“You are very gracious, Worthy Premier,” said Magistrate Zhuang. She decided to speak her mind, though she did her best to present her thoughts tactfully. “It is an exceptional honor, Worthy Premier, being called to speak with you, one that I never expected to be accorded me; I am more gratified than I can express for the attention you have shown me, undeserving as I am.”
“If you are deserving of the notice of the Catholic Church in Rome,” said Premier Zuo with asperity, “then you are also deserving of the attention of your country.” He folded his hands. “Worthy Magistrate, you do not appear to realize how remarkable your position is.” He paused so that he would have her complete attention. “The Roman Catholic Church is the enemy of the Revolution and of the People, a cruel oppressor that binds the mind with mental chains; and for those who are under its rule, their lives are made harder because of it. For hundreds and hundreds of years the Church has wrung gold and heart out of its subjects, and still it is venerated as an institution dedicated to the welfare of its followers. It controls the lives of millions and influences millions more, all for the power of the Church in the world. The clergy are perverted and corrupt, the leaders are ambitious, ruthless and venal.”
“I said as much to Cardinal Mendosa,” Magistrate Zhuang told Premier Zuo when he let her speak. “And for the most part he agreed.”
“A clever man, one who has learned to make his way in the Church,” Premier Zuo discounted him. “It would be wise to question everything he says, for his motives are unclear and his position makes him suspect.”
“All those things are true. But his arguments impressed me, for he is aware of the hazards of his station. More than that, I think,” said Magistrate Zhuang with sincerity. “He is one who believes that the soul is real, and he wishes to tend to the souls of his followers, but he is more concerned for the Church, which has failed in its duty to its people.” She knew better than to smile, but there was a softening at the corners of her eyes. “What the Church is supposed to do is worthy: what is reprehensible is that it has failed so utterly to do it.”
“And exploited the people in the process. Cardinal Mendosa has presented his case very persuasively, I see,” said Premier Zuo. “I keep to my original opinion, Worthy Magistrate, that he is a clever man and a capable politician who will manipulate you as readily as he will take money from the poor.” He rose, and she did the same. “I want you to come with me and we will review names on a list I have brought. I want to know everything he has told you about all of them.”
“He did not say much about the other Cardinals, if that is what you seek to learn, Worthy Premier. I do not wish to disappoint you; I think it best that I warn you that I cannot tell you more than a few superficial things.”
“If that is all you can do, then it will be acceptable if it is the totality of your understanding,” said Premier Zuo, already trying to think of ways to thwart her attempts to take up her position in Rome. Her unique situation could very well be useful to him, providing he did not relinquish his control of her. As long as he kept her here yet permitted her contact with the Cardinals, he would be able to finger the pulse of the Church throughout the world; it would suit his purposes very well to know what the Church was doing without the inconvenience of officially recognizing its existence.
“I will do everything I can to give you the information you seek,” said Magistrate Zhuang.
“Excellent,” said Premier Zuo, his smile widening. “Excellent.”
* * *
“You look like you could use a good night’s sleep,” said Willie Foot to Cardinal Mendosa as they sat over coffee in the darkest corner of the restaurant across the street from Santa Maria della Pace. It was a few minutes after ten: news of the election of a Chinese woman to the Papacy was officially five hours old. Every radio, every television, every paper blared the story to the world, and offered commentary and reaction in bewildering variety.
“That would be a good start,” said Cardinal Mendosa, staring into the foaming steamed milk atop his caffe latte. He was in a dark business suit again, black cowboy boots on his feet and a silverbelly stetson, hung for the moment on the back of his chair. “It might also be a good idea to turn off all the telephones in the Vatican, but I don’t suppose that’s possible. And it probably wouldn’t do any good—they’d just call back again later, pissed as hell.” He made no apology for his language.
“Lots of calls?” asked Willie, anticipating the answer.
“Ringing off the walls. We’ve put a dozen more priests on the switchboards, but we’re still overloaded. Everyone wants to know how it happened, and hopes to get inside information. Some people are overjoyed, some are furious. We’re hearing from all of them, and everything in between as well. About ten percent think it’s a hoax. From where I sit, I can’t say I blame them. Justifying a miracle has never been easy, and now—”
“Isn’t that a little extreme?” Willie suggested.
“You think so?” Cardinal Mendosa asked, picking up his latte and trying a sip. “Nope, too hot.” He set it down again. “Suppose you heard about this as a rumor, not through me, but just a rumor. What would you assume about it? If you had any sense at all, you’d think it was sham, and not very good.”
“Maybe, but I’d ask you, just in case.” He bit into a flaky breakfast pastry, noticing that Cardinal Mendosa had eaten nothing.
“That’s hindsight, my friend,” said Cardinal Mendosa slowly. “You were there. You know what’s been going on. But everyone else out there only knows what’s on the evening news—and the morning news, and the noon news, and the news spots—and they assume that we’re trying to put one over on them. One South American paper thinks we’re trying to cover up another death in the College of Cardinals, and this is a smokescreen for the cover-up.” He leaned back. “And in a couple of days, I’ve got to get the ball rolling with Premier Zuo.”
“To get her out?” asked Willie.
“To get me back in. And you as well, if you want to come.” He coughed. “Getting her out is going to be a lot more difficult. Don’t be deceived by the goodwill that we seem to have coming out of China; Premier Zuo isn’t about to let us have Magistrate Zhuang without a fight. They’ve let us reach her, but that doesn’t mean that she’ll be allowed out. It would mean Zuo had to admit the Church exists, and he’s not going to do that unless we nail him to the wall. No crucifixion pun intended.” He picked up his latte and took a long drink of it, not caring that it was still too hot.
“Are you certain about that?” Willie realized he knew the answer already. “You’re right, of course. It would mean losing face internationally, giving her permission to come here. He won’t tolerate that. So how will you deal with him?”
“I don’t know, not for sure. But first things first, and that means I go back to China. Then we’ll let all that diplomatic machinery start clanking along.” He peered into the street. “In the next day or so, we’re going to be besieged here in Rome, worse than when the barbarians were at the gates. Everyone in the Catholic world will be coming here to make themselves heard. For once you can bet they aren’t going to bow their heads and accept what the Cardinals do as being the true expression of God’s will, not without demanding some explanation. And the non-Catholics will be here, too. It’s going to be a bitch.” He poked at his pastry with a fork. “You know, I love these things, and this morning I can’t bring myself to eat.”
“Then don’t,” Willie recommended, starting on his second one.
Cardinal Mendosa stuck his fork in the pastry again, as if testing its interior, then stared at it. “No. Not this morning,” he said regretfully. He picked up his latte again, and sipped. “Coffee jangles all day, but all things considered, that’s minor.” He laughed once, the sound harsh.
Willie finished his second pastry and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “When do you think we’ll leave?”
“What?” Cardinal Mendosa had been distracted, his eyes focused at some point three feet beyond the
wall. “Leave?”
“For China, dear boy,” said Willie. “You do need a translator still, and I’m having the time of my life with this. I’m on the inside, and you and Nigel No are the only other ones. You aren’t going to write about it, and Nigel has promised Dame Leonie that he won’t divulge anything about our trip. Which leaves yours faithfully. I’ve already had four calls from publishers who want books from me.”
“That was predictable,” said Cardinal Mendosa blandly. “What have you told them?”
“That the story isn’t finished yet; they can talk to me when it is. And in the meantime, I’m piling up notes galore. I’m going to retire on this adventure of ours, and the best part of it is that I love it.” He picked up his espresso doppio and drank half of it. “You tell me when you want to leave and I’ll be ready in two hours. Less, if necessary.”
“I hope it’ll be soon,” said Cardinal Mendosa wistfully, then achieved a single, rough laugh. “For one thing, if I stick around here, I’m going to peel the hide off Sylvestre, Cardinal Jung, mortal sin or not.” He slapped his palm on the zinc table top. “You didn’t hear that.”
“Deaf as the proverbial post,” said Willie, understanding why Cardinal Mendosa was so harried, but enjoying himself hugely. “Any word from Magistrate Zhuang, other than yes?”
“Not yet. Dame Leonie told us that she’d heard Magistrate Zhuang was flown to Xi’an earlier today. The official word is that some of the government honchos want to pick her brains about our visit, but the best rumor is that the honcho is Zuo himself.” He had the last of the latte and signaled the waiter for a second one. “I’ll be on the ceiling for hours, but who’s going to notice?”
Willie saw the worn look on the Texas Cardinal’s face, and the light in his eyes. “You all right, Charles?”
Cardinal Mendosa glanced at him, then looked away. “Probably,” he said after a short hesitation. “But this whole thing is taking a toll on me, and there’s no doubt about it.” He lowered his eyes. “I wish I had a magic wand, something I could just wave and all the red tape and bullshit would disappear, and Zhuang Renxin would be here, where the Church would welcome her wholeheartedly.” He shoved his chair back a little. “Officially the Church believes in miracles.”
“You’re being cynical, Your Eminence,” said Willie, hearing the despair at the back of the Cardinal’s words.
“You learn to be, in this job. The same way you learn to be in yours.” He rubbed his eyes. “Cardinal Gemme is supposed to go on Gordon Mennell’s program tomorrow to explain what has happened and why Magistrate Zhuang is about to become Pope of the Catholic Church, providing we can manage the diplomatic footwork.” He shook his head slowly. “I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes. He might love those lights and cameras, but I don’t think he’s going to have any fun this time.”
“Very media-wise, is Gemme,” said Willie.
“You don’t approve?” Cardinal Mendosa asked, picking up on the faint condemnation in Willie’s apparent praise.
“Well, it doesn’t make any sense, but no, I don’t. It strikes me as a little smarmy when a member of the clergy is so savvy and polished and…smee-ooth.” As he said this last he stroked the air as if it were glossy fur.
“He can be that,” said Cardinal Mendosa with a one-sided smile. He handed the waiter a tip as his second latte appeared. “And right now, I’m glad we have him. But you’re right about him being smooth, and that also means he’s slippery.”
“My very point,” said Willie. He fell silent, staring out into the bustle and beauty of Rome: it was a wonderful morning, bright and not too hot yet; a flock of tourists—Germans by the look of them—were headed in the general direction of the Tiber, and the bridges that crossed to the Vatican.
“We’ve got it on good authority that the whole city’s going to fill up in the next several days,” said Cardinal Mendosa distantly as he, too, studied the tourists who had attracted Willie’s attention.
“Surely you expected that,” said Willie, but without much interest. “Whenever something happens about Popes, Rome fills up with tourists. It’s been that way for a millennium.”
Cardinal Mendosa raised his hand in protest. “Don’t say that word.”
“What word?” Willie asked. “Tourist?”
“Millennium,” said Cardinal Mendosa heavily. “It’s becoming a real issue. Thanks to Magistrate Zhuang, we’ve already had one salvo fired at us from the Fundamentalists. Reverend Marcus has warned his flocks throughout the good old U.S. of A. that since it’s almost 2000, the election of a woman to the Papacy is the fulfillment of the prophesy of the reign of the Antichrist.” His expression showed the depth of his disgust for only an instant, then turned wry. “He milked forty minutes out of that theme about an hour after the announcement was made. My secretary has had calls from priests all over Texas and Oklahoma about the harangue he calls a sermon. Reverend Williamson hasn’t been heard from yet, but I assume his views will be very much the same; Reverend Williamson has been riding the millennium for all it’s worth for over a year now. He’s going to be in his glory over the new Pope.”
“But people don’t take him that seriously. They can’t,” said Willie.
“There’s where you’re wrong,” said Cardinal Mendosa. “Maybe he’s considered a joke in Europe, but in America he’s serious business, and his following is getting larger and more militant every week.”
“But televangelists went out with the Bakkers, I thought,” said Willie.
“They might have gone out, but they’ve come back in again, and they’re talking hard-line Fundamentalist salvation and the end of the world. If they said Allah instead of Jesus, you’d think they were Shi’ites. And Reverends Marcus and Williamson are getting very rich and powerful.” He started to drink his second latte. ‘We have to get Magistrate Zhuang here as soon as possible. There’s too much pressure on the Church, and on Christians in general, for that matter,” said Cardinal Mendosa with conviction.
“Aren’t they supposed to be one and the same thing?” Willie teased.
But for once Cardinal Mendosa was not amused. “You know better than that. And you know how volatile people can get when their religion is being questioned. Don’t tell me it couldn’t turn ugly and violent; you know the history better than I do.” He had more latte and was left with a white moustache of steamed milk on his upper lip.
“Why not issue a statement of some kind?” Willie suggested.
“About what?” Cardinal Mendosa asked. “We’re still waiting for the dust to settle from our last announcement.”
“About…oh, I don’t know—charity, perhaps?” Willie gave his best benign grin. “How good it is to respect the beliefs of others?”
“Wouldn’t Reverend Williamson love that,” said Cardinal Mendosa. “He’d use it as a rallying cry for his audiences.”
“Audience, not congregation?” Willie inquired sweetly.
“What else do you call a large group of people who watch and support the same television show?” Cardinal Mendosa snapped, then looked away. “Sorry. Caffeine and lack of sleep.” He tapped the latte glass. “I probably shouldn’t finish this.”
“But you’re going to?” Willie said.
Cardinal Mendosa nodded. “And then I have to get back to work. I’ve got a trip to arrange.” He lifted his large glass and offered Willie a slight, ironic toast before he drank the rest in two long swallows.
Chapter 12
It was windy in The Hague, and Gunnar Hvolsvollur was still trying to restore order in his pale hair as he came into the meeting room. “I must apologize for being late,” he said in English.
Vitale, Cardinal Cadini beamed at him and responded in the same tongue, “In such weather it is not surprising that it takes time to get from place to place. I was told that tree branches have blown down in a few places.” He was in a business suit and for once wore his two lapel pins. “I am very pleased that you have been willing to speak with me.”
Gunnar Hvo
lsvollur nodded uncomfortably. “I was told you had been ill. I trust your health is better.” The inquiry was little more than a delaying tactic while he sized up the charismatic Cardinal Cadini; he looked around the small conference room. “Who else will be here?”
“Just you and I, Mister Secretary-General,” said Cardinal Cadini. “And thank you for your kindness: I am recovering very well for a man of my age.”
The Icelandic Secretary-General of the United Nations looked thoughtful. “I see.”
“This is unofficial, naturally, in spite of the setting,” Cardinal Cadini continued, as though unaware of the Secretary-General’s reservation. “We have entered a time unique in the history of the Church, of Christianity, I believe. We have no protocol to follow, so we must go…experimentally.”
Hvolsvollur decided not to respond directly. “Considering where we are, I would expect Cardinal van Hooven to be with you, or perhaps Cardinal Sclamonde from Belgium. It is a little surprising that you’ve come alone. Ordinarily wouldn’t I be speaking with two of you at least?” He took great care not to make his observation a criticism, though he was mildly offended as well as puzzled, and was rewarded with another one of Cardinal Cadini’s beneficent smiles.
“Ordinarily, yes; Cardinal van Hooven and I would be speaking with you, along with Cardinal Pingari and probably Cardinal Shumwoe or Cardinal Ochoa, as well, to cover all the bases. But as everyone is aware, these are not ordinary times in the Church and each of us has had unique tasks thrust upon us. I fear my days with your institution nominated me to speak to you, as the earlier works of others have become new work for them. You know, it is one of my most honored laurels, or so I tell myself, that I served the Vatican at the United Nations.” Now that he had accustomed his ear to the Icelandic cadences of Hvolsvollur’s English, he began to relax, aware that he spoke the language as well or better than the Secretary-General. He indicated a grouping of low chairs away from the more formal conference table. “Please; I think we’ll be more comfortable here.”
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