Papal Decree

by Luís Miguel Rocha

  Ursino sniffed again and sighed. ‘On your way, and don’t contaminate me with those ideas.’

  ‘Nice seeing you,’ Schmidt said, getting up.

  The phone rang abruptly at that moment, and Ursino answered it. ‘Hello, Ursino.’

  Whatever had been said on the other end of the line transformed Ursino in a way that left him confused and indisposed. When he hung up, he raised his hand to his chest. He felt his heart would burst.

  Hans looked apprehensively at him and tried to help. ‘What’s the matter, my friend?’

  Ursino felt like fainting. It was difficult to breathe, shivers ran up his spine.

  ‘What’s the matter, Ursino?’ Schmidt’s voice was more insistent.

  ‘They know about the bones,’ Ursino stammered.

  ‘What bones?’

  Ursino stopped suddenly, as if he had been miraculously cured. He no longer panted or felt palpitations. He started pacing back and forth, thinking.

  ‘Call the secretary of state, please,’ the curator of relics asked him.

  Schmidt quickly picked up the phone and dialed the extension he knew by heart. Trevor took time answering before he was informed of the urgency to call Tarcisio. The assistant assured them he’d get Tarcisio immediately.

  ‘They’re waking Tarcisio. Are you going to tell me what happened? Who are they? What bones are you talking about?’

  Ursino continued thinking, thinking, thinking, until he paused and looked very seriously at Hans Schmidt. ‘The bones of Christ.’

  23

  The nausea turning her stomach made her vomit empty gasps of nothing. Try as she might to expel the sickness she felt in her stomach, Sarah succeeded only in dry heaves. She bent over the not very private toilet of the Learjet. She had started to feel bad as soon as they took off from Fiumicino. Leaving the ground provoked a sickening dizziness that made her press against the back of the seat. She tried to find the most horizontal position possible, which was still too vertical, and she knew the nausea was coming. Even before the plane had reached its cruising altitude, Sarah had unbuckled the seat belt and run for the toilet.

  It must have taken half an hour to compose herself again. As suddenly as the nausea had come on, it disappeared.

  She returned to the cabin, red-faced, overheated, and aching all over. The table in front of her seat held a tray with a teapot, cup and saucer, and a roll.

  ‘Sit down, dear,’ the comforting voice of Myriam said. ‘I asked them to make you both some chamomile tea. Drink it. It’ll make you feel better,’ she added with a knowing smile.

  That ‘both’ upset Sarah, since she’d tried to hide it. The word hit her in the face and spread to the rest of her body. Could it be? Was she carrying someone with her in her womb? Was she pregnant?

  The feeling of happiness that all future mothers supposedly feel was not there. The feeling Sarah experienced was panic, with no joy. Was she normal? She remembered Francesco just then and how anxious he must be without news of her. At once she imagined him at her side, she with an enormous belly almost at the end of her third trimester, soon to embark on an unknown parental sea. She wanted to force a smile, to feel a minuscule portion of happiness, anything positive, but couldn’t. Worse, she didn’t want it to be true. She enjoyed Francesco, admired him, but she didn’t want to have a child with him. Rafael’s image invaded her thoughts. She enjoyed Francesco, respected him … wanted to enjoy … to admire. She should want to have a child with him. Francesco was a marvelous man. He’d be a great father and loving husband … but Rafael’s image would not leave her mental screen.

  ‘Don’t tell me you didn’t know?’ Myriam interrupted, not knowing she was interrupting anything.

  Sarah shook her head.

  Myriam put her hand on top of hers. ‘You don’t have anything to worry about, dear. It’s a divine condition.’ Her voice changed, and it was Sarah’s turn to offer her a friendly shoulder.

  ‘Don’t be afraid, Myriam. Everything is going to be okay,’ she wished. ‘We’re going to get there on time and resolve everything.’

  Myriam dissolved in tears as Sarah hugged her. The sorrow was contagious, but someone had to be strong.

  ‘It’s not fair, Sarah. No parent should lose a son.’ Myriam wept hard.

  ‘That’s not going to happen,’ Sarah comforted her. ‘We’re going to look for him. Everything will turn out right.’ What more could she say?

  ‘Don’t speak about my son as if he were dead, Myr,’ Ben Isaac admonished her, from his own seat, not looking at the women. ‘Little Ben is alive. They’re not going to do anything to him.’

  Sarah asked the attendant for a cup of water with sugar. The plane continued northeast, but for Ben it seemed motionless. He spoke with the pilot to move things along, but they were at the maximum altitude and speed the jet could tolerate. The more you hurry, the slower you go, Ben Isaac thought, his heart heavy with sorrow. But he would not be weak in front of a woman he didn’t know.

  The cardinal who had surprised them didn’t continue the trip with them.

  ‘You’re a difficult man to find, Ben Isaac,’ William observed.

  ‘I’m not hiding,’ Ben Isaac said.

  ‘Let me introduce you to Sarah Monteiro.’

  ‘I’m sorry I don’t have time for a longer conversation,’ Ben Isaac said, excusing himself politely. He wanted to leave as quickly as possible.

  ‘We know about your son,’ William suddenly cut them off. ‘We received a DVD. I’m very sorry.’

  Myriam lowered her head and controlled herself. It seemed like a death announcement. Her chest burned with a torrent of tears she forced herself not to show in front of the cardinal and this Sarah, who remained silent.

  ‘You received a DVD? Then you know I’m in a hurry,’ Ben Isaac proclaimed. He was losing his patience and had no time for the rules of etiquette or good manners.

  ‘Certainly. I’m leaving,’ William excused himself. ‘Sarah is current on everything and is going to go with you.’

  The situation was strange, but Ben Isaac didn’t protest. Here was a cardinal prefect of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith telling him he was current on everything, knew about his son’s kidnapping, and imposing a woman on him. They were in the same boat, or, in this case, the same plane. She had disappeared into the toilet for half an hour. After freshening herself up, the time had come to lay all the cards on the table.

  ‘What’s your role in all this?’ Ben Isaac wanted to know.

  ‘If you want me to tell you frankly, I don’t really know,’ Sarah answered timidly.

  ‘Did you see the DVD?’

  ‘On the way to the airport.’

  ‘What did they tell you?’

  ‘They talked about the Status Quo.’

  Ben looked at her with different eyes. They’d told her everything. Why was she so special?

  The attendant arrived with the sweetened water and gave it to Myriam.

  ‘Tell me about yourself,’ he asked, softening his all-knowing attitude.

  Sarah didn’t like to describe herself, but she understood. ‘I’m a journalist, the editor of international politics for the Times. I live in London. My father is Portuguese, my mother English.’

  ‘I think I’ve read something written by you.’

  ‘It’s probable. I published two books on the Vatican, specifically on the two popes before this one.’

  ‘The church trusts you?’

  ‘Let’s say it trusts me distrustfully,’ Sarah said sincerely. She wasn’t going to hide anything from Ben Isaac. ‘You know perfectly well how these things are. Today’s enemies are tomorrow’s friends. You never know how the world will turn, only that it will.’

  ‘What do you have that they want?’

  The Jew knew what questions to ask.

  ‘It’s complicated,’ Sarah argued.

  ‘I don’t consider myself too stupid,’ argued the other with a half smile, the first she had seen. He emanated grief, a life
of work and caution.

  ‘Have you ever heard of JC?’

  Ben searched his memory. ‘Jesus Christ?’

  Sarah smiled. She wanted to tell him he was right. JC sometimes seemed supernatural, not in terms of love or mercy, but being omnipresent. He knew everything at all times.

  ‘It could be, but no,’ she answered. ‘JC was a mercenary, responsible for the murder of John Paul the First.’

  ‘Don’t tell me he was actually assassinated?’ Ben Isaac was truly shocked.

  ‘I remember that day well,’ Myriam put in. ‘I cried all day long. It was never satisfactorily explained. There were always doubts.’

  The day of September 29, 1978, of unhappy memory, dawned with the death of Albino Luciani, the ‘Smiling Pope,’ thirty-three days after he’d been elected by the College of Cardinals. Officially, the death was attributed to a massive heart attack. But many strange things came to light, though the official version was never disproved or changed.

  ‘He was murdered,’ Sarah confirmed. ‘JC is a very powerful man.’

  ‘I never heard a thing about this,’ Ben Isaac said, trying to remember any situation involving such a man.

  ‘Few people know about it. I found out about it without wanting to, by chance.’

  ‘Life is chance.’

  ‘Well, yes,’ Sarah agreed. ‘Anyway, the Vatican needs him, and I’m the only contact.’

  ‘Why do they need him?’ Ben Isaac didn’t understand.

  ‘I don’t know. But it looks like he’s important in helping to resolve everything that is happening lately.’

  ‘I can’t see what JC has to do with the kidnapping of my son.’

  ‘He doesn’t. He has something to do with the death of three of the Five Gentlemen.’

  Ben Isaac turned red. Sarah and Myriam looked at him anxiously, fearing he was having some kind of attack.

  ‘What’s the matter, Ben?’ Myriam asked him in alarm. What a night. ‘Tell me, honey.’

  They tore his jacket off and unbuttoned his shirt. He seemed to be having difficulty breathing. He coughed weakly. Myriam tried to get him to sip the rest of her sweetened water. A few moments later Ben calmed down, regained control, and breathed more easily.

  Myriam placed herself in front of him and looked him directly in the eyes.

  ‘Ben Isaac, tell us everything you’re holding back. Don’t hide anything from me or from Sarah.’ She stared even harder. ‘It’s an order.’

  Ben Isaac wet his lips and lowered his eyes. He felt destroyed.

  ‘Do you know their names?’ he asked Sarah.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The ones who died.’

  Sarah took out her notebook. ‘Um … Yaman Zafer, Sigfried Hammal, and Ernesto Aragones.’

  Each name was like an arrow in Ben Isaac’s chest. A tear ran down his face. He was in pain.

  ‘The Five Gentlemen are … They were experts who validated the discoveries of 1947 in the Qumran valley. At first there were only three. Later we recruited two more. We demanded a vow of silence, which was never broken,’ Ben Isaac explained. ‘This silence was essential for guarding the discoveries and for …’ He hesitated.

  ‘For what, Ben?’ Myriam insisted seriously.

  ‘To maintain the Status Quo,’ he confessed.

  ‘And what does that mean?’ Myriam sounded irritated.

  ‘The Status Quo. Things as they are.’

  ‘Why did these documents always remain in your possession?’ Sarah asked.

  Ben Isaac didn’t answer at once. He wanted to find the right words. He didn’t want to be imprecise. He looked at Myriam fearfully. ‘Because it was my team that found them. Whoever finds them is the owner.’

  ‘I know you gave some to the church and other institutions. You sold others.’ Sarah was not convinced.

  ‘Because they had less importance.’ Ben Isaac’s words came out irritated. There was something else there.

  ‘It seems strange the church didn’t insist, since one of them is the Gospel of Jesus.’ Sarah wanted to show him that she knew what they were talking about.

  ‘The Gospel … the what?’ Myriam couldn’t believe it. ‘It can’t be.’

  Ben looked like a mischievous boy whose pranks had been discovered. Head lowered, fearful expression, absorbed.

  ‘Was it written by Jesus Himself?’ Myriam wanted to know.

  Ben agreed silently.

  ‘And the other document?’ Sarah reminded him.

  Ben hesitated.

  ‘There’s more?’ Myriam was at the same time intimidated and intrigued.

  Once more, Ben nodded silently. He took his time answering. When he did, his voice sounded hoarse. ‘The other places Yeshua ben Joseph in Rome in the era of Claudius.’

  Sarah and Myriam didn’t know why this would be so strange, but neither was an expert in history.

  ‘And what’s the problem? Who’s Yeshua ben Joseph?’ Myriam asked.

  ‘Jesus, the son of Joseph,’ the Israeli explained.

  ‘Okay, Jesus was in Rome. What’s the problem?’ Myriam still didn’t see.

  ‘Jesus was in Rome in the fourth year of Claudius.’ Ben Isaac’s voice was firmer.

  The women still didn’t see what was wrong with that. What was so bad about Jesus being in Rome at that time?

  Ben Isaac sighed. They still didn’t understand. ‘The fourth year of Claudius’s reign is the year 45 A.D.’

  The two women looked at each other. This certainly was a surprising revelation. Jesus in Rome in the year 45. That was incredible.

  ‘What about the Crucifixion, then?’ Sarah asked, her heart beating fast. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.

  Ben looked at her this time. ‘It never happened,’ he said, as if throwing a bomb.

  Sarah never realized she’d made the sign of the cross when Ben Isaac said that. ‘What?’

  He looked at the journalist piously, as if he wanted to ask forgiveness.

  Sarah wasn’t able to say anything else. It was incredible.

  ‘That is very serious,’ Myriam said finally. ‘Extremely serious.’

  ‘I know. I didn’t want anyone to know in any way. We guarded this secret for fifty years and wanted to continue doing so,’ Ben Isaac said ashamed.

  ‘And this is why they kidnapped my Ben?’

  Ben nodded.

  ‘Who are these people?’ she asked angrily.

  ‘I don’t know, Myr. I have no idea.’ He looked at Sarah, who still seemed half stupefied. ‘Do you know how to contact this JC?’

  Sarah had never contacted him. From the beginning it was a one-sided relationship. He contacted her. She suspected that her position at the paper was through his influence, but she also thought it could have been Rafael. In those moments of success, which during the time she’d worked there had been considerable, she liked to think it was purely her merit. And, ultimately, it was. From time to time she received a file in the mailbox about something that deserved attention. Normally these were overrated scandals, not all about the Vatican, for which the journalistic community called her the pope’s lover. She knew JC watched over her, she preferred to think only to a certain extent, and was always alert. She was sure this would call his attention. More than sure.

  ‘I do.’ Was this a half lie or completely false? In any case she was sure she’d succeed in doing so.

  ‘What was it the kidnappers said?’ Myriam asked, remembering the phone call Ben Isaac received at the Fiumicino airport.

  The plane began its descent. The flight attendant approached them.

  ‘We’re landing at Gatwick, Doctor. I’d appreciate it if you’d fasten your seat belts.’

  Ben Isaac grabbed the belt quickly, while Myriam continued to stare at him, awaiting a reply.

  ‘They said to wait at home.’

  24

  ‘Cough it all up from now on,’ Gavache ordered. ‘We’ll begin with the recently converted historian. Who is Ben Isaac?’

  ‘He�
��s a legend, a myth,’ Jacopo answered, amazed.

  The rain outside was falling harder. A flood that inundated the City of Lights, freeing it from evil, amen.

  ‘He seems alive enough,’ Gavache contradicted him. ‘I’ll have his record shortly. Continue, Mr. Jacopo.’

  ‘According to what is known, in very restricted circles, he was behind the discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Those the Holy See declares apocryphal gospels.’

  ‘What are they?’

  ‘Non-canonical gospels, not approved as belonging to the sacred Scriptures, in other words, writings not considered inspired by God.’

  ‘Why? Are the others considered inspired?’

  ‘According to the church, yes,’ Jacopo confirmed.

  ‘And how do they know what was inspired or not?’ Gavache questioned. What a hell of an idea.

  ‘They don’t know. It was a question of politics.’

  ‘Absurd,’ Gunter protested. ‘Of course they knew.’

  Gavache turned to Gunter menacingly. ‘Quit protecting your own interests, Mr. Priest. It doesn’t suit you well.’ He indicated for Jacopo to continue his explanation.

  ‘The theologians of the church had to decide what to include in the sacred book and what to leave out. There are five Bibles – the Judaic, the Hebrew, Catholic, Protestant, and Orthodox. The most important are the Judaic and Catholic, the latter because it has the largest number of faithful, the former, for historical reasons. As you ought to know, the Jews and Catholics share some books of the Bible. Those they call the Old Testament, but the Jews don’t recognize them as old because they don’t accept the new, since for them Jesus is not the Messiah. Both are called religions of the Book. Muslims are, too, because they base their faith on another book, the Koran, of course.

  ‘The Judaic Bible is composed of twenty-four books. It was what Jesus read and quoted regularly. The Catholic Bible has seventy-three, seven of which are considered apocryphal by the Jews. Don’t forget, the New Testament is not included in the Judaic Bible, nothing of the Acts of the Apostles, the Gospels, Letters, or the Apocalypse. And, obviously, the New Testament comes long after Jesus Christ. He never read it.’

  ‘So you’re telling me the Holy Scriptures have very little holiness.’

  ‘That’s your opinion,’ Jacopo defended himself. ‘To each his own. But I agree with you. Besides, it’s said the Septuagint and, later, the Vulgate left a lot out.’