Archangels: Rise of the Jesuits
Page 4
Father James Talman laughed. “You’re old and out of shape. I was in your full view the whole time. Can you imagine what would have happened if I snuck up on you from behind?”
Father James Talman had taught him martial arts. Michael grinned and faced his old friend. Then his grin faded.
Though two decades older than Michael, James always had a boyish face and kept himself in extraordinary physical condition. But almost two years had passed since he was in Rome, and Michael found the change in him disturbing. Beneath the black cassock he still appeared fit, his muscles taut and toned. His face, in stark contrast, bore deeply etched lines of character and care. He looked as if he’d aged twenty years.
“What are you doing in Rome?” Michael asked. “You didn’t call.”
James’s expression hardened. He nodded toward Father de Aragon. “The Society called me back for an emergency meeting,” he said tersely. “We’re gearing up for a political earthquake in the Vatican. That’s why we’re here.”
Michael thought of the dead priest, Father Pintozzi. “Come inside where we can talk.”
He led them down the hallway, through the living area where he normally received guests and into his library. This was the room where Michael liked to do his planning and decision-making, where he felt most at ease. It seemed natural to receive these particular guests in his private retreat.
Father de Aragon paused at the entrance. Michael tried to see it through his eyes. The cavernous room’s floor-to-ceiling, custom-made shelves groaned with books in Italian and English. Two sections were reserved for rare and old first editions, and textbooks on international finance and economic theories.
On the far side of the room was a large desk made of dark cherry wood. A storage unit behind it housed current business magazines. The desk was partially covered with papers, a copy of the most recent editions of Euromoney and Institutional Investor, and a laptop. Next to the computer was a custom-made niche for remote hard drives for back-ups and slots for thumb drives. A multi-landline phone sat on the right side of the desk.
A smaller work unit nearby supported another laptop and a tablet, as well as wireless printers. Four screens were positioned so that when Michael sat at the main desk, he could glance at the data on them as if they were one unit. Two of the screens were split into multiple windows displaying financial information: currency rates, bond rates, commodity prices and stock quotes from around the globe.
They moved to a sitting area away from the desk, next to a mahogany coffee table. Michael motioned them to sit.
“May we speak in English?” Father de Aragon asked in Italian.
“Yes,” Michael replied in perfect English. “My mother was Italian-American, and I completed my higher education in the U.S. James and I met when I studied in Georgetown.”
“Thank you.” Father de Aragon looked Michael in the eyes. “Spanish is my first language, and English is my second. I’m afraid I have not had the time to perfect my Italian.”
Michael offered them coffee, which they accepted. “I could use some caffeine just now,” Father de Aragon said. “I’ve had a long and difficult journey.”
Michael was burning with questions, but he restrained himself while he saw to the comfort of his guests. He pulled out three cups, a sugar bowl and creamer from the coffee service, an heirloom set of creamy porcelain inlaid with delicate swirls of 22-karat gold. The Viscontes had used these demitasse cups for more than two hundred and fifty years. The coffee he poured into a silver samovar, brought back from the Middle East by an ancestor two centuries earlier. As he worked, he reflected on his unexpected company. Yesterday he couldn’t get a priest to give him the time of day, and now, two Jesuits showed up on his doorstep.
He couldn’t get over the change in James. Since they left college, James had grown more remote and somewhat odd, though in a good way. Their friendship was constantly evolving and increasingly complex. But this change felt different, and profound. Then there was the cassock. The last time Michael remembered seeing James wear one outside of Mass was years ago. He had a feeling too that James deferred to the older priest. And what did their appearance have to do with a political earthquake in the Vatican?
When Michael returned to the library holding the coffee tray, the air seemed warmer compared to the air-conditioning he had blasted into the rest of the apartment. No, that wasn't accurate. The area around Father de Aragon seemed warmer. It felt soothing, comforting.
He served the coffee, then settled back in his chair. James’s eyes indicated Michael should address the older priest.
“You mentioned that you had a long journey, Father de Aragon.”
The priest nodded. “I just returned from a mission to South America. More a pleasure trip than anything else. Among other things, I attended a reception in Chile at Aldo Angelini’s mountain estate. He threw a party in honor of his grandson’s engagement to a young woman from the Romito family of Argentina. Raul Campos, who was attending the celebration, was kind enough to fly me to Santiago to get a commercial flight after I was called back to the Vatican.”
Michael put down his coffee cup. He didn't need a Ph.D. in International Finance to recognize the names. In a few short sentences, Father de Aragon had told Michael just how well connected he was. The Angelinis, Camposes and Romitos were three of the most famous families in South America. Between them, they controlled the dollar equivalent of more than $12 billion, and they had influence over much more.
He thought over what he knew of them as he and the priests sipped coffee in silence. The Campos family owned a large paper company in Chile. They also owned Banco Campos, one of Chile’s largest banks. It was a source of capital for the rest of Latin America, especially Argentina.
The family had a reputation as astute and honest, but they were opportunists. People who did business with them usually felt a lot poorer, while the Camposes ended up a lot richer. They had no scruples about taking advantage of timidity, naiveté or temporary cash flow problems, and they always seemed to know who suffered from these weaknesses.
The Romito family claimed wealth in the hundreds of millions, which meant they were poor by Campos family standards. Business analysts estimated the Romitos’ actual worth at more than $3 billion, and widely believed the lesser claim was a tax dodge. The family built their empire around the Romito Group, a conglomerate of steel mills, oil exploration and construction companies, and railroads. Michael knew they remained citizens of Italy; the family patriarch, Agostino Romito, had served as Mussolini’s industry minister before moving to Argentina in 1945. Like the Camposes, the Romitos had a reputation for honesty combined with uncanny business acumen.
Business analysts had puzzled for decades over how Agostino Romito managed to get the capital he needed to found his Argentine empire. Money transfers from Italy were closely monitored after the war, and highly placed people in Italy made it their business to see that Agostino Romito’s wealth stayed there. Nevertheless, Romito’s assets mysteriously disappeared from Italy and reappeared in Argentina. Rumors hinted that Agostino Romito had unimpeachable and untouchable help from the Catholic Church, specifically the Jesuits. Father de Aragon’s comment recalled those claims, and Michael wondered if they had anything to do with his guests’ presence in his study.
Like the Romitos, the Angelini family founded its empire when Aldo and his late father emigrated from Italy after World War II. The family owned a third of Copec, Chile’s petroleum conglomerate, as well as a construction business and paint factory. They also made their money magically disappear from Italy and reappear in Chile when they most needed it. They, too, were astute businessmen and great believers in a good education, a Jesuit education.
In Latin America, the Jesuit influence was extremely powerful. Jesuits had baptized, educated, married and buried almost every person of influence there over the last four centuries. Respected for their political astuteness, their connections, and their influence, the Jesuits possessed a trove of information about
Latin America’s internal political affairs. Influential Latin Americans had a Jesuit confessor, if they had a confessor at all. But every leading family had a Jesuit consigliere.
Michael sipped more coffee. Jesuits, Latin American billionaires, and James’s hints of “a political earthquake” in the Vatican. And just possibly a dead Jesuit priest with his throat cut. “I’ve heard those names before,” he said.
“I’m not surprised. You have a doctorate from the University of Rochester in International Finance, correct?” Father de Aragon’s question sounded more like a statement.
Michael’s unease rose. “You have me at a disadvantage, Father. You seem to know everything about me.”
“I did my own research. If you’ll allow me, I’ll show you.” Father de Aragon stood, indicating Michael should follow him. He walked over to Michael’s desk. “May I use your computer?” He eyed the equipment critically. “Your system’s overdue for an upgrade.”
Michael frowned. As a computer fraud expert for the Specialists, he knew his personal system was only a hair’s breadth away from state-of-the-art, and he resented hearing a comment on his expertise from a priest.
Father de Aragon booted up the computer and asked Michael to log on under his own password. After Michael complied, the priest typed quickly using only his index fingers. Lines of text appeared on the computer screen.
For the first time, Michael noticed Father de Aragon’s hands. The priest was missing the last two fingers of his right hand and the last finger of his left. The remaining fingers functioned normally, but they were mangled, as if healed after an accident in which they were crushed.
Michael glanced up at the priest’s face and noticed scar tissue on the left side of his neck, just above his collar. Red and lumpy, it resembled a healed burn.
Father de Aragon typed in a series of access codes. Michael was surprised at the speed with which the priest manipulated them. “We have many levels of protection, and we employ a few codes and tricks to foil potential hackers,” de Aragon said.
Educated at Jesuit schools, Michael fully appreciated the intelligence and worldliness of the priests in the Jesuit community. Even so, he was impressed.
“Now you can review our reports on you.” Father de Aragon stepped aside so Michael could view the screen.
“Reports? More than one?” Michael frowned as he pressed buttons and scrolled through the displays. He read screen after screen in stunned silence.
Candidate Summary. Press
Michael Roberto Visconte. Catholic. b. Aug. 2, 1977 1:30 a.m. Son of Lenore Ferruzi (American branch, d.2005 breast cancer) and Giovanni Visconte (Italian branch, d. 2006 coronary disease).
Estd. net worth as of 2006: $142 million.
Attended the Italian-American diplomatic school, and Loyola Academy in Rome. Fordham undergraduate in business, 3.9/4.0, graduated 1997. Masters in Foreign Studies from Georgetown, 1998. Ph.D. in international business and finance, University of Rochester 2001.
Married to Helena Barone (Italian branch), civil ceremony only. May 26, 2005. Two children: Anthony, b. March 18, 2007, now attending St. Bartolome’s grade school in Rome, and Luke, b. April 21, 2009.
Recruited for the special branch of the Italian secret service while attending University of Rochester. Cross-border financial crime and cybercrime expert. Currently active. No Society contact as of 2011.
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The Jesuits’ summary contained information even his family didn’t know. His mother had kept her breast cancer a secret, and his father had told him the true nature of her illness only after she died. The fact that he and Helena hadn’t been married in the Church was likewise something they’d kept to themselves. His recruitment information was classified, and yet there it was staring at him from his computer screen.
“This is amazing,” Michael said. “You have my entire family tree as far back as the year 1400.” He continued scrolling.
It troubled him that the Jesuits had such a precise picture of his finances. But how? Michael never told anyone about his investments. He consistently beat market averages, although the global investment market was a zero-sum game. If Michael outperformed the market average, that meant someone else had to underperform.
He had anticipated the ongoing global financial crisis that first became apparent to most people in September 2008. The U.S. Fed poured hundreds of billions of dollars into its financial system and provided over ten trillion dollars of support and guarantees. As a result of the subsidy to banks’ borrowing costs, investors earned close to nothing on “safe” U.S. treasuries. Despite the conditions, Michael had parlayed an inheritance of $62 million into $142 million in under five years, averaging just over eighteen percent per year in hedged returns.
But how did the Jesuits know his net worth?
He paged through the file, stopped among pages of trade details and frowned. “You’re keeping better track of my finances than I am. How did you get this information?”
“You’d be surprised how much is publicly available,” Father de Aragon said. “Credit reports, bank balances, property records, criminal records, spending habits, health records, leisure activities and romantic habits, they’re all easy to find.”
“But my trade details aren’t, and my computer is virtually unhackable.”
“Every computer can be hacked, but don’t be concerned. We didn’t do that. We used other ways.”
Michael shot Father de Aragon a hard look. The only other possibility was that the Jesuits were hacking the computers of the financial institutions with which he traded. He decided to let it go for the moment. He would challenge the priest on other aspects of the data that he found equally unsettling.
“Medical records are privileged. Where did this psychological profile come from?” Michael scanned the screen and turned to Father James, whom he knew was a psychiatrist. “James, did you evaluate me without my permission?”
“It was for the Society’s use only,” James said without apology.
Michael stared at one priest, then the other. “You seem to have an answer for everything.”
“Michael,” James said evenly, “as a personal favor, I’m asking you to bear with us and listen with an open mind.”
Michael flipped to his high school and college records. He had an IQ of 145 on a Wechsler scale, putting him in the top one percent of the population. He knew some Jesuits had even higher IQs. A few belonged to the Giga Society, which required IQ scores of 196 on specialized tests. Then Michael saw something that made him stop. “Our professors were taking notes on us?”
Father de Aragon nodded. “When the Jesuits identify promising young people, we keep track of them. Jesuit teachers usually write something about the individual, their impressions, their evaluation of the person’s strengths and weaknesses.”
Michael eyed the text on the screen: a letter of recommendation written by his favorite college professor, Father Conklin, who had died about ten years ago. He read a portion of it:
“In all of my dealings with Michael Visconte, I have found him to be a bright, creative and perceptive individual. He has uncommon self-possession, maturity and consideration for others, rare in one so young. He wears the mantle of his old noble family name well. I recommend him for further Society contact wholeheartedly and without reservation.”
Michael had always admired and respected Father Conklin. He remembered the priest’s sparkling intellect and simple human decency. He had no idea Father Conklin knew him as anything other than the third-row student who happened to get an A in his class. This letter meant more to Michael than the A ever did.
The report included comments from each of his other Jesuit professors in high school and college as well, dozens o
f them. After quickly scrolling through, Michael looked up. “This information. Does it come from Church files?”
Neither of the priests answered him.
Michael rephrased his question. “Does it come from a Jesuit database?”
“A proprietary Jesuit database,” Father de Aragon said.
There was nothing more to the report—mercifully, Michael thought. They returned to their chairs, and Michael poured them all more coffee. He couldn’t help eying Father de Aragon’s mangled hands as he handed him his cup.
Father de Aragon followed his glance, and spread his free hand deprecatingly. “They don’t look like much, but they get the job done.” He paused. “I acquired those scars about thirty years ago in Chile. I was tortured.”
He paused, as if to let this sink in. He took a sip of coffee with a smooth and graceful motion, and continued: “I was very lucky. The plastic surgeons were able to reconstruct and save most of the function of my hands. The thumb and first two fingers are especially important to me; I can still hold the host to properly say the Mass.”
“I thought clergy were immune to arrest,” Michael said.
“Publicly, yes. But much happens in Latin America that isn't publicized. Torture for presumed spies, for instance.”
“Were you a spy?” Michael asked.
“Technically, no. I was merely a courier.”
“For whom?” Michael’s curiosity was fully aroused.
“For the Society, of course,” Father de Aragon replied with a slight smile.
This frank admission of espionage puzzled Michael. Over several centuries, the Jesuits had been accused of spying by a variety of governments. Jesuits had been tortured and executed, but had always denied any involvement. Even in the Jesuit academies Michael attended, reports of spying were discredited as the self-serving accusations of paranoid authorities.