Papal Decree

by Luís Miguel Rocha

  He smiled. Silence settled in between them again, but not as awkwardly. Good conversations have their moments of propitious silence, and these should be respected.

  The engines slowed, and the plane began its descent. An attendant came to inform them of this. Only Sarah and Rafael were awake.

  They were silent, feeling inhibited by each other. The technical details were exhausted, only the personal questions remained.

  ‘I’d like to apologize for my reaction in London that time,’ Sarah said.

  He said nothing.

  ‘I didn’t have the right to ask you those questions,’ she continued. The white light in the cabin hid the blush on her face.

  He remained silent. He should say something. He couldn’t stay so timid, as he had in Walker’s Wine and Ale Bar.

  Talk! Say something, he urged himself.

  The plane banked right for a final pass over the runway.

  ‘I’d like to congratulate you …’ he started to say.

  Sarah was suddenly alert. Did he know about her condition?

  ‘Thank you,’ she hurried to reply.

  ‘He’s Italian, as far as I know,’ the priest added.

  ‘Yes. A journalist from Ascoli,’ she said with some relief.

  ‘It will all be for the better, certainly,’ Rafael affirmed, somewhat embarrassed.

  She couldn’t help but feel angry with Rafael, Francesco, and her pregnancy. She tried to control herself. She didn’t want to insult him, grab him forcefully, and yell, I’m here, and I can give you things that your God never gave you. Absurd. Better to end it all now.

  ‘It will be. I’m pregnant,’ she heard herself say as the plane touched down on the runway. She closed her eyes. Saying it out loud made everything real, it meant accepting.

  Nothing more was said.

  The plane rolled up to its gate in the middle of Fiumicino Airport, officially named Leonardo da Vinci.

  David Barry approached Rafael.

  ‘We’ve arrived in your city.’

  ‘What now? Do you want to certify that the delivery is made?’ the priest asked, getting up.

  ‘No. I’ve got some things to take care of with Cardinal William and then I’ll fly back to London.’

  Rafael knew that Barry just wanted to make sure William wouldn’t forget him. That’s how the world of secrecy worked. A favor always had to be repaid.

  A van with four passengers was waiting for them at the parking area. Rafael was the first to disembark, then Jacopo, clutching the leather case.

  The noise of engines and vehicles everywhere was deafening.

  Rafael let Sarah enter the van first, then followed her.

  ‘Good evening, Daniel,’ he said as soon as he sat down by Sarah in the backseat.

  The commander’s gloomy face didn’t fool anyone.

  ‘What happened?’ Rafael suddenly asked. It wasn’t worth beating around the bush.

  Daniel seemed shocked and disoriented.

  ‘Out with it, man!’ Rafael urged him.

  Barry, Aris, and Jacopo also got in and could see a defeated man.

  ‘They’ve kidnapped the secretary and the prefect of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith,’ Daniel stammered, his head down.

  Everyone must have thought What? But no one said it out loud. No one had expected that, even Daniel.

  ‘How did that happen?’ Barry asked, intrigued.

  ‘That doesn’t matter now,’ Rafael interrupted. ‘They want the parchments, right?’

  Daniel nodded.

  ‘How much time do we have?’

  Daniel seemed hypnotized, reliving every step since leaving the Vatican, looking for a way around his incompetence and failure.

  ‘How much time?’ Rafael pressed.

  ‘By ten tonight we’re supposed to leave the parchments in the Curia Generalizia on Via dei Penitenzieri.’

  ‘Or what? Are they going to kill the secretary of state and the prefect?’ Jacopo protested. ‘Do you think they have the balls to do that?’

  ‘They’ll kill all three,’ Daniel replied in a weak voice.

  ‘Three? Who’s the third?’

  ‘The pope,’ Daniel said. ‘At the moment His Holiness is protected, but one of our agents was an infiltrator. I don’t know who’s clean and who’s not now.’

  ‘We’ll clean house later,’ Rafael said decisively. He looked at his watch. It was five minutes after eight. They had less than two hours. ‘One thing at a time.’

  ‘Shall we head for Via dei Penitenzieri?’ Daniel asked.

  ‘All this work to hand them over on a tray?’ Jacopo complained.

  ‘No. We’re not going to give them anything,’ Rafael said. He turned to look at Barry. ‘Can I count on the station in Rome?’

  ‘Those bastards kidnapped someone I need to talk to,’ Barry replied. ‘Let me make some phone calls.’

  ‘What’s our destination, then?’ Daniel asked. Rafael’s certainty was contagious.

  The priest took out his Beretta and checked the chamber. ‘We’re going to find the secretary and prefect. I have an idea where they took them.’

  66

  Rafael didn’t reveal their final destination. In the present state of distrust it was better to rely on himself. He gave the driver directions as necessary: Turn left, right, straight ahead, enter here.

  They entered Via della Gatta, and Rafael told him to park in the Piazza del Collegio Romano. Rafael, Daniel, and two of his men got out, along with Barry and Aris. Only Jacopo, Sarah, and the driver stayed back. Rafael instructed him to drive around the city, far from there, until he received further orders.

  ‘Can we trust him?’ Rafael asked Daniel about the driver.

  The commander sighed. ‘He’s never failed me,’ he replied with frustration. ‘But Hugo never did, either.’

  Rafael looked the driver in the eye. You can’t tell a person from his face. Every evaluation was subjective.

  ‘Get out of the van,’ he ordered.

  ‘What?’ the agent asked, puzzled.

  ‘Get out of the car,’ Rafael said, and looked at Jacopo. ‘Take Sarah for a ride.’

  ‘Are you kidding?’ Jacopo asked. He was clutching the leather case that held the most important documents in Christianity, and he was clearly upset.

  ‘Show her your skill as a driver.’ Rafael smiled.

  Barry, who was on the telephone, clapped the priest on the shoulder. ‘Fifteen minutes.’

  ‘Okay,’ Rafael agreed. ‘Let’s hope they aren’t late.’

  He checked his watch. It was nine fifteen.

  ‘Get out of here, Jacopo. Start driving,’ Rafael ordered, slammed the door, and gave it a slap with his hand. He gave Sarah a final look. He didn’t want her stuck in the middle of that craziness.

  Jacopo left, complaining about priests who ordered everyone around. He was tired and hungry.

  ‘Give the orders,’ Barry said, impatient to get into action.

  ‘Follow me.’

  They walked along the side of the enormous building that once was the Collegio Romano, administered by the Jesuits. It kept its educational mission, but belonged to the Italian government now. At the end of a narrow street they turned left and entered a small plaza, the Piazza di Sant’Ignazio.

  Rafael thought about the information Gunter had given him before dying. At first he hadn’t considered it important. But after the conversation with Robin, he remembered it. Five narrow streets ended in this small plaza in the heart of Rome, and it was surrounded by small buildings on all sides, except one. On this one a monumental baroque church rose up toward the sky, the Church of Saint Ignatius of Loyola at Campus Martius.

  It was an impressive structure, and one couldn’t take in the monumental facade all at once.

  The church was built in 1650 and functioned as the rectory of the nearby Collegio Romano, located in an enormous building that had been built in 1584, when it became the Pontifical Gregorian University. Later the rectory was moved,
but the church remained, dedicated to Saint Ignatius, and despite the former building of the Collegio Romano being turned into a school that no longer belonged to the society, the church remained one of the most important places for decisions the society made.

  ‘Is it here?’ Daniel asked.

  Rafael looked a few feet above on the tympanum to see the cursed symbol that dominated the center of the facade, IHS. It was here.

  The doors were closed. A panel at the side of the main door announced a concert for that night. They were going to play Franz Liszt. Red letters had been written over the announcement: CANCELED.

  Two men in black were standing by the panel with benevolent smiles, explaining to some tourists that the concert had been canceled due to the conductor’s illness and that the church was closed.

  Rafael told Daniel to order his men to go into the restaurant across the street, while they and the Americans sat in the esplanade, heated by powerful gas heaters. People were eating at most of the tables. A group of six young Spaniards were laughing and talking loudly.

  ‘Are you going in all the chapels?’ Barry asked Rafael, enjoying himself.

  ‘How are we going to get in there?’ Aris asked.

  ‘By force?’ Daniel suggested, before giving his men their orders. He wanted very much to rescue the two most important men in the church, after the pope. He immediately joined the priest and the Americans in the esplanade.

  The church was like a fortress that couldn’t be taken by force – solid, firm, installed on an entire city block of Jesuit buildings.

  Barry picked up the menu to order a drink. ‘Sentries?’ he asked Rafael.

  ‘Look inside the cassock of the one on the right side,’ he replied.

  Barry and Aris observed without being seen. The cassock wasn’t buttoned. They could see the shape of a holster.

  The waitress came up to get their order. Beers all around. Very friendly and gracious, she gave Rafael a special smile and went off to attend to other thirsty tourists, ignoring the chorus of flirtatious whistles from a group of noisy youngsters.

  ‘What’s your plan?’ Barry asked.

  ‘We’re going to improvise,’ the priest replied.

  Barry nodded his head in agreement and compressed his lips.

  ‘What if the cardinals aren’t inside?’ Aris asked. There was always that possibility.

  ‘Why have armed men in front of the church?’ Barry countered. ‘It’s a church for the love of God.’

  The young waitress arrived with the beers and set them around the table. She gave Rafael another sweet smile.

  ‘Do you think you could find me a map of the city?’ Rafael asked, deploying a little charm that seemed to win her over.

  ‘Certainly.’

  ‘Are you going to celebrate Mass tomorrow morning, Father?’ Barry asked with a big smile.

  The young woman blushed and winked at Rafael, who swallowed a sip of beer. She hurried off to find a map.

  ‘These women,’ Barry commented, shaking his head.

  ‘The forbidden fruit,’ Rafael said, uninterested in the conversation. ‘I think you’d make a good Jesuit,’ he joked.

  ‘Now that you mention it, I do, too.’

  The young woman brought the map, folded in two, and gave it to the priest. She took advantage of the opportunity to rub her hand against his. The Spaniards called her over for something.

  ‘I’ll bet you she wrote down her number,’ Barry joked provocatively.

  It was very probable, but Rafael didn’t look for it as he opened the page with the city center.

  ‘Are you ready?’ the priest asked.

  ‘I was born ready. What about these people?’ He was talking about the tourists sitting in the esplanade.

  ‘Count on Daniel to create a distraction,’ Rafael said.

  ‘I’ll wait for your signal,’ Daniel said, ready to act.

  ‘Don’t forget, we’re dealing with fanatics,’ the priest reminded them. ‘Barry, Aris, and I are going in. If I need you, I’ll call you.’

  ‘I understand,’ Daniel said.

  Rafael pushed back the chair to get up. Barry and Aris followed him. He left twenty euros to pay for the drinks, and walked toward the church door with Barry by his side and Aris behind them. Daniel called one of his men on the radio.

  ‘We’re lost tourists?’ Barry asked.

  Rafael nodded with the map open in his hand, as if trying to find some random place.

  ‘Scusami,’ he said to one of the lookouts, coming up next to him with the map. ‘Fontana di Trevi, dove?’ he asked, pointing at the map.

  The helpful sentinel looked at the map with a friendly manner and found the fountain they were looking for. An elbow to the chest, followed by a punch in the nose, while Rafael bent his arm up his back made the lookout lose his balance, requiring him to be supported by the priest. Meanwhile, Barry and Aris overpowered the other with a kick in the knee and a blow to the head.

  At the same time on the esplanade, Daniel, now on his feet, kicked the guard who had come to meet him, so hard that it sent him sprawling across the noisy Spaniards’ table. Daniel threw himself on top of the table to continue attacking his subordinate, while the tourists and waiters watched apprehensively. One of the customers tried to separate them, but a young man in the same uniform as the fighters saw what was happening and stopped him with a hand on his chest. ‘Keep out of this.’

  Rafael and the Americans opened the church door and dragged the two unconscious lookouts inside. The first part was over.

  On the esplanade the young man in the Swiss Guard uniform put his fingers in his mouth and whistled. Daniel, still struggling with his subordinate, stopped as soon as he heard the whistle. He got up and helped up the other as well. He composed himself as well as he could and shook the other’s hand. ‘I’ll buy you a drink later,’ Daniel said gratefully.

  No one understood what was going on. The Spaniards watched silently, speechless. One thing was certain. It wasn’t a good idea to get into a fight with those two guys.

  Inside the church the three men were in the vestibule, protected by the inner doors.

  ‘What now?’ Aris asked, whispering so that his voice wouldn’t echo.

  ‘I’m going to enter on the right and follow along the side nave. You do the same on the left,’ Rafael explained. ‘It’s too dangerous to go down the center aisle.’

  ‘Okay,’ Barry agreed. ‘We’ll see each other in front.’

  Rafael nodded and stuck his hand on the door on the right. ‘Boys,’ he whispered with a wink, ‘try not to get shot.’

  67

  Jacopo’s nervousness finally left him as they drove around the city. The traffic was lighter, and the stop lights were now the only obstacles to moving ahead.

  Sarah turned out to be an agreeable companion, given the circumstances. All hopes for a positive outcome rested with Rafael. Jacopo didn’t doubt his capabilities, proven over and over, but this enemy was very different from what they had encountered before.

  They drove along Via di San Marco without a specific destination.

  ‘This JC is truly intriguing,’ Jacopo remarked, taking his eyes off the street. He was not used to driving. ‘Have you known him long?’

  ‘About four years,’ she replied, holding tight to the case with the parchments.

  ‘He’s not someone I’d want as an enemy.’

  Sarah knew that well. When she met him, he was just that, an enemy. Even today she didn’t know how things had taken such a turn. She tried not to think about it.

  ‘For the church he’s an extremely important partner,’ Jacopo declared. ‘And after this,’ he said, pointing at the parchments, ‘he’s an ally.’

  Sarah knew that their secret underworld was always changing. Nothing was certain: all alliances were tenuous, relationships did not last, words meant nothing. Only money and power mattered.

  ‘Have you known Father Rafael for a long time, Jacopo?’ This question had been on Sarah’s m
ind since they had begun driving around.

  ‘Oh, so long I can’t remember,’ he replied nostalgically.

  ‘Was he your student?’ Sarah asked, trying to get an answer in another way.

  ‘He was.’

  Interesting, Sarah thought. She couldn’t imagine Rafael as a student. ‘Did you know his parents?’

  ‘No. His life is a complete mystery, and the Holy See tries to keep it that way. No one knows where he comes from, his family … He came out of nowhere.’

  The mystery thickened. Who was Rafael? Maybe she could collect a favor from JC and ask him. Oh, shut up, she reproached herself. She was in a relationship, pregnant, and had nothing to do with Rafael’s private life or his origins.

  She clutched the case and took advantage of the opportunity to change the subject. Rafael upset her too much. ‘Do you think this parchment was actually written by Jesus?’

  Jacopo didn’t reply right away. He obviously felt conflicted. ‘Everything is possible.’

  ‘I’d like it a lot if the things the church has been teaching us since childhood weren’t lies,’ Sarah said with a fanciful expression. ‘But it seems more and more impossible to believe anything that comes out of there.’ She pointed at the cupola of Saint Peter’s Basilica, which could be seen from where they were.

  ‘You said it,’ Jacopo lamented. ‘What’s born crooked can’t be made straight.’

  ‘Still, it’s lasted for two thousand years,’ Sarah observed.

  Jacopo smiled. ‘As you said yourself, it’s hard to believe everything that comes from there. One needs to question everything, including the heritage they claim.’

  Sarah understood what Jacopo wanted to say, or at least she thought she did. ‘Are you saying that Pope Ratzinger is not the heir to Peter or, consequently, to Jesus?’

  ‘I’m saying it’s possible he’s not,’ the historian corrected her. ‘We have the right to question everything, Sarah. Think about it. You’re carrying a gospel that puts the church in a difficult position. If in fact Jesus was the person who wrote it, how could that be justified? To say nothing of the historical impossibility of connecting Peter to Linus, the second pope, and consequently the popes that followed him.’