The HolyPhone Confessional Crisis

by Charles Brett

  Nelson laughed, even though it sounded weak to him, and he felt sure Davide and José Antonio could hear it. His issue was that he had just summed up his deepest fear — that the success of the Santofonino had made it an irresistible force which either worked or failed. He could see no middle ground. Should anyone find what he feared then the whole edifice that the Santofonino was enabling could crumble in a moment, with effects even direr to his beloved church than if the Santofonino had never happened. Had he made a mistake? He knew if he had it was unintentional. He had never dreamed that countless millions would now use it.

  Davide decided to interrupt Nelson’s musings: “Nelson, José Antonio, I am stunned by what your church has achieved. When I wrote that piece years ago it was intended to be part serious, part entertaining — to show that mobile technologies might offer solutions to practical problems, just as happened with Indian fisherman with mobile phones being able to obtain better prices for their catches, or Africans wishing to transfer monies to their remote families.

  “I do see the tiger-by-the-tail dilemma that Nelson describes so well — that the HolyPhone has become too important to fail. But, if you will allow me, may I bring some of my experience to the table?” They nodded in joint agreement that he should continue.

  “The potential for disaster, which is what I think you are telling me, probably does exist. But it has not arrived yet. The opportunity is still there to prevent a collapse in confidence. You can either identify a problem and then put it right or show that no problems actually exist. Of these two the latter is the harder. Proving negative assertions is rarely possible but in this case it may be by examining what is happening. There is no point in giving up now, especially as it is only a feeling that something is wrong. Do I make any sense?”

  “Yes; but what should we do?”

  “Have you done anything yet?”

  “As José Antonio knows, I have asked a Monsignor Severino to undertake some discreet enquiries, with the same cautions on discretion as I have requested of you but backed with the full force of Canon Law in his case. Though José Antonio does not warm to the man, an American with a banking background who was recently ordained, he is the financial brains behind the payment processing and the mechanisms the church adopted to seem and be seen as whiter than white. All I have told him is my instinct is that something is not right. I have asked him to investigate. I believe that he believes that I believe there is a Mafia connection, which would indeed justify my worries for this would be catastrophic, especially outside Italy.

  “But I need to go further. I also wonder whether I may have asked the one person who really understands the complete financial payments processing picture to investigate himself. Without doubt he has brought in reputable organisations to help us, from the big banks to major accounting and legal firms so that the church can be seen to be clean. But what if in his arrangements there was an error or a misplacing of trust in another party that opened a weakness for later exploitation?

  “What makes me think this is unlikely is the timing combined with the unexpected success of the Santofonino. As I have explained, no one expected the riches that are now showering on the church. Nothing fundamental has changed on the financial side that I am aware of, between the early trials of the Santofonino here in Italy and today. To suggest that anybody might have known the Santofonino would succeed as it has and have been prepared to invest in what seemed even to us likely to be small beer appears highly improbable. So why do I worry? Why am I talking to you this evening?”

  “I believe, Nelson, there is a saying in some crime circles: ‘Follow the money’. If I might say so, I think two more lines of investigation may be worthwhile. The first is into the systems that the Santofonino uses. The second is into the payment processing.

  “Either or both of these, given how much you have automated are, at least to me, worthy of looking deeper. At best you will prove that what you have works in the way you intended it to work, and you might even think of making the results public as a way of defusing any concern that may exist. At worst, you may discover something you fear but at least you will have discovered it and can take action. Do I make any sense?”

  “You do. But how would we go about this?”

  “I should add one important aspect. The two lines of review that I suggest must happen without any possible miscreants knowing it is happening. You don’t want them, if they exist, shutting down their activities temporarily only to restart later. That means, at least to me, that those looking deeper must have no connection with your church but must have experience of how payments systems and fraud works.”

  “I understand. But again I ask you, how do you suggest proceeding?”

  “Could I think for a moment? Perhaps we might order some coffee while I consider?”

  “Of course. José Antonio, as you are facing into the room, could you attract Signora Giovanna’s attention?”

  “How can I assist, Father?” Giovanna was happy to be back with her illustrious customer. “Another bottle of the Vino Nobile? No? Dolce? Some grappa and coffee? Good. Due espressi doppi, un cappuccino e tre grappe. Perfetto.”

  She hastened off.

  “An unimportant secret, Davide,” said José Antonio. “No self-respecting Italian orders a cappuccino after mid-morning. To do so is to reveal yourself as a foreigner. No, it does not matter at all. I suspect that 90 per cent of foreigners who come here ask for a cappuccino in the evening, so it is of no importance. I should also warn you, Giovanna’s grappas are not small. Never mind. I see from your expression that we will need them.”

  Friday, Nahalal

  Michele followed Inma’s car as it turned into Nahalal. If he remembered right this was a special form of community created as a series of houses arranged in ovals at the centre of production buildings supporting the surrounding fields on which those who lived in Nahalal worked. It was not a kibbutz, because community members could live in their own houses rather than in the communal facilities that kibbituzim enjoyed. It was also, he remembered having looked it up, the burial place of Moshe Dayan, though why the General had chosen Nahalal he had no idea. There must have been some non-obvious connection.

  As he turned into Nahalal there was a stupendous engine roar. Two military-painted aircraft took off in tandem and then turned right keeping low over the land before heading what would be roughly north according to the now setting sun. They were going to make it to Noach’s before the first stars appeared, though Noach had probably been home for quarter of an hour after that crazy driving. He was relieved that Inma had not tried to emulate such foolhardiness.

  Miriam clearly knew the way to her sister’s within Nahalal. In a couple of minutes they were parking outside an undistinguished and seemingly modest house in distinct need of external decoration. If anything it was shabby but, as he looked around, its companion houses looked much the same.

  As he climbed out of his car there was a shriek of delight as Judith (he remembered he must call her Tamar) came running out of the front door to bear-hug Miriam. She was followed by three boys, her sons, who looked on in bemusement at their mother’s energy.

  “How can you have done this to me? Coming to Israel and not letting me know in advance. You’re an awful sister. Conspiring with Noach makes him the worst sort of husband. He now knows what trouble he faces if he repeats such a hateful trick. How long are you here for? He didn’t know.”

  Despite the flood of words and the criticisms it was obvious her heart was not in being unpleasant. She was clearly happy to see Miriam.

  She released Miriam, beckoning to the boys, saying, “You remember Noach, Shaul and Solomon. Can you tell Shaul and Solomon apart? Often I cannot. Boys, come welcome your Aunt Miriam. It is a long time since you have seen her.”

  They advanced shyly, as boys under twelve will do. They bid Miriam “Shabbat Shalom” before kissing her cheek as she gave each a hug.

  “Have you brought presents from America?” asked Shaul.


  “Not this time,” replied Miriam. “My visit was organised at the last moment. But we will look on the Internet. If you tell me one thing each that you would like I’ll see if we can order it and have it sent here. Okay?”

  The twins nodded in unison, while Noach smiled broadly, saying, “I know what I want.”

  “Judith, do you remember Michele Severino from New York? Though not dressed as one, he is now a priest in the Vatican, so I am not sure an Israeli hug of welcome is appropriate.”

  She smiled to take any sting out of her words.

  “Shabbat Shalom, Michele. I remember you. I think I met you with Miriam one evening in a Wall Street bar. That was a long time ago.”

  Even as she spoke Tamar thought to herself — Miriam’s ex-lover is now a priest but not dressed as one. What is happening here?

  “Judith, this is …” She paused, uncertain how to introduce Inma.

  Inma solved the problem by stepping towards Tamar, kissing her on each cheek.

  She pleased Tamar enormously by wishing her, “Shabbat Shalom, Tamar,” as she had heard the boys do. “Please just call me Inma. It is far simpler than my actual names.”

  “Shabbat Shalom, Inma. Thank you. Welcome to our house. Everyone, please come in. We have our Shabbat dinner organised and waiting for you. Luckily Noach gave me a little warning and my mother-in-law, Golda, has been helping me. Please, follow me.”

  Miriam led the way. The house inside was totally different to how it seemed outside. Rather than being dreary like its exterior it was modern and open. It had Scandinavian simplicity, except the floors were tiled rather than of wood. While the walls were painted in an off shade of white or light yellow (it was difficult to tell with the candles lit on the large square table with chairs around all sides), it was clearly expensively done. On the far side of the room was an enormous floor-to-ceiling glass wall looking south east, towards the hills of Judea and Samaria, which Noach’s Settlers wanted forcibly to take from the Palestinians, along with the rest of the West Bank.

  Tamar led Miriam, Michele and Inma to her mother-in-law and introduced them by first name only. Each wished the other Shabbat Shalom. With Inma, Golda asked if she was Spanish. When Inma confirmed this, Golda smiled and started talking in what sounded like an odd form of Spanish. Inma replied before turning with a smile of genuine pleasure.

  “Tamar, your mother speaks Ladino. I have only heard it once before. What a delight to find I can understand and communicate in a form of Spanish that comes from before the Catholic Kings Fernando and Isabel ejected the Jews from Spain.” She hurried to add: “Of course, that was not exactly a glorious moment in Spanish history.”

  Noach entered the room, from a corner with stairs going up as well as down.

  “Welcome,” was all he said, though he did peck his mother on the cheek. “Showing off again?” There was no reply.

  “Boys, you sit on the far side. Miriam, will you go by them? Thank you. Golda, come here. Inma, please be beside her. Before we sit, Golda, will you say the Kiddush and break the Challah for us?”

  After the prayer and passing around of the bread, they sat to eat. Already on the table was a large and varied collection of foods, including mezze, hommous, olives in three different colours, and much more. Clearly a Jewish feast was in store, for there was also the smell of fish coming from the open kitchen area, located along the third side of the room. Tamar confirmed this by they would be having something unpronounceable but delicious caught from the Kinneret (the Sea of Galilee she explained to her guests). Everyone helped themselves.

  Friday, Monteverde

  The coffee and grappas appeared, brought by a niece, as Giovanna was tied up taking another order.

  “You were right, José Antonio. The grappas are as big as last week.

  “Now, Davide, tell us what you have been thinking.”

  “I am a little hesitant about one part but not about the other. Let me start with the second part; the need for financial crime expertise. By the way, I assume you wish to keep everything as discreet as possible. I understand your caution.

  “I have a friend and past colleague in Interpol. I will be upfront about him. He is immensely gifted, highly intelligent, and knows his way around sophisticated financial crime. He is not a ‘systems person’ but is pragmatic, able to see the bigger picture. The downside is that he is Irish, or rather he has a Dubliner’s fondness for a drink. That does not mean indiscretions, more that he needs to unwind at times and does this rather emphatically. If you know this in advance then his occasional lapses — most of the time he is relaxed and sober — will not bother you. I recommend him strongly, especially if you are able to pull strings within Interpol and have him seconded to assist you and report to you about any possible criminal matters. If you make the case to Interpol that this is a matter of extreme sensitivity, then I believe you will obtain what you are looking for. Oh, this does rather presume that the Vatican is a member of Interpol. Is it? I’ve no idea.”

  “Thankfully we are. In 2008 the Vatican Gendarmerie formally joined Interpol. More relevantly, perhaps, I know a deputy head of Interpol personally. He is a fellow Brazilian and a good Catholic. Talking to him will be no problem. I have faith that he would be inclined to assist.”

  “Good. That eases matters on this front. My friend is called Conor Laoghaire. Your friendly deputy head will either know him or know of him. Conor is not one of the faceless people of the world, which often makes for both good company and a good cover because no one can believe he is a policeman. I forgot to add, he is also multi-lingual, knowing English, French and reasonable Spanish. If I recall correctly, he was brought up by Jesuits. Anyhow, he does have a fine Irish line in Latin, which has to be heard to be appreciated.”

  “Va bene. If nothing else he sounds interesting. What about your first part?”

  “Here I am on more delicate ground.” Davide hesitated. “I might as well be upfront. I would like to ‘recommend’ myself.” Davide held his hands up. “Let me explain, while also giving you reasons to choose someone else whom Conor will be able to suggest if you prefer it that way. I have an interest. Actually, I’ve several interests. The most obvious one is that you took my concept and put it into action. I’d love to dig deeper and understand what you have done and how. I think I have an advantage here in that everyone can point to me as the so-called originator of the HolyPhone idea and that would open doors and explain my curiosity — the curiosity to find out what your church has done. That would give me a plausible justification to go round asking questions.

  “Equally, however, you may feel that I am too close and maybe too un-Catholic to be acceptable to you. Either of these objections I can understand and would wholly respect. Against that I do bring a sound understanding of computer systems, especially those involving mobile technologies. I am also available. I was leaving San Francisco because I had finished some work there and was proposing to take some months off. That time off could be postponed. I would also like to think that knowing Conor, if you can have him assigned to you, would make matters even more workable. People know we are acquainted. Hanging out socially together would not be considered suspicious.

  “All that said, I am conscious that you know virtually nothing about me. José Antonio has met me once before, and you have only just met me. In your shoes I have no idea what I would decide. Please don’t think I’ll be offended if you disregard everything I have suggested. I understand your caution and I’m not, nor am I likely ever to be, one of your believers.”

  Nelson paused. He had almost started to talk without thinking, something he had trained himself not to do.

  “What do you think José Antonio?”

  Passing the buck remained a useful tool to gain time to consider.

  “Frankly, Nelson, I’ve no idea what to think. I’m a simple parish priest from Spain, despite living in Rome at the centre of our church. The Santofonino has been good for me and to me. Our parish has benefited from what the Santofonino has br
ought. The discussion that you and Davide are having has about as little meaning to me as some of Father Giorgio’s discussions about social media for attracting people back to our church. I don’t know how to judge.

  “That said, it seems to me that what Davide suggests is straightforward. Maybe I am too simple and out of my depth. On the other hand I liked and trusted Davide when I first met him. I don’t sense any difference now. And his offering you open reasons not to include him seems to be as good a recommendation as there can be.”

  “You make good points, my friend. I was thinking along much the same lines and for roughly the same reasons.

  “Davide, this is what I would like to do. I will contact my deputy head friend in Interpol and ask about Mr Laoghaire’s availability. Assuming I can make contact quickly, I should have some idea within a matter of days, assuming holidays or foreign visits do not make contacting him too difficult.

  “Meanwhile, before committing anything to you, I suggest authorising José Antonio as your guide regarding what we’ve done with the Santofonino, both at the parish level and within the Vatican — as the spiritual (if you will permit me) instigator of the Santofonino. As you say, this provides an excellent way to start looking without losing time.

  “My inclination, assuming I am not given a reason to resist it, is to retain you to do your part, especially if Mr Laoghaire can work with you.

  “This does mean that we will have to sign some form of agreement, not least about confidentiality. But you have indicated that you do not see this as a problem. I also need to ask about payment for your services, if the church chooses to engage you.”

  “If you do decide to engage me, and I understand you may not, I suggest that if the church will cover whatever expenses I may incur, like living in Rome, then I will be happy to work for no professional fee to start with.