“Really sure, no,” said Cardinal Mendosa. “I wasn’t there, and Magistrate Zhuang has no information as to how she got her visa. Still, it seems from what he’s said that he was the one who arranged for her to leave. I am grateful, I suppose, that he did it. I don’t like the conditions he imposed on me, but I have no reason to assume he was not telling the truth. There’s no sensible reason to lie about what he did for Zhuang. That isn’t what bothers me. What little contact I have had with Karodin isn’t enough to let me guess about his motive.”
“But you’re satisfied he’s the one behind it?” asked Bell, intrigued. He selected a table, dropped his leather folder on it, and pulled out both chairs with a flourish. “Your Eminence?”
“No title,” Cardinal Mendosa warned him sharply. “I don’t want to be the object of interest.” He sat down, his rangy frame making the chair seem like furniture for a child.
Bell realized his error at once. “No, of course not.” He reversed his chair and straddled the seat, his arms folded along the back. “You’re probably tired of dealing with the press.”
“I’m tired of much more than that, especially subterfuge,” said Cardinal Mendosa shortly, then made a slap at the air with his hand. “But that doesn’t excuse me being surly with you. Beg pardon.”
“No need to ask,” said Bell, looking up as a slender young man in waiter’s black-and-white approached. “Espresso doppio for me. And you?”
“Caffe latte,” said Cardinal Mendosa. He stared out at the traffic as the waiter retreated. “I gave him my word. Karodin, I mean. I said he would have regular reports from me. He made it a condition of Zhuang’s release. And I’ll keep my word. But it troubles me, just as his motives trouble me.”
“Then why accommodate him? You’ve got what you want. Why send the reports now that she’s here?” asked Bell, not expecting an answer. He noticed a tall, buxom woman with glossy dark hair emerging from the shop next door; his eyes lingered on her as she made her way toward the bakery.
Cardinal Mendosa was startled. “I said I gave him my word. I can’t go back on that. I’m discredited enough as it is. I won’t add to it; I won’t take the chance of exposing the Pope to any scandal.” He reached into his jacket and drew out a plain envelope. “Here. You know how to get this to the right person.”
Bell took the envelope, amazed that Cardinal Mendosa would hand it over so readily and openly. “Yes. I’ll attend to it discreetly.”
“Thank you,” said Cardinal Mendosa flatly. Once again his attention was taken by the traffic. “I suggest that neither of us discuss these dealings in front of Cardinal Cadini. He has been too good a friend to me, and too devoted to Zhuang for me to want to compromise him by embroiling him in this…this intrigue.”
“If that’s what you want,” said Bell, wanting to offer some reassurance to the Cardinal, but could not think of what to say. “I’ll take care of it.”
“I appreciate it,” said Cardinal Mendosa. Then he straightened in his chair. “I'm relying on your discretion, Bell.” He coughed once. “In addition to your other help, I want you to get Karodin’s assurance that he and his agency had nothing to do with the death of Cardinal Tayibha.”
“But why?” asked Bell, noticing out of the corner of his eye that the attractive woman had taken another one of the outdoor tables. “You don’t think he had anything to do with it, do you?”
“I don’t know.” Cardinal Mendosa stifled a sigh. “Someone killed him. The autopsy revealed a rare poison, one of the sorts that has to be specially manufactured. The poison had to come from somewhere.”
“And you suspect the KGB?” Bell inquired, who shared the suspicion.
“It’s a possibility, but not the only one, not by a long shot,” said Cardinal Mendosa. He fidgeted in his chair. “That’s what’s been making it so difficult for me. It’s possible that I created a link that brought about Cardinal Tayibha’s death. I pray I haven’t, but if I have in any way contributed to the murder of a fellow-Cardinal, how am I to—” He broke off. “I shouldn’t be saying this to you.”
“I won’t repeat it,” said Martin Bell, hoping he would be able to keep his promise. “I have no reason to repeat it.”
“Of course you do,” said Cardinal Mendosa without anger. “You could sell an article about these suppositions to any number of publications, from academic to supermarket sleaze. You could sell a book about the election of this Pope, and include this as a sidebar.”
Since Bell had already started making notes about the impact of this Papal election, he had no glib denial for Cardinal Mendosa. He watched the woman for most of a minute. “I probably will do a book,” he said at last, oddly relieved to admit his plan, “But I won’t include any of this in it. Well, think; I can’t, can I? There would be questions for me to answer if I say anything to expose you.”
“There could be a problem or two for you, I’d imagine,” said Cardinal Mendosa. “You could damage yourself seriously. So you ought to be able to understand why I’m apprehensive.”
“Of course,” said Bell, noticing the waiter returning.
Cardinal Mendosa saw the man as well, and fell silent, his charcoal-brown eyes again fixed on the traffic in the road. He muttered his thanks when a caffe latte was placed in front of him, but he neither looked at the young man nor invited any comment from him.
Martin Bell paid for their coffee and added a reasonable tip. He look a little curl of lemon peel and gave it a twist before dropping it into the espresso.
“In the States you teach where?” asked Cardinal Mendosa as he took the long spoon to stir his caffe latte.
“Stanford,” said Bell, puzzled at the turn in the conversation.
“Stanford,” Cardinal Mendosa repeated. “Yeah, you wouldn’t want your KGB connection to get around there, even in these friendly days. Stanford is pretty conservative turf.” He set his spoon aside. “I’ve been out there a couple of times, to conferences and to debate Vince Walgren about handling drug gangs. It’s a handsome place. You can see it has money.”
“Yes, it does,” said Bell, and asked, “What are you trying to find out?”
“Nothing spectacular,” said Cardinal Mendosa. “I was just curious how much you have at risk, running errands for the KGB.”
“And how much of a risk do you think it is?” Bell asked, stung.
Cardinal Mendosa smiled only with his mouth. “More than I guessed.”
* * *
Rufus Greene and Clancy McEllton sat in the limousine facing forward. Cardinal Hetre, in a cassock, rode with his back to the driver and the connecting window closed. Traffic in Rome was more congested than usual, which slowed their progress to little more than a jogging pace.
“There are Eurocops all over the place,” said Clancy, indicating the mess along the Via dei Quattro Fontane. Ahead the front of San Cartino was covered with scaffolding, and beside it three white-and-blue cars waited. “They’re spot-checking. Eurocops!”
“Not surprising, with the Ministry of Defense and the Ministry of Finance so near.” Cardinal Hetre dismissed the presence of the police emphatically.
“That’s not the reason, Eminence. They’re here because of the murder of Cardinal Tayibha,” said Greene. “They’re being cautious. You know, it’s interesting, how little information the Vatican and the police have released about his death. I don’t suppose they’ve learned who did it, or why?”
“No, nothing yet,” said Cardinal Hetre, his face set with disapproval and a trace of envy. “Or if something is known, Stelo is keeping it secret, along with the rest of that security committee of his.”
“The Vatican is very good at keeping secrets,” said Clancy with a touch of pride. “They’ve had hundreds and hundreds of years to practice.”
Cardinal Hetre shook his head. “We should have said nothing at all. We should have gone ahead and arranged for his funeral, and said nothing. The autopsy was a mistake, and making it public about the poison was a serious error in judgment. It’s
made everyone suspicious and brought too much attention on us. If we didn’t have this travesty of a Pope! That Chinese woman required that we inform the police and the public. She said it was not in keeping with what Jesus taught to withhold such information.” His eyes smoldered. “Everyone is afraid to say the tea was for the Chinese woman. They want to pretend the poison wasn’t for her. Why should it be for Cardinal Tayibha? He hadn’t been a Cardinal long enough to make many enemies, but he came from India, and that is offensive to some of us. That is what they are implying in their briefings, that someone disapproved of him because he was Indian.”
“Are you taking credit for the attempt on the woman’s life?” asked Clancy with a touch of mischief.
“Not I,” said Cardinal Hetre. “How could I? The government in Montreal doesn’t deal with poisons like that, and I could scarcely have got it in Winnipeg.” His head was only a little sore now, more a residual ache than real pain. “And in any case, I would not attempt so cowardly an act; poison is the weapon of the craven.”
“But you are talking with us, with the intention of ending her rule,” said Greene. “How is this different.”
“I don’t want to kill her, not if it isn’t necessary. I want to see her discredited, as she should have been from the first, removed from office, and those who have insisted we elevate her made to pay for their blunder along with her. But killing her, no, that is too much. The scandal would be terrible. Killing her makes her a martyr. There must be a better way to be rid of her.” He folded his hands in his lap. “Remember how rife the rumors were when John-Paul I died, and there were so many questions asked about him? It was very damaging, very divisive to the Church. And his death was an unfortunate mishap. This is much worse; it is quickly becoming a disaster.”
“Cardinal Tayibha was murdered, wasn’t he?” asked Greene. “There’s no doubt about that?”
“I’m not saying he wasn’t.” Cardinal Hetre scowled at the American. “But it isn’t a good idea to permit everyone in the world to review the evidence.” He nodded toward the street. “Everyone out there has his own theory about what happened. Everyone has speculated on the role the Church played in Cardinal Tayibha’s death. That’s the trouble with making the autopsy results public. It brings too much attention on us, attention that causes distress to Catholics all over the world. They have endured the farce of this Papal election, but there is no reason they should have to share in this folly as well.”
“But the man is dead,” said Clancy. “Someone put poison in his tea. Your reports indicate that the poison was not in Tayibha’s cup but in the pot of tea. Anyone drinking that tea would have died. And the tea was prepared for Pope An.”
“Don’t call her that,” snapped Cardinal Hetre as his headache flared.
“It is the name everyone calls her. They can pronounce it more easily than Zhuang Renxin,” said Greene. He sighed as the limousine pulled to the side of the road, and a uniformed Eurocop tapped on the window. “Excuse this interruption,” he said to the passengers as he pressed the button to lower the window. “Yes, officer?”
The Eurocop was not thrown off hearing English. He answered in the same language with only a hint of a Veneto accent. “Your pardon, but as you are aware, we are conducting random inquiries.”
“Yes,” said Greene. “What do you want to know? We’re willing to cooperate, naturally.”
“Thank you,” said the Eurocop. “You are? May I see your passport?”
“Greene, Rufus Greene.” He pulled a Coach wallet from his jacket. “Here is my passport, and my receipt from the hotel where I am staying. I am Vice-President in charge of security for International Vision, Ltd. My cards and other identifications are also in the wallet, along with a copy of my travel itinerary.” He handed it over without any reluctance.
The Eurocop took the wallet and drew out Greene’s passport. “If you are in security, you probably comprehend the need for these precautions.”
“Most certainly. In your place I would probably do the same things you’re doing. All three of us are aware of the current difficulties.” He indicated the other two with him. “This is Mister Clancy McEllton, who does consulting work for me from time to time. And undoubtedly you know His Eminence Cardinal Hetre.” Greene went about the introductions with rapid efficiency.
“Eminenza,” said the Eurocop, ducking his head toward the French-Canadian.
Cardinal Hetre said nothing. Stiffly he waited for the Eurocop to be gone.
“Would you like to see my passport as well, Officer?” asked Clancy, taking his cue from Greene. “I’m not carrying my hotel receipts with me, but I’ll be happy to tell you where I’m staying: it’s on the north side of the city, off the Via Nerone, a place called the White Peacock.”
“The passport is sufficient,” said the Eurocop, handing Greene’s wallet back to him and extending his hand to Clancy.
“Here you are,” said Clancy as he fished his wallet—more battered and weathered than Greene’s—out of his jacket. “I’ve been going back and forth between here and London fairly frequently. All EEC countries, of course; I’ve also been to Germany and Greece in the last eight months. And I had a vacation in Denmark.”
“More security work?” asked the Eurocop without much interest.
“That’s my job,” said Clancy, watching while the Eurocop flipped through the pages of his passport. “I’m semi-independent. I’ve got continuing contracts with another company, but I take short-term consultations on the side. You know how it is.”
“Of course.” He returned Clancy’s wallet and bowed a little to Cardinal Hetre again. “I will need to see your Vatican identification, Eminence. For the record.”
This last addition chilled and infuriated Cardinal Hetre, who turned on the officer, his eyes baleful. “You’re impudent and insolent, Officer, and I will not tolerate it.”
“Sorry, Your Eminence, but we are required to—”
The Eurocop got no further. “I will report your actions to your superiors and I will insist that you be reprimanded for your actions. Is that clear?” He motioned to Greene to hold his tongue as he went on, for once taking satisfaction in the pain burgeoning in his skull. “I will not relinquish my identification to you. You know very well who I am and where I reside. Your attempt to bolster your position by making this untoward demand of me is not going to serve your purposes at all. I will personally see to it that you pay the full price for this effrontery.” He stared directly at Greene. “Roll up your window and have the driver take us away from here.”
“Eminence,” said Greene placatingly, “you might as well go through the motions for him. He knows who you are, but there are procedures. You ought to sympathize with him. He has his work to do.”
“That does not allow him to harass me. Or you,” he added as an afterthought.
The Eurocop sighed once. “Never mind, Mister Greene. Things have been a little tense around the Vatican. I’ll take care of it on the report. You won’t have any trouble about this.” He moved back from the window. “Drive on,” he ordered, motioning to the chauffeur to put the limousine in motion.
Greene waited until they had turned right onto the Via Nazionale before he spoke. “I don’t intend to criticize Your Eminence,” he began tactfully, “but I think that perhaps it was not wise for you to call so much attention to us as you did.”
“You’re absurd,” said Cardinal Hetre. The back of his head felt as if it were being squeezed in a vise; his hands were cold. “The fellow was impossible.”
“He was doing his job,” said Clancy, and ignored the restraining hand Greene put on his arm. “If you’d gone along with him, he wouldn’t have paid any attention to us. Now he’s going to remember he saw you, and with whom. That could make things trickier later on, after we do what we need to do. If you’d just handed over some ID, he wouldn’t have anything to recall about us. As it is, you could put him on a witness stand and get solid testimony out of him.”
“Don’t be foo
lish,” said Cardinal Hetre, but with less confidence than before. “It won’t come to that. With what he is doing, he will have many people angry with him by the end of the day.”
“That may be so,” said Clancy, “but most of them will not be Cardinals riding in limousines, if you will excuse my mentioning it.”
For an instant Cardinal Hetre saw himself standing over Clancy, both of them naked. He shook with revulsion and something darker. “Once his superiors castigate him properly, he will put the incident out of his mind.”
Greene read something in Cardinal Hetre’s expression and took a much gentler course with him than he had intended. “Eminence, do you think it is wise to speak to his superiors? If you complain, there will be an official record of what was done; that might be used against you, if there is ever any question of our…association. If you say nothing, it will be the man’s word against ours, and then no fault could be fixed on you.”
Now his headache was raging. Cardinal Hetre put his hand to his eyes to block out the muted sunlight. “I’ll consider what you say,” he told Greene while he did his best to contain his anguish. He wanted to get on his knees, to offer up his suffering in the hope that God would take it from him.
“Cardinal Hetre,” ventured Clancy. “Is something the matter?”
“A…slight headache. I’m prone to them.” He made himself lower his hands. “There. I think the worst has gone off. If you have an aspirin or—”
Not that aspirin would do any good, he knew, but it was what Greene and Clancy McEllton expected him to ask for. “Three tablets is my usual dose.”
“Very well,” said Greene, opening a leather-covered panel in the back of the limousine. “Aspirin or a substitute?”
“Aspirin,” said Cardinal Hetre firmly. “And a taste of wine to wash it down.”
“Of course,” said Clancy, reaching for the champagne that was chilling in a bucket beside Cardinal Hetre’s seat. “This was supposed to seal our bargain, but I reckon we might as well open it now.”
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