette again, slowly blowing smoke out the window. ‘I don’t feel good, Leonardo,’ he said, staring at the dome of Saint Peter’s Basilica. ‘I have a feeling—call it a portent—this will not end well.’
Chapter 9
Swiss Guard Commander Oberst Ludwig Schreider swung towards the Penitentiary at a brisk march; six-foot-six, he had a bearing so upright it seemed stiff compared with his perfectly creased, maroon uniform and black beret—the latter being starkly complementary to his pale skin, snowy, cropped hair and sparse eyebrows. Constantly prepared for the unexpected, his gaze invariably extended beyond his immediate environment, a characteristic he believed gave him twice the time to react and a trait his men revered as ‘psychic’. His voice was a deep, almost bear-like, growl, such that when he spoke it commanded unconditional attention.
The Helvetians at the entrance slammed the butts of their halberds against the marble floor with enough force to bust the basalt paving stones of the Belvedere. Saluting midstride, Schreider ordered his soldiers to stand at ease.
Schreider had graduated top of his class from the Swiss Military Academy in ‘99. He had excelled first in training then as a field commander. Despite Switzerland’s limited partnership with NATO, he had managed to have himself deployed as one of only two Swiss officers to serve with the Germans in Afghanistan after the American invasion. His reputation for honesty and integrity, strong Catholic convictions and impeccable military record had then seen him first accepted into the Swiss Guard, then elevated to the rank of security commander to the Holy See. His primary duty—looking after dignitaries during a period of religious intolerance and turmoil—had made his job arduous. He had long lived with the knowledge that he might, one day, sacrifice his life for the Supreme Pontiff. At such times as the thought of that ever-imminent sacrifice occurred to him, he would remind himself wryly, but with no less sincerity, of the old cliché ‘for God and country’. And yet, he took solace in the fact that if it ever came to that, he would be shedding his blood for a good cause. He did, after all, protect God’s elite.
Lioni saluted Schreider. ‘Colonel, we ...’
Schreider did not allow the gendarmerie adjutant to finish his sentence. Command had already briefed him on his way across the city. Nearly an hour had lapsed since the incident and an immediate response was necessary.
‘Secure the entrance,’ Schreider ordered. ‘I want no interruptions while I’m in here.’ He continued to the reception area where Father Franco sat like a soul in anguish. He halted before the priest’s desk and doffed his beret. ‘Father, may I?’
Franco walked to Santori’s door. He knocked lightly, waiting for an answer before standing aside for Schreider to enter.
Schreider walked to Santori’s desk. On the way, he scanned the area for clues to the murder. To his surprise, everything looked undisturbed. Nor did he see a body. Confident that he had summed up the situation sufficiently, his attention shifted to the two cardinals. Santori was hunched over with his elbows pressed onto the desk, demonstrating the grievous weight he now carried. Cardoni pulled hard and fast on his cigarette, hinting at the condition of his frayed nerves. Schreider positioned himself to the side of the desk where he could maintain a view of the office suite. When Cardoni offered him a seat he declined.
‘If you don’t mind, Eminentia, I prefer to stand.’
‘Very well then,’ Cardoni said. He stubbed his cigarette out in the silver ashtray on the windowsill. Closing the window, he emptied three butts in the waste bin and sat down opposite Santori.
‘What is our highest security level, Colonel?’ Santori asked.
Schreider attempted to hide his confusion. Apart from searching for the escaping suspect, he needed to confirm Father Yilmaz’s death. He also needed forensics on the scene. Still, with Santori’s gaze locked on his he yielded: ‘Alarmbereitschaft Eins; it’s roughly equivalent to the Americans’ “DEFCON one” of Hollywood fame.’
The whites of Santori’s clenched knuckles showed through his skin. ‘Yes, Colonel, I need you to go to Alarmbeits—whatever.’
Schreider had already adjusted their security level from Alarmbereitschaft V to Alarmbereitschaft IV. A murder-robbery, though heinous enough, certainly did not warrant the kind of security level appropriate for a nuclear war. Alarmbereitschaft I applied only to severe, imminent global threats. It would not only put the Vatican’s entire civil defense force on maximum alert, but it would trigger equivalent alerts in Italy and therefore the EU—and after that, well, you could bet those Americans would implement their fabled DEFCON 1 as well, if only for good measure.
‘I cannot invoke Alarmbereitschaft Eins,’ the colonel said defiantly. ‘A simple murder-theft does not constitute an existential threat to the Vatican, let alone the entire western world.’
Santori slammed his fist on the table. ‘In this case, it does!’
‘It’s not so much the murder, Colonel, as the theft,’ Cardoni explained more peaceably.
Schreider glared at him. They obviously did not understand what the Vatican’s security levels meant. Lockdown occurred only in cases of imminent attack: if Muslim extremists snuck a dirty bomb into Saint Peter’s, fine; if the Russians launched a forty-year-old nuke, sure; heck, if the Ayatollah decided to send a simple Super Soaker-mounted drone to take the piss on the pope’s birthday, then it would probably be warranted. But war-crazed as they had been the past two decades, the U.S. would not go to DEFCON 1 without ICBMs crisscrossing the atmosphere.
‘Listen, your eminencies, Alarmbereitschaft Eins requires I not only coordinate with the heads of the gendarmerie and fire department, as well as with the Prefect of the Apostolic Palace, but that I also alert every government between here and Japan. I’ll have to inform the American Joint Chiefs, Interpol, Europol and the Italian military. Then, together we form one unified command. That’s protocol. So, what you’re talking about is an international incident of epic proportions, and for what, a theft?’
‘This is unacceptable,’ Santori groaned.
Schreider was sweating now. The cardinal’s call for the highest alert level made the colonel feel trapped. The more Schreider thought about it, the more he suspected something sinister was afoot. Alarmbereitschaft V, or standard readiness protocol, meant there was an imminent threat to the Vatican from within. If someone made a bomb threat or if there were demonstrations at the city’s gates they would declare Alarmbereitschaft IV to increase intelligence and strengthen their security measures. Due to an alleged murder, which Schreider had yet to verify, they were now at Alarmbereitschaft IV, albeit that was something of an overreaction. Alarmbereitschaft III would increase force and readiness even more and was meant for times when the pope or the entire Holy See were in imminent, life-threatening danger, and this was obviously not the case now. The only time they had implemented Alarmbereitschaft III was in 2006, during the Osama bin Laden crisis. Pope Benedict XVI had spoken out against Islam, calling it evil and inhuman. Bin Laden had then accused the Vatican of leading a crusade against Islam, which had led to several threats against the See. Th
e 9/11 attacks had resulted in the Vatican’s one and only Alarmbereitschaft II, which it had maintained for a short while thereafter, and Schreider would never forget the chaos that had ensued. Maximum force readiness could only be triggered during an impending or ongoing attack by a foreign power or terrorist group. It demanded the most severe threat the Vatican had ever seen. It simply was not the case here, and considering the Vatican’s place in geopolitics, it probably never would be.
‘Close down the Vatican,’ Santori spat. ‘That’s an order!’
Schreider’s ears burnt. Was he hearing the cardinal right? ‘Is Your Eminence saying there is a severe threat to the See?’ He looked around at the tidy, serene office to prove his point. ‘I have yet to verify a murder that supposedly happened here, a single murder and, according to you, a robbery, and you’re saying the entire city state is practically about to explode because of these two little unverified crimes that are, and let me be clear on this, not national but police concern?’
‘We don’t have time to explain, Colonel,’ said Santori with a penetrating look.
Cardoni stepped forward. ‘Our problem is extraordinary. The extremity of the situation demands a lockdown.’
‘Excuse my boldness, Your Eminence,’ Schreider said, ‘but the safety of the Holy See is my responsibility. Right now, I’m not seeing a safety risk here, but I’m willing to listen. So, before I create a multinational panic, I need to know everything.’
‘It is in our best interest that the matter be resolved quietly and expeditiously,’ Cardoni said. ‘You must personally take care of this.’
