“What about the other American Cardinals?” Carey demanded, aware that Cardinal Mendosa was about to hang up.
“Cardinal Aquilino is the only other American Cardinal here. He has seen all the evidence and he’s sat in on the interviews with…those involved. He’ll report to you, if you like.” He went on in a lighter tone, “Andy and I don’t always agree, but at the moment we’re in accord. We have couriers on planes right now to the other U.S. Cardinals. I think Sean Quillons’ packet has already been delivered. The others will have everything in the next five hours.”
“And what then?” asked President Carey.
“I don’t know,” said Cardinal Mendosa. “They may come to Rome, they may decide it’s wiser to remain there. They’ve all been targets of Williamson’s people, and that could still flare up again. With Reverend Williamson implicated, there could be difficulties.”
“You have quite a way with words, Cardinal Mendosa.” The way Carey said it, this was not a compliment.
But Cardinal Mendosa pretended it was. “How very kind of you to say so, President Carey.”
“All right.” Carey sighed. “We’ll get on it at once. I may need to talk to you later today.”
“I’ll be at your disposal. If I am not available, speak to Bishop Mark Peverston—he’ll know where and how to find me.” He hesitated before saying good-bye. “You may or may not believe this, but I’m sorry about what’s happened.”
“Oh, I believe you. And I’m sorry, too,” said Carey.
Cardinal Mendosa went on. “But I’m not sorry enough to wish this revelation had not occurred. I’d rather this mess than a murdered Pope any day of the year.”
With deliberate irony, Houghton Carey said, “Amen to that.”
* * *
As cells go, it was quite comfortable. Rufus Greene had a good-sized room to himself, more like what might be offered at a youth hostel than what he expected of prison. It was because he was still on trial; and until the verdict, the Dutch were determined to show him the benefit of the doubt under the law and in how they housed him.
It was grey in The Hague. Low-lying fog had crept in off the ocean and turned everything to faded shades. The European Courts buildings, not more than two blocks away, were nothing more than vague, looming shapes in the distance; they might have been dinosaurs instead of buildings and Greene could not have made out the difference. He moved away from the window, returning to the larger of the two spartan chairs provided for him, his attitude mildly preoccupied. On the floor beside the chair there was a notepad, several pages covered in Greene’s small, meticulous hand. He picked it up, planning to resume his sorting-out of the events that had brought him here. He had put half a sentence on the page when a knock at the door demanded his attention.
“Who is it?” Greene called out to the guard posted on the other side of the door.
“Your attorney,” answered the guard politely. “Do you want to see her?”
“Yes; let her in,” said Greene at once, setting his notepad aside and getting to his feet. He brushed his shirt and cardigan sweater, feeling slovenly because of where he was, although he looked his usual neat self.
The woman admitted to the room was fifty-five, tall and gawky. She dressed functionally in expensive fabrics, and her iron-grey hair was cut into a low-maintenance, no-nonsense bob. Behind her glasses her light-brown eyes were hot as embers. She was one of the finest defense attorneys in all of Europe. “Good morning, Mister Greene,” she said as she was admitted.
“Good morning, Missus Camberwell-Selbie,” he answered, holding out his hand to her.
She shook it firmly once before taking the chair Greene had just occupied and lifting her briefcase to her lap. “We will reach closing arguments today, I think. I have exhausted the witnesses I can produce on your behalf, and I can conceive of no more extenuating circumstances to account for what you did. I would still like to recommend that you reveal everything you can about the activities of International Vision, Ltd. I realize that requires you to violate certain terms of your contract with them, but under the circumstances, the violation is a minor one. Their policy has direct bearing on your actions. With Reverend Williamson insisting that you acted beyond your authority—”
“The telephone recordings tell another story,” said Greene, unanticipated petulance making him sound like a recalcitrant child. “If you can get the judge to permit the recordings—”
“We’ve been through this before, Mister Greene,” said Missus Camberwell-Selbie, her Yorkshire accent a bit stronger. “We have asked the court to permit the playing of the tapes. We will have a decision this afternoon. I gather because such evidence would not be permitted in America the court is hesitant, since Reverend Williamson was not aware that what he said would be admissible in the European courts.” Her manner grew stiffer. “I am presuming that Reverend Williamson has presented briefs to that effect.”
“It would make all the difference,” said Greene.
“So it would,” said Missus Camberwell-Selbie, “but it’s not an issue now. We have too much against us. You have severely limited my options, and that in turn renders my defense minimal. I told you at the first that candor would be needed. You have decided not to answer every question, and that has led you to this state.” She tapped her briefcase with her blunt, unpolished fingernails before setting it aside. “I have been practicing law a long time, Mister Greene. For that reason, I would think you would listen to my advice. But you do not wish to. Well, I can’t change that, but I can remind you of the consequences of your actions.”
“I am familiar with them,” he said stiffly.
“You don’t behave as if you were,” she shot back at him. “If Reverend Williamson had not come here to testify, or if he had been on trial himself before now, your case would not be so bleak. But the United States has only yesterday decided to prosecute Reverend Williamson, and therefore the testimony he gave here was very damaging to you. When he testified here, he had no indictment hanging over him as he does now. He will make you his scapegoat if you permit him to. I would like to make one more attempt to persuade you to defend yourself. Do you suppose that’s possible?”
Her sarcasm did not daunt him. “I don’t see the point.”
She flung up her right hand as if to rid herself of him. “Shall I remind you that you are facing life imprisonment?”
“That doesn’t worry me, not now,” said Greene with his own quiet version of bravado. “I participated in something that is not legal. I must be prepared to accept the consequences of my acts.”
“Yes!” Missus Camberwell-Selbie agreed emphatically, rising from the chair. “But you are shouldering the load for Williamson as well as yourself, and you have not opposed anything that Clancy McEllton has said. Between the two of them, they have made it seem that you were the one to instigate the plan.”
“In a way, I was,” said Greene, looking away from his attorney. “I was given the task of putting the plan in motion. I contacted McEllton and paid him. I was the one who made the appropriate arrangements with Cardinal Hetre. I ruled out using other Cardinals, even those who supported what I was trying to do, because I feared that one of them might weaken, or decide that Pope An had to be defended because of the office she held in spite of the disapproval of the Cardinals.” He put his hands together as if praying. “That much is true.”
“And you’ve said so in court.” Missus Camberwell-Selbie was too well-bred to stamp her foot, but the way she walked the length of the room was precariously close to it. “Do you want to be a martyr, is that it?”
Greene shook his head. “Not very much. I’d rather be away from here, in protective exile, the way McEllton’s going to be. But the fact is, we were part of a conspiracy to commit murder, and I was the one who organized it.”
“On Williamson’s orders,” she reminded him, ready to shake him for his stubbornness. “Don’t you see how important that is?”
Greene lowered his head. “If the court perm
its the playing of the tapes, then what happened will be clear. If the court will not allow it, then I must accept it as the Will of God.”
“This isn’t about the Will of God!” she burst out, her patience exhausted. “This is about the law.”
“They must be the same or there is chaos,” said Greene very quietly.
“Is that how you justify conspiracy to commit murder? You blame it on God?” she asked as if she were cross-examining him in court. “I don’t understand you. You have insisted that you take responsibility. Are you doing that so that you can claim some sort of moral credit?” She came and stood directly in front of him, challenging him. “This case was brought to the bar faster than any I have ever seen before. Ordinarily it would be four to six months before you would be heard, but because of the very delicate nature of the crime itself you were given a very swift trial, very swift. The motions I made to delay the trial were not permitted because of the character of the offence. And to the extent that your conspiracy could be interpreted as terrorism, since it was directed against a head of state, you have been treated very well. But prison will be different, Mister Greene.”
Rufus Greene shrugged. “If they play the tapes, I will take it as a sign that God intends Reverend Williamson to answer for his plan. If they will not, then I will know that God protects Reverend Williamson. I will not act against God.”
“Your trial is not a religious test, Mister Greene, nor should it be,” Missus Camberwell-Selbie persisted. “You are not being held accountable by anything more supernatural than a jury. There is no reason to suppose that you have to answer to more than the twelve of them.”
“Four of them said they were agnostics. One said he was an atheist. How can they be accepted for a jury in this case? How can their judgment be weighed when they have no faith? Why did you permit them to be seated?” He had voiced this protest before, but now it was especially annoying to Missus Camberwell-Selbie.
“It is precisely because they are not religious that they were acceptable to the prosecution and to me. Any suggestion that there was pressure put on the jury through religious institutions, either for or against you, is not to be tolerated. You don’t seem able to grasp this simple concept, Mister Greene.” She moved away, giving him space to respond. “When I sum up, I will have to mention your strong determination to assume total culpability in this case. I will also have to say that you are not responsible. I hope that this will weigh with the jury and the judge when we reach what the Americans call the penalty phase. That’s the best I can do for you unless the tapes are admitted.”
“I accept that it may come to such an impasse,” murmured Mister Greene.
“That is what vexes me, Mister Greene.” She regarded him narrowly. “If we had had more time, I would have insisted that you conduct yourself differently. As it is, I have not been given the opportunity to direct your conduct as part of your defense. That has been a stumbling-block, I fear.”
“It doesn’t matter, Ma’am,” said Greene. “I couldn’t present myself any way other than as I am.”
“So you’ve said,” she said. “Nevertheless, there are ways to behave that are more in your interests than your present conduct is. It’s too late now to remonstrate with you, but I am going to do what I can to turn this to our advantage. I am telling you this so that you will not undermine my efforts. For a change.” This last was caustic.
Greene was suddenly alert. “What do you mean?” he demanded, his soft-spoken resignation gone.
“It is my intention, if the tapes are not admitted, to ask the jury to regard your actions as those of someone incapable of comprehending the true nature of the conspiracy; I am going to compare your mental state to that of a hostage, someone who has diminished capacity to comprehend his actions.”
“You will do no such thing!” Greene bellowed.
Missus Camberwell-Selbie was not impressed. She watched him, her expression sardonic. “Finally. You are beginning to realize the situation you are in. I suppose I ought to be grateful.” She took a turn about the room. “Since Reverend Williamson made it plain that he regarded you as a kind of servant, I intend to exploit that to the limits.”
“I am not a hostage; I understood what I was doing and what the penalties for failure could be.” His face was darkening as he shouted.
There was a firm knock on the door, and the guard stepped into the room. “Is there a problem, Missus Camberwell-Selbie?”
She glared at the guard for his interruption. “Nothing I can’t handle, thank you. Please let me continue my discussion with my client.”
“If you’re certain you’re not in danger,” said the guard, showing sufficient reluctance to leave that Greene turned away and tried to restore his composure.
“My client is in danger. I’m managing very well, except for your intrusion,” said Missus Camberwell-Selbie. “For the sake of confidentiality, I must ask you to move five paces from the door, as the law provides.”
The guard shook his head as if convinced that Missus Camberwell-Selbie was taking a foolish risk. “I’m supposed to stop any trouble,” he said, making it a leading question. He rocked back on his heels to express his obduracy, then delivered a half-salute and left the room, taking care to make as much noise as possible when he locked the door.
Missus Camberwell-Selbie had taken advantage of this interruption to prepare her next move with Rufus Greene. She let the silence stretch out between them, and finally declared, “I have no intention of arguing with you, Mister Greene. I am trying to keep you out of prison. If I can get you into a psychiatric institution, I will be satisfied. That is my goal.”
“It’s not acceptable to me,” said Greene, keeping his voice low.
“Would you rather be in prison?” Missus Camberwell-Selbie shook her head. “I don’t think so. There are religious men in prison as well as out of it, Mister Greene, and some of them would not hesitate to act against you. It is very likely that you would be murdered in the first six months.”
“If it is God’s—”
“Confine your remarks to the law, Mister Greene; we are not concerned with God,” Missus Camberwell-Selbie warned him. “You have put yourself at a serious disadvantage with your attitude. I am trying now to salvage some defense for you. Without your help, I might add.” She looked down at her shoes. “Let us hope that those tapes will be ruled admissible.”
“Won’t they send me to prison?” asked Greene sarcastically.
“With any luck, they will show how completely you have been in the thrall of Reverend Williamson. That will be useful.” She went and picked up her briefcase. “I want to put you on notice that any attempt you make at subverting your defense will bolster my plea. Do I make myself plain.”
“I suppose you do,” said Rufus Greene. “You want to label me mad.”
“I want to show that your capacity to distinguish between your religious convictions and the law became confused because of the influence Reverend Williamson has upon you. I hope it will be enough.” She started toward the door, pausing to append one last caution. “Don’t rely on demonstrations to save you. And don’t expect to be a martyr.” She rapped twice on the door.
“I think you’re wrong,” said Greene, hiding his distress, as Missus Camberwell-Selbie left him alone again.
He wandered about the room aimlessly for several minutes. He rarely missed watching television, but now, with his trial and the charges against Reverend Williamson so much in the news, he longed for a set that would keep him current with public response. His realization surprised him, for he had never thought of himself as a man interested in public response. Now he was hungry for information, for an understanding of his own notoriety.
Twenty minutes later, he sat down and resumed writing, filling several pages with self-chastisement for his vanity and pride.
* * *
In the last two years, Cardinal Mendosa had become very adept at avoiding the press. This evening he made good his escape from the Vatican by goi
ng out the entrance to the Vatican Museum with a dozen scholars from around the world. He kept in their company for several blocks going north, then left them and headed toward San Giuseppe, remonstrating with himself every step of the way. “I have to be an imbecile to do this,” he said aloud when his inner castigations were not sufficient to describe his perfidy. He was on an errand he abhorred. Yet he could not disguise his inquisitive interest, nor could he dismiss the uneasy tone of the message which brought him to this church.
He entered the building quickly, and after crossing himself and kneeling to the altar he approached the confessional, avoiding the scaffolding where renovation had been underway for the better part of a year. As he had been requested to do he remained near the confessional, wishing he had taken up smoking years ago so that he would have something to do while he waited, though the thought of smoking in church offended him deeply. He did not like lingering here in the shadows, where anything might happen.
He recognized the man who approached him, but was startled to discover that he was only about five-foot-eight; Dmitri Karodin’s charisma gave him the illusion of being a much taller man.
“Good afternoon, Cardinal Mendosa,” said Karodin, holding out his hand. His smile was quick, whimsical. “It truly is a pleasure.”
“Do you think so?” said Cardinal Mendosa, irritated at the other man even while he discovered how likeable Karodin could make himself.
“Of course. Anyone who has been as punctilious as you’ve been inspires my curiosity. After our indirect association, it is gratifying to meet you in person. That is the correct figure of speech isn’t it?” asked Karodin, who knew it was.
“It’ll do,” said Cardinal Mendosa. “My assistant gave me your message this morning. I didn’t know what to make of it.”
“I don’t suppose that there is much to make of it, beyond what it said,” Karodin told him. “I have something to tell you.”
“And you didn’t want to use the telephone, send a messenger, or use any of the other methods you might have employed. That means your news is either very trivial or very important, to be entrusted to none of your…functionaries. Including that elusive figure, the one you’ve identified only as your man in the Vatican.” He did his best not to accuse Karodin of anything, but there was an edge in the way he spoke that did not escape Karodin’s attention. “Bell’s mentioned him to me. So did Stelo, before he left.”
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