Father Phillips put down the telephone receiver and looked up at his guests. Cullinane stood with his arms folded across his chest, with a smug grin on his face. “I wasn’t excommunicated. I left the clergy voluntarily.”
“Dan, we all know what happened,” said Father Phillips. “But now you’ve got what you want. All I can say is be careful what you ask for.” Phillips stood up from his desk. He was a stout man, pale balding and bearded, with thick glasses and a large neck that spilled over his Roman collar. Looking at Molino, Father Phillips said, “Please be advised that the Vatican Library will hold the Polizia Municipale strictly liable for any damage that Cullinane causes in this fishing expedition.”
“Relax Roland,” said Cullinane, “You know I revere these texts as much as you.”
“But you’re against the institution that’s keeping them alive,” said Phillips.
“I follow Christ, not the church,” said Cullinane.
With that, Phillips handed Molino and Cullinane passes. “You have until five in the afternoon.”
Molino and Cullinane made their way down a series of stairwells and long, dimly-lit hallways to a narrow double door with a plaque on the wall inscribed Archivum Secretum Apostolicum Vaticanum. They pushed open the door and handed their passes and their identification papers to the security guard sitting quietly at the desk, who dutifully stamped and returned their passes.
With that, they entered the Bunker. It was a vast room with row upon row of shelves known to most visitors as the Gallery of the Metallic Shelves. They passed through a vast cavern of bookcases stacked with books, all bound in limp white parchment. They were mostly ecclesiastical records going back centuries, where the Roman curia’s collective memory resides. Browsing through the secret archives is, as a rule, prohibited. Guests are only allowed to view three folders a day. Molino was able to secure an exception – he and Cullinane had one day to browse at will. Because the Vatican secret archives have 85 kilometers of shelving, they had to use their time wisely. Both could see security cameras in every room. They passed scholars, mostly priests, poring over tomes in solitude, clicking on laptops, scribbling in notebooks. Finally, they reached the index room. Cullinane dove into the books. Molino was instantly bored.
“You and Father Phillips seem to have a history,” remarked Molino.
Cullinane chuckled. “Roland and I go way back. Pay no attention to his bluster, he and I are actually good friends.”
“He hides it well,” said Molino, changing subjects, “So what is it we’re looking for?”
“Well, the Q gospel of course.”
“What, you think the church has the Q gospel and simply refuses to acknowledge it?”
“Stranger things have happened.”
“So these are all documents the church is trying to keep secret?”
“Not necessarily,” explained Cullinane, “the word secretum is more analogous to private. They’re supposedly just internal documents. I’m interested in finding out what the curia knows about Q, nothing more.”
Poring through the indexes, Cullinane mapped out their day, giving Molino instructions on priority documents. With that, Cullinane went to the ancient documents section. Molino followed, acting as Cullinane’s runner – retrieving and re-shelving books as Cullinane requested. They went without lunch.
“I told you so,” said Phillips, grinning smugly. It was well past five and Molino and Cullinane had just returned to the priest’s office to return their badges. They were seated having coffee.
“Oh, I never thought I’d actually find the Q source on your shelves,” said Cullinane, “Like I’ve said, I was looking for an indication of the Q source.”
“And did you find an indication?” asked Phillips.
“In fact, I think I did,” said Cullinane, patting his laptop bag. “It was in the collection of books looted from Constantinople by thirteenth century crusaders.”
“...and returned to us where they have been kept safely for seven hundred years,” warned Phillips.
“Of course, of course,” said Cullinane, with a patronizing tone.
“What did they say?” asked Molino, still confused about the purpose of this visit.
“Well, like I said,” explained Cullinane, “Crusaders looted the library of Constantinople during the Fourth Crusade in 1204. They took with them artifacts and ecclesiastical records. One of them was a book of correspondence between Cardinal Humbert and Michael Caerularius, the Patriarch of Constantinople.”
“This was in 1054, when Humbert and Caerularius excommunicated one another,” added Phillips, “bringing about the East-West Schism.”
“Yes,” said Cullinane, “and the main theological source of the schism was the filioque, which it the part of the creed which says the Holy Spirit proceeds from the Father and the Son. The original Nicene Creed said the Holy Spirit proceeds from the Father alone. The clause and the Son was added later, probably in the Council of Seleucia-Ctesiphon in Persia in the fifth century. The Eastern Church has always rejected this clause and it was the subject of significant dispute between Humbert and Caerularius.”
“Yes, we know this,” said Phillips, huffing impatiently, “But what did you find?”
“Well, in discussing the filioque, Humbert issues a refutation of an argument that Caerularius was making about Mark 3:29, Matthew 12:32, and Luke 12:10.”
“The unforgiveable sin,” said Phillips.
“Yes,” said Cullinane. “All three gospels say that blaspheming against the Holy Spirit is an eternal sin. Only Matthew and Luke add the proviso that those who blaspheme against the Son of Man – Jesus, will be forgiven. We’ve long agreed that this proviso comes from the Q source.”
“So what did Humbert have to say about this?” asked Phillips.
“Well, again, Humbert issued a refutation of an argument that Caerularius was making, so I don’t have Caerularius’ original argument. But from Humbert’s refutation, it was an apocryphal source, which says ‘And everyone who speaks a word against the Son of Man will be forgiven; but whoever blasphemes against God will not be forgiven, for there is only one God.’ This sounds like Q, but the ‘one God’ language is not in any of the canonical gospels. Theologically, it comes close to Jesus denying his own divinity, something neither Humbert nor Caerularius would take seriously.”
“So why did Caerularius make that argument?” asked Molino.
“Probably because Caerularius was crazy,” answered Phillips. “He came to power at a time when the Roman Empire had been dead for five hundred years, and the west was disorganized, re-forming under the Holy Roman Empire – whatever that was.”
“Caerularius was crazy,” agreed Cullinane, “crazy enough to expose an ancient doctrine that would undermine the theological basis for the very church he was trying to control.”
“How do you conclude that this ‘one God’ line is based on an apocryphal source?” asked Phillips.
“I’m not sure, without seeing the argument that Humbert was refuting, I can’t tell. But I do know that, if it exists, it is text that I have not seen in my forty-odd years studying the Bible and the apocrypha.”
“Well if that’s all you’ve got,” said Phillips, “it seems you still have a lot of work to do.”
The friends shook hands, and Molino and Cullinane left the Vatican Library. Molino was more confused than ever. He needed to get away from these dusty books and back to some real policing.
Four
Christiana Marcherelli had been with the Polizia Municipal for four years before she could get assigned to intelligenza elettronica. She had no technical training like the men (and they were all men) had, but she was a hacker back in the day, never being caught, and boasted that she could find her way into any network. The men in the unit dismissed her as cacasodo, an impolite word for a snob, until she hacked the unit lieutenant’s cell phone and screen captured a rather unmanly string of text messages between him and a would-be mistress. She pinned it to the lunchroom bulletin boar
d with commentary on his peculiar art of seduction. It caused quite a stir, but personal indignation soon gave way to professional admiration, and soon she was in the unit, very quickly confirming her status as a prodigy.
She had dyed black hair, black lipstick and black eyeliner, tattoos on her arms, and a chain necklace joined with a small padlock. She was waiting in Molino’s office when he arrived.
“I have two cell phones I need you to run down for me,” said Molino.
“Paolo Gabriele and Claudio Sciarpelletti?” asked Marcherelli.
“Yes,” said Molino, “I don’t have their numbers yet, but...”
“...I got them,” said Marcherelli. Molino chuckled. “Here’s their activity for the last six months,” she said, handing him a folder.
He looked through the papers. “They call one another quite often.”
“And at odd hours,” said Marcherelli.
“Anything stand out to you?” asked Molino.
“This one,” said Marcherelli, indicating on the phone log for Sciarpelletti. “There are only two calls, both on the morning of the 26th, the day of the robbery.”
“Who is it?” asked Molino.
“That was actually hard to find out, it was a disposable prepaid phone. I had to trace the buyer, which took me a while.”
“How long?”
“An hour,” said Marcherelli, grinning.
Molino laughed. “Okay, so who is it?”
“Well it was charged to a corporate card. The account is under the name of Borg, Funk and Miller, an American law firm.”
“And what is the Vatican’s information technology chief doing calling an American lawyer?”
“I don’t know, but if you don’t mind me saying, Sciarpelletti was too easy to hack. For the sake of their network integrity, they need to upgrade. Anyway, I did some checking and the managing partner of the firm travels to Rome frequently. He’s a member of the Knights of Malta. I’m guessing the calls were to him.”
“Hmm, what’s his name?”
“C. Bennett Clark. He has a room at the Palazzo Malta. He’s there often.”
“It looks as if I’m going to have to pay him a visit.”
“I have it arranged. You meet him tomorrow, after your interviews with Gabriele and Sciarpelletti.”
Molino nodded in appreciation. He was pleased – he enjoyed working with smart people.
“One more thing,” said Marcherelli. Molino stopped. “I did some checking on Gabriele. He had no business being His Holiness’ butler.”
“What do you mean?” asked Molino, “why not?”
“The papal butler is usually a professional valet, usually of humble means, and usually with strong family ties to members of the papal household. Paoloetto had none of that. He was born of a wealthy family in Salerno, went to the finest boarding schools, lived a life of privilege until he was appointed as Pope Benedict’s butler in 2006. His only experience with a valet is the one he had after university.”
“How did he get appointed to Pope Benedict?”
“That’s where the trail gets a little murky,” said Marcherelli.
“Well perhaps I’ll have to ask Paoloetto myself,” said Molino.
“One more thing...” said Marcherelli, smirking. Molino waited, now impatiently. “Gabriele’s father? Knight of Malta.”
A cell in the Vatican Gendarmerie jail was like a room in the Saint Regis compared to similar Roman accommodations. There was a bed with sheets, pillow and a blanket. There was a latrine, and even a chair and writing table. All very clean and in order. Paolo Gabriele sat on the chair, showered and impeccably dressed, waiting Molino’s arrival.
“We’re ready,” said the officer, unlocking Gabriele’s cell door. The officer led Gabriele and Molino down a small corridor and into an interrogation room. Gabriele sat himself, apparently very familiar with these surroundings. Molino sat across from him.
“Major Ritti has briefed me on your other interviews, so I will do us both the service of not repeating most of the questions you’ve already been asked,” said Molino. Gabriele sighed with relief. “But still,” said Molino, “let me just confirm. You admit you took the records from the Papal Residence on the early morning of December 26th.”
“Yes, I did,” said Gabriele.
“And you say your reason for doing so was to root out corruption?”
“Yes, it was.”
“And you say that only Nuzzi saw those documents, and that once he published them, you were prepared to come forward.”
“Yes.”
“Now, your testimony about Claudio Sciarpelletti is confusing. You said that he is your friend, that he never saw any of these documents, and that he was not involved in this affair in any way?”
“Not at all.”
“Then who is C. Bennett Clark?” asked Molino.
Gabriele’s eyes opened wide with alarm, and just as quickly he composed himself. “I never heard of him.”
“Well your friend Sciarpelletti knows him quite well. We have solid evidence that they are very well acquainted indeed, especially the morning of the 26th.”
Gabriele reacted with affront. “Claudio knows nothing about this. Anything he did was a personal favor for me, that is all.”
“Then tell me what he did.”
Gabriele slumped. He was stuck. “I will tell you no more.”
Molino’s brow furrowed. “You know we can make his life very uncomfortable.”
“He’s a big boy,” said Gabriele, “He knows what’s right.”
Molino shifted. “Okay. So looking at your file, it says you were hired as butler to His Holiness in 2006, a year after his election. It says you were referred by a mutual friend, but it doesn’t say who.”
“Oh,” said Gabriele, “it- it was Monsignor Harvey, he knew the rector of my Liceo at the university. He recommended me.”
Molino looked up from his file. “Monsignor Harvey? Are you sure your father didn’t have anything to do with it?”
With that, a storm came across Gabriele’s face. He stood and leaned across the interview table menacingly, thrusting a finger toward Molino. “Don’t you dare bring my father into this.”
Molino sat back, amused, and stared Gabriele down until he took his seat. “I will go where the facts take me,” said Molino, rising from his seat. “And I am going to recommend that Major Ritti keep you in custody until my investigation is complete.”
“Cafone!” yelled Gabriele as Molino left the room.
Molino went down the hall to another interrogation room where Claudio Sciarpelletti sat, looking very nervous. He was dressed, but disheveled. He was unshaven. He clearly was not enjoying his time in incarceration.
“I’m going to make this very easy for you,” said Molino, seating himself. “Your ‘friend,’ Gabriele, just ratted you out. He told me everything.”
Sciarpelletti’s eyes opened wide with alarm, but then narrowed with suspicion. “He did, did he?”
“He told me how you delivered the documents to the American lawyer, Mr. Clark.”
Sciarpelletti’s eyes opened wide once again, he began to sweat and fidget in his chair. “I knew nothing, sir, I swear it. I only did it as a favor.”
“I believe you. Tell me what you gave him, and I can make it easy on you.”
“It was just a box. Paolo told me it was property of the Knights of Malta that His Holiness wished to return, but Paolo doesn’t have a car, so he asked me to take it for him, that is all.”
“And you didn’t find that strange?”
“Yes I did, they have couriers. Paoloetto told me they were very sensitive documents that the Holy See was keeping out of the usual chain of command. I came by in the morning, picked up the box, called Mr. Clark to tell him I was coming, and then called him when I arrived. They let me in the courtyard at the Palazzo Malta and I handed the box to a security guard. Then I left, that is all.”
“Did you look in the box?”
“No, no- I swear it. It was tape
d shut.”
“Was there anything on the outside of the box?”
“Just the letter Q. I thought that strange.”
Molino made a notation on his pad. “You didn’t meet this man Clark?”
“No, sir.”
“And how well does Paloetto’s father know this Mr. Clark?”
“Not at all,” said Sciarpelletti, “None of us know him. He’s a higher up in the order, that’s all we know. Apparently even the Grand Master defers to him.”
Molino had what he needed. He terminated the interview.
Molino asked Cullinane to help prepare for the interview with the American lawyer Clark. Cullinane suggested that he invite Father Phillips as well, as he was better acquainted with Vatican politics. They met in Molino’s office, sharing sandwiches at a small table.
“I’ve heard of this guy Clark,” said Phillips. “He’s quite the power broker.”
“We did a work up on him,” said Molino, “He was invited into the Knights of Malta in 1995 and has steadily gained influence in the order. He is a Knight of Magesterial Grace in Obedience, whatever that is.”
“That is a knight of the second class,” said Cullinane. “There are three classes of knights, the first class are professed knights, who usually but not always are of noble lineage. The order would never let an American profess. But knights of the second class – second of three that is, have been gaining administrative influence in the order. I imagine that this Clark has shown some aptitude in that regard.”
Book of James: a novel Page 3
