Crockett knew the contents and waited for Vivaldo’s reaction. When the cardinal finished reading, he lifted his head and reacted with a single word.
“Ridiculous.” It came out as a guttural snort.
O’Hare started to protest, but Vivaldo cut him off.
“You are suggesting that in the Sacred College of Cardinals there is a secret ring of men who are possessed by demons. That these men are Satan worshipers, perfectly possessed, in harmony with their demons. And that they will try to ensure that the next papal enclave results in one of them raised to the papacy. That there is a danger that the next pope will be demon possessed. And you suggest that a twelve-year-old girl with the genetic ability to detect tiny fluctuations in electromagnetism is needed to detect whether cardinals are demon possessed?”
Crocket recognized that, whether or not he would accept the existence of a spiritual force as reality, he could see a chilling elegance to electing a new pope who was perfectly possessed, giving evil a chokehold at the top of the power circle. A power circle in an institution with far too high a percentage of men who had abused children with impunity for decades. Crockett remembered what Mackenzie had told him. Demons look for a crack in the psyche, often finding it in the abused, who then in turn grew to adults who abused others. A perfect circle. But perfectly possessed? A pope? The future pope?
“Ridiculous,” Vivaldo said again, his anger growing visibly. “This strains any sort of credulity whatsoever. Do you have any idea how the world would mock the Vatican if the office of the Holy See was seen to depend on the whims and vagaries of a girl like this?”
“I have no intention of making it something the world gains knowledge of. Saxon is not the only one. She is our protection against the rest of them. The same protection that the church used in centuries past to stop this insidious infiltration of the College.”
Vivaldo looked furious. “I understand that from your point of view, demons are a reality. You are known as the chief exorcist of the Vatican, and you have a bias toward seeing the devil in as many places as possible. Yet you are well aware that His Holiness and the pope before him placed no emphasis on the existence of demons. In the modern church, demons are a relic. You are also aware that, from my point of view, the only reason exorcism is publicly supported is because of the delicacies of denying demonic existence in light of ancient church teachings and the liturgies of exorcism that have been in place for centuries.”
“Tell me,” O’Hare said calmly but forcefully. “Can you think of anything that would motivate me to come forward in private like this, knowing how it might sound to you, someone who has publicly scoffed at the notion that demons exist? What do I have to gain?”
“I’m not a fool,” Vivaldo said. “It’s not you who might gain, but someone else. An ambitious cardinal, hoping that I’d react in such a way as to cast doubts on my suitability as candidate for the papacy. I would be a laughingstock to support you regarding this matter in any way. It wouldn’t surprise me if this is a plot that Ricci—my political rival—devised to remove a legitimate rival from the upcoming enclave. Believe me, the moment you step out of this office, you may consider your future within the church effectively ended.”
“Before you send us out,” O’Hare began, as he pulled a single sheet out of his briefcase, “I suggest you read this too.”
“More nonsense about demons?” Vivaldo snorted.
“No,” O’Hare said. “A letter from Cardinal Ricci, addressed to you in your official capacity as Cardinal Secretary of State, requesting that the Sacred College of Cardinals remove him from consideration as a candidate for the papacy because of recently uncovered health issues. Fictional health issues. Meet with Cardinal Ricci and the American girl and her doctor, and the letter is yours to submit to the college, effectively removing Ricci as your rival. In short, agree to the meeting, and you will become the next pope.”
A long silence blanketed the room as each man attempted to judge the other.
Finally, Vivaldo spoke. “Bring them in.”
Seventy-Five
olding Dr. Mackenzie’s hand, Jaimie stepped into Vivaldo’s office. They were followed by Cardinal Ricci. Jaimie wore a pale red dress and, because of it, appeared like the girl she would have been if that car accident had not killed the upper-middle-class parents who had believed she was their baby. She looked like an innocent girl, wrapped up in love and unaware of the evils of the world.
Crockett wished that Jaimie did have that innocence, but he knew nothing would bring it back.
Mackenzie’s appearance, too, was softer. Perhaps because she wore a light blue sweater that contrasted with black designer slacks, a sign that she’d gone shopping for upscale Italian clothing.
“Eminence,” O’Hare said. “I do have an embarrassing request.”
From his briefcase, O’Hare pulled out a handheld security wand, like the ones used at airports for screening.
It beeped several times as he powered it.
“Security screening? How far do you expect to push me?”
“It’s part of the process,” O’Hare said. “The quickest explanation is that when a demon resides in a physical body, it ever so slightly changes the electromagnetism emitted by that person. Jaimie can sense this change, but the presence of a magnet disrupts her sensitivity.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“I need to be assured you don’t have a magnet in your possession.”
“Of course I don’t have a magnet on me!” Vivaldo said. “What is going on?”
“We need to ensure you are not one of the perfectly possessed,” O’Hare said. “Because when demons know that Jaimie can sense them, they react. Violently. If there are no magnets in close proximity …”
Vivaldo glared at Ricci. “You seriously expect me to dignify this? I see through this sham. You’ll leak word that I allowed myself to be tested for demon possession. That alone will ensure all my credibility in the College of Cardinals is destroyed. You become the next pope.”
“You have my letter of resignation,” Ricci said. “Our rivalry is secondary to what’s at stake. I’d rather see you with St. Peter’s ring, if that’s what it’s going to take to make sure the Holy See is protected.”
“Noble,” Vivaldo said, with just enough ambiguity to make it impossible to decide if he was being sarcastic.
Vivaldo pursed his lips in silent frustration but rose slowly and stepped out from behind his desk. He spread his arms as O’Hare waved the wand around him. It beeped several times, but only for his rings and watch.
“Thank you, your Eminence,” O’Hare said.
“Now what,” Vivaldo snapped. “The girl touches me? Walks around and does incantations?”
“We’re finished,” O’Hare said. “At least with Jaimie.”
Vivaldo frowned. “Finished?”
“Trust me,” O’Hare said. “If you were among those who worship our enemy, you would have already reacted to her presence. And, given you have no magnet and she wasn’t wearing hers, she would have known of the demon’s presence the instant she walked through the doorway.”
O’Hare gave a placating smile. “Even the worst of your own critics—and of course, one would be hard pressed to find a single one—would find nothing of your actions in the last few minutes to criticize during a papal enclave. You allowed a girl to step into your office, and you gave her a blessing. After all, your Eminence, despite her unusual ability and despite her importance to the church, she is a girl, a child of God.”
“I should not have forgotten,” Vivaldo said. “Child, step forward and let me pray over you.”
Jaimie gave him a sweet smile and knelt in front of the man.
Crockett marveled that such a ferocious presence as Vivaldo could be transformed into a beautiful benevolence as he placed a palm on Jaimie’s head. As if God had allowed his presence into the room, and Crockett felt a peace of his own.
When Vivaldo finished his quiet prayer, he lo
oked at Ricci. “I have done enough?”
“Perhaps we should have a degree of privacy again,” Ricci answered. “Dr. Mackenzie will take the girl. If you need confirmation on any of Dr. Mackenzie’s findings, she’ll come back, but in the meantime, we’ve arranged for them to take a private tour of the Sistine Chapel. Father O’Hare and Mr. Grey will remain.”
“I do not take kindly to orders.”
“Please,” Ricci said. “It is a request. Remember that I have essentially submitted myself to you by withdrawing from any consideration for the papacy.”
Dr. Mackenzie smiled at Crockett from across the room. He enjoyed the lift it gave him.
After Mackenzie and Jaimie left, all softness left Vivaldo’s square face. “Ricci, if you honor your promise to leave me this letter, you’ve given up the papacy for your ridiculous belief in the existence of demons.”
“No,” Ricci said, “there’s more. We need to ensure the girl meets with every cardinal.”
“At the risk of being repetitive, if I proposed that this become a condition of entering the conclave before a papal election, I would be put in a straitjacket.”
O’Hare was prepared for the cardinal’s objection. “In the days after the pope’s death and before the enclave, between you and I, we will ensure that every cardinal visits either of us. In addition to current security, there will be new security measures in place that apply to everybody, like airport screening. No one will question a security wand in the hand of a Swiss Guard. We will have Jaimie in our offices, as if she is seeking a blessing. She will screen them on our behalf, the way it was done in the past. This way, before the election, we will discover who serves God and who serves Satan. We will never have to fear the election of a pope who is possessed by the Evil One.”
“Cardinal Ricci,” Vivaldo said, “your fears are invalid.”
“Too much evil has happened within the church over the last decades. The College of Cardinals must be cleansed so that the Holy See can be cleansed. Surely the letter on your desk shows you how much I believe this to be true.”
“Superstition,” Vivaldo repeated. “I will not be tarred with it.”
O’Hare said, “The women in the families on the canary list are almost extinct. Jaimie is close to the last of the canaries. Quite by accident, Mr. Grey established that for us, and it took me less than fifteen minutes in the archives to link Jaimie’s family tree to this ancient list. As Mr. Grey will testify, he is a skeptic. I would argue that this, too, is evidence that must be considered seriously, for he has no motive for trying to convince you of what I’m trying to convince you, which is that we must begin again the ancient tradition of screening prospective cardinals for demons. And we must maintain the secrecy of the list. As future pope, you will have the power to do both.”
Cardinal Ricci leaned forward and addressed Vivaldo with urgency. “You may not believe that demons exist or that for centuries they have tried to infiltrate the church, but to ignore the possibility puts the fate of this entire church at risk. My personal ambitions pale in comparison to that. I withdraw, not asking you to believe, but simply to act as if you believe. All I’m asking is that you ensure that each cardinal passes the test, so that in the future, the church is not controlled by a man who worships Satan.”
“I refuse to gain a papacy through deception,” Vivaldo said. “You, of all people, know me better than that. Acting as if I believe in demons simply to ensure your resignation is not something I can do, no matter how important you believe it is.”
Ricci spoke, almost sadly. “This pope, before his election to the papacy, was head of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith. As you know, his biggest public controversy is his responsibility over several decades in that position for the alleged cover-up of child abuse at the hands of priests.”
“Let us stress the word alleged,” Vivaldo said.
“Allegations with enough credibility to be splashed across the pages of every major news media source in the world,” Ricci said. “My brother, there is one last thing you need to see.”
Seventy-Six
he final item in O’Hare’s briefcase was a laptop pulled from a leather sleeve. He addressed Crockett. “Do you recall our conversation in the Vatican archives when I warned you there was no turning back?”
Crockett nodded.
O’Hare touched the keyboard and the laptop screen came to life. The four men stood at the edge of the desk and looked down to see the pope, comatose on a hospital bed. Jaimie stood near the man, his famous features marred by the clear plastic tubes inserted in his nostrils. IV tubes connected his wrist to plastic bags, but the big ring was clearly identifiable.
“She’s going to put her bracelet into a bag lined with lead,” O’Hare said. “The type of material that shields x-ray machines. Watch.”
Ricci added, “Until I saw this footage, I wasn’t fully convinced that I needed to offer you my letter, Vivaldo. I beg you to stop it from happening again.”
“Now?” Jaimie asked, facing the camera. The hum of medical equipment filled the background.
“Now.” It was O’Hare’s voice. He held the camera steady, the screen shot tight on her face, her freckles obvious.
“I’ve never been so scared in my life,” Jaimie said.
“God is with us. Take off your bracelet,” O’Hare said. “Drop it into the bag.”
Jaimie did as directed, and immediately her face showed terror. “All alone. Dark. Dark. With cold wind blowing across me. I feel so tiny. And like hunters are coming for me in the darkness.”
“It’s okay,” O’Hare said. “We are protected by Christ.”
Howling suddenly filled the camera’s audio sensors. The picture frame wobbled, and Jaimie’s face flickered, and then O’Hare moved the focus on to the comatose pope, whose face had gone from the plastic look of the dead to a rictus of pain and rage.
“Padre nostro,” O’Hare said. “Che sei nei cieli, sia santifico il tuo nome.”
The man in the bed, the man with one of the most famous faces in the world, the man who had been in a coma for weeks, opened his eyelids to reveal intense black dots for pupils, against the whites of his eyes.
“Who dares interfere with The Prince,” the man croaked from the hospital bed.
“Padre nostro, che sei nei cieli, sia santifico il tuo nome.” O’Hare moved forward and, from a small round container, sprinkled water on the man in the bed.
As Jaimie crouched and huddled behind O’Hare, the man arched his back and began to scream as if liquid fire was burning through his hospital gown.
“Dear, dear Lord,” Vivaldo trembled, all the color drained from his face. “The pope. It’s already happened.”
Seventy-Seven
t’s almost finished, Jaimie,” Father O’Hare said, sitting down beside Jaimie in the courtyard. “Two days more is all we need.”
“Sure,” she said, putting down her e-book reader.
She liked it in the villa. Father O’Hare and Dr. Mackenzie stayed with her the whole time, leaving no chance for Evil to hunt her here. It was easy, spending hours in the courtyard, reading books. Dr. Mackenzie had presented her with the e-book reader and shown Jaimie how to upload plenty of new titles.
“We’ll need to take you into Rome during the day. Back to Vatican City. You know, to see if there are others,” O’Hare explained.
“Sure,” Jaimie repeated.
She felt stronger, more sure of herself. There was an explanation for the darkness that had always plagued her, and she knew she wasn’t crazy. She also knew that it was possible to defeat Evil, so she wasn’t as scared of it hunting her anymore.
Father O’Hare said. “In California, they found the guy who started your house on fire. Nobody thinks anymore that you did it.”
“What about Mr. G?” she asked. “Will it be okay for him?”
“The police know that same man who started the fire tried to make it look like Mr. G had some secrets too. Mr. G is clear and good to go home
.”
“Got my horse yet?” Jaimie asked.
“Still working on it,” Father O’Hare said.
“Not a big deal,” Jaimie said. “The place I’m planning on spending a lot of time at doesn’t have much room for a horse.”
She smiled as she pictured it the way she always pictured it.
Hot chocolate. Cookies. In the kitchen.
With Nanna.
Madelyne sat with Crockett in the elegant garden of the villa, enjoying the afternoon sunshine, songbirds hidden among the flowering bushes. It was surreal, considering what they had survived together.
“I want to ask you a difficult question,” Crockett said.
“Then ask.”
He stared at the garden wall. Miles away, down in the valley of the Tiber, Rome bustled, but here time was frozen. “You told me that you counseled a patient who’d been abused in a Satanic ritual as a child in a foster home. Lawsuits, all that. You said you were trying to find Saxon to stop him. You were that little girl, weren’t you?”
All the images came back to her. The shaking little boy, his descriptions of the rituals, her attempt to defend him, and then her own horrors during the abuse that followed later.
Hales ate in. Hales ate in.
“Yes, it was me.” She nodded slowly. “I hated what they were doing to the boy. And then they did it to me.”
“Saxon’s dead. Is that enough for you?”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“He’s dead and no one knows what he was guilty of. Do you need to see more justice than that?”
“Like more horrible headlines about the Vatican?” She shook her head. “No. He wasn’t the church. But an evil abberation. Once I went to O’Hare, they did everything possible to stop him. And they’re tracking down others like him. Even though there are some things you never get past … all along I just wanted to make sure it didn’t happen to other little girls.”
The Canary List: A Novel Page 27
