He had that morning received the most recent letter from Cardinal Mendosa and read it over with interest and a strange sense of pleasure. In spite of their obvious differences, Karodin was coming to like the Texan. He found two paragraphs particularly interesting.
Aside from her dislike of all the attention she has been receiving. Magistrate Zhuang has not experienced any difficulty in traveling, apart from a dislike of the food we are being served. We will arrive in Hong Kong within the hour and we have been promised that there will be as small a reception for her as is possible and prudent. Some attention cannot be avoided entirely, for security reasons if none other. The police force in Hong Kong, as well as the Chinese and British Army contingents there have said they cannot permit her to enter the city without protection.
I understand that Dame Leonie Purcell has made the arrangements for us and has extended the hospitality of her embassy to us. It may not be diplomatically correct, but I have accepted her offer. Considering how much consternation Magistrate Zhuang has created so far, I have decided that the British embassy is preferable to the Italian one, since Britain is not a largely Roman Catholic country. I have ruled out the American embassy because of the contingent of journalists who have access to the American embassy in Hong Kong. I do not want to be fending off press at all hours of the day and night.
While his housekeeper brought him a glass of strong, sweet tea, Dmitri Karodin leaned back in his chair, going over in his mind the most recent additions to his file on Magistrate Zhuang. He had already decided that he would have to find out where the rumor of Zhuang’s being an agent of the Communist Party came from, and who was behind the insistence that she was under orders to destroy the Church for ideological reasons. Not that he ruled out such a possibility, he added to himself as he made a few notes on the pad he kept on his desk. Premier Zuo Nangkao was not one to neglect such an opportunity, though Dmitri knew that Zuo had played no part in Magistrate Zhuang’s election. Yet Dmitri was not surprised that there would be rumors about what the Chinese government expected to achieve through Magistrate Zhuang’s unexpected advancement, or that some would assume there had been subtle machinations on the part of Chinese intelligence to obtain the Throne of Saint Peter for her. However, the fabulous notion of drugs and subliminal manipulation of the entire College of Cardinals was too preposterous for him to consider as anything more than entertainment.
But the rumor—the specific rumor—had come from somewhere, he knew. And wherever it was, there Magistrate Zhuang had implacable enemies. He finished his tea and made a few phone calls, none of them to Moscow.
* * *
Drizzle turned the entire city of Milan a dark, surly grey. Late spring often went nasty in the north of Italy; the small party from Rome waited in the security VIP lounge of the airport, peering out at the weather and waiting for the announcement that the plane from Hong Kong via Delhi had arrived at last.
“I can understand why Barbarossa sacked this city twice,” said Vitale, Cardinal Cadini when the lounge hostess had brought them all brandy with coffee and left them alone. “It made him gloomy.”
“It became gloomy after he sacked it,” said Cardinal Pingari, thinking that the lounge was a little stuffy. He liked the rain and if he were not in his most elegant business suit, he would have taken half an hour to walk alone in it.
Cardinal van Hooven set his brandy aside. “It is better this than smog.”
All five of the Cardinals in the lounge agreed.
“Do you think this new Pope will take an interest in smog? Now that environmental abuse is listed as a sin, she might insist that something be done,” Cardinal Gemme tried to laugh, and showed instead a nervousness like stage fright. His usual confidence was absent today, and instead he fussed. “The Chinese have not been very concerned with the environment until Zuo became Premier.”
“There’s no use anticipating. We’ll have to wait until she arrives to find out,” said Cardinal van Hooven. He was comfortable in his chair and showed no inclination to get up and pace, as Cardinal Gemme was doing, or to watch impatiently as the wall clock marked off an eternity of seconds, as Cardinal Ochoa did, or to stare out at the rain and lowering clouds as if they were an assembly of devils, as Cardinal Shumwoe did. If he had learned one thing in his years of psychiatric practice it was to wait without expectation, so that he would not be shocked, whatever happened. In his own apartments he might have lit a pipe; but here, he realized that would only serve to provoke the others.
“You said Cardinal Mendosa called you from Delhi,” said Cardinal Gemme, addressing Cardinal Cadini. “What did he have to say?”
“That the trip was bouncy and the food was bad and the movie boring, but that the airline staff was being pleasant,” said Cardinal Cadini with extreme calm. “What else could he say in the middle of a busy airport? There might have been newsmen around, and he didn’t want to advertise their presence.”
“There is a newsman around all the time,” complained Cardinal Gemme, with a look to the others for support. “His translator is a journalist.”
“And so far he has sent nothing to the papers, or the networks,” Cardinal Cadini said gently. “He gave Cardinal Mendosa his word and he has honored it.”
“What did he have to say about the woman?” asked Cardinal Pingari, his question sounding very loud.
“He said that she was tired. They’ll probably be suffering from jet lag when they arrive. They’ll want nothing more than a light meal and a good night’s rest,” said Cardinal Cadini, hoping that so mundane a consideration as jet lag would keep the Cardinals from demanding the entire attention of the newcomer.
“There is a press conference scheduled for tomorrow at noon,” said Cardinal Gemme. “In Rome.”
“And we will be certain to have something for the press,” said Cardinal van Hooven. “We need not produce Zhuang for them. In fact, it might be best if we wait until we have the opportunity to speak with her ourselves before we ask her to deal with the press. We need only tell them that she has arrived safely and that plans are underway for her coronation.” He saw Cardinal Pingari and Cardinal Ochoa wince at the last word; he went on, “It will be what they expect, yet in these times, it will serve our purpose to give them what they expect.”
“Quite true,” said Cardinal Cadini with enthusiasm. “We really ought to behave as if this were the most normal election in the history of the Church, to keep them from making all those outrageous claims we keep seeing in headlines. Have you followed the most recent speculations? They’re like the story in a bad movie. Hypnotic suggestions! Communists in the kitchen! Bugs in the Sistine Chapel! As if this lot could be uniformly hoodwinked without difficulty.”
The others nodded endorsement of his indignation.
“At home,” said Cardinal Shumwoe in his deep, entrancing voice, “people are saying that a spell has been put on the Church, by older gods who are not pleased to have an upstart like Jesus Christ taking the place of the old ones. Those old gods are bloody. If they demand revenge, it is taken in pain and lives. They are false gods, but many are deceived by these tales of their power.” He crossed himself. “I have been warned by many of my clergy that we will lose converts because of that woman.”
“If she is the choice of the Holy Spirit, they will return, and bring many more with them,” said Cardinal van Hooven tranquilly.
Cardinal Gemme rounded on him, his hands tightening to fists. “How can you sit there, pretending that nothing important is happening?”
“It has not happened yet, if you are speaking of Zhuang’s arrival. If you mean her election, that was weeks and weeks ago. It is no longer news to alarm me.” He decided to have a little more brandy. “For the sake of Our Lord, Marc-Luc, spare yourself. You will need all that energy later. There is nothing to be gained squandering it now.”
Cardinal Gemme turned away abruptly, almost overturning Cardinal Cadini’s snifter of brandy. “You all think this going to go away, don’t you? You assume that we�
��ll be able to carry on as usual, that she’ll be so baffled and confused that she will not be able to do anything but what we tell her to do.” He came close to pounding his fist against the wall in frustration. “Don’t be blind! She could make many changes, serious changes. She is about to become Pope! And we don’t know anything about her. Hasn’t it penetrated your brains yet? She will have the authority to command the Church. If that doesn’t frighten you, if you are not apprehensive at least, about what she could so, then you are worse than fools.”
Cardinal Cadini applauded lightly. “Very convincing, Cardinal Gemme.” He was about to continue when an announcement, first in Italian, then in English, then in German, informed them of the arrival of a flight from Copenhagen.
All the Cardinals visibly relaxed.
“I find your attitude offensive,” said Cardinal Gemme to Cardinal Cadini.
“I might say the same of you, Cardinal Gemme,” Cardinal Cadini replied. “It is moments like this when I wonder if we are truly on the same side.”
“Side! How can you allow something so petty as side to cloud your judgment?” Cardinal Gemme moved past Cardinal Cadini, but the lounge did not give him much room for dramatic effect. He had to be satisfied with a short turn and a resumption of his pacing.
“The whole problem is that each of us has a side,” said Cardinal Cadini as if he were unaware of the slight Cardinal Gemme had offered him. “And that woman is going to have to contend with all of them. Some of us have hopes that her insights will help us find new ways to teach our old lesson. Others would rather stick with old methods, viable or not.”
“He’s not a student of yours, Cardinal Cadini,” said Cardinal Pingari, doing his best to sound more confident than he felt. “None of us needs a lecture from you.”
“Your point is taken, Eminence,” said Cardinal Cadini, shifting in his seat with with a serene smile. He directed his attention to the shiny runways.
“How much longer, do you think?” asked Cardinal Ochoa, with a glance at his watch. “They were supposed to land twenty minutes ago.”
“This airport is always behind,” complained Cardinal Gemme. “I have missed more connections here than anywhere but Frankfort.”
“We haven’t been told there is a delay,” said Cardinal van Hooven, “so we must assume that they are part of the planes scheduled to land. Be patient if you can. Pray for patience.” He had a little more of the brandy. “This is quite good. You should try some.”
“No, thank you,” said Cardinal Ochoa. He looked uncomfortable in his secular clothes although he was dressed with expensive, restrained good taste. “If only they would land.”
Another two planes descended, then taxied to other parking spots, waiting for the airport ferries to come and claim their passengers, bound for other gates than the one where the Cardinals waited.
Then a plane came in bearing the emblem of China/World Airlines, the most recent of the People’s Republic’s ventures into tourism. No announcement on the public address system greeted its arrival.
Cardinal Cadini watched it eagerly. “They’ re supposed to let her off first. That’s what the police want, so they can give her proper protection.” He nodded toward the police cars waiting near the runways a quarter of a mile from the terminal. “The airport staff said they would take her off the plane very near here.”
“How can you be sure this is the plane they’re on?” Cardinal Gemme demanded, anxious and annoyed at once.
“Well, the next China/World flight isn’t due until nine this evening. So it would appear that this is our plane.” Cardinal Cadini was staring out the window now, close enough to the glass that his breath left ghosts on the pane.
Cardinal Gemme came to his side. “There’s no announcement.”
“They won’t make one until after Zhuang and Cardinal Mendosa leave the plane. And Willie Foot, too, for that matter.” Cardinal Cadini made no attempt to disguise the smile that spread over his features. “We’ll be able to watch them from here.”
Cardinal van Hooven rose to his feet and came to the window. “What does she look like?” He scolded himself silently for anticipating the woman, but could not deny his curiosity.
“Chinese,” said Cardinal Cadini comprehensively. “Wait. It won’t be long now.”
The plane reached the end of the runway now and was turning to come back to the terminal. It was accompanied by ten police cars, a whale in a school of minnows.
Finally the plane stopped and steps were rolled out to it.
“I want to watch,” said Cardinal Shumwoe as he came to the window with the others.
As the door swung open, Cardinal Mendosa stepped out into the rain. He lifted his arms and opened an umbrella with a broken vane, so that one side flopped toward his ear. Even at this distance, his fellow-Cardinals could see he was grinning.
“How does he look?” asked Cardinal Cadini, wishing he had his other pair of glasses with him.
“He looks like Charles, Cardinal Mendosa,” said Cardinal Gemme in disgust. “He’s probably wearing his cowboy boots.”
Next came Willie Foot to stand beside the Cardinal, disdaining the shelter of the umbrella with British unconcern.
The third figure held the rapt attention of the six Cardinals in the VIP lounge: she was shadowed by the umbrella, and dwarfed by the two men who flanked her; she did not seem very distinguished. Her hair was dark, but that was expected. Before she started down the steps she addressed a remark to Cardinal Mendosa which made him laugh. She stood straight and walked without hesitation, her shoulders square, her head carried well. Her clothes were nondescript, but she did not behave as if this troubled her.
“Habemus Papam,” said Cardinal Cadini softly as Magistrate Zhuang stepped onto Italian ground to be lost to sight amid the police cars. “Or whatever the feminine of Pope may be.”
Part II:
ELEVATION
Chapter 17
It was impossible to reach the Vatican by road. Tens of thousands of Catholics, non-Catholics, anti-Catholics, the crazed and the curious had turned out to catch a glimpse of the woman from China. Several vocal minorities shouted slogans against the new Pope, calling her Antichrist and Whore of Babylon, Communist and Subversive. A few smaller, more respectful groups staged demonstrations of support, a contingent of nuns going so far as to celebrate a Mass at the base of Castel’ Sant’ Angelo; the break-away group that claimed the right of succession to the Throne of Saint Peter for themselves sang the Requiem. Others recited prayers in Latin and admonished sincere Catholics to turn away from revisionist policies and irreligious practices which had made the Church a puppet in godless hands.
Thieves of all sorts took advantage of this marvelous opportunity. The newsmedia gobbled it all and asked for more. Not everyone approved of this exploitation, but those who objected were ignored or shouted down. Worshippers and zealots blocked the Sant’ Angelo bridge and the police barricaded the Vittorio Emanuele II bridge in a desperate attempt to reduce the number of people crowding onto the north-west bank of the Tevere; they were not very successful and the crush grew worse.
Rafaele, Cardinal Tondocello, dressed as casually as his rank and the gravity of the occasion would allow stood to greet the three men from Interpol as his Jesuit secretary left them. “Welcome, gentlemen. Come in. Come in. I’m sorry for all this…inconvenience,” he said, and held out his ring to them, sketching a blessing to them as they knelt. He was very tired and the commotion around him made him testy. “Please. Sit down.”
The two Frenchmen complied at once; the Italian remained standing until the Cardinal himself was seated. The senior officer, a Commander Alphonse Bouleau from Nantes, presented his credentials. “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice, Your Eminence. I’m sorry we come on such an unpleasant errand. We appreciate your cooperation, at what must be a very difficult time. Still, we might have expected worse, all things considered.” He paused, giving Cardinal Tondocello the opportunity to speak. When the Cardinal remai
ned silent, Commander Bouleau continued, “Inspectors Cervi and Fleche and I have been asked by the Italian government and the European Economic Community Police Agency to assist you, for the protection of Rome. Of course, the Vatican need not accept our aid, but.…” He made a gesture to imply the rest.
“Yes,” said Cardinal Tondocello. He sighed, thinking that tomorrow he would have to have dialysis again, and would feel better afterward. “It would probably be best if we work together.”
“We know you have your own security people.… Interpol has a long history of good relations with your security. We’ve already been in contact with them, of course. So have the EECPA.” Inspector Cervi said in placating tones. “But in this instance—and I believe you will agree—the situation is too delicate for our usual methods.”
Cardinal Tondocello nodded. “Of course. We were informed last night. They are not adequate to this.” He lifted his hand to indicate the crowd three stories down from his study window. “That you arrived by helicopter is proof of the gravity of the situation.”
“The crowd is now estimated at forty to fifty thousand,” said Inspector Cervi. “According to INS, that is low. They are estimating it at seventy-five to eighty thousand in their news programs.”
“So many gathered like this is a…dangerous environment. And when you consider the controversy of the occasion, the risks are greater. Anything might happen. It would take very little to turn that crowd into a mob. Or worse,” added Inspector Fleche.
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