“Really? Or maybe those Popes realized the greater paradox. That in order to achieve the triumph here on earth—your one pure church—they had to unleash a darkness that would have tainted any consequent light, no matter how pure. Blaney’s just convinced himself that the ‘Hodoporia’ can rise above that. How convenient.”
Cesare had lost the smile. “You really didn’t understand it at all, did you?”
“I guess not.”
Silence. Cesare again turned to the window. “Well, then, you’ve missed your opportunity now that Blaney has it.”
“Oh, he doesn’t have it.”
Pearse thought he saw the slightest crack in Cesare’s expression. Just as quickly, the monk regained his composure.
“Then he will soon enough.” He slowly turned to Pearse. “How’s the boy? I meant to ask. He has such a good mind for the prayers.”
The two men stared at each other. Cesare then returned his gaze to the window. “Such a lovely little soprano.”
Pearse stood there, his eyes fixed on Cesare. Once again, he felt a rush of violence. With every ounce of restraint he had, he slowly turned and headed for the door.
“Good-bye, Ian.”
Half a minute later, Pearse watched Angeli rise from her chair as he walked back into the library. “Well?” she said.
Pearse said nothing as he moved toward them.
Angeli sensed something. “What is it, Ian?”
“Did he tell you anything?” asked Peretti, once again seated behind the desk.
Pearse drew up to them. He continued to hold Peretti’s gaze. Finally, he spoke. “I can’t give you the scroll.”
The cardinal leaned forward. “You have to believe me that we’re not involved—”
“That’s not the reason,” said Pearse.
“Then it’s the scroll itself, isn’t it?” said Angeli. Pearse started to shake his head, but she was already taking off. “I knew it. What’s in there, Ian?” The glint was back. “Why all the fuss?”
He started to explain; again she pressed.
“What have they been hiding all these years?”
Pearse saw the anticipation in her eyes. He knew she wouldn’t let it go. Very quietly, he finally said, “Q.”
“Q!” Her knees nearly buckled. “You mean to say it’s … Of course.”
Ten minutes later, she was pacing the middle of the room, a cigarette in one hand, waving wildly as she spoke. “That’s remarkable. Unbelievable. The Resurrection bits alone …” She stopped and looked at the two of them. “No wonder the Manichaeans wanted to get their hands on it. Out with the old church, in with the new. It’s perfect. This whole Islam business finally makes sense.”
Angeli’s enthusiasm was having a very different effect on Peretti. The lines on his face seemed to deepen as he spoke. “Something like that would be dangerous in anyone’s hands. I can understand your hesitation.”
“No, you can’t,” said Pearse, now seated in the lip of the desk. Again, with no emotion in his voice, he said, “I’m giving it to Blaney.”
“What?” Angeli blurted out. “Giving it to … If those passages are in there—”
“I know,” said Pearse. “I don’t have a choice.”
“I’m afraid it’s not your choice to make,” said Peretti.
“I think it is.” Pearse waited before continuing. “My son’s life depends on it.”
The room fell silent.
After several uncomfortable moments Angeli said, “I … had no idea.”
“Neither did I,” said Pearse, again no emotion.
“How did—”
“In Bosnia, during the war. Before I took the cloth.”
After a long silence, Peretti finally spoke. “So you never knew about the boy?”
Pearse shook his head.
“But why would Blaney have him?”
“Because he’s known about him from the beginning. He made sure that he was raised as a Manichaean. And then made equally certain that I never found out. Probably with this very moment in mind.” Pearse waited, then said, “He has the mother, as well.” He saw the look in Peretti’s eyes. “No. She’s not one of them. She was as much in the dark as I was.”
“You’re certain of that?” he asked. Pearse continued to stare at him. Peretti nodded. “I’m not sure that changes anything.”
“I think it does,” said Pearse. “I have the scroll.”
“You can’t be serious,” said Peretti.
Pearse stared back at him.
“Actually … I think he can,” said Angeli. It was clear her wheels were spinning. “You say the scroll is unambiguous about the Resurrection business?” Pearse nodded. “But you also say it’s equally clear on individual responsibility, autonomy, and women?” Again, he nodded. She looked at Peretti. “That could be very helpful to the church right now, Eminence.”
“Where are you going with this, Professor?”
“I think that’s pretty clear, isn’t it?”
Peretti shook his head. “No. You can’t have one without the other.”
“Why not?” she said.
“You can’t simply write out the things you don’t like.”
“Why?” It was Pearse who now asked.
“‘Why?’” Peretti seemed surprised that it was Pearse who had asked. “Because, Father, we’re talking about the Holy Word of Christ. You can’t overlook that.”
“The Gospel writers did,” said Pearse. “They had Q and chose to take what they wanted from it.” He waited. “Maybe that’s what the church needs now in order to survive in the next millennium. Another dose of selective editing.”
Peretti stared at him for a moment. “From what the professor tells me, Father, you’re the last person I would have expected to hear that from.”
“Things change.” Pearse waited. “Look, my own reasons for you to do this aside, without those forty lines of Resurrection text, you’d have a very powerful document, something to take us beyond the brick wall we’ve all been running into since Vatican Two. Modernize the church without losing touch with the Christ we’ve always known. Q might just be the answer.”
“It’s the Word of Christ.” Peretti let the phrase settle. “I can’t permit that. And neither can you. You know that.”
Angeli jumped in. “I’ve worked with hundreds of scrolls, Eminence. None I’ve seen has ever come close to the one he’s describing. We’re lucky if we find a few strands of parchment here and there. The fact that this one hasn’t disintegrated makes it seem almost … unreal. You might have to lose a few bits just to make sure it looks authentic.” She stopped him before he could respond. “All right, I’m being a little facetious, but you do understand the point. It might be the one time when you can have your liturgical cake and eat it, too.”
Peretti slowly began to shake his head. “It would raise too many problems with the canon, even from the little you’ve said. The Eucharist is the liturgy. A document like that would have to confirm its pivotal role.”
“Not if those were the sections that were missing,” she answered. “I have a rather nice reputation when it comes to filling in gaps in scrolls like this. As long as the incisions are made with a bit of finesse, I don’t think it would be all that difficult to leave the right sorts of holes, ones that would clearly imply the existence of whatever liturgy you felt was essential.”
Peretti thought for a moment; again he shook his head. “What you’re asking—”
“What other options do you have?” said Pearse. “Keep it hidden? Who would be overlooking the Word of Christ, then?”
From Peretti’s expression, Pearse had hit a nerve.
“You’re both missing the point,” said Angeli. “Without the Resurrection passages, Q would be the very thing to pull the rug out from under the Manichaeans.” She had retrieved her cigarette and was taking two quick puffs before crushing it out in the ashtray. “Q is their grail, correct? It’s at the core of everything they believe in. I assume Blaney and this monk believ
e in it that strongly, too?”
Pearse thought for a moment, then nodded.
“Well, here you have a chance to tarnish the grail and place it in their hands. Show them that it’s no threat to the church, that it would actually strengthen her. A thousand years searching for it, and their one great hope turns out to be an empty promise. Whose foundations would be shaken then?”
“Somehow, I don’t think Erich von Neurath needs a grail to sate his ambition,” said Peretti.
“Fine,” said Pearse, an ultimatum in his tone. “Then it goes to Blaney, as is.”
Again, Peretti waited before answering. “You know I can’t let you do that.”
Pearse looked directly into his eyes. “Then you have a problem. Because if I don’t pick it up by tonight, it goes to Blaney anyway. Instructions in the package. It seemed the logical choice at the time.”
Peretti continued to stare at Pearse. “You really think Blaney would make that exchange and then let you go?”
“Yes.” No hesitation. “He owes me that much. And he knows it.”
Peretti was about to answer, when the phone rang. He picked up.
“Yes.” For several seconds, he listened intently, unable to mask a moment of surprise. “We’re sure on this?” Several nods. “Do we know who she is? … All right, fine … good.” Still listening, he looked across at Pearse as he spoke into the phone. “No, I think we can do better than that. Wait for my call.” He hung up. Finally, he said, “Von Neurath is dead.” Slowly, he shifted his gaze to Angeli. “How long would you need to … revise the scroll?”
She thought for a moment, then said, “I don’t know. Two, three hours. It depends on the—”
“Then do it.” He looked at Pearse. “When you’re done, you’ll call Blaney. By then, I’ll know where I want you to make the exchange. Acceptable, Father?”
Pearse simply nodded.
The Villa Borghese at dusk has an almost ethereal quality to it, especially in the Pincio Gardens, the area just above Piazza del Popolo, where the long promenades—most named for saints and Popes—lie under vaulted rows of pine and oak, each dotted with benches and lampposts. The sounds of Rome disappear, replaced by the occasional footstep on gravel, fewer and fewer of them as the sun dips down and the glow of lamplight begins to make itself known.
Pearse listened to his own footfall as he made his way along one of the wider walkways, Viale Leone IX his destination. As ever, Angeli had been spot-on—two and a half hours to alter the scroll, the offending passages removed with expert precision. It was only when it had come to disposing of the unwanted pieces that her hand had hesitated. Both of them had looked at the strands lying in the small bowl on the table. It was Pearse who had produced the box of matches.
The conversation with Peretti had been short. The location and time. The call to Blaney hadn’t been as easy, although it was clear he’d been expecting it. Pearse would be coming alone? Yes. Who had helped him? All he wanted was the boy and the woman. Blaney had to trust him on that. An hour.
He had then spoken with Petra and Ivo. She had promised she was up to it. Ivo had just liked the idea of another adventure.
He saw Blaney seated on a bench halfway down the path as he turned onto Leone IX. Another fifteen yards on stood Mendravic, Ivo by his side, Petra in a wheelchair. No one else. Pearse continued to approach. Five yards from Blaney, he stopped.
“Can she walk?” he asked.
“Yes,” answered Blaney.
“Then tell them to come over to me.”
“Let me see the ‘Hodoporia.’”
Pearse opened the box in his hands. He tilted it toward Blaney so he could see the scroll inside.
“How do I know it’s the ‘Hodoporia’?”
“Send them over.”
Blaney waited. “Hand me the box.”
Pearse remained where he was, box in hand. “You know, von Neurath’s dead.”
Blaney showed no reaction. “Yes. And no, it wasn’t me, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“Send them over,” said Pearse.
Blaney waited, then looked at Mendravic. He nodded. At once, the Croat moved out to help Petra from her chair. She refused. Very slowly, she stood. She took Ivo’s hand.
“All right,” said Blaney. “Now give me the box.”
“We’ll wait until they’re past me.” Blaney looked as if he might say something. Instead, he took in a deep breath, then nodded again to Mendravic. Petra and Ivo slowly started out. Both men watched as the pair drew nearer.
“Am I right in thinking it was Daly who was trying to help you?” asked Blaney. “Kukes, this afternoon?”
“Peretti,” answered Pearse. “Cesare sends his regards.”
Again, no reaction. “A little more obvious, but it had to be one or the other. One of them will no doubt be the next Pope.” Pearse had never heard Blaney’s smug side. “I assume he has men scattered about the park.”
“I said I’d come alone.”
“Somehow, I doubt that.”
Pearse remained silent.
Petra and Ivo moved past Blaney and drew up to Pearse. She grabbed ahold of his arm. He immediately held her at his side. Ivo gave him a quick wave.
“Hi, Ian.”
“Hey, Ivi.”
Under his breath, Pearse said to Petra, “I need you to keep going. The bench across from us. Can you make that?”
She nodded once and took Ivo’s hand.
When they were far enough off, Pearse turned back to Blaney. Without any prompting, he moved to the bench and sat. “There’s no one else here, John. I took you at your word.”
“Then you’re more naïve than I thought.”
“Maybe,” said Pearse. “Maybe not.” He handed him the box.
“You should go,” said Blaney, his fingers busy with the straps. “You have the woman and the boy.”
“Still protecting me?”
“More than you realize.”
“And how’s that, John?”
Old fingers were having trouble with the knot. “Several of von Neurath’s men are here,” he said. “Not my choice. They’ve been at a loss for what to do for the last few hours. They weren’t that keen on this exchange.”
Pearse let his eyes wander casually to the surrounding trees, seemingly unaffected by the news. “So why the charade?” he asked. “Why didn’t they just take it from me when I got here?”
“Because I’m sure several of Peretti’s men are also here. No reason for anyone to do something foolish. I’m not sure, however, how long they’ll wait. I don’t have quite the same sway over them as Erich did. You should go. Now.”
“No,” said Pearse, eyes still on the trees, “I think I’d like to see you read through some of it.”
“And why is that?”
“It might not be everything you thought it was.”
“I see.” Blaney nodded. He was finally making progress with the knot. “Then you obviously didn’t know how to read it.”
For the briefest of moments, Pearse thought that perhaps he’d let himself forget the fundamental rule with the Manichaeans. Hidden knowledge. Had he missed something in the verses, something even more profound than the Resurrection segments? Was there a final word game that he had somehow overlooked? He quickly remembered that there couldn’t be. Q had been written by Menippus, a first-century Greek Cynic, two hundred years before Mani’s birth. Even the Manichaeans didn’t reach that far back.
“There are breaks in the text,” said Pearse. “I can tell you what’s no longer there.”
Blaney was starting to roll back the parchment. He stopped and looked over at Pearse. “What?”
“The missing text. The stuff to threaten the church. It isn’t there anymore.”
Blaney started to answer, then stopped. He went back to the scroll. “You wouldn’t have done that. I know you, Ian.” Blaney had reached the first gap in the text.
“That doesn’t look like natural decay, does it, John?”
Blaney scanned the sheet of parchment, his expression more and more uncertain.
“Don’t worry,” added Pearse. “Angeli tells me she’ll have it looking authentic enough by the time Peretti presents it to the Biblical Commission.”
Blaney rolled deeper into the scroll. He found another gap. Again, he stared down at it. Almost in a whisper, he said. “Why?” His face was etched with confusion. “Why would you do this?” He slowly turned to Pearse. “You always believed in the sanctity of the Word. I taught you to believe in the sanctity of the Word. How could you have done this?”
Pearse continued to gaze out. “If you had time to read the entire scroll, you’d see it’s not a threat at all. In fact, it’s—what did Dante call it?—a rebirth. It’s all in there. Except it’s the Catholic church that will be using it now. Peretti wanted me to pass on his thanks.”
Blaney stared at Pearse a moment longer, then looked back at the scroll. His fingers began to trace over the gaps. It was as if he were caressing a wound. “It’s the Word of Christ. Who are you to say what can be taken out? I chose you because of your faith in the Word. In the Word.”
“It’s the denial of the bodily Resurrection,” Pearse said offhandedly. “That’s what’s missing.” He turned to Blaney. “Dangerous stuff.” He watched as Blaney stared at the scroll, only a slight shaking of his head. The rest of him seemed frozen. “It looks like you have a choice, John. You can either let Peretti get his hands on the scroll and use it to inject new life into the church. Or, you can destroy it, and hope that the church eventually runs itself into the ground. The problem is, if you do destroy it now, you won’t have the ‘Hodoporia’ to guide you at that point. You won’t have the one piece of scripture that every good Manichaean looks to as his ultimate guide.” He waited. “I guess that’s not really much of a choice, is it?”
Blaney began to roll the scroll again, his eyes darting back and forth, searching for something to tell him Pearse was wrong.
“You won’t find anything,” said Pearse. “We made sure of that. Trust me.”
Blaney’s arm began to shake, his grip on the scroll weakening. His head suddenly spasmed, a jolt that forced Pearse to reach over and take the scroll from him.
The Book of Q Page 45
