Sanctuary Creek

by John Patrick Kavanagh

  Them was the American Conservative Party, the loyal opposition, holding the proxies of 20 percent of the American Catholic population, the Sanctuarian Party possessing an additional 55, the remaining quarter unaffiliated or attached to one of the other 15 organizations based outside of the United States. But even though the Acers couldn’t muster a quarter of the total constituency, they more than made up for it with the amount of noise they made, often led by the voice of Angelique Caulfield. Despite the efforts of the Sancters to ignore her and her music for three years, her immense popularity in the United States among both Catholics and the rest demanded she eventually be given a better shake. Her third album, And There Appeared to Him an Angel, only two weeks in release, was already Number One as was its first single, “Moving from Heaven to Earth.” But a slightly better shake was all she’d received thus far and were it solely up to Peter, the shake she finally got probably wouldn’t have been given at all. While he enjoyed popular music, he didn’t fancy the material she produced. And while he loved all Catholics, he didn’t have a particular fondness for the Acers. Nor were they particularly taken with him.

  The American Conservative Party had come into existence shortly after Nicholas was elected by Delegation, that election occurring a year after he was elected by Acclamation. As soon as Sixtus died, most of the Cardinals who had been excommunicated by him flew to Rome to meet and discuss the future. An extremely brief service was held for the deceased prelate, much to the consternation of the few Cardinals who hadn’t been purged. Decisive action was critical if the Church was to be saved. Some feelings might be hurt but feelings weren’t the issue. Survival was.

  As soon as Sixtus’ funeral ceremony was finished, the reinstated Cardinals and their loyalist colleagues moved to the Sistine Chapel and in 40 minutes the white smoke signaled a new Il Papa had been chosen. And everyone knew there was only one man among them visionary enough to do what needed to be done. Cardinal Avillion emerged Nicholas VI.

  In the past, setting the stage for a general council of the Church had required years of preparation. But the circumstances were extraordinary and so was the man. His orders to the College were “You’ve got two weeks. Pick the best man you have, put him in charge, pack your bags and return to Rome. Plan on a lengthy stay. There will be no coffee breaks.”

  The College of Cardinals, including the newly appointed Cardinal Rehmer, returned in a fortnight and the brutal process of Vatican III began, an excruciating marathon stretching 11 months, the spectacle making the network news every evening. Seven died in the process, a few had debilitating nervous breakdowns and many simply blanked then were permitted to convalesce until they were strong enough to continue. But others rarely waivered, rarely blinked as the horrors of Sixtus became more apparent. The strongest among them was Nicholas. And at the times when even he seemed to weaken or falter, Peter was always there to prop him up. The relationship was so intense, the combined strength so formidable that it was said the temperature in the large meeting rooms would drop a few degrees if the pair entered together. Another who distinguished himself was Martin Cardinal Elliott of Philadelphia, the only person to have ever headed of the American Conservative Party, his grip on his followers that of a noose around the neck of a wild horse. They were crazy, the Acers, and Angelique was no exception. Latin around Peter was like kerosene around a candle.

  “My chapel,” he warned from the altar, his eyes locked onto Angelique’s, twin blue diamonds the likes of which Sotheby’s would be proud to feature on the cover of a catalogue. “My rules. No Latin.”

  She looked away a moment, then back and nodded her assent.

  “Lord, we have sinned against you: Lord have mercy,” the celebrant intoned.

  “Lord, have mercy,” the congregation replied.

  “Lord, show us your mercy and love.”

  “And grant us your salvation.” Angelique didn’t respond, it occurring to Samson she probably knew little of the mass in English.

  “May almighty God have mercy on us, forgive us our sins and bring us to everlasting life.”

  “Amen.” Everybody knew that one.

  The first direction of Nicholas was that Sixtus, his body, his life, his reign and his sins be dissected so the scope of the problems could be measured. It was no accident—the stroke and his insanity. The autopsy revealed a tumor weighing a half-pound occupying the skull of the deceased Pontiff, along with a diseased liver, failing kidneys and a non-malignant tumor in one lung. The blood work pointed to probable addictions to dariole, cocaine, Exridex, PKPlus2 and cough syrup. On special occasions his closest aides would whip then tie him to an aluminum cross, pretending to be Roman guards attending the Crucifixion.

  It was shocking, sad and spooky. But Nicholas wanted nothing spared. While the physical evidence was locked away in one of the catacombs beneath the Vatican, the Pontiff went public with most of the information, an act of courage for which he would always be remembered.

  The secondary hurdles approached at Vatican III were the incredible decretals, bulls and statements on faith that polluted the Church in the two years Sixtus held the pulpit. Celibacy and monogamy were back for real. Violations were mortal sins. Priests or other vowed religious persons engaging in sex while their promises were in force could now only receive forgiveness from the bishop of the diocese and the confession would have to be made face-to-face, not with the anonymity that was retained for those who strayed from their matrimonial covenants. The pornography collection was returned to the Vatican Library, then destroyed. Annulment requests would be treated equally and without regard to the money or position of the parties requesting them. Birth control that prevented conception as opposed to terminating it was left on the books, as was only one of the more than 2,000 souls elevated to sainthood: St. Mai of Hiroshima having been beatified by Benedict XVII. The 900 confession lines were shut down as was the litigation concerning the cross. The Cult of the Six was outlawed and the rest of the list occupied 140 single-spaced pages.

  “Glory to God in the highest…”

  “And peace to his people on earth.”

  The third issue facing the Church was the financial one. Sixtus, between the selling off of the treasures and the exacting of fines, fees and tithes, the granting of franchises and dozens of other schemes, had left the Church with billions upon billions of dollars. Much of it was eventually used to repurchase many of the historic treasures that had been sold, often at bargain basement prices due to huge tax credits granted to the sellers if the transactions were completed in Italy. Approximately ten billion dollars was left in stocks and bonds, another three billion placed in a permanent trust to guard against future contingencies and another billion used to fund the first modern business-oriented budget the Church ever had. The rest was donated to the poor and the starving of the planet via the Missions.

  “Let us pray,” Peter said as he closed his eyes. “God of mercy, you wash away our sins in water…”

  The penultimate task of the attendees of Vatican III was the restructuring of the Church as an institution. No one disputed that an extremely strong, centralized government needed to be re-established so with the backing of the vast majority of Cardinals, the Church adopted a new look. The Vatican was allowed to stay the showpiece headquarters of Catholicism. Many of the old traditions and institutions would remain. But now there would be a renovated Executive Branch that for the most part superseded the Curia. The Pontiff would now be served by a group of Cardinals of his choosing who would form a Cabinet and direct various agencies under them: the Secretariats of State, Finance, Security, Internal Affairs, External Affairs, Faith, Information and any additional posts deemed appropriate by the Pope.

  The crucial last issue on the agenda of Vatican III, the one all knew had to be addressed, was the papacy. A Sixtus could never be allowed ever again. Various proposals were floated during the first ten months of the proceedings and as the consensus for the revised government of the Church began to coalesce, so did that reg
arding the CEO. The Pope would remain infallible, but could now only be elected to a maximum of two, five-year terms—though allowed to run again if a different Cardinal subsequently took the throne.

  Or anyone else for that matter. Priesthood had never been—and still wasn’t—a requirement to assume the title of Supreme Pontiff.

  “The first reading today is from the Acts of the Apostles.”

  Now there would be the Council of Twelve. The dozen Cardinals would begin with those who were the heads of the initial 12 parties and their first duty would be to elect a new Pope, needing nine votes to do so. Then four years later, if the elected Pope were still alive, each of the parties—including any new ones—would conduct primary elections to choose their standard-bearer. A year later, general elections would be held. All Catholics, based on an extremely complicated parity system, would cast their votes for the party and the candidate of their choice. Then the Twelve would meet and the next Papal election would transpire. Following the election, the 12 parties receiving the most votes would have the right to be represented on the Council.

  “The second reading is taken from the Book of Revelations.”

  There was one asterisk that had to be added if the new structure was going to get a fair chance. There had to be a check and the Council was given it. By a unanimous vote, it was granted the power to override any pronouncement or decision by the Pontiff or remove him from office if it determined he was not physically, mentally or morally able to carry out the responsibilities of his position, then act as Papal Factotum until voting on a replacement. It was against this backdrop that the first V-Three election of a Pope was held. Though never verified, no challenge to Nicholas was voiced.

  “The Gospel reading today is from John, Chapter 16.”

  But even as the rebuilding commenced, held together by perhaps nothing more than the glue of Nicholas’ powerful personality and guidance, rumblings began to surface in the provinces. Vatican III had not gone far enough in some cases, much too far in others. Many were offended by this new Catholic Church. Many wanted the Church of the early 21st century. Many wanted the Church of the 20th century. It was out of these misgivings that the American Conservative Party surfaced, the flames fanned by the Archbishop of the City of Brotherly Love.

  “We believe in one God, the Father, the Almighty,” they all said. Except Angelique, who intoned in her platinum voice, “Credo in unum Deum Patrem omnipotentem.” Then she apologized, “Forgive me, again, your Holiness. Just habit.”

  Nicholas VI held on through the first four years of his term, immensely popular even with the detractors of Vatican III. Twelve parties were chosen in the first elections.

  Nicholas easily could have been re-elected to a second term but three weeks before the Council of Twelve met, he announced in a worldwide broadcast produced by RCCBN that he would neither accept the nomination of the Sancters nor stand for it. The two North American parties dropped into turmoil along with those in Latin America. The papacy went to The Party of Our Lady of Europe and Julius IV became the next Servant of the Servants of God.

  A month after the election, Nicholas passed quietly in his sleep from no cause other than that he had given it all. He died, the certificate said, of exhaustion.

  His body was flown to Rome, accompanied by Peter and Elliott, and given a Requiem as extravagant as that of Sixtus had been lean. At the top of the ceremony, Julius did what everyone expected he would: declaring the deceased would forever be enshrined as Nicholas the Great. Julius cashed in 21 months later and was replaced by Marcellus III, a strange compromise choice of the Council, locked in a stalemate between the candidate from the Party of Our Lady, Louis Cardinal Descartes, and the candidate of the Sanctuarian Party, Marcellus represented the African Catholic Party. Over the course of 2,000 years, the throne had been occupied by Italians, Greeks, Spaniards, French, a Pole, a German, a Czech, and an American. And now a black priest from Zimbabwe. Marcellus died two years later, setting the stage for the man 30 feet from Samson about to consecrate the four-inch host he lifted from the altar.

  “The day before he suffered, he took the bread in his sacred hands…”

  “Qui pridie quam pateretor accepit panem in sanctas ac venerabilis manus suas,” Angelique whispered.

  Gonna be one of those days, Samson thought.

  Chapter Five

  After Mass, and after quickly greeting the rest of the congregation, Samson headed to the waiting room, wondering what Peter had in store. Probably another study of the membership profiles, he figured. His mentor was never happy with that particular end of Party’s operations. Although Gayle and Carter had held their position on the current configuration outline for more than a year, the Pontiff had recently been complaining again, so he suspected that was the dime most likely to drop.

  How strange, Samson thought as he said hello to Rosalita, who didn’t reply, to have just been at a mass celebrated by the Pope, with the only others in attendance two of the people closest to the man and a third regarded as an enemy. And Kazbec Johnson.

  The altar boy’s father was the only son of Billy Jean Johnson, who’d been the cleaning lady and cook at Peter’s first parish, St. Mark the Apostle. One afternoon she phoned the Chancery Office of the Archdiocese, two years after Peter’s elevation to Cardinal, begging to speak to him. The call finally got through, Rosalita remembering he’d talked occasionally about Billy Jean. Clarence Johnson, then a factory worker, had been mistakenly arrested by the Chicago police on an attempted murder warrant, the true suspect another man with the same name. Clarence was sent to Cook County Jail at 26th and California, to be held pending an arraignment the next day to charge him with the vicious beating of the leader of one of the four drug gangs controlling Chicago’s traffic. However, word on the street was that there wouldn’t be an arraignment—enough money and dope having been passed around to guarantee Johnson would never show.

  The State’s Attorney’s bureaucracy and the police refused to intervene so Billy Jean had turned to the one person she knew who might be able to help her son. Mayor Daley was out of town and unreachable, so Peter phoned the Chief of Police, asking that Clarence be removed from County to a precinct lockup until the matter could be straightened out the next day. The Chief, a man named Suarez, who had recently been criticized by the Archdiocese for the Department’s inability to track down the culprits who’d defaced three churches during the past month, refused to return the Cardinal’s calls. At four that afternoon Peter decided, against the advice of his staff, including Samson’s, to pay a pastoral visit.

  He was driven to the precinct in which County Jail was located, conveniently run by Captain Kennedy, former head of the Knights of Columbus for greater Chicagoland. He walked into the station, told the watch commander he’d like to see the Captain, and then sat down with a couple of burglars who’d just been marched in. When Kennedy made his appearance, Peter strolled to a wall, removed the framed photograph of Suarez, smashed it against the watch commander’s high desk and then observed, “Destruction of city property. Put me in the slammer, Jimmy.”

  The priest was arrested, booked, then taken to Cook County Jail to share the evening in a cell occupied by another detainee. The night passed without incident, assured by four County police, augmented by two of Chicago’s finest stationed just outside the lockup. The next morning, Clarence Johnson was released and the County prosecutor recommended the charges against another perp, Peter M. Rehmer, be dismissed for lack of a complaining witness. Three days later, Suarez announced his retirement based on “personal and health reasons.” Kennedy was promoted to Division Commander and Clarence took a maintenance job with the Arch.

  Four months later, at a retirement party for a woman who’d put in 50 years as a clerk for the A of C, a nut wielding an axe screaming, “My brother wants to be Tony the Tiger and I want to fly!” broke in and went straight for the Cardinal. Before the weapon found its mark, Clarence dived between the attacker and Peter, his left arm partially severed
in the process. After his release from the hospital, and after 70 percent of the use of the limb had returned, Clarence became Peter’s personal bodyguard, a post he’d held ever since.

  “So what’s on the agenda this morning, Rosie?” Samson asked, knowing she despised the nickname.

  “Council, then Cabinet,” she answered tersely. “How long have you been around? This is Monday.”

  “I’ve been on vacation, ’case you didn’t know.”

  Bishop Mitchell stepped in, placed some files on her desk, then motioned Samson to follow, not saying a word as they made the long walk to the Council Room, an area Samson had never witnessed in action. Peter’s chair, high and sleek and black and leather, sat at the center of the room. Two similar smaller chairs rested to either side fronting a gorgeous, curved cherry wood table.

  Technicians and assistants scurried about, adjusting the lighting, the cameras, the ambience.

  Mitchell plunked into the seat to the right of Peter’s and began to page through some documents. Samson glanced to Control and saw Delta sitting with a headset atop her thick auburn hair. “Good morning, Mr. Samson,” she breathed over the intercom, leaning away, tapping a pen against her cheek. “Or should I say Good morning, Pelican. Welcome to Council.” Samson shifted on his feet once, then a second time, unable to offer a response.

  “I said,” she grinned, “welcome to Council.”

  “You can say hello to her,” Mitchell said. “She won’t bite you.”

  “Hi,” he waved.

  Peter entered Council, Rosalita and Clarence following. The secretary placed a gray, legal-length folder in front of his chair, motioned to one of the techs then left. Clarence stepped to a rear corner, removed his jacket then slipped onto a stool, flashing a wink.