by Glenn Cooper
‘May I touch his hand?’
‘Of course. I’ve been holding it a lot.’
She watched him as he gently squeezed a few fingertips with his uninjured hand.
‘I think your friendship means a lot to him,’ she said.
He swallowed and nodded.
‘My brother is suffering,’ she said. ‘It was his bullet.’
‘I wasn’t in the room but I spoke to Lieutenant Colonel Cecchi. It wasn’t his fault. Celestine took the bullet for Viola.’
‘Still, he has to live with it. People are saying he’s the one who shot the pope. And with Arturo Viola and Vittorio Pinotti’s involvement, the Gendarmerie Corps is under a big cloud.’
‘Your brother is a good and honorable man.’
She was grateful for his kind words. ‘What are your plans?’
‘I’ve got to get back home. I’m missing in action from my teaching duties.’
‘I’m sure it will be hard adjusting to your usual routine,’ she said.
It wouldn’t be hard, it would be impossible.
‘And you?’ he asked.
She turned that lovely face to him and said, ‘I will be sitting here until – until he wakes up. And Professor?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m still praying for you every day.’
The external auditor sat across the desk from Julian and looked over his shoulder through the glass panels on both sides of the door.
‘Marcus saw me on the way in,’ he said. ‘He asked me why I was here.’
‘What did you tell him?’
‘Courtesy call. To introduce myself to you. Know what he said?’
‘That he didn’t want you showing up without informing him first?’ Julian asked.
‘How’d you know?’
‘Because I know Marcus.’
‘Rough news from Italy.’
Julian nodded. He’d been trying to reach Donovan. ‘What did you find out?’
Even though they were alone and the door was shut he lowered his voice. ‘Plowshares Master Fund IV was incorporated as a Cayman fund only a month before it recorded the initial sixty-million-dollar investment from the bank.’
‘Tell me there are other investors …’
‘Apparently not.’
Julian’s face darkened.
‘There’s more,’ the auditor said. ‘Plowshares’ resident manager is a lawyer down in the Caymans. That’s not atypical. But it turns out that Plowshares IV is a wholly owned subsidiary of another Cayman entity, Mount Laurentian LLC, managed by the same George Town lawyer, and Mount Laurentian is, in turn wholly owned by an Isle of Man LLC called Angle Iron Enterprises.’
‘And who might the manager of Angle Iron be?’ Julian asked.
‘Marcus Sassoon.’
Julian swiveled his chair. A steady snowfall was accumulating on the windowpanes. ‘Go on.’
‘We can’t be sure without conducting an audit of Plowshares – and I imagine we’d need a subpoena to get access to them – but I suspect we’re going to find that there’s no money in it. The two hundred million on its books is going to be a sham.’
‘You think it’s a vehicle to paper over bank losses elsewhere?’
‘I do.’
‘From where?’
‘Hard to know. Nothing turned up on our bank audits so we’d have to go with the assumption that if there’s one set of fraudulent paperwork there are going to be others. I think we need to get forensic, Julian. Personally I’d recommend starting with the trading desk.’
Julian sneered. ‘Which cousin Albert runs.’
‘If I were a betting man I’d say that we’re going to find two hundred million in papered-over trading losses.’
‘Are you a betting man?’
‘I’ve been known to place a bet or two.’
‘Then go ahead. Get forensic.’
‘There’s something we’ve got to do first. I’m obligated to make some calls.’
‘To whom?’
‘The SEC, the New York State Banking Department, and the US Attorney’s office.’
Julian smiled. ‘Do it.’
Back at his hotel suite, Cal’s things were untouched. There had been some reporters in the lobby but he’d blown past them without comment. He sat for a while staring into space, thinking about the cold vodka lurking behind the little door.
He pushed off the chair to get his ringing phone.
‘There you are,’ the Irish voice said. ‘I’m blue in the face calling you.’
He hadn’t been purposely avoiding Murphy’s calls. He just hadn’t been ready to speak to friends and colleagues.
‘Hey, Joe. And here I am …’
‘Look, Professor, I don’t want to bug you. I really just wanted to hear your voice. We’ve all been so worried and concerned.’
‘I’m OK. Just got out of the hospital. Coming home tomorrow.’
‘Well that’s excellent. Any news on the pope? The Vatican hasn’t been a font of information.’
‘He’s in rough shape. Touch and go.’
‘Well, we’re all praying for him. I imagine he’s a tough old boy.’
‘He is that.’
Hanging up, he popped a pain pill and laid himself down. Before long he was drifting off and probably would have slept well into the evening had his phone not rung again.
‘Cal, it’s Gil Daniels. How the hell are you?’
‘Feel like a truck ran over me.’
‘Well, you’re all over the news. A real hero.’
‘I’m not a hero, Gil. I was a victim.’
‘Heroes always say that. So look, we’ve been fielding media requests. Sixty Minutes wants you for this Sunday. They’re willing to come to Rome.’
‘I’ll be in Cambridge tomorrow.’
‘Well, that’s good news. I’ll have Jean compile all the media calls and email them to you so you can sort them out yourself. When do you think you’ll be back in the classroom?’
‘Don’t worry, Gil,’ he said with an edge. ‘I’ll be back in the saddle by the end of the week.’
‘Actually, there’s no rush. I sat in on one of Joe Murphy’s substitute lectures. You were right about him, Cal. He’s good. I think I made the wrong call.’
Cal put the phone down and got out of bed. It was getting dark. There were church bells tolling in the distance. He wondered if there was a reason for them but he really didn’t want to know. With his good hand he opened the door to the mini-bar.
At the sound of the buzzer, Cardinal Leoncino put his cheek against his apartment door to look through the peephole.
He opened it a crack and said, ‘You shouldn’t have come, Pascal. We shouldn’t be seen together.’
‘Thank you, Mario. Yes, I will come in.’
Lauriat made tracks to the drinks cabinet and helped himself to Leoncino’s best brandy.
‘What’s the matter?’ Leoncino asked. ‘Is there news about the pope?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Then what brings you here at this hour?’
‘I’ve always liked this apartment, Mario.’
‘Fine, fine, but what reason is that?’
‘A friendly monsignor at the Vatican Bank told me that the Gendarmerie examined my accounts.’
Leoncino sat down hard, his face a study in worry. ‘So what? What will they find?’
‘I did something quite silly. I withdrew a good sum of money from my savings. Viola and Pinotti needed it to pay for …’
Leoncino leapt up and shouted, ‘Stop it! Stop talking! I don’t want to hear anything about this. This is your affair, Pascal, not mine.’
‘You’re right, Mario. It’s my problem. Do you mind if I take my brandy out on to your balcony? It’s such a clear night.’
‘Sure, sure. That’s a lot of brandy. For you, I mean. I won’t join you. It’s too cold for me.’
Lauriat closed the balcony doors behind him and went to the railing. The lights of Rome were beckoning and cheerful and looking out
, he sipped at the liquor.
Leoncino yawned impatiently. He wanted his guest to leave and he wanted to sleep.
‘Pascal? Could you come in now? It’s getting late,’ he called through the door.
When he finally got up and braved the icy chill, the balcony was vacant, an empty glass on the railing.
THIRTY-NINE
Three months later
The office manager barged into his office without knocking or apologizing.
‘Julian! The FBI are here!’
His feet had been up on his desk, his computer on his lap. She expected shock. Instead he calmly smiled at her.
‘Are they?’ he said. ‘I’d better come and see what they want.’
‘We’ve got media outside too. Lots of them.’
A posse of men and women in blue and white windbreakers came marching down the hall.
‘Federal agents!’ one of them said. ‘Please remain at your work stations.’
‘I’m Mr Sassoon,’ Julian said.
‘Marcus or Albert?’ the lead special agent asked.
‘Julian.’
‘We don’t want you. We want them.’
‘I’m sure you do.’
‘We’re executing their federal arrest warrants for securities fraud.’
‘Three offices down is Albert,’ Julian said, merrily pointing. ‘The one in the corner is Marcus.’
‘This is Detective Gonzalez.’ As usual, Gonzalez sounded sleepy.
‘Yeah, my name is Leon Soto. I want to report a crime. At least I think it’s a crime.’
‘You think you’ve got a crime,’ Gonzalez said wearily.
‘No, I’m pretty sure. My ex-wife, Maria – well, she’s still my wife but we’re supposed to be signing our divorce papers – I’m pretty sure she’s covering for a guy.’
‘Covering what?’
‘Murder.’
‘You think your wife is covering up for a murder?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Illuminate me.’
‘She’s a nurse. One of her patients died a few months ago.’
‘I assume he was sick,’ Gonzalez said, preparing to hang up on the guy.
‘Sure he was. But she came into a lot of money all of a sudden she tried to hide from me. I mean a lot of money. She told a girlfriend who happens to be my friend, if you know what I mean, that a guy named Marcus paid her because he might have helped this patient shuffle down the road.’
‘Shuffle down the road?’
‘You know, kill him. I didn’t have a clue who this guy was but I think I just saw him on the TV.’
‘Oh yeah? Where’s that?’
‘In front of his office. The FBI was arresting him for something. I recognized the building. Maria used to go there to take care of the dead guy before he had to stay home. I picked her up there once.’
‘And this guy. You just saw him on TV.’
‘Yeah, just now. They got his name on the screen.’
‘What is it? His name.’
‘Sassoon. Marcus Sassoon.’
The ceremony was being held at a grand reception hall in the Apostolic Palace and the visitors were assembling, taking their places in the rows of gold chairs.
‘Where do we sit?’ Carlo Celestino asked his daughter.
Elisabetta pointed to their assigned chairs in the first row.
‘Best seats in the house,’ he said, sitting down and taking his little notebook from his suit pocket.
‘Papa,’ Micaela Celestino said, sitting beside him, ‘do you have to do Goldbach now?’
‘Why not? We’re early. Why shouldn’t I do some work while we’re waiting for the show to start?’
‘Let him,’ Elisabetta said, leaning over her father to whisper. ‘It’s like giving a child a coloring book to keep him quiet.’
‘I’m right here,’ Carlo said. ‘I can hear you.’
The rest of the reserved seating filled with senior members of the Vatican Gendarmerie, the Swiss Guards, including Commander Meyer and Deputy Commander Zeller, and an assortment of cardinals and bishops. As the top of the hour approached, the rest of the chairs filled with Vatican employees.
A door opened behind the podium and Emilio Celestino emerged, dressed in his best black suit with a new silk tie his sisters had bought him as a gift. There was a chair for him beside the podium.
Then the door opened again and two Swiss Guards emerged in full ceremonial regalia, carrying their traditional halberds.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ they called out in unison, ‘please rise for His Holiness, Pope Celestine VI.’
The pope came through the door, walking slowly with mincing steps, his body slightly bowed at the waist. He still used a cane much of the day but for this occasion he had left it in the anteroom. For those who hadn’t seen him since his hospital discharge, his weight loss was noticeable, enough that a tailor had to alter his vestments. He had joked to colleagues that there were perhaps healthier ways to slim down.
He gripped the podium for stability and asked the assembly to sit.
‘Few things give me greater pleasure,’ he began, ‘than to reward a deserving man or woman. Emilio Celestino is such a person. He is a dedicated professional who adheres to the highest standards of ethics. He came to the Gendarmerie Corps of the Vatican City State as a younger man – and look at him – he is still a young man! He has ascended the ranks because of his abilities and today he arrives at the summit for his installation as Inspector General of the Gendarmerie. Because of the unfortunate events of our recent past, the reputation of the Corps has suffered. But I will tell you this: the Corps was not rotten. It was only a couple of its members. The new inspector general is the man to restore the reputation and the dignity of this fine organization.’
Celestino looked straight ahead, his jaw fixed, betraying none of the emotions brewing inside.
‘I am going to betray a confidence,’ the pope said, ‘because it needs to be said. This young man said to me, “Holy Father, I am devastated that it was I who shot you and caused you great harm.” But I said to him, “No, Emilio, you did not harm me. You saved me, and that is why you will be the Inspector General of the Corps and my new chief bodyguard.”’
After the ceremony, Celestine lingered for a while chatting with the Celestino family, particularly Carlo. He had been briefed on the mathematician’s Goldbach quest and innocently asked about it. Two minutes into Carlo’s effervescent discourse on prime numbers and number theory, Elisabetta rescued the pontiff and reminded him of his next appointment.
Cardinal Da Silva came over to offer an arm and the pope gladly took it.
‘Thank you,’ the pope said. ‘Tell me how my new Cardinal Secretary of State is faring.’
‘I am settling in, Holy Father.’
‘And what of Leoncino, Malucchi, and Cassar?’
‘I have sent them into quiet retirement. I don’t believe we will be seeing much of them around the Vatican.’
‘Well, God be with them,’ Celestine said, ‘for I am not.’
‘There is one matter I should like to discuss with you.’
‘Of course.’
‘I’m a bit uncomfortable with the lavishness of Pascal Lauriat’s apartment. I wonder if I might find more suitable accommodation at the Sanctae Marthae guesthouse.’
‘That would be splendid,’ Celestine said. ‘I would welcome the company. Please see my new first private secretary, Sister Elisabetta, to sort out the details.’
Cal hopped out of the London taxi and made his way into the packed hall. He found her standing at the rear. As the only nun in the room she was easy to spot. He couldn’t hide his pleasure in seeing her again.
‘Congratulations on your new post,’ he said. ‘I was excited to hear about it.’
She turned at his voice and smiled. ‘I appreciate that very much. It’s an interesting job with a steep learning curve. I’m afraid I’ve never mastered the art of Vatican politics.’
‘I’m sure you’ll excel at it
.’
‘To date, I’ve been relying on confusing the Curia by dint of being a woman. They don’t know quite what to make of the situation.’
‘I’m sure they don’t.’
‘Of course you know what my position means?’
‘Do I?’
‘It means we shall be seeing more of each other. The pope asked me to tell you that he hopes you will visit him with regularity.’
‘Well, please tell him that I will.’
She reached into her habit and pulled out a new business card.
‘There,’ she said. ‘You have my private number now.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I think about you often, if you must know.’
The lump in his throat made him swallow. Its saltiness tasted of longing and the sadness of inevitability. ‘I think about you too.’
He felt a tap on his shoulder. It was Julian Sassoon with Gail. Cal had flown over with them and was staying on the same floor at the Langham Hotel. He had found Gail’s complete sobriety to be utterly remarkable. All that the new Gail had been knocking back were sparkling waters with slices of lemon.
Cal introduced them to Elisabetta and asked if they wanted to find seats.
‘I’d rather stand,’ Julian said. ‘Gives you a perspective on the room.’
‘Then we’ll stand,’ Cal said. ‘How’re you feeling about this, Gail?’
‘Excited. Nervous. I hardly slept. Can you believe the crowd?’
‘I talked to someone on the way in,’ Cal said. ‘He told me this was the most people they’ve ever had.’
The house lights dipped and the last of the stragglers made their way inside.
Cal opened his catalogue and turned to the page after the preface. It was a beautiful printing job. The papal bull, A Tempore Ad Caritas, filled several pages in a clean typeface. As he read his own words his chest swelled with a melancholy-tinged pride.
A dapper-looking gentleman in a bold pinstripe suit and a rather large bow tie climbed the stage and settled behind the podium.
‘A warm welcome to everyone who has turned out for this special, indeed historical event this morning at Christie’s. My name is Harris Farquhar. In addition to the overflow crowd with us in London, we have multitudinous attendees by telephone and on the Internet. I believe we all know why we are here. You haven’t come to listen to me prattle on, so we’re going to launch in with Lot Number 1. May I have the curtain, please?’
