The Templar Concordat

by Terrence O'Brien

  “Are you calling Hammid Al Dossary a liar?”

  “I’d prefer to say he was badly deluded, but if he isn’t, then yes, he is a liar. And he’s a liar who is responsible for all these deaths we have seen recently as Muslims have responded to his vicious drivel by killing each other. We might ask why Muslims kill each other when they get upset. And we might ask who is leading them to this carnage.”

  “Father Girard, this defiant stance appears to be a departure from the policies of the last Pope.”

  “There have been vicious attacks on the Church. The last Pope died in one, so, he’s not dealing with these attacks by Al Dossary. This stance is an appropriate response regardless of who is Pope.”

  “Is this a return to a more militant position by the Church?”

  “The Church has never abandoned the truth, and it never will. This is an expression of that commitment.”

  “You almost sound like you are looking for a fight.”

  “The Church is not looking for a fight, but it won’t back down when attacked. That’s suicide. And it will win when it engages. For two thousand years it has won.”

  “Muslims have been around for almost as long.”

  “Yes. And Pope Dominic wishes them peace and prosperity for thousands of years to come.”

  “Are you concerned with igniting a religious war?”

  “Not at all. Men of goodwill from the world’s great religions have never been in conflict. It is only the extremist parasites who thrive on fomenting strife.”

  “Are you saying Hammid Al Dossary is an extremist?”

  “I’d say orchestrating the death and injury of hundreds of one’s own people is extreme, wouldn’t you?”

  “Is he a parasite?”

  “Parasites live off the blood of their host. Next question.”

  “How can you prove something doesn’t exist?”

  “Does CNN believe in unicorns? The Easter Bunny? The Tooth Fairy? How about space aliens or leprechauns? Or has it produced a three-part prime time series proving they don’t exist?”

  “What do you say to the more than one billion Muslims of the world?”

  “I say, ‘Salaam Aleykum.’”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It’s Arabic. It means, ‘Peace be with you.’”

  “What do you say to those who say the Church is an outmoded throwback to medieval times?”

  “I say, ‘Isn’t it great those people have the freedom to say that.’”

  “Your tone sounds somewhat belligerent.”

  “Belligerent, as in warlike? We were attacked right here in the Vatican by cowards who killed and maimed thousands of innocent men, women, and children. Cowards who strap bombs on their own handicapped and mentally challenged children. That sounds like an act of war to me.”

  “Is Hammid Al Dossary a coward?”

  “We will soon see.”

  “Is the Vatican now at war with those who perpetrated the attacks?”

  “Yes.”

  * * *

  The Pope drummed his fingers on the table as the press conference with Father Girard ended. “What do you think, Carlos?”

  “It’s exactly what you told him to do.” Carlos shrugged. “Piss ‘em off big time. Stir things up.”

  “I know that.” The Pope waved an impatient hand. “And he did do exactly what I told him to do. I’m sure he thinks I’m nuts. But did I choose the right path here?”

  “Boss, you did what you always do. You throw a whole bunch of crap out there so the other guy starts slipping around in it and can’t keep his balance. Knock his operation off schedule. Were you right? How do I know? You’re right if it works, and wrong if it doesn’t.”

  The Pope looked over to Agretti for his reaction. “Cardinal? What do you think?”

  “With respect, Holiness…”

  The Pope ran a hand through his hair. “Alberto, I don’t give a damn about respect. I want to know what you think. Just say it.”

  Agretti’s neck reddened and his eyes began to sting. “If you insist. It was the wrong thing to do. It probably set back our relations with the Muslim world a hundred years. We’ve spent the last twenty years trying to reconcile with these people, and all that effort has just been squandered. With respect, Holiness.”

  “Yes,” said the Pope. “I was wondering the same thing myself. Maybe it’s time to show these people some respect. Show them we respect them enough to hold them to the standards of civilized people. Thanks for your candor, Alberto. I bet it felt good.”

  We need a Pope, a real Pope, Agretti thought, a refined intellectual, not a Mexican cowboy.

  “Well, we’ve fired back, so let’s not wait around. How’s that history coming, Carlos?” The Pope had asked the Vatican Library to produce a short history of the relations between the Church and Islam.

  “Herring… Monsignor Herring. He’s taken over for Santini. From the library. Says a first draft will be ready this afternoon.”

  “Make sure it’s what I want, plain, simple, and to the point. I don’t want a bunch of Vatican-speak. If it isn’t right, give it back to him and tell him to do it over.”

  “Yes, Boss.”

  The Pope cocked an eyebrow at Carlos. “You ready to become a bishop, Carlos? I have you ordering around bishops and cardinals. Need the rank?”

  “No, thanks. I’ve had to have some heart-to-heart talks with some of them, but I don’t think I’ll have a problem. If I screw it up as plain old Father Perez, then Bishop Perez screws it up worse.”

  “Ok. Let me know when you want to be Bishop Perez.”

  “Yes, Boss.”

  The Pope picked up a yellow pad with a long list of to-do items.

  “And our own in house experts?” He had also ordered the Church’s best experts on Islam to assemble at the Vatican so he wasn’t, “thrashing around trying to find someone who knows where Mecca is.”

  “Half of them are here, Boss, and the other half are on the way.”

  “Mancini ready?”

  “I gave him a heads-up about what Girard would say. He put extra men in place before the press conference, and he has everyone on alert.”

  “Ok. Give them whatever they need.” The Pope turned to Agretti. “And I presume you will have half the countries in the world on the phone right about now?”

  “I’m afraid you are right, Holiness. I better get back to the office.”

  * * *

  The Templar Archivist scratched his head with his glasses. “You know, this Pope is really smart or really dumb. I think the jury is still out.”

  The Master was scanning a transcript of Girard’s press conference. “Well, he calls Al Dossary a liar, a coward, and a woman. A virgin, too. And implies he has a social disease. That’s a good start. Wars have started over a lot less.”

  The Master slid the transcript down the table to the Marshall. “What’s your best guess, Patrick? The Pope knows Al Dossary has the treaty, he knows what it says, and he knows it will pass all the fancy new scientific tests. If he knows all that, what’s his angle here? He’s just asking to be made a fool before the whole world when Al Dossary produces it.”

  The Archivist leaned over the table on his forearms and lifted his head so his chin was just inches off the table. “Best guess? I’d say he knows something nobody else knows. Remember, that library and those archives down there are full of moldering stuff that hasn’t seen the light of day for hundreds of years. All I can figure is they have something else nobody knows about.”

  ”Hmmph.” The Marshall rubbed his face. “Maybe we’re being too clever. Maybe the Pope doesn’t know squat. Maybe he doesn’t know what everyone else knows.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” the Master snapped.

  “What if he doesn’t know Al Dossary has the treaty? What if he doesn’t know the treaty is real? What if he doesn’t know it came from the Vatican Library?”

  “Mancini and Callahan told them the treaty was taken. Marie Curtis wrote up a
report on it for them. We have a copy around here somewhere, don’t we? Patrick?”

  The Archivist had clasped his hands behind his head, tilted his chair back, and was staring intently at the ceiling mumbling to himself.

  “Patrick,” said the Master, “are you still with us?”

  “Oh, God save us all, for we are doomed.” He shook his head and looked from Master to Marshall. “God save us all from our great stupidity.”

  “What are you babbling about?” The Master’s voice rose.

  “And just who did Marie give her report to?” asked the Archivist. “She gave it to Callahan. And who did Callahan give it to? He gave it to Mancini. And who did Mancini give it to? They didn’t have a new Pope yet. Who was in charge?” The Archivist stopped to let his words sink in.

  “Agretti,” said the Master. “He gave it to Agretti… Oh, hell.”

  “And just where do you think the information went after that?” asked the Archivist.

  “So, we know that librarian, Santini, he knew. That’s probably why he’s dead. And Agretti knows. But we don’t know the Pope knows. And the way he’s acting, he might very well not know.”

  The Marshall turned to the Master. “Isn’t it time for the Templar Master to have his sit-down meeting with the Pope and endorse the Concordat? And maybe you could bring a copy of the treaty with you. You know, sort of a goodwill gift?”

  The Master looked at the Archivist. “Patrick, get me a copy of the original treaty. One of those pictures Jean Randolph took. The best you have. And a Latin transcript. Also a translation into English, Italian, and Spanish.”

  “And you,” he turned to the Marshall, “set up a meeting with the Pope for me. As soon as possible. Just the Pope. That means tonight.”

  “Andre!” The Master pushed the intercom button to his secretary’s desk. “Get the jet ready for a trip to Rome. Keep it on stand-by and ready to leave whenever I get there. Starting now.”

  * * *

  Carlos Perez made his way through the corridors of the Vatican to the employee’s cafeteria to meet Mancini for lunch. Mancini’s call was mysterious, but urgent. He liked Mancini, and so did the Pope. The guy gave straight answers, didn’t shy from giving bad news, and had a reasonable solution to most problems. He also understood the Vatican’s need for open access, and said his motto was “Safe open access.”

  He threw a Coke, salad, and Kaiser roll on his tray and moved to a deserted table where Mancini waved to him. He noticed the neighboring tables were also vacant. By design? He would soon know.

  “Ok. What’s today’s crisis, Mancini?” Carlos dug into his salad.

  “Today is a bit different, Carlos. Remember when the Pope met with the Templar Marshall last week?”

  Carlos’ fork stopped in midair. “What meeting?” How did Mancini know that?

  “The one where the Pope and the Templars made an alliance under the terms of the Concordat of Nocera.”

  Now he put his fork down. “Continue.”

  “The Templar Master wants to meet with the Pope today. They have to meet to formalize the alliance, but something else has come up and the Master requests an immediate meeting. Today. Tonight, if possible. He’s coming to the aid of an ally. It’s important.”

  “You are a Templar, Mancini?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does the Pope know?”

  “He will when you tell him.”

  “Why have you kept this secret?”

  “Orders.”

  “Why are you telling me now?”

  “Orders.”

  “Do you know what the Master wants that is so urgent?”

  “That’s between the Master and the Pope.”

  “But the Templars think it’s urgent?”

  “Urgent enough that the Templar Master is in the air bound for Rome at this moment. Believe me. That means it’s urgent.”

  “Does it have to do with all this treaty business?”

  “Yes. Believe me, Carlos, we’re on the same side on this one. These guys need to get together. Let’s make it happen.”

  “Ok.” Carlos stood up and grabbed the Coke and Kaiser roll. “I’ll give you a call with a time and place.”

  * * *

  The meeting with the Templar Master began at 8:00 pm, and Carlos had been sitting in front of the door for two hours now, holding the Beretta through a pocket slit in his cassock. He wasn’t sure about these Templars, and now that he knew about Mancini, he didn’t even know who or where they were. Mancini should have told them.

  When he told this to the Pope, the Pope had remarked, “Mancini? Templar? Figures. So, is he a spy or a Guardian Angel, Carlos? Sometimes it’s hard to tell them apart. But I’ll ask this Master tonight.”

  Carlos moved the chair aside at the Pope’s knock from inside the office, and stood back as the Master and Pope shook hands. “Pray for luck, Pedro,” said the Master, “Pray for luck.”

  The Master then extended a hand to Carlos. “Pierre LeBlanc, Father Perez, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” The Templar Master spoke excellent Spanish, and drilled his deep blue eyes into Carlos. “The Pope told me something of your history together, Father Perez.” The Master released his hand. “Believe me when I say he needs you more than ever now. And if you’re ever looking for a job…” With that, he nodded to the Pope and limped to the other end of the hallway where Mancini waited, holding a snap-away briefcase hiding a FN90.

  Carlos followed the Pope into the office, and the Pope pointed to the papers scattered across the work table. “There’s our copy of the endorsement of the Concordat. Get it to Agretti, but make a copy first. The Templar took his with him. It’s done. We are now officially allied with the Knights Templar under the terms of the Concordat of Nocera.”

  The Pope stuffed his hands in his pockets and gazed out his window at St. Peter’s Piazza. “We have essentially been betrayed, Carlos, betrayed by our own people here in the Vatican, right under my nose. And it takes the Templars to show me what’s happening under my own nose.”

  The Pope pointed to the table. “Help yourself. There’s a picture of the Treaty of Tuscany that was stolen from the Vatican Library while St. Peter’s got bombed. Transcripts and translations, too. Latin and English. There’s a Spanish one, too”

  “You mean the treaty is real? That thing Al Dossary has is real?”

  “Yes. And there’s also a copy of Mancini’s report to Agretti telling him it was stolen. This guy, Callahan, a Templar, figured it out and called in more help, also Templars. They have had our backs all the way through this. They just didn’t realize Agretti sat on the report about the library theft, and I didn’t know diddly.”

  The Pope started pacing. “No, it’s worse than that. Agretti and Santini sat right here and lied to me about it. All that ‘Holiness’ crap they spout and the sons of bitches sat right there and lied. But the Templars thought I knew all about the theft of the treaty and was hatching some grand plan. They didn’t know how stupid I really was. They gave me way too much credit.”

  “But, Boss, it still might be a fraud. How do we know until it’s tested?”

  “Tested? Al Dossary has already had it tested in London. It passed with flying colors. He’s sitting back there laughing his ass off at us.”

  The Pope took an orange chair and spun back and forth. “Sit down and I’ll tell you the whole sordid story.”

  When the Pope finished briefing Carlos he said, “So, I’ve just denied a treaty exists that does exist. I’ve denied Al Dossary has it, and he does have it. I’ve denied it is authentic, and Al Dossary has already run the tests proving it is authentic. And there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell that Santini just tripped down those stairs. He’s been up and down them so many times, he could do it backward on one leg. I wish I had at least a clue about what’s going on here.”

  Carlos knew the Pope well enough to keep quiet. Anything could happen when he got like this.

  “I need some bishops around here I can trust,” said the Po
pe. He gave Carlos a sideways look. “Damn it, Carlos, you’re Bishop Perez now.”

  “But, Boss…”

  “I’m the Pope and I say so. So shut up and put your name on the list of new guys.”

  “No, Boss. Don’t do it. Where did I go wrong?”

  “You haven’t done anything wrong. Like I told you, I just need some bishops around here I can trust. Your number’s up.” The Pope gave him an evil grin. “Starting from the bottom.”

  “You’ll change your mind when you calm down.”

  “Like hell I will. When’s the ceremony for the investiture of the new bishops?”

  “Two weeks.”

  “Too long. Find some guys on the list who are local, in the Rome or Italy. Get them in here in the next few days. We’ll make them bishops, you, too. In fact, I think I’ll make you the first so you have some seniority.”

  They sat quietly for a few minutes, then the Pope said, “You know, in Mexico at least we knew who the enemy was.”

  “We’ve been in worse spots,” offered Carlos.

  “Yeah? When? Historians call Urban VI the Mad Pope. They’ll be calling me the Idiot Pope.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Dhahran, Saudi Arabia - Tuesday, April 28

  Hammid eased back into his lounge chair on the balcony and enjoyed the hot evening breeze coming in from the gulf. By day it was a killer, and the evenings were still hot, but the dry breeze made it much more pleasant.

  “Zahid, something is wrong here. Why is that Pope so confident? He’s looking for a fight when he should be trying to squirm out of this.”

  Zahid finished chewing his piece of zadder bread and leaned back on the wall of the balcony facing Hammid. Zahid could see Hammid was shaken by the Vatican response yesterday. His carefully planned steps weren’t leading where he wanted. The Pope wasn’t cooperating.

  “There are a number of possible explanations. Remember, he has access to everything in the Vatican Library, and he has access to excellent scholarship. Perhaps he has some other document showing the treaty is a hoax. They all might be neatly filed under ‘Refutation of Treaty of Tuscany.’”