Sanctuary of Sins

by Roger Kazanowski

  “She delayed her entrance into the seminary to have the baby. The only people who know are Shawne and her husband. John… are you okay?”

  “I just wish I could have gotten to know her better,” John said quietly, tears filling his eyes. “Could have been there for her. All this time… my God.”

  “I can appreciate that.” Brett paused a few moments. “Listen, John. I know you must be going through a lot right now but we have to hide this or her career in the Church is over. I’m not sure what the Church’s rules are about having a child before entering the priesthood, but Sibico will have a field day with this. The good news is we’ve already begun scrubbing all the records. It’ll be all but impossible for him to find out.”

  John shook his head. Poor Charlotte. He could have been there for her through that. Would have been there for her.

  “So my question is, is there anything else of significance we should know about the both of you? We’re working on a summary regarding Sibico, but we need to know what they could possibly dig up on Charlotte.”

  “No.” John shook his head. “No. We were just two young people who fell in love and because of her commitment to the Church had to separate. I didn’t know at the time that she was entering the priesthood, and I think having the baby was the only moral thing for her to do.”

  There was a long pause. John watched Charlotte perform the sign of the cross and step offscreen.

  “I’m sorry, John. For Charlotte, yourself and your daughter. It must be impossibly difficult for both of you.”

  John’s eyes burned with tears now.

  “I’d like to say I understand, but I can’t.” Brett sighed. “Charlotte can’t be told about this conversation. We’ll clean everything up. Understood?”

  “Thanks, Brett.” John took a deep breath and wiped the tears from his eyes. “Where do we go from here?”

  “Ask Charlotte for one last call before the conclave. Make sure she doesn’t talk to anyone about anything significant—the weather is always a safe topic.”

  As John hung up, he placed his head in his hands and sobbed. The two women he loved were both beyond his reach, one passed on and one bound to God alone.

  CHAPTER twenty-four

  Anne and Brett were working furiously to put in place a plan that would halt the conclave in case word leaked about the direction the vote was going. Though only the cardinals, a physician and a small number of support staff were allowed anywhere near the Sistine Chapel during the voting process, Brett managed to work his magic once again.

  Cardinal Sibico was relentless, working all angles 24 hours a day trying to collect votes for the papal office. Only if it appeared certain he was going to be elected would Anne and Brett’s plan be implemented. It would be risky, with critical timing, but the only option.

  117 cardinals congregated for mass in the Vatican’s main cathedral. Soon they would be led down the ornately decorated hallways for the five-minute walk to the historical chapel. Until the next pope was elected, they wouldn’t be allowed to speak to anyone other than each other. They would be in lockdown, confined within a highly restricted area where they would eat and sleep.

  Black smoke billowed four times from the cathedral’s stacks the first day, indicating no selection was made. It was time for Anne to make a visit to Bishop Sanchez’s office. He was sitting with his back to the door reading emails when she reached the doorway.

  Moving quietly, Anne entered the room and closed the door behind her. “Do not turn around and don’t say a word, Bishop Sanchez.” Her voice was quiet but firm.

  Bishop Sanchez didn’t move. He looked up at her, frowning. “Anne…”

  “For the longest time, you were considered a partner to Pope Peter Paul. The core of his circle,” she said, raising her gun as she moved closer to him.

  His frown deepened. “Anne, this is not—”

  Anne shot Bishop Sanchez in the leg. He buckled and fell from his chair, clutching his leg and wailing. “You’ve shot a man of God! Stop this at once!”

  Anne’s measured tone did not change.

  “You’ve had ulterior motives all along. You were the mastermind, Bishop Sanchez. You did this.”

  She shot him in the opposite leg, and he let out a shrill cry.

  Anne held a finger to her lips.

  “Shh, we don’t want to draw a crowd. You planned the murders of the three bishops. You planned to have two others killed, as well as Cardinal Kotlinski. Tell me why.” This last word was uttered through gritted teeth.

  Anne stood over Bishop Sanchez, who avoided her eyes. His lips were pressed together tightly, and he was crying.

  “Seems you’re much more concerned about your personal future than the best interests of the Church. You affiliated yourself with Cardinal Sibico and helped lead a team of terrorists. You’d like to have the same position he had with Pope Peter Paul. What you weren’t aware of was that while you were busy trying to dig up dirt on members in the conclave, I was digging up dirt on you. Tomorrow, news will leak about your involvement with these events and your partnership with Cardinal Sibico. But that won’t matter much for you.”

  “Ms. Lawrence, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Bishop Sanchez stammered. “Please! As the personal assistant to Pope Peter Paul, my whole focus has been on his funeral and his reputation going forward—”

  “Excuse me, Bishop Sanchez, but shut your mouth. Do you not understand that it’s over for you and Sibico? I was hired to take care of issues that Pope Peter Paul was made aware of. I take pride in fulfilling my consulting agreements. My contract is complete.”

  “You’re mistaken. I’m separated from any dealings with Cardinal Sibico. You’ll be exposing lies!”

  Aiming the gun at his head, she said, “You have five seconds. Tell the truth.”

  “All right!” he roared. “It was me! It was me!” Spittle flew from his lips wildly as he screamed. “Now stop this! Don’t shoot, please!”

  Anne shrugged. “I don’t have to.”

  She reached down and struck Bishop Sanchez over the head with the gun, knocking him unconscious. A satisfying silence fell over the room.

  ✽✽✽

  The next morning, Dean of Cardinals Cardinal Cotint received the hideous information regarding Cardinal Sibico and Bishop Sanchez. The news would open up a Pandora’s box within the conclave. So much was exposed that Cardinal Contint called a special meeting with the conclave oversight committee, eliminating any papal votes for the day and probably much longer. If all the facts about Cardinal Sibico were true, he’d be asked to step down from his position and leave the grounds. He and Bishop Sanchez would face charges by international authorities. This would lead to a wide-open vote for the papal office.

  Cardinal Sibico was led away by the Vatican security guards to an undisclosed location. He was upset, calling everyone liars and agents of the Devil. “Anyone that supports these allegations will be on my blacklist! Each of you will pay for your actions!” But no one was listening to him. He was no longer the Vatican’s power broker, but its deceitful, disgusting murderer.

  Cardinal Cotint now found himself in a most unique situation. Never in the history of the Church had such a meeting taken place. What were the rules to be followed? How would the conclave be required to move forward?

  “Gentlemen,” Cardinal Cotint began at the committee, “What happened today makes this one of the saddest days of the Church. Though we’re not certain of their guilt, the sources we have are dependable. The decisions to be made now will change some very important rules of our Church. We must take our time. Let’s think this through together and decide when we open the conclave and move forward. The world is looking at us with great sadness and disdain. We have lost their trust. We must move forward to resurrect our reputation and return the church to its highest potential. Full transparency is mandatory.”

  CHAPTER twenty-five

  While the committee was involved in these exhaustive meetings, Charlotte returned t
o her apartment in the Vatican. As she entered, she noticed a letter on her desk. An uneasy feeling quickly fell through her body—no one had access to her apartment. She glanced around before finally opening the letter.

  Charlotte,

  We have been through a great deal together. Please know that this is not personal. You’re a fine cardinal and an even finer person. But I’m afraid your presence will be detrimental to our plans moving forward. Know that I have made a special request that yours be painless.

  There was no signature, but Charlotte recognized the handwriting: it was Bishop Sanchez.

  She whirled around to make a break for the door, but found herself face to face with a pistol pushing her back into the room. Her pulse slowed. Muscles relaxed. She froze.

  “Fine,” she said to the masked gunman. She had done what she could for the Church. All she could. Her only regret would be that she never told John about Sherri. “Go on. Bishop Sanchez promised it would be painless.”

  The gunman shook his head. “He’s dead now. I can do it however I want.”

  “Why do you still have to do it with him gone?”

  “It was an order. I was paid in advance.”

  “Then go!” Charlotte said, catching herself by surprise. “If you’re already paid, just go!”

  The masked man aimed the gun. He obviously didn’t like being told what to do. He stepped toward Charlotte, who in turn stepped back. As he lunged for her, she squeezed her eyes closed. There was a low thud, then the sound of something crashing to the floor. Charlotte opened her eyes. The man lay crumpled on the floor, blood spreading beneath his head.

  Anne stood near the door, pocketing her gun.

  “Charlotte, I’m officially appointing myself as your personal guard.” Anne looked at Charlotte, no fear in her eyes. “Understood?”

  Charlotte placed her hand on her chest—now her heart was pounding.

  “Understood,” she managed.

  ✽✽✽

  That night, the oversight committee completed their meetings and decided to move ahead with the conclave in two days. For the time being, the Vatican would be a protected fortress surrounded by Italian armed troops, Vatican guards and special forces.

  Even with all this protection, there was still fear of planted assassins that would stop at nothing to take out their targets. All tours, which generated great amounts of revenue daily, were cancelled until a new pope was selected.

  CHAPTER twenty-six

  Early the next morning, the cardinals once again congregated for a private mass at the Blessed Sacrament Altar. But this morning the cardinals were protected with unusually high security measures—not even Vatican employees were allowed to attend the mass. The only outsiders allowed were special Vatican guards and a lead security detail that stayed auspiciously hidden, protecting the chapel’s perimeters.

  As each cardinal received the eucharist and mass was completed, they began to make their way back down the eerily quiet halls to the Sistine Chapel.

  Before the conclave, Cardinal Cotint offered a final statement.

  “Dear fellow cardinals. With what has taken place over the past few days, each of you will be asked to reach deep into your faith, hearts and souls on this day. Cardinal Sibico is in the authorities’ hands and will be treated accordingly. We must stay focused on our task at hand as we vote to elect the next pontiff. The new pope must possess powerful faith, strength and intuition to lead our Church out of this dark time. I ask that each of you take your time and make your decision based on these thoughts.”

  The first votes were taken—they were divided almost evenly among 14 cardinals. As the black smoke billowed out of the smokestack above the chapel, the world was notified that no one had been selected. Votes were tallied three more times, still with no conclusion.

  The next day would bring much of the same as votes moved from one particular person to another with no clear leader. Smoke billowed black four times the second day as the world anxiously waited.

  For the next four days it was becoming obvious that there was no single cardinal that had the leadership qualities to receive two-thirds of the vote. Cardinal Cotint began to sit with other cardinals at breakfast, lunch and dinner having individual conversations. What was he up to? Did he have someone in mind?

  The fifth day began like the others with mass and breakfast prior to being sequestered. With the cardinals showing signs of exhaustion, a new candidate began to receive votes. It appeared as though the conversations Cardinal Cotint was having were being taken seriously. Was he becoming the front runner?

  Seated at the long tables while dinner commenced, Charlotte admired the practiced solemnity of those present. Everywhere she looked there were old men milling about, lining up to collect bowls of soup and hunks of bread from nuns as if straight from a scene in the Middle Ages. Then they would draw up their robes and sit elbow to elbow on the long wooden benches, talking quietly amongst each other, their voices echoing off the old hallowed walls like enchanted whispers in a tomb.

  Looking around, Charlotte felt a pang of loneliness. She was the only woman present, and by far the youngest in the crowd. She couldn’t help feeling isolated from the rest of them. Even though many of her fellow cardinals made polite attempts at conversation, there were obvious barriers separating her from them. She was a woman, after all, and they were men. She was among the youngest cardinals in history, and they were old and often viewed the younger generations with reproach. She was one of the first female priests, and the first female cardinal. They simply couldn’t relate.

  In a way Charlotte felt exposed, like she was being viewed under a microscope. It reminded her of an incident that had happened back in grade school when the class bully—the big, unrelenting buffoon Tim Richmond—made fun of her new prescription glasses. She’d been suffering horrible headaches for months and couldn’t figure out why. Then a brooding ophthalmologist laid down her death sentence: she was blind as a bat and needed glasses. The first time she wore them at school she hid her face from everyone, her eyes downcast. At first it was strange, but as the day progressed, she felt comfortably invisible. Then at lunch in the cafeteria while she sat alone at a table, Tim Richmond approached. He crossed his arms.

  “Hey, I like your new glasses,” he said. Everyone who knew Tim Richmond was afraid of him. Consequently, when he spoke, they listened. All eyes fell on poor Charlotte.

  “Really?” she squinted up at him, hopeful.

  He grinned. “Yeah. They really cover up your face!” Then he guffawed. A loud, horrible laugh that echoed throughout the silent cafeteria and brought hot tears to Charlotte’s eyes. She hid her face as her cheeks reddened.

  “I need them or I can’t see,” she said in a small voice. But Tim didn’t care. He’d found his new plaything. He pointed at her as he walked past. “Would you look at that! We’ve got a new four eyes, folks! Our very own Charlotte Kotlinski.”

  Charlotte would never forget that day. Now in the conclave, she cringed at the memory, remembering her many moments of embarrassment and isolation growing up. But this time was different, she told herself. Not only because she’d gotten laser surgery to fix her eyes (thank God!), but she was a grown woman now. She was a leader. And while leaders could cry, they had to be strong.

  She steeled herself. Naturally, there were so many oddities about her situation that the others felt ill-equipped to connect with her. They simply hadn’t experienced what she had, and that was all right.

  Glancing around, she wondered how many of them had been there before, how many popes they’d seen inaugurated. Probably countless. She looked across the table at a hawkish cardinal in his 80s. He was dipping bread in his soup and chewing absentmindedly, his head bent forward over his food. Beside him was a dish of boiled vegetables. Her own soup and vegetables lay untouched in front of her.

  The old cardinal caught her staring and gave a slight smile of recognition. Then his eyes peered down at her food. “The meal is not to your liking?” he said
with an Irish accent.

  Embarrassed, Charlotte stammered, fumbling for an excuse. “Well, no, it’s just—”

  The old man chuckled from deep in his belly. “It’s quite all right, dear girl. I was only poking fun.” He spoke in between bites of bread dipped in soup, chewing thoughtfully before recommencing. “Besides, the food is atrocious not by accident, but by design.”

  Charlotte was suddenly entranced by the old man. A quiet wisdom emanated from him. There was a quick wit in his words; a spark of intelligence in his soft blue eyes. Finally, there was something to alleviate the intolerable waiting. “It’s not the nuns poisoning us?” Charlotte joked. She was referring to the nuns who had prepared the meal, as they had for centuries for the conclave, according to custom.