Father Elijah

by Michael D. O'Brien

  “But how do I get inside the Vatican? I’m sure they are watching for me at the gates.”

  “You could get in the back way. Then find the master of the Swiss Guards. I know him. He’s a good fellow. I’ll write a note for you to give him. Give me that note pad.”

  Elijah propped the pad on the cardinal’s belly, and Stato filled it with unstable handwriting. He took off his bishop’s ring and gave it to Elijah.

  “If you need to use this, go ahead. It could open doors.”

  “Thank you, Eminence.”

  “Come closer.”

  The cardinal reached up and with his thumb and forefinger traced the sign of the cross on Elijah’s forehead. “There. Now, you bless me.”

  Elijah prayed the prayers of the sacrament of the sick and anointed the cardinal.

  “I will return as soon as possible.”

  “You took a great risk coming to me. Better you don’t come back here; who knows what’s going to happen.”

  The cardinal looked him up and down.

  “You’re a mess. Take my coat and pants from the closet. We’re about the same size.”

  Elijah changed into the cardinal’s clothes. They fitted him approximately, but were loose about the waist.

  “Now, my coat.”

  The heavy felt parka weighed on his shoulders. A green plaid scarf and leather gloves completed the disguise.

  “The biretta too. Don’t be shy.”

  Elijah put the red cap on his head, feeling distinctly uncomfortable.

  “It suits you”, Stato smiled wanly. “Now, how are you getting around the city?”

  Elijah told him.

  “That’s foolish. Your community car will have been reported missing, and they’ll be looking for it. Go to my apartment. I’ll ask a nurse to phone Margaretta. She’ll give you the keys to my Volkswagen. That should give you more time.”

  “I don’t know if we will see each other again, Eminence. Whatever happens, please know that I shall always pray for you.”

  He took Stato’s hand.

  “May God go with you. May the holy angels guide you.”

  “May His peace remain with you. Please rest, Eminence. The Church needs you.”

  “The Church needs you, Father Elijah.”

  He retraced his steps out of the hospital and walked several blocks to a thoroughfare, where he hailed a taxi. Fifteen minutes later, he rang the bell of the cardinal’s apartment.

  A heavyset woman came to the door. Her face was a female version of Stato’s, a plain countrywoman, gray hair gathered in a net. The apartment behind her smelled of frying onions.

  “Margaretta?”

  “Si. Are you the man from my brother?”

  “I am.”

  She handed him a set of keys.

  “The hospital just phoned. I’m supposed to give you these, Eminence.”

  “Where is the car?”

  “Downstairs in the garage. Be careful, Eminence, don’t scratch it when you’re going up the ramp. He’s fussy about that car.”

  She began to cry.

  “Don’t worry, Signora. He is strong. You will have your brother back again.”

  She dried her eyes on an apron. “Maybe. Maybe not. He works like a dog. He never rests. I told him so often, you’ve got to give God a little room to do something. But, no, he has to do it all.”

  Elijah reassured her again, then went down to the garage. The cardinal’s ancient rusting Volkswagen hardly deserved the concern that was lavished upon it. But it started at the first turn of the key and chugged up the ramp, leaving a trail of blue exhaust.

  He drove across the Tiber bridge onto the Via Crescenzo, circled the Vatican and parked two blocks south of the railroad entrance to the walled city. He tucked the package of evidence under his arm, locked the car, and walked toward the gates.

  Workmen were replacing a track beside the gates, which stood open.

  “È permesso? Can I go through?” he waved to them with a smile. “It saves me time.”

  They tipped their hats at him with respectful disinterest and nodded permission.

  The angels are busy, thought Elijah.

  He worked his way through the gardens until he encountered his first gendarme. He asked to be taken to the commander of the Swiss Guards. Five minutes later he was led into an office at the foot of the Palace of Sixtus V.

  “Colonel, this cardinal wishes to speak with you.” A vigorous sixty-year old man, dressed in the uniform of the Swiss, stood up behind his desk.

  “How can I help you, Your Eminence?”

  “May we speak alone?”

  The colonel shut the door and offered Elijah a chair. He seated himself, folded his hands on the desk before him, and fixed his penetrating gaze on Elijah.

  “You are not a cardinal.”

  “That is true”, said Elijah removing the biretta.

  “That young man is new here. Otherwise, he would have known you are not what you say you are.”

  “I have told no one that I am a prelate. He merely assumed it. I am a priest.”

  “Why are you here?”

  He handed the colonel the note from Stato.

  “This is most odd. The Cardinal Secretary is in serious condition in a hospital.”

  “I have just been to see him at the Gemelli. He asked me to show you this.”

  Elijah placed the ring on the desk.

  The colonel’s face did not reveal his thoughts. “That is an episcopal ring. There are several thousands of them in the world. How do I know you have come from the cardinal?”

  “You do not know, but I ask you, in the name of God, to believe me.”

  “This is very shaky handwriting”, he said, tapping the paper.

  “Surely you recognize the cardinal’s handwriting?”

  “It could be a forgery.”

  “It is not a forgery.”

  “Do you know how many people, some of them in scarlet, some in black, come to this office trying to obtain a private audience with His Holiness?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Several every week.”

  They stared at each other across the desk.

  “Do you have a message from God for His Holiness?”

  “No. I am not a visionary.”

  “Perhaps a private revelation?”

  “Of course not. Please, colonel, I am not a madman or a neurotic with a cause. I am bearing a message from the cardinal. I have been engaged in a special work for the Secretariat of State and the material in this package contains matters of highest importance for the Church.”

  The colonel looked unconvinced. “Most of the people who want to see the Pope tell me the same thing. They all want to speak to him about matters of highest importance.”

  Elijah closed his eyes and prayed.

  “They all pray too”, said the colonel.

  He reached for his desk phone. “What is your name?”

  “I suppose it doesn’t matter now. If I tell you my name, will you guarantee that this package reaches the Holy Father?”

  “I will examine the contents and consider the request. Your name?”

  “Father Elijah Schäfer.”

  The colonel removed his hand from the phone. He stared at Elijah and his eyes blinked.

  “Schäfer.”

  He leaned back and exhaled loudly through his nostrils. His hand moved to a button beside the phone, hesitated, and retracted.

  “Why would a man wanted by the Italian police on suspicion of murder wish to speak with the Pope? Do you think he can help your case?”

  “I have killed no one. The situation is a crisis of much larger proportions. There is a subterfuge—too complex to explain to you now—which threatens to undermine the Church.”

  “How am I to know you are not part of that subterfuge?”

  His hand flashed out and hit the button. Instantly two Swiss guards entered the office.

  “Stand by the door”, he said to them. “May I see the material?”


  Elijah gave him the package. He went through its contents slowly, examining the documents, scanning the titles. He put each item carefully to the side, then returned to Anna’s largest manuscript, the one in which she described the details of the case.

  “This is written by the woman who has disappeared.”

  “Yes.”

  The colonel nodded to the guards. They went out and closed the door behind them.

  He read silently for five minutes. “Obviously, this involves state matters.”

  “Matters of extreme sensitivity. The Holy Father would be reading this material right now if it hadn’t been for the cardinal’s unfortunate heart attack.”

  “I see that you are in a predicament.”

  “We are all in a predicament, sir. The situation Dr. Benedetti describes is utterly grave. You must believe me.”

  “Perhaps you composed this yourself.”

  “I did not.”

  The colonel stood and buckled a large double-handed sword onto his waist. His face was hard.

  Elijah lowered his head and rubbed his brow.

  “Please. Believe me”, he whispered, knowing that it was no use.

  “Stand up, Father. You will come with me.”

  Elijah groaned, stunned, heartbroken. A black wave washed through his mind.

  “Where are you taking me?” he said disconsolately.

  “To see the Pope.”

  XIX

  In Pectore

  “Put the biretta back on”, he said. “You will need this too.”

  He handed Elijah the ring.

  “Wear it.”

  Elijah did as he was told.

  The colonel put State’s letter inside the breast of his uniform, gathered up Anna’s files, and put them into a leather envelope, which he placed in a valise. He shut it, spun the numerical code lock, and gripped it in his left hand. Right hand on sword-hilt, he led Elijah out of the office.

  In the outer reception annex, the colonel signaled to the two young guards to accompany them.

  “This way, Father”, he said. Elijah followed.

  “There may be difficulties”, he advised over his shoulder. “You must do exactly as I say.”

  “I will.”

  As they proceeded through the labyrinth of the Vatican, Elijah was struck by the contrast of the modern valise and the colonel’s medieval uniform. If he had not felt so disoriented, he might have smiled at the startling juxtaposition, although the gravity with which the Swiss conducted their duties would have precluded any outright amusement.

  As they approached the entrance to the papal throne room, the colonel pointed to a small parlor off the main hall.

  “Go in there, Padre, and stay until I call you.”

  The colonel went forward into the throne room and seeing a group of churchmen gathered by the far door, he went up to them. The Prefect of the Apostolic Palaces and the Maestro di Camera were in consultation with a burly layman wearing a dark trench coat. He instantly recognized the studied expression in this man’s eyes, the way he rocked back and forth on his feet, and his air of professional superiority. This was a personality that knew human nature from top to bottom. This was a personality that the colonel understood quite well.

  Police, he said to himself.

  The privy chamberlain introduced the man as the chief inspector of Rome’s homicide bureau. The colonel was introduced as the commander of the Swiss Guard, chief of security for the Vatican, and protector of the person of the Pope.

  “May I ask the nature of your business here?” he said in a formal tone.

  “It’s an official inquiry regarding a former employee of the Vatican, a certain Father Schäfer, who is under suspicion of abduction and murder. We have reason to believe he may seek refuge here. I want to secure the administration’s assurance that you will not harbor the fugitive, and that if he is found, he will be turned over to my office in the interests of justice. I must have your assurance.”

  When he had completed this declaration, the inspector fixed his most adamantine, serene, and intimidating gaze upon the colonel. He had never met the colonel before. The colonel appeared to him as a member of that genre of silly old men who liked to caper about in plumes, brandishing steel blades. He was dressed in yellow hose, buckled shoes, bulging striped pantaloons, and a black cap tied with red strings. In addition he wore a theatrically oversized sword.

  “I repeat: I must have this assurance before I can leave.”

  The colonel returned the inspector’s gaze. If anything, his was even more serene, underpinned by an equally adamantine foundation. He peered unblinking into the inspector’s eyes until the latter began to squirm, without showing it, and looked away.

  “I remind you that you are a guest on the soil of a sovereign state. It would be appropriate for such a guest to express his desires in the form of a request, not a demand.”

  The inspector shrugged. “Have it your way. I request that you turn over to my office anyone who answers to the name of Schäfer or who fits his description. Read this!”

  The colonel accepted the sheet of paper that the inspector thrust at him. “I assure you there are no criminals here.”

  “If I could have your assurance that you will report to us if he arrives.”

  “I will consider it.”

  “You will consider it?” the inspector repeated with the subtlest tone of mimicry.

  “You are making it more difficult for yourself at every moment. Your manner has forced me to feel less inclined to consider it than when you first raised the subject.”

  The inspector’s face went red and he glared.

  “I want to talk to somebody who’s in charge here!” he barked.

  “You are talking to him.”

  “I mean one of the big boys. The Pope or some other higher-ups.”

  “You will not be seeing the Pope. In fact, you will not be seeing anyone else in the Vatican today. You will now leave these premises. These two young men will escort you to the gates.”

  “You ridiculous buffoon!” growled the inspector. “This case involves a capital crime, and one of your people is connected to it. Don’t play any stupid court games with me. Do you know who I am?”

  “I know that you are about to violate international law, unless you leave at once.”

  The inspector blustered. The colonel put his hand on the hilt of his sword.

  “If you do not comply immediately, we shall be forced to register a complaint with your government. You can explain the situation to them.”

  The inspector clapped a hat furiously on his head, turned on his heels, and strode toward the door, followed at a trot by the two young Swiss.

  The chamberlains looked at the colonel and at each other.

  “You were quite rude”, said one. “Really, colonel, you have alienated him. We should try to be on good terms with the Italian authorities.”

  “With respect, Eminence, however tiny we may be, we are a nation. This is the center of a spiritual community that encompasses almost a billion people.”

  “You were not humble.”

  The colonel looked pensive. He looked at the floor and pursed his lips.

  “You are right. I was not humble. It is a fault of mine. I apologize.”

  He returned to the outer hall and called Elijah. “Come, we will go in now.”

  The maestro and the prefect of the Apostolic Palaces intercepted their march to the door of the papal offices.

  “Just a moment, colonel. We don’t recognize this cardinal”, said the maestro. “Who is he? Is he really a cardinal?”

  The colonel explained that Elijah was in pectore. The chamberlains raised their eyebrows. They knew what he meant by that term: there were a few unknown men scattered throughout the world who had been secretly ordained as bishops for various sensitive political reasons, primarily to avoid capture in totalitarian states. The chamberlains stood aside and let them pass into the Anticamera Segreta, the outer chamber of the Pope’s pr
ivate office.

  The Pope’s secretary rose from his desk and greeted them. “Buon Natale, colonel!”

  “Buon Natale, Monsignore! I have with me an emissary from the Cardinal Secretary of State. He brings an urgent message to His Holiness.”

  “Can it wait? The Holy Father is resting after this morning’s Mass. Then he must prepare his homily for the Christmas Mass at Saint John Lateran.”

  The colonel handed the secretary State’s note and the police report. He reemphasized the absolute necessity of a meeting with the Pope.

  “One moment.”

  The secretary disappeared through a side door. While they waited, the colonel unlocked the valise and gave Elijah the leather envelope.

  The secretary returned a few minutes later and signaled that Elijah could enter. He went through the oak doors, and the secretary closed them behind, leaving him alone with the Pope.

  The pontiff sat at a window. A cane rested against the wall beside his chair.

  Elijah knelt before him and kissed his ring. The Pope accepted the gesture and did not make him rise as he had done on former occasions. His hands shook, his head trembled rhythmically. His face was thin, older than Elijah remembered.

  “Be seated.”

  Elijah sat facing him. The Pope’s eyes contained an ocean of sadness—and strength.

  “Your face has changed more than mine, Father, and in such a short period of time.”

  “Much has happened, Your Holiness.”

  “Time accelerates as we grow older, doesn’t it? Time and events are telescoping.”

  “Events of great import to the Church are taking place right now.”

  “Yes, I know. The Prefect for Doctrine telephoned me from New York this morning. Your situation is precarious.”

  “The danger encompasses the universal Church. I have evidence for you to examine relating to that. We now know for certain that the President is responsible for the death of Stefano Benedetti, and that he is involved in Anna Benedetti’s disappearance.”

  “The police say you are a suspect.”

  “I am innocent.”

  The Pope reached out and touched Elijah’s arm. “I know you are innocent. You need not reassure me of that.”

  “The accusation is but a small part of a conspiracy that seeks to scatter the organizational structure of the Church.”