“For which we would pay you?” Greene suggested cynically.
“Naturally.” He could feel the power in his position and it thrilled him. Nothing else in life had satisfied him the way this rush of power did. He coughed once and tried not to gloat. “Nothing too high—that would lead to questions later on, I think. We don’t want anything that could reveal a deliberate escalation of activities. That would put certain agencies on the alert. Let’s set the price at the same one you’ve been paying all along for my chats with Uncle Neddy.”
“What if we found another go-between?” asked Greene, his menace unconvincing.
“That wouldn’t be very wise,” said Clancy.
“It might become necessary,” Greene told him, lifting his eyebrows to make it clear he wanted Clancy to think about what he said. “If something should happen to you, for instance.”
“Oh, if I had an accident, I’m afraid all the major international networks would be sent copies of my work files automatically. I have those files ready to send, and if I do not give the over-ride twice a day, the machine is programmed to put the material in all sorts of electronic mail.”
“That strikes me as being a lot of trouble to keep up. No offence intended, Mister McEllton.”
The little boy was screaming now; the duck had turned on him and was giving him several bruising pecks, honking as it attacked.
“Isn’t there something about being nibbled to death by ducks?” Clancy asked merrily. “Mister Greene, we’ve managed this far. Let’s keep it up. It’ll be easier for all of us. Let’s try a meeting. If you and Cardinal Hetre can’t agree, or aren’t interested in the same things, then basta, it’s over. I’ll give you my files and we can call it quits.” There would be copies of his files in his records if he ever needed them; he was certain Greene guessed as much.
“You’ve given this careful consideration.” It was neither a compliment nor an insult.
“I hope so. A man in my position has to keep his options flexible.” He grinned but his eyes took no part in it.
Greene stood up. “I can’t authorize this on my own.” He let himself be distracted by the sight of the parents of the boy—at least he assumed they were his parents—attempting to extricate their child from the assault of the outraged duck. At another time he might have found it amusing. “You’ll have to allow me a few days to speak to some of the others, tell them of your offer. In my own way, I’m not much more than a messenger myself, like you.”
“Score one for Greene,” said Clancy.
“I wouldn’t try to make any other arrangements until you hear from me. Shall we say at this place again in forty-eight hours?” He prided himself on being above violence, but at that moment he would have taken a great deal of satisfaction in delivering a punishing blow to Clancy McEllton’s head. “That will give my company time to evaluate the possible merit of your proposal.”
“Sounds fine to me,” said Clancy, anticipating another round of dickering before International Vision, Ltd. gave in. They would say yes, he was certain of it, out of curiosity if nothing else.
“In two days, then,” said Greene, turning away from the egregious Clancy. “We will probably require compensation if you cannot deliver the contact you offer. You might want to think that over. If you wish to raise the stakes this way, you increase your risk.”
“Fine,” said Clancy, convinced that Cardinal Hetre would be glad to find allies anywhere. “I’ll be ready and waiting.”
“Of course,” said Greene before he strolled away in the direction of the furious duck.
* * *
At the altar of his private chapel—shared only with a Belgian, an Ecuadorian, an Italian, and a New Zealander—Lorencz, Cardinal Bakony recited his prayers without thought. Word had come from Buda-Pest that day, warning him that there was about to be another change of government. Six governments in five years! The thought of it aggravated him, bringing out his intensely competitive spirit, the very spirit he had entered the Church to subdue.
He became more engrossed in his prayers, letting the familiar words wash over him, temporarily ending the turmoil that consumed him. It was bad enough, he thought, that the Church should be brought to this ultimate indignity; but now his own countrymen were behaving like schoolchildren, favoring first this clique then that one. He had promised Cardinal Lepescu that they would meet to discuss this latest development, and hoped that the cadaverous Romanian would have some suggestions they could agree upon and carry back to their respective countries before other border skirmishes erupted. There were so many factions now, and the Old Guard from the Russian days were relishing the constant upheaval limited democracy had brought. Perhaps, he thought, they would become like the old East Germans, living in self-imposed exile in Moscow and St. Petersburg against the day when the tide would again turn in their favor.
The sound of bells brought him to his feet. He reverenced the altar, crossing himself and whispering a last blessing before leaving the chapel to Cardinal Tondocello, who was still in precarious health.
He found Cardinal Lepescu at the entrance of the Cappella del Sacrissimo Sacramento, beside the Borrormini wrought-iron gates. “God give you good day,” he said in Hungarian, knowing that Cardinal Lepescu spoke the language fluently; Cardinal Bakony’s Romanian was rusty and dependant on his expertise in Latin.
“To you as well, Eminence,” said Cardinal Lepescu, his voice low but still caught in the echoing enormity of the Basilica. “And may He grant us more peace than He has been willing to of late.”
“Amen to that,” said Cardinal Bakony, crossing himself.
The Basilica was strangely empty, tourists having been barred from Saint Peter’s for the last three days. There had been a near riot earlier in the week and it was deemed prudent to close the Vatican for the time being, to avoid further disruption. Cardinal Lepescu stepped back, noticing two priests entering the transept, going past the Capella Gregoriana.
“What is the news from home, Eminence?” Cardinal Lepescu asked, not amenable to wasting time in pleasantries. “I pray it is better than mine has been. I have been told that there were riots in Bucuresti and Cluj last night. In Cluj they brought out the militia to control the crowds. The Catholics there are protesting the new Pope already, because she is a Communist. They do not trust Communists. They are afraid her presence will give the Old Guard ideas again.”
“Oh, yes. I hear the same thing, played to a different tune,” sighed Cardinal Bakony. “And the new government, cobbled together out of hostile factions, cannot hope to find a way to stop the insanity. I have sometimes wondered if they wish to stop those riots—as long as the population is up-in-arms about the Pope, they are not apt to rebel about anything else. The government can better afford the discontent of its people directed toward the Church than itself.” He indicated the vast interior of Saint Peter’s with a comprehensive wave of his hand. “The Church is always a target when politics are unstable.”
“The Church is always a target,” said Cardinal Lepescu. “Politics do not matter.” He had begun to walk toward the Portico. “Not that they might not have a point,” he went on. “The Communists are not trustworthy, and Moscow’s Old Guard have been very quiet about this Pope.”
“What could Moscow say? It is hardly a Catholic country. And Moscow and Beijing are not good friends,” observed Cardinal Bakony.
“But that is not to say they could not turn this development to their advantage. A Communist in the Vatican, on the Throne of Saint Peter lends a legitimacy to the cause it has not had in years. The Old Guard could find it very useful if only they have a way to exploit it.” Cardinal Lepescu was almost a head taller than Cardinal Bakony, which made their conversation awkward. “They must have some expectations of her.”
“But how could they? Beijing may, perhaps, for she is Chinese, and an official, but what could Moscow’s Old Guard hope to gain? I don’t like to call them Old Guard. It makes them sound like helpless, toothless old lions, and they are not.
” Cardinal Bakony watched Cardinal Lepescu with increasing doubts. “Is there some information you have that changes things?”
Cardinal Lepescu hesitated as they stepped into the Piazza di San Pietro. “Only a rumor. Not even that. It is as if I have overheard a whisper spoken in sleep.” He was in a cassock, Cardinal Bakony in a business suit. They crossed the empty piazza slowly, paying no attention to the enormous and silent crowd that waited beyond the pillared embrace of the piazza; they were cordoned off from the Vatican grounds and kept in check by Roman police and Swiss Guards.
“What is this…whisper?” asked Cardinal Bakony.
Cardinal Lepescu stared up at the balcony where the new Pope would bless the city and the world. “There is a rumor that the KGB has taken an interest in Zhuang Renxin. According to my Bishop in Cluj, one of the officers of the State Police made a remark at a private gathering. He said we should be grateful to the Russians, for without the KGB, we would have been unable to get the woman out of China.”
At this, Cardinal Bakony did his best to laugh. “Typical Russian disinformation,” he decided aloud. “That’s what I mean about the Old Guard being dangerous. Undoubtedly the KGB has taken an interest in Zhuang Renxin; it is precisely the sort of thing they are supposed to monitor. Therefore it is just what I would expect them to do. But rest assured, they do not want that Chinese woman here any more than most of us do.” He glanced toward the silent demonstrators, noticing that a few were nuns in old-fashioned habits.
“They believe that it is blasphemous for a woman to be Pope,” said Cardinal Lepescu, nodding toward the mob. “They believe that the College of Cardinals has been deceived.”
“That is what the American preacher claims on his television shows,” said Cardinal Bakony contemptuously. “They are fools who believe that.”
Cardinal Lepescu gave a slow-motion shrug. “How can we say that, when the issue may well divide the Church? How many riots have we learned of in the last three days? It must be over twenty. You do not know how many of our Catholics at home are turning to the Orthodox Church, because they believe we have succumbed to the wiles of the Devil, or the demands of internationalism.”
“The Orthodox Church isn’t as strong in Hungary as it is in Romania; we have our share of Protestants, however, and a few new cults of neo-pagans,” said Cardinal Bakony. “But your warning is well-taken. I will alert my Bishops to be more diligent.”
“That will not suffice, I fear,” said Cardinal Lepescu. “We cannot defy God’s will, yet our flocks demand it of us.” He looked away from Cardinal Bakony. “I never thought it would come to this. I assumed she would be kept in China and our claims denied. I have been preparing myself to support one of our own number to fill the vacancy, and now—!”
“Yes,” said Cardinal Bakony. “Cardinal van Hooven announced his morning that he has had another call from Cardinal Mendosa.”
“If I were not what I am, I could find it in my heart to curse that man,” said Cardinal Lepescu with quiet passion. “There is no more dangerous man in the Church than Charles, Cardinal Mendosa of Houston, Texas.”
“There is, sadly, a more dangerous woman,” said Cardinal Bakony.
“If she is in the Church at all,” said Cardinal Lepescu. “Has the Curia reached a decision about that? Have they decided how she is to be baptized?”
“Not yet,” said Cardinal Bakony. “Who would have thought we would ever be confronted with the problem of baptizing an elected Pope?”
“It has occurred before,” said Cardinal Lepescu.
“In what century?” Cardinal Bakony demanded.
With a gesture that signaled his concession of the point, Cardinal Lepescu said, “The thirteenth century. The man became an Anti-Pope over it, since he was a Jew.” He paused and smiled. “Like Jesus.”
“A thirteenth century Anti-Pope!” Cardinal Bakony jeered. “What bearing can that have on us now? I see more reason to put faith in your rumor about the KGB than in anything from so distant a time, and about so dubious a figure. The public—not just Catholics but everyone else—doesn’t care what happened so long ago. It means nothing to them, has no bearing on their lives. They are concerned with now, with borders that open and close and change by the hour, with insufficient food and non-existent medical resources, with economic policies that are never the same two days in a row, with education created for the demands of the Second World War. They are worried that their money might not be worth anything next week, or refused as unreliable when they travel. They wonder how they will eat and if there will be a school where they can send their children without spending all their savings on decent instruction. They fear they will be responsible for their aged parents when they cannot care adequately for themselves. They are afraid that the government will betray them, that the laws will not protect them, that their faith will not sustain them. They dread next year, because it could be worse than this year. They are worried about the air they breathe and the purity of their water, and the wholesomeness of their food.” He stopped as if all his energy had deserted him. “I hear them, Eminence. It is difficult to bear.”
“It isn’t our burden; it belongs to the widow from Hongya. It is for us to honor her mandate.” Cardinal Lepescu said it as if he were giving away the most treasured relics of the Church. “But I am troubled about that rumor, Eminence.”
“It isn’t necessary to concern yourself,” said Cardinal Bakony. “I would be more inclined to worry about Beijing. We can deal with Moscow these days, now that they have permitted us to establish an Internunciature in two years. Beijing is another matter: the government will want assurances from Zhuang, without doubt, and she will accommodate them, because she is a Magistrate and loyal to her government. Consider her position. She will be among strangers, using unfamiliar forms in unfamiliar tongues. You cannot blame her for keeping to the ways she knows and honoring her racial and political heritage. It is Beijing that will profit from her tenure here, not Moscow.”
“There will be disruptions, no matter what is done,” said Cardinal Lepescu in sepulchral tones. “There has been disruption already, of a sort more encompassing than anything I could have foreseen. I have fears, late at night, that it is possible the Protestants are right, and we have been duped by a clever stratagem. We must find a way to minimize the damage to the Church, and to Catholics all over the world.”
Cardinal Bakony looked narrowly at Cardinal Lepescu. “Eminence, you are not suggesting we openly oppose her, are you? I could not advocate a schism, no matter how distasteful I find this Chinese woman.”
“Don’t say so, not yet,” suggested Cardinal Lepescu. “We are not like western Europeans, or the South Americans, with the majority of our population adhering to our faith. We are beleaguered in our countries, and we must be the more wary because of it. Even if religion were not in question, politics would be. We must think of our faith, how fragile it is in these times, and we must swear to preserve it, no matter what may come.” His dark eyes, stark in his pale, lined face held Cardinal Bakony in their baleful stare.
“It isn’t wise,” said Cardinal Bakony quietly. “If we oppose her, we could do more harm—”
“No,” said Cardinal Lepescu. “You must not allow yourself to be seduced by the promise of internationalism. We are not asked to consider the universal as humanists, but as those sworn to uphold the spiritual well-being of those whose faith places them in our care. We have an obligation to keep them from error and fear. Meditate and pray, Eminence. Turn your eyes inward, to your soul, and you will stand with us, with those who are intent on preserving the Holy Roman Catholic Church from ruin.”
Cardinal Bakony stared at Cardinal Lepescu. He wished he knew which of the prophets Cardinal Lepescu resembled, for certainly he must resemble one of them. “I’ll…I’ll do what I can.” He began to dread the supper he had agreed to share with the irrepressible Cardinal Cadini, who was sure to put pressure on him from the opposite point of view.
“Deo gratias,” said C
ardinal Lepescu, crossing himself.
* * *
Along the three terraces of the fields there was a narrow walkway; Mendosa followed Zhuang along it, inspecting her fields in the warm early morning light. Willie Foot walked between them, translating back and forth for them. “For all the world like a Greek chorus,” he said as they started the inspection.
“This is planted in millet,” she informed him as they crossed one of the several drainage ditches on a little foot-bridge that was scarcely more than a stile. “Last year the crop was good, but our spring was cold this year and I do not think it will yield so much.”
“How do you treat the fields in winter?” Mendosa asked.
“They are covered in dung and then spent straw,” said Magistrate Zhuang. “That way the land does not fail.”
“How delightful,” added Willie, who had relayed the information to Mendosa.
“Shut up, Willie; just translate,” said Mendosa with a wry smile. “Ask the Worthy Magistrate if the straw and dung are plowed in before the fields are planted.”
“Most certainly,” she answered. “It is necessary to do this in order to make the best use of the land.” She halted and pointed toward the northeast. “Look, you can see where they are putting in the new bridge. The old one washed out eight years ago. This one is wider and stronger.”
“Seems good to me,” said Mendosa as he shaded his eyes and dutifully looked in the direction indicated.
“What do you know about bridges?” asked Willie, after translating for Magistrate Zhuang.
“Not very much. Except that the Pope is a bridge-builder. The Pontiff, or pontifex means a bridge-builder. So I’ll make note of any bridge she points out to me, and I’ll do my best to admire it.” Mendosa waited while Willie struggled to explain his remarks. “Tell her, Willie, that the Pope can choose the kind of bridge she wants to build—she can span the distance between people or the distance between people and God. Or both, for all I know.”
Magnificat Page 27
