Clancy, Tom - Ballance of Power
Page 31
gratitude and thanks of the few Spaniards who
do
know what you're about to undertake." He stood beside
McCaskey and saluted them all.
"Vaya con Dios,
my friends. Go with God."
THIRTY
Tuesday,
9:45
a.m. Madrid, Spain
Father Norberto flew to Madrid in the General
Superior's private plane. It was a
twenty-year-old Cessna Conquest decorated in
lavender and red with darkened windows and a small
sacristy in the back. The elevenseat two-prop
aircraft was very noisy and very bumpy.
Like almost everything in Spain these days,
Norberto thought bitterly as he squeezed the
thickly padded armrests.
Yet even as he thought it, Norberto knew that that
wasn't true. Not entirely. Norberto
was accompanied by five other priests from villages
along the northern coast. While his own soul was in
turmoil, these men were calm.
Norberto breathed deeply. He wished that their
composure was enough to steady him. He wished that he could
somehow turn away from his private loss and focus
on the monumental task ahead. Helping to keep the
spiritual peace in a city of over three million people
was a challenge unlike any he had ever faced. But
maybe that was what he needed now. Something to keep him
from dwelling on the terrible loss he'd endured.
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The elderly Father Jimenez was sitting beside
Norberto in the back row. Jimenez came from the
village of Laredo, which was farther west along the
coast. Not long after they were airborne, Jimenez
turned from the window and zvleaned close to Norberto.
"I hear that we will be meeting with prelates from other
denominations," Jimenez said. He spoke loudly
in order to be heard over the growling engines. "
"There will be at least forty of us."
"Do you have any idea why he selected us?"
Norberto asked. "Why not Father Iglesias in
Bilbao or Father Montoya in Toledo?"
Jimenez shrugged. "I suppose it's because
our parishes are very small. Our parishioners know
one another and can help each other in our absence."
"That's what I thought at first," Father Norberto
said. "But look around. We are also the oldest
members of the order.""
"Therefore the most experienced," said Jimenez. "Who
better to entrust with such a mission?"
"The young?" Norberto said. "The energetic?"
"The young question much too much," Jimenez said. He
poked Norberto's arm. "They're a little like you, my
old friend. Perhaps the General Superior wants men.
Men he can trust. Men whom he can tell to do a thing
and it will be done, without delay or complaint."
Norberto wasn't so sure of that. He didn't
even know why he felt this way. Maybe it was his
awful grief or the overbearing manner with which he'd
been ordered to Madrid. Or maybe, he thought
portentously, God was poking him the same way
Jimenez just had.
BALANCE OF POWER 319
"Do you even know where we'll be gathering?" Norberto
asked.
"When Father Francisco telephoned," Jimenez
replied, "he said that we would be taken to Nuestra
Senora de la Almudena." The
priest's soft, white cheeks framed a gentle
smile. "It feels strange, leaving a small
parish for a place like that. I wonder if Our Lord
felt the same way when he set out from Galilee?
'I must preach the Kingdom of God to other cities
also, for therefore am I sent," was he said, quoting the
Gospels. Then he sat back, still smiling. "It
feels strange, Norberto, but it also feels good
to be sent."
Norberto looked ahead at the other priests. He
didn't share Jimenez's optimism. The
priests' ministrations should have come before the people turned on
one another. Before they turned to rioting-and murder.
Nor did Norberto presume to know what Jesus
felt when He went into the wilderness. However, as he
thought about it, Norberto imagined that Jesus was
probably disturbed and overwhelmed by a society
polluted with prejudice and mistrust, violence and
immorality, greed and discord. Faced with that, there was
only one place Jesus could have turned to for
strength.
In his distress, Norberto had momentarily lost
sight of that place. Closing his eyes and bowing his
head, Father Norberto prayed to God for the courage
to take on this burden. He prayed for the
wisdom to know what was right and for the strength to overcome his
own sudden rancor. He needed to hold on to the
faith that was fast slipping away.
The plane arrived in Madrid early but was forced
to circle for nearly half an hour. Military
traffic had pri-
320 OP-CENTER
ority, they were informed. From what they could see through the
window there was a great deal of that. When they were finally
able to land at ten o'clock, the group entered terminal
two, where they joined priests from around the country.
Father Norberto recognized a few of the
clergymen-Father Alfredo Lastras from Valencia,
Father Casto Sampedro from Murcia, and Father
Cesar Flores from Leon. But he didn't have time
to do more than shake some hands and exchange a few words
of greeting before the group was ushered onto an old
bus and taken to the Cathedral of the Almudena.
Norberto sat by the open window and Father Jimenez
sat beside him. Traffic into the city was extremely
light along the Avenue de America and they reached
the famous-as well as infamous-cathedral in just under
twenty minutes.
The sprawling Cathedral of the Almudena was begun in
the ninth century a.d. Little more than the
foundation was completed before work was halted due to the
arrival of the Moors. The invaders raised their
mighty fortress beside it. When the Moors were driven
from Spain and the fortress was dismantled to make way for the
Royal Palace, work was also scheduled to resume
on the cathedral. However, the powerful and jealous
Archbishop of Toledo did not want any church
to be more imposing than his own. Individuals who
gave money to finish a church on a site made
unholy by the Moors faced both excommunication and
death. It was nearly seven hundred years before work
continued on the church. Even then, money and
resources were scarce. Sections were completed and then
work was abandoned, resulting in a chaotic variety of
styles.
BALANCE OF POWER 321
Finally, in 1870, the patchwork church was pulled
down and a new Neo-Gothic church was planned.
Construction began in 1883, though funds ran out with
regularity and the effort was finally abandoned in 1940.
It wasn't until 1990 that work was undertaken
t
o finish the cathedral in earnest. Yet once again the
billions of pesetas needed to execute the job were
not forthcoming. Ironically, it was just three weeks
ago that the last of the paint was applied to the
friezes in the main entablature.
The gears complained loudly as the bus suddenly
slowed. They had just turned off Calle Mayor and
swung onto Calle de Bailen, where literally
thousands of people were gathered outside the twin spires of the
church. Beyond them were groups of reporters and TV
cameras. The print journalists were on foot and the
TV crews were on the backs of parked vans.
Though the crowd was being kept away by a phalanx of
metropolitan police, the arrival of the bus and the
glimpse of the priests seemed to enflame them. The people
began crying loudly for help and sanctuary. The
heat inside the crowded bus seemed to enhance their
voices and carry them to every ear, like a church bell in
the still of morning. These were not political refugees
but elderly men, mothers with babes, and schoolchildren. They
were panicked and their numbers-like their passion-seemed
to swell as the bus crept toward the front of the
church. The priests regarded one another in silence.
They had expected need, but not this kind of desperation.
Linking their arms, a line of police officers was
finally able to get between the bus and the crowd. Father
322 OP-CENTER
Francisco came from the church and used a
megaphone to implore the group to be
patient. As he did, he motioned for the forty-four
priests to come inside. They moved slowly, crowded
into a tight, single-file line by the surging mob.
They reminded Father Norberto of the hungry masses
he had once helped feed in Rwanda and the homeless
he'd served in Nicaragua. It was astonishing the
power the weak could have en masse.
When all the priests were inside, the doors were shut
behind them. After the plane ride and the grinding of the gears
and the shouts of the crowd, the heavy silence was welcome.
But it isn't real,
Norberto reminded himself. The fear and pain
outside-
that
was real and it was growing. It needed to be addressed very
soon.
General Superior Gonzalez was already in the apse
of the cathedral, praying silently. As the group
filed down the nave the only sound was the scraping of
shoes and the rustling of robes. Father Francisco was
at the head of the line. When they reached the transept,
he turned and held both hands toward them. They
stopped. Father Femandez walked forward alone.
Norberto was not a great admirer of General
Superior Gonzalez. Some argued that the
fifty-sevenyear-old Jesuit leader was good for the
order because he courted the favor of the Vatican and the
attention of the world. But unless the priests of Spain
preached his views and advocated his conservative
political candidates and collected onerous
donations from the parish, none of the wealth and support
he attracted found its way to them. Norberto
believed that General
BALANCE OF POWER 323
Superior Gonzalez was interested in extending the
power and influence more of Orlando Gonzalez than of the
Spanish Jesuits.
Gonzalez was the General Superior and Norberto
would never defy him or criticize him openly. But
standing in his presence, in an old and magnificent
church, Norberto didn't feel the soul-warming
piety he wanted to feel-that he
needed
to feel. He was still anguished and cynical and now he
was also suspicious. Was Gonzalez concerned for the people?
Was he worried that the revolution would weaken his power?
Or did General Superior Gonzalez hope that
a new leader would turn to him to help win the
support of the nation's Jesuits?
After three or four minutes of silent
prayer, Gonzalez turned suddenly and faced the
priests. They crossed themselves as he offered a
benediction. Then he walked toward them slowly, his
long, dark patrician face with its pale eyes
turned toward the heavens.
"Forgive us, O Lord," he said, "for this day was the
first day in over one thousand years that the doors of this
cathedral have been barred from the inside." He
regarded the priests. "In just a moment I am going
to open those doors. I must leave, but Father
Francisco will assign each of you to a different
section of the cathedral. I ask you to talk to the people in
turn, assuring them that this is not their struggle. That
God will take care of them to trust in the leaders of
Spain to restore peace." He stopped when he
reached Father Francisco's side. "I thank every
one of you for coming," he continued. "The people of Madrid
need spiritual guidance and reassurance. They need
to know
324 OP-CENTER
that in this time of turmoil they have not been abandoned.
Once Madrid has been quieted, its faith
restored, we can move outward and bring peace to the
rest of Spain."
General Superior Gonzalez moved
past the priests. His black robe swung heavily
from side to side as he walked toward the door. His
step was confident and unhurried, as though everything was
under control.
As Norberto watched the General Superior go,
he realized with sudden horror that perhaps it was. That
maybe this mission was not about ministering to the frightened or
needy-not for their sake, anyway. He looked around
him. Could it be that the most serene and devoted, the most
trusted
of the nation's priests had been brought here for one
purpose only-crowd control? Create a demand for
comfort, whip it to a frenzy by keeping the doors
locked, and then dispense it generously?
Father Norberto was scared. He also felt dirty.
General Superior Gonzalez was not looking to gain
favor with the leaders of this revolution. Norberto
suspected that the General Superior was already part of
this process to secure a new government for the nation.
A new government for Spain with himself as its spiritual
head.
ATX-UL1024 THIRTYOI caret Every
ATX-UL0 Tuesday, 10:20 a.m. Madrid,
Spain
Maria was convinced that General Amadori
was, in fact, in the throne room of the Royal
Palace. However, she did not go there directly
after escaping from the soldiers. She needed a uniform
and she needed an ally.
The uniform had to come first.
Maria got it in a stall in the men's latrine. The
latrine was formerly-and formally-
el carlo de cambiar par los attendientes del
rey-
the changing room for the attendants of the king. Now
soldiers were tramping in and out with disregard for its
history or status
. Maria was not a royalist but
she was a Spaniard and this place had played a
large pan in the history of Spain. It deserved more
respect.
The large white room had marble cornices and
appointments. It was located in the southeastern
sector of the palace, not far from the king's bedchamber.
Maria reached it by moving cautiously from doorway
to doorway. Most of the rooms along the way were
unoccupied; those that were, she skipped. If an
alarm of any kind had been raised about her
escape, the search was confined to the area around the music
room and the throne room. It was an appropriate
use of man 326 OP-CENTER
power. They knew she had to try to get to Amadori
eventually. The trick was to make sure they didn't
notice her.
The uniform came to her courtesy of a young sergeant.
He had entered the changing room with two other men.
When he opened the door, Maria was crouched on the
toilet with both pistols pointed toward him.
"Come in and lock the door," she snarled in a low
voice. The hum of the ceiling fan prevented her
voice from carrying outside the stall.
There's a moment when most people who are confronted with a
gun will freeze. During that brief time, the
individual holding the weapon must give an
instruction. If the command is given immediately and
emphatically it will usually be obeyed. If it
isn't, if the target panics, then the decision must
be made whether to withdraw or fire.
Maria had already decided that she'd shoot to disable
everyone in the room before allowing herself to be caught.
Fortunately, the wide-eyed soldier did as he'd
been ordered.
As soon as the door had been locked, Maria
motioned the soldier over with one of the guns. She
held the other one pointed up, toward his forehead.
"Lock your fingers behind your head," she said.
"Then turn around and back toward me."
He clasped his fingers tightly behind his cap. Maria
reached behind her without taking her eyes from him. She
put one of her guns on the toilet tank,
relieved him of his pistol, and tucked it in her
belt, behind her. Then she retrieved the gun she'd
put on the toilet.
BALANCE OF POWER 327
Maria stepped back on the seat.
"Drop these." She poked his butt with the gun.
"Sit on the edge on your hands."
The soldier obeyed.
"When your friends leave," she whispered in his ear,
"tell them to go without you. Otherwise, you all die."