“Well, I have a vested interest in you, Worthy Magistrate.” He was not embarrassed, but the friendship between them was colored for him now by what he had seen in his visions. “And I know you.”
“Yes. You found me and somehow arranged for me to come here. Knowing what I do now, I marvel at your accomplishment.” Her eyes met his. “And I am very pleased that you are my ally and not my enemy.”
Before Cardinal Mendosa could answer, Cardinal Shumwoe, his black face lost in the shadowed light of the chamber, approached Pope An. “A most remarkable lesson, Holiness.”
“That title is no longer appropriate,” Pope An reminded him politely. “Thank you for your observation. I am pleased you found my words of interest.”
“That I did,” said Cardinal Shumwoe, then added, “I was shocked to learn of Carlo Urbi’s place in the death of Cardinal Tayibha. I was informed only two days ago of the case brought against him.”
“Yes, it is very unfortunate,” said Pope An, showing a degree of anxiety in the way she stood. “Those who ordered him to act have yet to be apprehended, but I am told that it will occur. There are rumors that the act was ordered by powerful men. That always means delays in the work of the law. Where power is an issue it is senseless to rush these things. The circumstances demand thoroughness and caution. There can be no room for doubt with powerful men. When the conspirators are identified we will have many decisions to make.”
“Then I will thank God in my prayers for your protection and delivery.” He bowed to her, then moved away, leaving the opening clear for Cardinal Hauptberger to speak with her.
“You don’t need me at the moment, do you, Pope An?” asked Cardinal Mendosa.
“I am glad of your company, but no, I do not need you. In half an hour, I would like your escort to my quarters.” She offered him a formal bow and accepted his in return.
Cardinal Cadini was preparing to leave the reception room to deal with the newsmedia. “There are going to be many, many questions about her lesson,” he told Cardinal Mendosa as the Texan came up to him.
“Does that surprise you?” asked Cardinal Mendosa.
“Not in the least,” said Cardinal Cadini with relish. “I will enjoy this more than the conference on hunger in January. That will be nothing short of an ordeal, and well you know it.” He indicated the scarlet piping on his black satin cassock. “But it goes with the office, doesn’t it?”
“As long as she says it does,” said Cardinal Mendosa, and changed the subject. “You’ll be at the wedding?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for anything. Willie and Dame Leonie, at last. Only is she still Dame Leonie now that Sir Arthur has disowned her? He did much more than divorce her.” Cardinal Cadini was beginning to fidget, afraid of arriving late to deal with the press.
“Yes. She was given the title on her own merit, for her service to the Crown. She continues as Dame Leonie, no matter what Sir Arthur has done.” He indicated the door. “Go on. The lions are waiting.”
“And I’m such a nice, plump Christian to feed them,” said Cardinal Cadini before he hurried on his way.
Several minutes later Willie Foot found Cardinal Mendosa lingering by the tall bookshelves, giving every indication that he did not wish to be disturbed. “Hope I’m not intruding?” he said as he came up to his friend.
“Other people might be, but never you,” said Cardinal Mendosa. “I’ve been trying to avoid getting dragged into an argument with Cardinal Tsukamara. He is worried about crossing Christian dogma with Taoism.”
“Is that what he thinks Pope An did?” asked Willie. He was a trifle pale but otherwise his composure was complete.
“He wants to make a case for it, not without cause,” said Cardinal Mendosa. “But frankly, I don’t give a damn one way or another.” He made a gesture of shoving the whole thing away. “You don’t want to hear about theology. Except as it pertains to weddings.”
“A divorced woman, not a Catholic, marrying a lapsed Catholic, that’s remarkable enough, but the marriage is being performed at the Vatican by the Pope with a handful of priests to back her up. Now that’s significant.” Willie achieved a lopsided grin.
“Which she intends it to be,” said Cardinal Mendosa. “It’s called sending a message, I think.”
“Well, it’s pretty amazing for us.” He looked down at his hands, holding them out at waist height. “They’re still steady. You certain you want to be best man for this thing, Charles?”
“Would you rather I wasn’t?” asked Cardinal Mendosa. There was no trace on rancor in his tone.
“I don’t know anyone else I’d rather have stand up with me, and that’s God’s own truth,” said Willie with feeling. “But it’s going to get a lot of publicity. It isn’t just that the Pope is doing it, or that Leonie and I have…have made names for ourselves. You know how much controversy there is in the Church about divorce. It’s going to come to a head over this, you watch.”
“I have a hunch that’s what Zhuang is hoping for. She wants it understood once and for all that she means it about divorce, and what better way than to perform this wedding?” Cardinal Mendosa shrugged. “While I think that shows good sense, I’m a little sorry I wasn’t given the job. I was looking forward to pronouncing you two hitched.”
“Hitched. How very Texan of you,” said Willie with a quick smile.
* * *
Reverend Williamson was mobbed in Atlanta. His limousine was turned over and the clothes torn off his back as souvenirs, the frenzy of his audience more like that of a rock star’s than a preacher’s.
He sat in his hotel suite, letting one of the women who traveled with him and his crew tend to the small cuts on his hands and face. He had a glass of whiskey in one hand and fondled the woman’s breast with the other. “You keep that up, Sarah. You just keep doing what you’re doing,” he said, not bothering to look at Rufus Greene, who sat opposite him, his expression carefully neutral.
“I thought you wanted to discuss matters in private.” Greene could not keep the note of reproach from his voice.
“Disapprove, do you?” asked Williamson, grinning lazily. “Don’t you know that those God favors enjoy good things? Look at David.” He waved Sarah away. “You go and set things out for my bath. You can do my back. Maybe you can do other parts, too.” He slapped her on the rump.
“I think you’re taking a risk,” said Greene. “At a time like this, you can’t afford any publicity that—”
“Tarnishes my image?” Reverend Williamson asked. He drank the last of his whiskey and set the glass aside. “Greene, I’d bet you that I could have an orgy in the middle of Peachtree Stadium and no one would believe it. I’m set in their minds, don’t you see? as someone who’s above all that.” He chuckled and there was more anger than mirth in the sound. “They want their preacher to be perfect, and that’s what they see. That’s what they want to see.”
“It could blow up in your face,” said Greene. “Don’t forget the Bakkers.”
“They were stupid. They started showing off. They had all that property and the frills. That’s what people got mad at, the frills. I haven’t done any of the things that make my people annoyed, not that they can see.” He put his hand to his forehead. “They’re free to assume the worst. I tell ‘em that every time. ‘Good Christians, you owe it to yourselves to guard your faith against those who would corrupt it and abuse your trust. So I beg you to guard yourselves. Do not permit anyone, not even me, to taint your faith. Be critical of what I do, of what all ministers of the Gospel do, and you will be certain that your devotion is not perverted or compromised.’ You’ve heard all that shit. I encourage them to believe bad things about me, because nothing stops them believing those things faster than me telling ‘em it’s okay.”
“I hope you’re right,” said Greene. He patted the large briefcase he brought with him. “I got some plans out of Hetre. He’s very jumpy; I think you ought to be aware that we can’t push him too hard. You have to be careful with men
like Hetre. Clancy doesn’t like dealing with him at all. He thinks Hetre is close to a breakdown, and I think he could be right. Hetre has psychosomatic headaches and they’re getting worse.”
Reverend Williamson raised his eyebrows. “What are you trying to tell me? Just spit it out.”
“I think we have to act soon. If we don’t, I can’t be responsible for anything Hetre could do.” He opened the briefcase. “You’ve seen the profile on the man. He’s coming unglued.”
“Well, stick him back together again,” said Reverend Williamson, his tone making it clear that he would accept no failure.
“I don’t know if we can do that. He’s…a very complicated person.” He looked at Reverend Williamson in the same level way he looked at Clancy McEllton. “I don’t know if he can stand to be pushed any further than he’s been pushed already.”
“All right; tell me why,” said Reverend Williamson.
Greene bit his lower lip before answering. “Up until the last three or four months, he’s been full of gloom and guilt. He behaved as if God played a very nasty trick on the Church, and that God was directing His disapproval directly at Hetre. Now he’s having occasional moments of euphoria, not the kind that comes with relief, but the kind that.… He’s been talking to me—God only knows why—and I don’t like what I’m hearing.” He faltered, searching for an accurate explanation. “Now that they’ve arrested the head of catering, a man named Carlo Urbi, for poisoning the Indian Cardinal, Cardinal Hetre is starting to behave as if we can’t make mistakes. He’s proud of what we’re going to do. That’s fine, in theory, but it’s making him…reckless. He’s decided that because this is the right thing to do, we can’t be touched.”
“How much attention do people pay to him?” asked Reverend Williamson.
“I don’t know. I haven’t been inside the Vatican, and Hetre is the only one of the College of Cardinals I’ve had any real dealings with. We’ve tried for some of the others—I told you about that—but they’re being careful. If Hetre keeps on the way he’s going, so pleased with himself, he could wreck everything.” Greene waited for Reverend Williamson to react, continuing when the minister said nothing, “What do you want me to do?”
Williamson got up abruptly and picked up his glass. “You want some?” he offered as he refilled it from the well-stocked bar provided with the suite.
“Not really,” said Greene. “I have to fly this evening, and I need a clear head.”
“You’re not the pilot,” Williamson reminded him with a deprecatory smile. “There’s some good sour mash here.”
“No, thanks,” said Greene, more forcefully. “I want to do whatever you decide is necessary.”
“You mean we might have to do something about Hetre? Is that what you’re telling me?” Williamson poured himself a generous three fingers and added a splash of water. “If that’s what McEllton advises, he’s the pro. You do whatever he recommends. If he wants to put the Cardinal out of the picture, that’s fine. If he thinks it’s safer keeping him around, then keep him around. I don’t want to have to know much about this.”
“But if it comes back to you—” Rufus Greene began.
“I want to be able to say that I don’t know a fucking thing about it,” said Williamson in sudden fury. “You’re making it hard for me to do that.”
Greene studied the grain of the leather on his briefcase. “Sorry.”
“I should damn well hope so.” Williamson took his glass and went back to his chair. “It’s one thing when I rake the Catholics over the coals. Everyone expects that. But they won’t stand for me having a part in a conspiracy. I’m supposed to be above all that, too. They expect me to limit my assassination to characters and to leave the real world killings to others. I’m not supposed to have any knowledge about what you and McEllton are up to, let alone Cardinal Hetre.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Greene, his very neutral manner for once proving irritating to Reverend Williamson, who turned on him.
“Will you stop that mealy-mouthed crap!” He tossed off half his drink. “Can’t you say things straight out? You’re not a robot. I don’t want to get shafted because you don’t like direct discussion.”
“I hadn’t realized this was a discussion. I assumed it was a report and you were giving orders.” It was the closest to impertinence that Rufus Greene had ever come. “If I’m mistaken?”
“You bastard,” said Reverend Williamson. Then he relented. “If it’s orders you want, I’ll give you some. You pay attention to what McEllton advises. Inform me if he decides to do something about Hetre. Otherwise, you keep things going the way they’ve been going.”
“And what about this Urbi matter? How do you want me to handle that issue?” Greene’s manner was once again meticulous, his demeanor that of a perfect butler.
“Do we have to handle it? It doesn’t have anything to do with us,” said Reverend Williamson. “Don’t keep borrowing trouble, Greene.”
“I’m sorry, Reverend Williamson, but I don’t think that I am borrowing trouble,” he said, his attitude slipping again. “We are undertaking a very risky business, and it would be sensible for us to anticipate anything that could cause us difficulties later on. From what Hetre has said there have been changes in Vatican Security because of the arrest of Urbi, and that may well have bearing on what we do eventually, and how.”
Reverend Williamson waved this away. “All right, you’ve made your point. If they make the Urbi thing public, I’ll make sure I denounce the whole case, and then announce my sympathy with Urbi. How’s that?”
“It might be dangerous. There are some suggestions that Urbi has connections to…Sicilian organizations.” Greene caught Reverend Williamson’s eye. “If I may make a suggestion? Denounce the case if you like, but be careful about Urbi. If he’s acting on Family instructions.…”
“Say, I never thought of that angle,” said Williamson with a burst of interest. “The Catholic Church as a tool of the Mafia. I thought that was only in movies. But I suppose you’re right.”
“Be careful how you approach that,” Greene warned him. “You don’t want to make enemies in that circle.”
“They don’t give a shit about preachers like me,” said Williamson, draining his glass. “But I won’t mention them, not yet.”
“I think that’s wise,” said Greene, feeling apprehensive as he watched Reverend Williamson, for he could see the glitter of his eyes that was not entirely the product of whiskey. “You’ve been able to make spectacular progress,” he went on, in the vain hope that he could convince Reverend Williamson to abandon any intention of including the Mafia in his denunciation of the Catholic Church. “It would be unfortunate if you became a thorn in the side of the Mafia. Unlike the Church, that organization does not hesitate to take extreme measures.”
“You don’t think they’d kill me, do you?” Reverend Williamson laughed once. “Come on, Greene.”
“I think they would find out everything they can about you and spread it across the tabloids from here to Bombay,” said Greene with asperity, nodding in the direction of the suite’s bedroom. “And I think they could make it stick.”
“That’s ridiculous,” said Reverend Williamson.
“We’re so close, so close,” said Rufus Greene, more to himself than to Williamson. He could sense their victory being plucked away just as it came within reach.
“We’ll get there, don’t worry,” said Reverend Williamson, his fingers straying to the bandage on his shoulder where one of his over-zealous followers had scraped him with long nails. “But I’ll keep what you’ve said in mind.”
“I’d appreciate it,” said Greene, with the sinking conviction that the Reverend’s assurances meant less than the vows of a bought politician running for office.
* * *
Midnight had come and gone; the year 2000 had arrived and beyond the walls of the Vatican fireworks and merry-making continued at a frenzied pitch. Inside the headquarters of Vatican Security,
Dionigi Stelo and two of his assistants and the Commendante of the Swiss Guard sat with Interpol Inspector Cervi and EECPA Captain Christopher Hafen. Across the table from them, Carlo Urbi waited passively for the next question.
“You have admitted that you were not working alone,” Captain Hafen said pointedly.
“Several times,” said Urbi. His voice more than his attitude was exhausted. “I would not have been able to achieve…what I did if I had no help.”
“But you are not willing to reveal who helped you,” said Stelo, a touch of desperation in his eyes.
“No, I am not.” Urbi patted his pockets, searching for cigarettes.
“Omerta,” said Ludovico Raccolto, the Commendante of the Swiss Guard. He showed his disgust in a single, swift gesture. “Damned Sicilians.”
“Your code of honor may demand silence, but our code of honor demands that we break your silence,” said Inspector Cervi with candor. “Thus far we have been as reasonable as we can be. But we cannot afford to continue in this manner. We have asked for permission to examine you under the influence of La Verita.” The nickname for the powerful drug that served as a truth serum commanded Urbi’s immediate attention.
“Any information you gain will not be acceptable in court,” he said. He was starting to sweat.
“We are not preparing to bring you to trial. With the consent of the Eurocops and Interpol we are treating this as an act of terrorism, and as such, we are permitted to administer La Verita. Any attack on a figure such as Pope An can be regarded as terrorism, for the Pope is the head of the Vatican state, you will recall. Your statement under its influence will not be introduced in the trial of anyone you have worked with; the law is very specific about that. However, anything and everything you say will be entered in the records on terrorists that are kept in The Hague. Had you been more cooperative, it might be otherwise. Since you persist in your silence, we have no choice if we are to protect Pope An. We are invoking the terrorist exceptions on the basis that you conspired against the official, recognized leader of a country.” Captain Hafen said this evenly, and he watched Urbi with a studied disinterest. “Tomorrow afternoon. If you want to make Confession before then, we will arrange it. You may even select the priest to hear it. If you decide to change your mind before then, and volunteer testimony, it will not be necessary to use La Verita.”
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