New Rome Rising

by Rene Fomby

  “I can’t wait, Sammie. And I take it you’re bringing Maddie along as well? The way she’s growing these days, I probably won’t even recognize her.”

  “Of course, I’ll bring her along. After all, the money for any house we buy will be coming out of her piggy bank, so I think she at least gets to pick out her own room.”

  Harry laughed. “She wouldn’t have a dime left in that piggy bank if it hadn’t been for everything you’ve done over the past year to repair all the damage her grandfather did to the trust, and you know it. So I think the very least she could do to thank you would be to buy you a brand new house. To replace the very nice house William Tulley burned down back in Blairton. With you in it.”

  “And with you in it, too, if you and your friends weren’t all a bunch of alkies, staying out all night boozing it up,” Sam joked, glancing down at the small network of scars that still lingered on the palms of her hands.

  “Yeah, well, I’m not apologizing for that. Winning that trial was more than a decent excuse for a blow-out celebration. But, seriously, I can’t wait to see you. Let me know if I can help you in any way with the ground work out here before you arrive.”

  “Will do, Harry. And I better let you go so you can free up your phone line for the next caller. That Next Big Case you’ve been expecting any day now.”

  “I’m not holding my breath. But—Sammie?”

  “Yeah, buddy, what is it?”

  “In the meantime, remember to stay safe. Keep your head down, okay? You have a habit of racing into the fire, not away from it, and one of these days you might not just walk away from it with a few scars and a lot of bad memories.”

  “I hear you, Harry. And you’re right, my luck in that department has been a bit sketchy at times. Attempted kidnapping, arson, car bombing. But hey, I’m due for a little luck right about now, doncha think? If I can survive all that, what more could they possibly throw at me?”

  “I don’t think we should ever underestimate the kind of trouble your father-in-law can muster up, Sammie.”

  “That’s ex father-in-law to you, buster, but, yeah, you’re right. And now Andy Patterson is missing and two guesses who’s the monster behind that? So yeah, I’ll remember to keep my head down and out of sight.”

  “And while you’re at it, park that hot little race car in the garage and take the bus for a change, okay? You are not to be trusted behind the wheel of an Alfa, Miss Mario. Just saying.”

  “Aw, a girl’s got to have some fun, don’t she? But, okay, I promise to keep it under the speed limit. Cross my heart hope to die, pinky swear, slide down a razor blade naked. Under the speed limit.”

  “That would be the posted speed limit, Samantha Tulley, not the speed of sound limit.”

  “Spoil sport.”

  “Lead foot.”

  “Party crasher.”

  “Girl I’m tired of visiting in the hospital.”

  “Okay. Touché. But in my defense, I haven’t been hospitalized for several months, now. So there.”

  “Got to be some kind of record for you. But seriously, Sam—”

  “All right, all right, I’ll try to be better, I promise. So, call me on Monday?”

  “Wouldn’t miss calling you for all the tea in China.”

  “Silly goose, there’s no ‘T’ in ‘China’. But, seriously, call me anytime. Other than Maddie and Barley, talking to you is the highlight of my day.”

  “Glad to see I’ve made the third tier, just behind the dog.”

  “Well, he did take a bullet for me, after all. So now you know what you need to do to move up a notch.”

  “Maybe I’ll just plan on outliving him, instead. In the meantime, enjoy the weekend, buddy.”

  “You too, bestie.” Sam hung up reluctantly and sat staring at her phone for a few minutes before finally putting it down on her desk and getting up to check on what her daughter was up to in the back yard, where Barley’s exuberant barking suggested much mischief was now afoot.

  26

  Sistine Chapel, Vatican City - Sunday

  After the pope’s untimely death, his body lay in state for five days, giving pilgrims and the occasional gawking tourist ample opportunity to view the remains of the dead pontiff. Following the pope’s burial was an additional nine-day period of mourning, the novemdiales, Latin for “nine days.” Only then could the conclave begin.

  On Sunday morning, the cardinal electors gathered in St. Peter’s Basilica to celebrate the Eucharist, then dispersed briefly until gathering once again that afternoon in the Pauline Chapel of the Palace of the Vatican, where they marched to the Sistine Chapel, singing in one voice the Litany of the Saints.

  As Sunday morning came and went, the cardinal electors began to gather in the chapel. Earlier they had listened to a sermon reminding them of the qualities considered necessary for a new pope, and now they listened patiently while a preacher once again recounted the minimum papal requirements.

  Finally, the Dean of the College of Cardinals stepped to the front of the chapel as the cardinals rose and sang the Veni Creator Spiritus, then he began the long process of exacting a solemn oath from each of the electors to agree to maintain absolute secrecy regarding the conclave, follow the procedures set down by the apostolic constitutions, and disregard any secular intrusions upon their choice of a new pontiff. Soon it was Cardinal Orso’s turn, and he strode to the front with a stern face, looking neither to the right nor the left. Standing before the Cardinal Dean with one hand on the Gospels, he repeated the Dean’s recitation of the oath:

  Et ego, Lorenzo, Cardinalis Orso, spondeo, voveo, ac iuro. Sic me Deus adiuvet et haec Sancta Dei Evangelia, quae manu mea tango.

  When the last cardinal had taken the oath, it was finally time to seal the doors of the chapel and begin. The Master of the Papal Liturgical Celebrations leaned into a microphone attached to the altar and sang out “Extra omnes!”, ordering everyone other than the cardinal electors and a few other conclave participants to leave the chapel. Then, after making sure that the chapel had been cleared of all non-essential participants, the “extras”, he personally sealed the entrance to the building.

  ※

  The practice of locking the electors into a building during the conclave harkened back to the thirteenth century. Responding to the rising problem of prolonged deadlocks in papal elections, authorities in the cities hosting the elections began locking up the cardinals, even going so far as restricting their access to food and water. In 1269, the townspeople of Viterbo even tore off the roof of the Palazzo dei Papi to spur the electors to hurry along with the process. The practice of conclave (literally meaning, “with key”) was finally formalized by pope Gregory X in 1274 with his Ubi periculum, which declared that the cardinals were to be secluded in a closed area, denied individual sleeping quarters, limited to no more than two personal servants, and refused food and water other than at mealtime. Even more compelling, during the conclave the cardinals would have to forego any ecclesiastical revenue from back home. They literally had to pay to play.

  Gregory’s format for the papal election has been modified repeatedly since 1274, but the general rules concerning seclusion and the two-thirds majority required to elect a pope still remain. Now even personal servants are ejected, except for a single nurse who, with prior permission, is allowed to attend to the medical needs of cardinals who are in ill health. A small number of priests are allowed in to hear confessions, and up to two doctors are admitted in case of a serious medical emergency.

  During the conclave, everyone inside the chapel must swear an oath to maintain absolute secrecy about everything that transpires, and any lapse in that oath carries an immediate excommunication from the Church. To ensure this secrecy, Wifi and cellular services are blocked, the chapel itself is swept for any electronic devices every morning, and only three people are allowed to communicate with the outside world without seeking prior permission from the entire College—the Major Penitentiary, the Cardinal Vicar for the Diocese
of Rome, and the Vicar General for the Vatican City State—and then only when it is necessary to respond to a great crisis impacting their sacred duties.

  ※

  With the doors now sealed, the cardinals turned to the business of selecting the Scrutineers, the cardinals who would oversee the actual election, or scrutiny, of the new pope. The junior Cardinal Deacon drew nine names by lot. The first three were named Scrutineers, the second three Infirmarii, and the last three Revisers. Meanwhile, the Masters of the Ceremonies handed out two ballots to each cardinal elector, each bearing the words Eligo in Summum Pontificem (“I elect as Supreme Pontiff”), and the first scrutiny began in earnest. One by one, the cardinals stepped up to the altar and pledged an additional oath in Latin—“I call as my witness Christ the Lord who will be my judge, that my vote is given to the one who before God I think should be elected”, added by pope Gregory XV to eliminate “courtesy votes” and as a consequence narrowing the number of candidates to just two or three—before dropping a simple folded-over note card bearing their choice for pope in a large jar in front of the Scrutineers.

  When the voting was complete, the first Scrutineer took hold of the ballot jar and shook it for a few moments, then offered it to the last Scrutineer, who carefully set about removing and counting the ballots. After determining that the number of ballots matched the total number of eligible cardinal electors, the first Scrutineer began to open the ballots, showing each open note card to the other two Scrutineers. The last Scrutineer then read the name out loud while the second placed the ballot in one of several small piles in front of him, and all three paused to write the name down on a piece of paper they had each reserved for just this purpose.

  As Orso watched the slow and deliberate counting of the scrutinies, he couldn’t help but notice that one of the three piles laid out in front of the second Scrutineer was growing significantly larger than the others, the pile that held the ballots for him. He was also trying to keep a mental count of the votes—at least the ones for him, since that was ultimately all that mattered at this point—and as the vote count drew to a close, he knew it was going to be close.

  Finally, the three Scrutineers each added up the votes, conferring at the end to confirm their counts, and the Revisers rechecked the ballots and the names on the Scrutineers’ lists to make sure no errors had been made. The entire chapel held its breath as the Secretary of the College stepped up to the altar to announce the results.

  “Brothers in Christ,” he intoned solemnly in Latin. “The scrutiny is complete. There were three candidates. Cardinal Moreau of Paris received twenty-three votes. Cardinal Chang of Hong Kong received seventeen votes. And, finally, Cardinal Orso of Rome received seventy-four votes. With no candidate receiving a two-thirds majority, by our rules, we do not yet have a consensus for our new pontiff. Since this is the first day of the conclave, the ballots shall now be destroyed, and we shall all retire until we reconvene tomorrow morning for a new scrutiny. God’s favor be on you all. In Jesus’ name, go in peace, and until we gather once more, pray for His divine guidance in the selection of His next steward for our most Holy and Catholic Church.”

  Cazzo! Two votes! Just two votes shy! Orso had to force himself to smile as well-wishers immediately surrounded him to wish him good luck in the next day’s voting. He watched somberly as the ballots were gathered up by the Scrutineers and burned in the chapel’s small chimney, with the Secretary of the College and the Masters of Ceremonies standing close by. Potassium perchlorate, anthracene and sulfur were sprinkled on the ballots to render the smoke black, a signal to the outside world that the selection of a new pope was still in flux.

  Orso shook his head. He was now just two votes shy of finally realizing his lifelong goal of redeeming his family’s honor. And exacting a just and painful revenge on the maiale that had forced his father to take his own life.

  It promised to be a long night.

  27

  Leonardo da Vinci Airport, Rome - Monday

  Yusuf fidgeted with his cell phone, waiting impatiently for the call that would finally set everything into motion. The Turkish Airways 747 he was scheduled to copilot for a repositioning run into Ankara was sitting quietly just outside a repair hanger, waiting for the call as well, its belly stuffed full with the special cargo they had picked up at Viracopos-Campinas International Airport, where the plane had been part of the Azul Brazilian Airlines fleet before its recent sale to Turkish Air. The jet had already been painted in the distinctive Turkish Airlines style back in Brazil, and was ready to join the airline’s livery, carrying tourists back and forth between Turkey and the Americas. Now it just needed to be delivered to its home base, Esenboğa International Airport in Ankara.

  The pilot, fully disgusted by the unexplained two-day wait—supposedly for a mandated inspection of the plane’s hydraulic lines—finally gave up and headed to the main terminal for something to eat. And, Yusuf suspected, a little something to drink, as well. Something forbidden by both God and by aviation regulations. But God would sort out his sins soon enough.

  28

  Sistine Chapel - Tuesday

  Orso couldn’t believe it. After falling just two votes shy of the papacy in the first scrutiny, now his supporters were scattering like rats from a sinking ship. A fairly accurate analogy all around, he thought, scowling from one of the darkened corners near the back of the chapel at the crowd of faithless cardinals who had abandoned him in favor of Cardinal Chang. He didn’t even have to keep count now, it was obvious that Chang would win the election on this ballot. But not if Boucher was right.

  With no options left, and with his life’s work, his sworn vow hanging in the balance, Orso reached into his right pocket and triggered the small receiver he had managed to smuggle into the chapel, then reached into his other pocket and pulled out the small white pill. Barely hesitating, he popped it into his mouth and swallowed. Boucher had warned him that the effects would be almost instantaneous, so he started walking toward the front of the chapel, striding purposefully to where the Secretary of the College stood, waiting for the moment when he would climb the steps of the altar to proclaim the results of the final tally. The cardinals that were packed into the church, seeing the viperous scowl on Orso’s face and knowing full well that he was on the brink of losing his one chance at the papacy, pulled away like Moses parting the Red Sea and let him pass.

  Almost to the altar, Orso halted, the effects of the pill suddenly beginning to kick in. His heart pounded in his chest, his breath became rapid, tortured, then slowed alarmingly. He stumbled, righted himself, stumbled again. He was standing just in front of the Dean of the College— who was staring at him, stricken—when the room spun around him and his legs gave out for the last time, dropping him in a disheveled heap to the floor.

  29

  Leonardo da Vinci Airport, Rome

  Yusuf had been warned about keeping the plane ready for departure at a moment’s notice, and now, with his cell phone buzzing loudly in his pocket, he knew that moment had finally come. He made a show of raising the phone slowly to his ear, holding up a finger to signal to the pilot that they were finally being released to fly the plane to Ankara, where both of their families were eagerly awaiting their long-delayed return.

  30

  Sistine Chapel

  Amidst all of the pandemonium surrounding Cardinal Orso’s sudden collapse, no one had given a second thought to taking charge of the ballots, lying out in the open completely unguarded. The Dean of the College of Cardinals ordinarily would have been the one responsible for insuring their integrity, but he had been closest to Orso when everything happened, and so without hesitation had leapt forward to offer aid. But now he had a huge dilemma on his hands—should he count the ballots as they were, ignoring the admittedly faint possibility that one of the cardinals might have stolen some of the ballots, or swapped out fake ballots for the real ones? A simple count of the total number of ballots on the table would almost certainly answer the first question
, but the second possibility … with nothing less than the election of a new pope hanging in the balance …

  He looked up and saw that the cardinal from Hong Kong was watching him very closely. Both knew that the outcome was now all but technically certain, the pile of chits in favor of Cardinal Chang being visibly far larger than the other two piles combined.

  But—memories of the Siri episode still hung over them all, even though no one in the room had been in attendance at the time, all far too young, just starting their careers as priests within the Church. At the conclave of 1958, Cardinal Giuseppe Siri had apparently won election to the papacy by the narrowest of margins. The ballots were already beginning to burn and white smoke was wafting from the chimney atop the Sistine Chapel when supporters of the liberal candidate Cardinal Carlo Roncalli loudly protested the result. Even as the arch-conservative Cardinal Siri was being led outside into the hallway by the Cardinal Dean to confirm whether he would accept his election as Supreme Pontiff of the Church, messengers from the liberal branch of the faith arrived to demand a recount, and to warn Siri and the Cardinal Dean of dire but unspecified consequences if he was allowed to become pope under the dark cloud of a suspicious election. Quickly, damp straw was tossed on the ballots to turn the smoke dark, and a decision was made to reaffirm the ballot count. But it was too late—most of the ballots had already been consumed by the fire, so the conclave was forced to vote once more. Again, Siri won by just one vote, and again the vote was rejected by the liberal wing. Now, the threats to Siri and his supporters had become more specific, and faced with an open and quite possibly violent rebellion by Cardinal Roncalli’s followers, Siri decided the best path forward for both himself and the future of the Church was to step aside. Still, it took several more ballots before Cardinal Roncalli’s faction prevailed, and the man who would take the name pope John XXIII was finally but begrudgingly elected as the new leader of the Roman Catholic Church.