The Debt

by Glenn Cooper

  ‘I was like you, I suppose. Anything but until somehow it was something I wanted badly. You got a girlfriend, Julian?’

  ‘I’ve got two actually. One from college who’s in med school at Stanford, and a classmate at the B-School. They don’t know about each other. Gotta watch Facebook and Instagram like a hawk to keep from getting busted.’

  Cal raised his glass for a clink. ‘Christ, man, it’s scary how alike we are.’

  When they got back to the Excelsior, both of them tipsy, they had to deal with a pair of very upset bodyguards who couldn’t believe their eyes when Julian marched past.

  ‘Calm down,’ Julian said. ‘You work for me, remember?’

  ‘No, signor, we work for your mother.’

  ‘One: she’s not my mother. Two: bitch to her about it, not me.’

  The guards turned their ire toward Cal who told them in Italian, ‘Don’t look at me like I’m the bad guy. If you haven’t noticed he’s not a boy.’

  In the elevator Julian asked him what he’d said.

  ‘I told them I took full responsibility.’

  ‘You did not. You’re such a bullshitter.’

  They both melted in a fit of drunken laughter until the door opened to their common floor.

  Cal’s room was at the end of the long hall and when they got a bit closer they saw a woman camped outside his door.

  ‘Looks like you’ve got company,’ Julian snorted. ‘No rest for the wicked.’

  Closer still, Julian stopped and swore.

  She saw them and began to walk, sloppily veering from one side of the corridor to the other.

  ‘Cal! Julian!’ Gail said. ‘I was knocking on your door, Cal. I wanted to see you. Where were you?’

  She was shoeless and very drunk.

  Julian lit into her. ‘For fuck’s sake, Gail. What the hell’s the matter with you?’

  ‘I’ll take care of it,’ Cal told him. ‘I’ll bring her back to her room.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she said. ‘I just wanted to talk to Cal. What’s wrong with that? Why are you so judgmental?’

  ‘Henry just died, Gail. Remember?’

  She began to cry. ‘And that’s why I’m so sad. I wanted to talk to someone, that’s all.’

  Julian seethed at her. ‘You’re a drunk, Gail. You know that? Here’s the deal. If you’re sober enough to come to the meeting tomorrow morning then come. But then you’re going to get on the goddamn plane and fly back to New York and you’re going to get yourself some help. If you don’t, forget about my cooperation. I’ll vote my shares with Marcus and you can kiss your precious foundation goodbye.’

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  True to form, Gail emerged from her room the next morning looking energetic and no worse for wear.

  She met Julian in the lobby, completely ignoring the nighttime episode, glibly spouting platitudes about how excited she was about their meeting.

  ‘You do remember what happened last night,’ Julian said.

  ‘It was nothing, Julian. One cocktail too many and an Ambien for jet lag. It’s not a good combination. Won’t happen again.’

  ‘You’re going home today,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, Julian, please,’ she said dismissively.

  ‘In case you forgot what I said last night …’

  ‘Of course I remember. You were angry. I understand.’

  ‘I meant it, Gail! I’ll stay on a few days to work with these people but you’re leaving. Either agree right now or I’m ditching this meeting and voting my shares with Marcus.’

  ‘Julian, don’t make a scene in public.’

  He clapped once. ‘All right, I’m done. I’m going back to my room.’

  As Scotto and the bodyguard team watched impassively, inured to the mercurial behavior of celebrity clients, Julian turned toward the elevators.

  Gail called after him. ‘All right, you win. I agree. You know something? You’ve got a lot of Henry in you.’

  In the people-mover, Scotto took the occasion to chide Julian for evading his protection last night but Julian would hear none of it.

  ‘Look, Mr Scotto, you work for me now. Mrs Sassoon is leaving this afternoon. You’ll do things the way I want or I’ll cancel your contract.’

  Scotto looked to Gail who smiled bravely and said, ‘It appears there’s a new sheriff in town.’

  ‘OK, Mr Sassoon, you’re the client. We’ll advise you the best we can and then it’s for you. We take our reputation seriously. If we think it will be in jeopardy, we may suggest you use another security company.’

  The meeting took place in a small conference room on the ground floor of the Apostolic Palace, attended only by Gail and Julian and the two cardinals. Cardinal Da Silva was his warm and jovial self, chit-chatting over coffee and biscuits about Boston weather, sports teams, and, of course, Cal Donovan. Vargas was more reserved, a small, cerebral man who had risen to the College of Cardinals not by dint of personality but by the power of intellect. He was widely considered by his peers to be the best writer among them; his books and essays were widely published in translation. He was one of Celestine’s most ardent philosophical soulmates. When the pope was cardinal secretary, Vargas was perhaps the only cardinal who had known the fullness of his theological views, positions that would only bloom after the conclave.

  Absent a chairman and an agenda, the group of four initially drifted, spending time discussing the kinds of grants made by Gail’s small foundation.

  Then Julian impatiently asserted himself. ‘With all due respect, it seems to me that we need to settle on a few key tasks today, go off and implement them, then meet again to discuss next steps.’

  ‘Very sensible,’ Da Silva said.

  ‘Do you have a notion what these key tasks should be?’ Vargas asked.

  ‘I do,’ Julian said, pulling out an agenda of sorts he’d prepared. ‘I’ve printed copies.’

  Gail smiled a little sheepishly as she reviewed the task list. It was the embodiment of the kind of proactive approach she would have undertaken as a young lawyer. Today, she was unprepared. She looked up and hid her embarrassment with a sip of water.

  Vargas nodded repeatedly while reading it then said, ‘I greatly admire the clarity of your thinking on this matter, Mr Sassoon. You seem well suited to be our partner in the Holy Father’s initiative.’

  For his part, Da Silva decided to begin to read the list out loud. ‘One: Agree upon statement of mission and philosophy of investment.’ He removed his glasses and added, ‘As an aside, I do believe that describing our proposed donations as investments is the correct thinking. We should be investing in the well-being of the beneficiaries.’

  ‘I think we should have a goal of sustainability,’ Gail said. ‘Giving food in the middle of a famine or bottled water in a drought saves lives which is so very vital but we need to do more. It seems to me that we need to have a focus on long-term infrastructure projects. That’s been the philosophy of our family foundation.’

  Vargas said, ‘Give a man a fish, you feed him for a day. Teach him to fish, you feed him for life.’

  ‘Matthew 4:19,’ Julian said, prompting the cardinals to stare in admiration. ‘Jesus said, “Come, follow me and I will make you fishers of men.”’

  ‘You know your Bible, young man,’ Vargas marveled.

  Julian grinned. ‘I looked it up. I thought it might come in handy, you know, a Jew quoting the New Testament to break the ice.’

  There was a moment of silence until Da Silva broke out laughing. ‘It is certainly going to be a pleasure working with you.’

  Da Silva, once recovered, read out the rest of Julian’s list. Draft a foundation charter. Analyze investment practices of several notable philanthropic foundations. Hire a search firm to identify candidates for IFH executive director and additional board members. Hire a public relations firm to shape message to media.

  At a break in their discussions, Gail sidled up to Julian and quietly said, ‘I know you’re angry at me and I know you do
n’t particularly like me right now. But I am very, very proud of you.’

  Cal was working at the hotel on a revision to the papal bull when Gail phoned his room.

  ‘I’m mortified about last night,’ she said.

  ‘If I had ten cents for every time I made a damn fool of myself by drinking too much – well, you know the expression.’

  ‘Julian is insisting that I leave.’

  ‘He told me.’

  ‘So I’m leaving. I’ll send the jet back for you and Julian.’

  ‘That’s fine. I’ll be done with my work day after tomorrow. I think that’s Julian’s timeframe too.’

  ‘Will you do something for me, Cal?’

  ‘Anything I can.’

  ‘Look after him.’

  ‘He’s got bodyguards.’

  ‘Not that way. I’m concerned about his mental state too. He hasn’t grieved, at least not openly. He bottles up his emotions. He always has. Henry’s death is going to hit him and when it does it’s going to hit him hard. If it happens on your watch, please help him as best you can.’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  ‘And Cal?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Please put in a good word for me. I’m not a bad person, at least I don’t think I am.’

  The table was set with linen and fine china. There were flickering candles on the sideboard and Renaissance paintings on the wall – moody and dark: saints in prayer, saints in agony. Some diners might have been put off by visions of half-naked, pierced, and bleeding men but Cal was not one of them. He was in the dining room of the formal papal apartments in the Apostolic Palace and he was having the time of his life.

  His dinner companion ate sparingly, the strain of recent events weighing upon him. Three Sicilian nuns had been laboring half the day in the kitchen and the food was excellent home-cooked fare. It was meant to be a social dinner, an opportunity to solidify a budding friendship, but the pontiff couldn’t get away from the work at hand.

  ‘Your new draft,’ he said. ‘I believe we are getting closer.’

  Cal was drinking a good Sangiovese. Vodka did not appear to be on the menu. ‘Thank you. Your notes were very clear.’

  ‘I have a name for the bull. A Tempore Ad Caritas. What do you think?’

  ‘A Time for Charity. I think it says it all.’

  ‘Then we shall use it. The group of four met this morning. I’ve been told the meeting was highly productive. Da Silva and Vargas were impressed with both of the Sassoons and were pleasantly surprised by the maturity and judgment of Julian.’

  ‘He’s an impressive young man.’

  ‘For me, this was a critical hurdle,’ the pope said. ‘Without a common vision the success of the IFH would be in jeopardy. I can feel more comfortable now.’

  Cal could feel something consequential coming.

  ‘Given the furor over the leak and the deliberate ambiguity of the initial Vatican statement I have decided to accelerate the announcement of our plans.’

  ‘To when?’

  ‘Tomorrow.’

  Cal had expected to be back in the cloisters of university life when the bomb dropped. Instead he’d have a front-row seat at ground zero.

  ‘I’m a bit surprised,’ he said. ‘The bull still needs some work.’

  ‘We can issue it in a few days. However, I drew from it for the announcement tomorrow. I should have said we. Da Silva and Vargas collaborated on the draft. Would you like to see it?’

  Cal put down his utensils to read the press bulletin. It was all there, nothing held back. Including the elephant in the room.

  ‘You mention the art,’ Cal said quietly.

  ‘How could we not?’

  ‘Are you prepared for the storm, Your Holiness?’

  ‘Hardly a storm, Professor. More like a typhoon. But yes, I am ready. There will be an outcry. There will be anger. The pope will be accused of this and that. If our Lord and Savior could willfully die for our sins then I, mere man, can sacrifice my comfortable existence for the sake of human dignity.’

  ‘I’ll do anything I can to help.’

  ‘There will be interest, I am sure, in how the existence of the debt became known. Are you willing to be named? Are you willing to be interviewed?’

  ‘I’ve never been shy.’

  ‘Good. We will make you available to the press. I have granted an exclusive papal interview with a journalist from Corriere Della Sera. It will be a busy day.’

  Two nuns came to clear the first course. The women were so diminutive that at a distance they could have been mistaken for children.

  ‘Could I ask you something, Holy Father?’ Cal said when the nuns had left. ‘Do your museum people, your curators know of your plans?’

  ‘Ah, the keepers of the treasure. They know of my interest in assigning a value to our collections but I don’t think they suspect. No, that is not entirely true. One of them more than suspects. She knows because she is unusually perceptive. Have you met the nun, Elisabetta Celestino?’

  ‘Yes and no. I ran into her in the Vatican Secret Archives but we didn’t speak.’

  ‘I would like you to meet her properly,’ the pope said, ‘perhaps before your first interview. You will certainly be asked about your views on the art. You may express yourself freely but it might be helpful to have the perspective of someone in the Vatican with a curatorial type of role. She is quite articulate.’

  ‘I’ve been told she has an interesting background.’

  Plates of ravioli arrived. The pope asked if it was, perhaps, his favorite, with ricotta and nutmeg, and when informed that it was, he brightened and told Cal he was in for a treat.

  When the nuns returned to the kitchen he told Cal that Sister Elisabetta did indeed have an interesting past and an important association with his papacy.

  Celestine sampled the ravioli then said, ‘Years ago she was a graduate student in archeology at the University of Rome, where her father was an eminent mathematician. Unfortunately she was the victim of a violent crime during which her boyfriend was killed. She was left grievously wounded. During her arduous recovery she made the life-changing decision to become a nun. Years later the Vatican called upon her for assistance to help it understand a sensitive and provocative discovery made at the Catacombs of Callixtus, her prior area of study. She agreed to help and became embroiled in a dangerous episode involving a plot to decimate the Church during the last convocation – my convocation.’

  ‘The bombing. Yes, I know,’ Cal said. ‘It was a tragedy but I had no idea she was involved.’

  ‘She was more than involved. Her actions and the actions of her brother, a member of the Vatican Gendarmerie Corps, saved many lives and saved the Church from an era of chaos and despair. It was a feeling of gratitude and joy that led me to choose my papal name based on hers.’

  Cal stared across the table in fascination. ‘I had no idea.’

  ‘So will you speak to my dear Elisabetta?’

  TWENTY-NINE

  Early the next morning the Vatican press bulletin hit with the force of an atomic blast. For Cal it was one thing to read the draft and quite another to see it embedded in breaking-news stories on his laptop.

  Celestine Announces Formation of New

  International Humanitarian Foundation in

  Cooperation with the Sassoon Bank

  Vatican City – The Holy Father wishes it to be known that the Holy See and the Sassoon Bank of New York have reached an agreement in principle to create a charitable foundation for the benefit of people around the world suffering from poverty, malnutrition, disease, lack of education, and conflict. The Interfaith Fund for Humanity will administer grants without respect to geography, race, or religious affiliation with an aim to lift needy people up from misery and strife via lifesaving and sustainable initiatives.

  The origin of this new foundation lies with the recent discovery of a hitherto unknown nineteenth-century debt owed to the Sassoon Bank by the Holy See. The loan documents, properly
executed in 1858, were discovered by an academic researcher in the Vatican Secret Archives and in the private archives of the Sassoon Bank. With accrued interest the present value of the debt is 25 billion euros.

  The Holy See is of the opinion that it has a moral and legal obligation to satisfy this loan, which was obtained in a violent and coercive manner that has saddened the Holy Father. However, the Holy See and the Sassoon Bank have agreed that payment of the debt would be made, not to the bank, but to this new foundation. Representatives of the Sassoon family will serve on the board of trustees along with representatives of the Holy See and a distinguished group of international aid experts.

  In order to satisfy the repayment of this debt without compromising the financial stability of the Holy See and the Vatican Governorate or any of its administrative functions and obligations, it will be necessary to monetize certain assets under Vatican control. These include a carefully selected portfolio of real-estate holdings and works of art. None of the existing charitable initiatives of the Holy See will be impacted. The funds raised by the annual Peter’s Pence donations that go to support Catholics in need will not be diverted to the new foundation.

  The Holy Father states, ‘The mission of the Church is to provide for the spiritual wellbeing of its flock according to the beautiful and timeless principles laid down in the Gospels. Remember that in the Book of Matthew Jesus said, “If you want to be perfect, go sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven.” In repayment of this old debt we are evoking Christ’s proclamation mindful that people of the Catholic faith do not live in a vacuum. What affects one child of one faith in one part of the world affects all people in all parts of the world. To bow down with compassionate love to the weak and the needy is a fundamental part of the authentic spirit of the Catholic faith.’

  Cal reached for the remote and turned on the TV and began flipping channels. The only ones not carrying the news were the cartoon and home-shopping networks. The coverage was urgent and breathless. He imagined that talking heads were being rushed to TV studios around the world to opine on the significance of the announcement.