by Glenn Cooper
It couldn’t have come as much of a surprise but Viola nevertheless looked shaken. ‘I’m very sorry you feel this way, Holy Father. I too cannot change my views. You force me to make an ultimatum. You have until the day after tomorrow to alter your position and make a public declaration via a video message or I will have no choice but to take drastic measures.’
‘Arturo,’ the pope said in a gently scolding manner, ‘how can you threaten the pope? How will you live with yourself?’
‘I don’t have to worry about such a thing, Holy Father. I have an advanced lung cancer. I am dying. I don’t have a lot of time. And I will tell you this: I am not threatening you. It’s Mr Donovan. If you don’t do what I ask I’ll have to execute him. His blood will be on my hands but it will be on your hands too.’
With that, Viola turned away to spare himself looking into the pope’s incredulous eyes and left with Antonio.
After a pregnant pause, Cal broke the tension by saying, ‘Well, that’ll get me focused on my faith.’
‘Your humor masks your bravery, Professor.’
‘I don’t feel very brave.’
‘Well, on the positive side of this distressing situation we find ourselves in, it seems we have at least two days to continue our dialogue. I’ll tell you what. Let me take my turn. Let me bare my soul to you as you have done to me.’
Thus, the head of the Church, the Vicar of Christ, began a rendition of his life, more candid than any contained in any of his several authorized or even unauthorized biographies.
‘We were quite poor, Professor, a typical working-class family from a not-so-terrific part of Naples. My mother wore herself out prematurely having eight children. Her health was never strong, though she lived into her seventies, thanks to God. One of my brothers died of a fever very young, the rest survived and mainly thrived. I was the youngest and because I am now an old man, I am the last. Naples then, as Naples now, is a wonderful city, full of vitality and history, so picturesque. I miss it so. It is a much-misunderstood city, Professor, as I’m sure you know. Tourists hear talk of pickpockets or the Camorra or trash-collection strikes but that is not Naples. If a pope could ever retire, in my retirement, I would write a book about my Naples, my misunderstood beauty. My father was a draftsman, a real master of the pencil. When you were talking about your father I saw my father in my mind’s eye. He was a distant one, I’d say. He wasn’t so quick to anger but he was very slow to praise. It’s not a good thing for a child. Praise is like mother’s milk. It nurtures and strengthens. Fortunately my mother had plenty of the milk of human kindness. My father died when I was in my thirties, already a priest, so not as young as your situation but difficult in the same way as he and I never had important conversations. You can never find a perfect substitute for father-and-son conversations that never occurred. I tell you this to show you that you and I have some similarities. Let me tell you another similarity. I was very much a lady’s man when I was young, also something of a hell-raiser. I wasn’t like a lot of the young men I would meet in the seminary, fellows who became celibate without knowing much about carnal pleasures. It’s easier to give up something you never knew about and more of a sacrifice if you have known certain delights. Anyway, that’s the way I look at it. One of the reasons this recent story about the young lady, Lidia, who took her own life after having an abortion, the reason it was so painful to me was that she was my girlfriend in high school. Let me be clear, I wasn’t the one who got her pregnant years later – I took my vows as a priest as seriously then as I do now – but I felt great tenderness for her. When she came to me for help as a friend I treated her like a priest. When I felt I wasn’t getting through to her, that I wasn’t changing her mind about having an abortion, I got angry and judgmental. Who knows if the guilt I made her feel carried over afterwards and led to her suicide. This has stayed with me, Professor, and I have tried to use this failing of mine as a priest to more compassionately serve my flock, a flock that has grown in size to over a billion souls.’
‘When did you decide on the priesthood?’ Cal asked.
‘It was in my last year of university. Do you want to hear something amusing, or at least ironic? I attended the Naples Academy of Fine Arts. You see, I inherited from my father the ability to draw. I studied Italian Renaissance art and I suppose that staring at wonderful ecclesiastical imagery for three years stoked my religious feelings. Anyway, I wasn’t a good enough artist to expect to get a decent job, so there’s that too. So here you have the pope that wishes to sell Vatican art – he is a failed art student.’
Cal smiled at that. ‘Can I ask about your faith? Did it ever waiver?’
‘I have to say that that was never an issue in my life. We were raised to go to church and believe in God. There was never a moment of doubt. Whenever I became challenged, after Lidia, for example, and at other times, even now, even during this long night we just had, I may have doubted my abilities as a servant of God and as his messenger, but I never once doubted my faith. Until my last breath, that is the one thing that will never leave me.’
THIRTY-FOUR
Although Celestino knew all about Cecchi’s previous work on the Berardini case, they had never met. Now that they were face-to-face in the Gendarmerie operations center, he instantly took a liking to the ROS officer. He was an athletic man in his fifties with a military bearing – up to a point. Once he was comfortable with the competency and temperament of a colleague, Cecchi became more like a detective in the trenches. Within a short while, he and Celestino were working together seamlessly.
‘A lot of your tech is similar to what we have at the Piazza del Popolo,’ Cecchi said. ‘Let’s put the IT guys on the phone and we’ll be able to send our CCTV data to your server.’
The two men had a coffee in the Gendarmerie cafeteria while the data transfer was being sorted out.
‘So it must be pretty rough, the situation you’re in,’ Cecchi said.
Celestino knew immediately what he was talking about.
‘It’s inconceivable to me,’ Celestino said. ‘A betrayal on the highest order. I’ve known Arturo Viola for a long time. I’ve admired him as a leader. To think that he’s the one behind this plot – I can’t get my head around it. It’s a stain – maybe a permanent stain – on the Gendarmerie.’
‘We’re going to help you remove the stain by catching Viola and getting the pope back safely,’ Cecchi said. ‘Between you and me, the optics are going to be important. The ROS and the entire Carabinieri has elevated this affair to the highest priority and we’ll do everything possible to succeed, but when the hammer drops on Viola, it’s important that you guys in the Gendarmerie, and you personally, be the one seen to be holding that hammer.’
‘Look, I appreciate your attitude more than I can say,’ Celestino said. ‘Let’s hope there’s an endgame that makes us all smell like roses.’
Cecchi made a face at the bad coffee and added more sugar to his espresso. ‘The FBI gave us the video that Viola sent to the Sassoon Bank.’
‘We got it too.’
‘And there’s been nothing similar to the Vatican?’
‘Nothing. He hasn’t communicated at all.’
‘Don’t you find that odd? He takes the pope and makes no demands?’
‘I can only assume that he’s putting the pressure directly on Celestine,’ Celestino said. ‘He’s the only one who can modify his decision on the debt.’
‘He’s the only one right now,’ Cecchi said, swallowing the rest of his espresso like medicine. ‘If it becomes necessary to have another conclave, the next pope will decide.’
Celestino looked down at the table then met Cecchi’s gaze. ‘Of course, I’ve thought about this too.’
Cecchi looked around to see who was close. A few officers were at the vending machine against the wall. ‘Do you think Viola’s acting alone?’ he whispered. ‘Is there a larger conspiracy?’
‘I hope not but I wouldn’t be a good cop if I closed my mind to the possibility
.’
Cecchi received a text from his IT man. The data transfer was successful. He told Celestino they were ready and said, ‘I think we’re going to get along fine, Emilio,’ he said. ‘Let’s go watch some videos.’
In the ops center there was a paused video from a highway camera on the main monitor. Celestino told Major Pinotti to let it play.
Cecchi narrated, ‘This is the view from the A1 exit to Firenze, about fifty kilometers north of the Vatican. We can clearly see the Vatican City plates with the SCV prefix on this black Yukon SUV. Note the time stamp. Given the amount of traffic that day it’s consistent with a direct route from Vatican City to this point. We can see the SUV exiting here. Next video, please. OK, here we are on Strada Provinciale 20b heading toward Nazzano and here is Viola’s car ten minutes later. Last video, please. This is six minutes later on the Via Dante Alighieri in the center of Nazzano. Here is the SUV passing the camera. That’s the last image we have.’
‘What makes you think that Nazzano was their destination?’ Celestino asked. ‘Vittorio, pull up a map of the area.’
Pinotti projected a map of Rome and followed the A1 to Nazzano.
‘There are plenty of small villages in the area along the Tiber,’ Celestino said.
‘For sure,’ Cecchi said, ‘but to get to them you’ve got to go on SP40b.’ He got up and pointed to an intersection on the road just northeast of Nazzano. ‘There’s a camera here. We reviewed the feed from that camera for a full twenty-four hours beyond the kidnapping. Nothing. They never went past.’
‘So it’s Nazzano,’ Celestino said. ‘We’ve got to search it.’
‘The Polizia di Stato are already mobilizing. On our orders they’ll swarm the town. An ROS chopper can pick us up from the Vatican heliport and have us there in twenty minutes.’
‘Tell them it’s a go,’ Celestino said, buttoning his jacket. ‘Let’s get up to Nazzano.’
‘You want me to go with you, boss?’ Pinotti asked.
‘You stay here and man the fort, Vittorio, and keep pressing on Viola’s background.’
The Sassoon family arrived at the bank before dawn, having to talk themselves through rings of security to get inside the building. NYPD patrolmen manned the outermost ring of temporary wooden barricades and FBI agents from the Manhattan south office watched the entrances. Julian had his own private bodyguards providing close support. They went inside with him and waited outside the boardroom.
‘Your security guys, they’re ripped. I recognize one of them from my gym,’ Albert Sassoon said, arriving last.
Julian ignored him, taking his father’s chair at the head of the table. When he sat down he had to adjust the protective vest under his shirt. He’d become a believer.
Gail sat to his left, Marcus to his right, and Albert picked a place several chairs away from the others.
‘Why don’t you join us, Albert,’ his father said gruffly. He obeyed but showed his defiance childishly by sliding his coffee mug across the polished surface to a closer spot.
‘You wanted to meet, Marcus,’ Julian said. ‘Here we are.’
‘Of course I wanted to meet. How could I not want to meet? We’re in a crisis that was one hundred percent foreseeable. The bank is under siege by the media, by bigots, by kooks, and cranks. The shooter in the archive is looking more and more like a hitman. Someone tried to kill you in Rome. Your translator’s brains got splattered on a table. The pope’s been kidnapped. Donovan’s been kidnapped. It’s early days but our business looks like it’s going to suffer. How many meetings have been cancelled, Albert?’
‘The French underwriters postponed Project Mercury. The Belgians at LavaCal want to reassess.’
‘So what’s your point, Marcus?’ Julian said.
‘My point is that this is madness. You’re putting lives at risk and the bank at risk on the altar of your own goddamn ego. This foundation bullshit is going to kill us.’
Julian clenched and unclenched a fist under the table. Gail saw him doing it. ‘Only the weak back down under pressure,’ he said. ‘Only the strong stand up and fight for what they believe in. Do you think I’m weak, Marcus?’
‘Oh, I think you’re a strong young fellow,’ Marcus said contemptuously. ‘Headstrong. Do you think your father would have sat in that chair and presided over the demise of the Sassoon Bank?’
Gail jumped in. ‘Henry would have been brave and he would have been stubborn as hell. He always was when he believed in something.’
‘He wouldn’t do this,’ Marcus shouted. ‘I say, stop this madness and stop this deal.’
‘I’m going to say something I heard my father say on more than one occasion,’ Julian said. ‘I have the majority.’
‘But you don’t,’ Marcus countered. ‘You’ve got forty-nine percent. Gail, this is going to be up to you.’
‘Here’s my position,’ Gail said, fixing him with her best lawyer’s gaze. ‘I’m with Julian. I’m with my son.’
The police were scouring Nazzano, going door-to-door, searching every garage, and showing residents pictures of the black Yukon with Vatican plates. Celestino and Cecchi took to the ROS helicopter to search by air. Both of them pointed at the same time to the small industrial park at the northern edge of the town.
‘We should check there,’ Celestino said.
The pilot put down in a corner of the car park and when the pair of them disembarked they approached a couple of workers having a smoke outside the nearest warehouse.
‘Carabinieri,’ Cecchi said, producing a photo. ‘Have you seen this car?’
The men shook their heads.
‘What do you do here?’ Cecchi asked.
‘Machine parts.’
‘We need to look inside.’
One of the men opened the door and bellowed for the manager, who talked to them and let them have a look inside the workshop.
‘Three of the buildings are like this,’ the manager said, escorting them back outside. ‘The one at the far end, that one’s been empty for almost a year. It’s for rent.’
The two officers jogged up the small hill and went around the building until they got to a door with a small, dirty window. Celestino tried it but it was locked. He used his sleeve to clean the window but it was dark inside and he couldn’t see a thing.
‘Do you have a torch?’ he asked Cecchi.
The ROS officer produced a small tactical light from one of his jacket pockets and Celestino shone it through. There was a black SUV parked in the cavernous space.
He whispered to his colleague and drew his Glock. Cecchi’s Beretta Cougar was already in his hand.
‘We should call for back-up,’ Celestino said.
‘I’m your back-up and you’re mine,’ Cecchi replied, chambering a round. ‘I don’t want to wait for a big operation. Let’s do this.’
‘OK. I’ll go around to the other door,’ Celestino said. ‘When I shout a go command, I’ll shoot the lock and enter.’
‘I’ll do the same,’ Cecchi said. ‘And Emilio, try not to shoot me.’
When he was in position, Celestino shouted and two shots went off simultaneously.
Celestino shouted in the dark, ‘Armed police, show yourselves!’ Cecchi must have found a light switch because suddenly the place was bright as day. The SUV was on its own near a wall but there didn’t seem to be anyone in the warehouse space. Celestino kicked open the door of a small office with a desk and a few chairs. Fast-food debris littered the room.
Cecchi was already slowly approaching the car and Celestino joined him.
‘Carabinieri!’ Cecchi shouted, opening one of the rear doors with his free hand.
‘Shit!’ he shouted. ‘Emilio!’
Celestino came running. Cecchi was opening the rear hatch and shining his torch inside.
‘Body. Driver’s seat,’ Cecchi said to him. ‘It’s not the pope.’
Celestino stared at the dead man.
‘He’s one of mine,’ he said mechanically. ‘Ambrosini.’ Th
en he turned away and said, ‘I swear I’m going to kill Viola.’
An hour later, the forensics team arrived at the warehouse. Celestino had already done the hard work of calling Ambrosini’s wife, telling her that her husband died a hero and that his killers would be brought to justice.
His phone rang. It was Cardinal Lauriat returning his call.
‘Cardinal secretary,’ Celestino said. ‘We found Viola’s SUV abandoned in Nazzano inside a vacant warehouse. One of my men, the driver, was shot, execution-style. I suspect he was an unwitting member of the plot. There’s no sign of the Holy Father and no blood in the car other than the driver’s.’
‘Do you have any idea where they might have taken him?’ Lauriat asked.
‘None whatsoever. I’ll keep you informed if any clues turn up here. Otherwise we’re continuing with our investigation into Viola.’
‘I want to be updated on every detail, Celestino, every single detail.’
THIRTY-FIVE
Celestino pulled down the blinds of his glass office door and sat alone in the dark for several minutes. A rap on the glass brought him back to the moment.
He allowed Pinotti to enter and asked him if he had anything new.
‘We talked to Viola’s sister in Trieste. Did you know he has cancer?’
Celestino turned on his desk lamp. ‘No, what kind? What’s his condition?’
‘She said it’s in the lungs and it’s spread. He’s a big smoker, as we know. She says he doesn’t have long.’
‘So he figures he’s got nothing to lose,’ Celestino said, rubbing his temples to ease his headache. ‘You can’t kill a dead man. Is the search of his apartment done?’
‘There was nothing. We took it apart.’
‘How are we doing with his telephone and financial records?’
‘I’ve got men going through them.’
Celestino wanted to see the paperwork for himself so he went over to the room where the officers were working. Viola had a Vatican-owned mobile phone and landline and had his checking, savings, and credit-card accounts at the Vatican Bank so searching his records was a simple matter not requiring a court order. One officer was sorting through his mobile-phone records, another, records from the phone line in his apartment, and two officers were wading through his banking statements.
