Apparently, she was determined to keep him in her life. And even though she’d tried to do him in, he remained intrigued. “I’ll help in any way I can, MC. Or I should say, in any appropriate way I can.”
MC smiled like a Cheshire cat. “Don’t worry, Kevin. I know you’re a priest through and through. And the word appropriate isn’t lost on me.” Tally one for feminine smarts.
“OK then.” Kevin got up from the chair. “You’ve got my cell number. Call whenever you want.”
“Thanks.”
As Kevin got up from the bed, he leaned over to kiss her forehead, but then thought better of it. He proceeded to the door.
“Kevin, wait!” MC blurted, her arm waving. “There’s something I forgot to tell you. It might have to do with the secret. You know, the secret of Fatima.”
Was this a ploy?
Kevin stopped and turned back to her. “What?”
MC frowned, rubbing her forehead with all the theatrical sturm und drang of a diva in the exit scene. “Once, when we were in a meeting, I overheard Visitor talking to a man. I think it was the one who attacked me. They didn’t know I could hear them. The man told Visitor about a precious document in Seville. They talked about visiting the cathedral.”
“You overheard this?”
“They were speaking in Italian; I understood it.”
Kevin remembered the cell phone SIM cards he’d retrieved from the thugs who’d attacked Max and him on the way in from the airport. Several revealed calls to Spain, as did the SIM card taken from Ali, the teenager who’d snuck into his apartment.
“Think hard, MC. This could be important.” But without the histrionics, please.
“Oh my, I just can’t recall any little ’ole thing right now.” She sounded as if she was rehearsing in a Tennessee Williams’ play. She exhaled. “Maybe later.” She sighed. “Kevin, was this useful?” She looked at him, her eyes wide.
“Don’t know yet, MC. Get some rest.”
But Kevin did know. Now he had a solid clue as to the location of the missing pages of the secret of Fatima.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The Sistine Chapel, Rome, Italy
As Kevin walked to his apartment, he heard footsteps at a distance behind him. Turning around, he saw Max running at full throttle toward him.
“Hey, what’s the hurry, Max?”
“The announcement is coming today … this afternoon,” he said, catching up.
“How do you know?”
“A source in the kitchen. They’ve been told there’ll be no more meals.”
“C’mon over to my place. I have a visitor from the U.S. We can watch together. And that’s not all. I just got a hot tip on the secret.”
“Do tell,” Max said, panting for breath, struggling to keep up with Kevin.
The enormous number of people within the confines of the Vatican could be seen scurrying and scampering everywhere and nowhere, underscoring Max’s notion that something big was about to happen. All eyes were fixed on the chimney above the Sistine Chapel.
“MC overheard something about Seville and the cathedral there. Visitor was involved and he and another man talked about an important document.”
“Hey, weren’t some of the calls you traced from Spain?”
“Correct. And I gave those numbers to Toby Beck, my CIA friend who you’re about to meet. I’ll check to see if the numbers were from Seville.”
Inside the apartment, Kevin made introductions. Max and Toby shook hands.
“Nice to meet you, Father,” Toby said. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Just call me Max, Toby. I take it you work in Washington?”
“For the government.” Toby smiled. “That can be anywhere, but yeah, mostly in Washington.”
Max nodded, sensing not to pry any further. It was pretty evident Kevin’s friend didn’t work for the Department of Commerce.
“Toby and I go way back. He’s been a big help to me,” Kevin said.
“Yes, I know,” Max said.
Kevin opened a drawer in his desk and removed a piece of notepaper with the phone numbers. He opened his laptop and typed a search query for the origin of the numbers. After a couple of seconds, he mumbled, “Yep, they’re Seville.”
Kevin rejoined the others, explaining to Toby and Max what he’d learned. “There’s no proof that they were talking about the secret of Fatima,” he said. “But I think it’s a valid lead.”
“So do I,” Toby added. “Bring me up to date.”
“Some of what I’m going to tell you is hard fact, Toby, but some requires faith, which works for Max and me, but might be less persuasive for you.”
“Amen,” Toby said. He blessed himself irreverently and smiled.
“We know that Opus Mundi was involved in getting a war started between Israel and Iran; it’s fulfilling some biblical prophecy, at least as they see it. We know what they were talking about because Toby was able to monitor the numbers I got off the SIM cards. But the conversations have gone dead.”
“Standard procedure,” Toby chimed in. “They use burner phones and numbers. Every few days they switch them out so we can’t track them.”
Kevin continued. “On Max here’s suggestion, I ventured to Medjugorje, where appearances by Our Lady, similar to those in Fatima, have been occurring. One of Max’s contacts gave me a message from a visionary who speaks to Mary. And, believe it or not, she seemed to know of me.”
Toby nodded.
“Toby, look, I know I might lose you with this, but hear me out. The visionary, the one who seemed to know me, sent a message to me, through Max’s friend.”
“A message?” Toby asked.
“She said, ‘Dear Father, please understand Our Lady prays for you. Your true mission is beginning now. Please be careful. Much rests on your success.’”
Kevin purposely omitted the part about finding answers to questions about his life.
“Spooky,” Toby commented.
“This is the part about faith,” Max added clumsily. “To us, it appears to be a clear message from God. We take it seriously.”
“Okay, today’s not the day for radical conversions. I’ll leave the God stuff to you guys,” Toby said. “Let me stick to the facts. You’ve also got some guy in Washington snooping into Kevin’s background.”
Not wanting to go there, Kevin deftly switched the subject. “Cardinal Porter told us Pope Quintus II didn’t die of a heart attack. That part was a Vatican cover-up. The pope was poisoned.”
“Poisoned?” said Toby, taking a huge gulp of beer. “They killed the pope? I assume you suspect Opus Mundi.”
“We know they’re responsible,” Kevin said. “And they’ve got a candidate for pope that they’re pushing. We don’t know who it is.”
“For the Catholic Church, this all sounds very cloak and dagger,” said Toby, who’d been raised Catholic. “But, hey, I’m learning there’re crazies in every organization—even in the Catholic Church!”
“Well, if they succeed, we’ll know it soon,” Max said. “But since this has been the longest, most protracted conclave in modern history, all bets are off as to who’ll be elected.”
“The end of the trail is upon us,” Kevin said. “The missing pages to the secret of Fatima. So far, we know they’re connected to the death of Pope John Paul I. In 1978, he died while reading it, thirty-three days into his reign. Then, in 1981, a failed assassination attempt on John Paul II, and a few weeks ago, the successful assassination of Quintus II. We’ve got to find those pages.”
“That seems critical,” said Toby.
“Well,” Max said, “at least we have a clue to their location: Seville, Spain. Kevin and I will have to track them down. Once the conclave is over, I’ll get Porter’s office to authorize our trip.”
The three men turned their attention to the TV, turning up the volume. The CNN commentators now were speculating that a decision was expected any minute. In the corner of the shot, the screen carried a live photo i
nsert of the chimney.
Even Toby was feeling the excitement.
“Beer anyone?” Max asked. “It’s almost showtime!” Max always had the final bon mot.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The Sistine Chapel, St. Peter’s Square
While the world nervously awaited the big news from the Vatican, commentators were filling the interim by providing history and procedural details on the election of a pope. Kevin and Max tuned it out, but Toby, who didn’t know much about these historical nuggets, was glued. To him, it was scintillating.
In 1492, to elect a successor to St. Peter, the first pope, the conclave was held for the first time in the Sistine Chapel. Since 1878, the conclave has followed the same general process and decorum. Only this time, the rule instituted in 1996, allowing the pope to be elected by a simple majority, had been invoked. The College of Cardinals apparently was deadlocked. By invoking the new rule, the criteria of “who” among the cardinals was (or was not) papabile, of sound papal character and eligibility, was tossed aside.
As the world waited, within the rooms reserved for the cardinals adjacent to the Sistine Chapel, the scrutineers were compiling the vote results, tallying the paper ballots and putting them in stacks. Next, the revisers retotaled the results, ensuring against error.
In the afternoon session, after the counting and recounting, a single candidate emerged with a simple majority of the votes. A new pope had been chosen!
For the final step, the secretary of the college and the scrutineers assembled the ballots: the burning of the ballots in the stove—a tower of pipes and scaffolding that looked out of place in the Sistine Chapel, where arguably the most treasured art in the world was housed.
The men proceeded to the oven and added straw to the mixture of ballots, to get the needed combustion. The final element, a chemical mixture, was spilled on the pile to provide the correct color as the smoke billowed from the chimney.
The color was white.
In the Sistine Chapel, the cardinals remained seated in their ceremonial chairs, awaiting the next step. Above them, Michelangelo’s Creation towered over the assembly. A palpable silence echoed, like church bells ringing, within the chapel.
The importance of this moment was lost on no one. The dean of the college, elderly Cardinal Gianni Avellino, walked over to the new pope and addressed him in Latin, “Acceptasne electionem de tecanonice factam in Summum Pontificem?”
In English, “Do you accept your canonical election as Supreme Pontiff?”
“Accepto,” the pope-elect replied, his head bowed.
“Quo nomine visvocari?” the dean cardinal asked. In English, it meant, “By what name do you choose to be known?”
“Linus secundus.”
The new pope was Linus II.
The dean bowed slightly, taking two steps back. Both the pope-elect and the dean knew what was to follow.
Without further words, the dean of cardinals led Pope Linus II out of the Sistine Chapel, through the doorway to the left of the altar, through the chambers where the cardinals had assembled prior to the voting, and into the Room of Tears, a room where bygone popes were known to have wept upon becoming the new Vicar of Christ.
Leaving the darkened chapel, the remaining members of the conclave watched their new holy leader proceed from the room.
Once inside the Room of Tears, the pope-elect was left alone behind closed doors. The room had red walls, a kneeler, and a cabinet holding vestments for him—in three sizes. Being a relatively tall man, he chose the large sizes. After a moment of prayer on the kneeler, he rose and dressed. He put on the gold embroidered white silk cassock, the lace rochet, and the mozzetta, a short white silk cape. The new pope removed his scarlet red zucchetto and placed the papal white zucchetto on his head. Finally, he reached for the heavy, braided, pectoral gold crucifix, which he placed around his neck. He kissed the cross and hesitated slightly. The new pontiff returned to the Sistine Chapel to the applause and acclaim of the assembled cardinals. As he joined them, the cardinals rose and lined up in order of seniority to greet him. Aided by Vatican attendants carrying lists of their seniority, the cardinals found their positions in the queue. In turn, each one kissed the pope’s hand, and pledged devotion to the church and to his leadership.
After the last cardinal in line had paid his homage, the cardinal dean gently took the pontiff by the arm for the ceremonial walk to the central balcony overlooking the square of St. Peter’s Basilica. The time had come for Pope Linus II’s presentation to the millions of Catholics crowding the Square and all of the streets leading into it … and to the world.
Kevin, Max, and Toby watched the show on TV. The white smoke poured through the chimney atop the Sistine Chapel. With that, the thunderous clanging of the church bells rang out and even reverberated through the apartment.
Waiting in excited anticipation, Kevin and his colleagues sat quietly, their eyes fixed on St. Peter’s and the papal balcony. The curtains parted and the cardinal dean emerged beneath a blazing sun, flanked by two priests. One priest held a leather folder from which the cardinal would read. The other adjusted the microphone.
In five languages the cardinal greeted the assembled brothers and sisters. Then he started reading, his voice echoing through the loudspeakers around the Square. “Annuntio vobis gaudium magnum …”
For Toby’s benefit, Kevin translated. “I announce to you with great joy …”
“Habemus Papam!”
“I know that one,” Toby said pompously. “We use that expression at the agency when we get a new chief.”
The din of the crowd was reverberating through the TV’s speakers. The world awaited the identity of the new pope.
The cardinal dean continued, “Eminentissimum ac reverendissimum Dominum …”
“The most eminent and most reverend …” Kevin continued. “I’m betting Serrano. Any other bets?”
“I think it’ll be Marini,” Max said. “For years he’s been politicking, lining up support.”
Toby finished his Peroni. “Sorry,” he said. “I don’t have any candidates.”
Back on the screen, the curtains on the balcony parted again just as the cardinal dean proclaimed, “Dominum Ioannes …”
“Oh my God!” Max jumped up, knocking over a bowl of pretzels.
“Sanctae Romanae Ecclesiae Cardinalem Porter.”
“I can’t believe it!” Kevin’s jaw dropped.
“Qui sibi nomen imposuit Linus Secundus.”
“Guys, help me out,” Toby said. “What’s happening?”
Kevin said, “The Catholic Church has elected the first American pope ever. Cardinal John Porter. And he happens to be a mentor and a friend of mine.”
“Holy shit!” Toby said. He quickly added, “Oops! Sorry.”
“Holy shit is right!” Max said. “This is incredible.”
“Interesting name he chose,” Kevin said. “Linus the Second.”
“Wasn’t Linus a Peanuts cartoon character?” Toby asked in all seriousness.
“Linus was the second pope, the one right after St. Peter. Pretty gutsy name to pick.”
Now the imposing figure of Pope Linus II appeared on the balcony, resplendent in the draped white cassock and the scarlet stole glowing in elaborate gold filigree.
The new pope raised his arms slowly and smiled, and the crowds let out all they’d pent up, screaming and screaming more. As tradition dictates, the pope imparted his first papal blessing, Urbi et Orbi, on the crowd below, addressing them in Italian and blessing them with the Sign of the Cross.
“I’m in total shock,” Max said.
Turning away, Kevin suddenly looked sullen.
“Aren’t you pleased?” Max asked. “He loves you, Kevin! Whistle a happy tune. You’ll be a bishop in no time!”
“I think we’re forgetting something,” Kevin said. Toby’s attention was now fully engaged. “Max, remember what we learned about Opus Mundi’s ambitions?”
“Oh God, Kevin! You c
an’t be serious! You know Porter better than anyone. He’s a straight shooter.”
“What?” Toby asked. “Am I missing something?”
Max inhaled deeply. “You’re part of the team, right?” He looked over at Kevin for affirmation. Kevin nodded. Toby was in.
“We learned that Opus Mundi had a candidate for pope. They’ve been working on it for years.”
Toby got up and asked everyone to stop talking. “Look, we may represent different sides here. Both of you need to remember that I’m representing the U.S. government. I’m here because Kevin tipped us off to the Iran attack. Our priority is to stop a nuclear war! Get it?”
“Sure,” said Kevin. “We get it.”
“Point is,” said Toby, “and pardon my Latin, but this is fucking serious.”
“You’re right,” said Kevin. “It’s definitely fucking serious.”
“Here’s my take,” said Toby. “The Opus Mundi dudes are behind the Israeli-Iran war. I need to follow that trail. I know you two are on the scent of some voodoo secret that, when decoded, has a scary message, the Cracker Jack surprise, right? I don’t really give a rat’s ass about that part, but I need intel on the group that’s starting a war.”
Kevin said, “We get it, Toby. But this is a two-way street. We’ll keep you fully informed of anything having to do with the Mundi group. And you help us with our Cracker Jack prize. Deal?” Kevin continued. “I’ll get you in with Sister Mary Catherine. She’s in the hospital. I’m one of the few with access to her. I’ll need her permission first, but I can do that.”
Toby nodded. “And what do you want from me?”
“We got a lead: the missing pages of the secret are in Seville. Maybe connected to the cathedral there.”
“It’s important to follow that lead,” said Max.
“We need you for the next step,” said Kevin.
“Sure, OK,” Toby agreed. “How?”
“You were able to track the calls on the SIM card numbers in Spain I sent you. How close can you come to the specific place where the calls were made?” Kevin asked.
The Secret of Fatima Page 19
