Magnificat (25 page)

“And my Brothers and Sisters, it is coming, that glorious year Two Thousand! When Jesus will come back to us, as He promised He would do, and He will gather His lambs unto His breast, and the goats He will turn away into Hell.”

“Cue credits,” said the director. “That’s a wrap.”

* * *

Martin Bell was nervous as he read over the instructions he had received from Dmitri Karodin that morning.
Arrange an introduction to Charles, Cardinal Mendosa as soon as he returns from China
, the decoded message said.
Cultivate his friendship
. That last was ominous, for in the last twenty-four hours it had been announced by Premier Zuo of the People’s Republic of China that in the interest of world peace and the brotherhood of nations, Magistrate Zhuang Renxin would be given an exit visa to permit her to assume her position as head of the Roman Catholic Church. The Cardinal—the only Catholic—permitted to visit and accompany her on this historic occasion was Charles, Cardinal Mendosa of Houston, Texas.

He put the message in a little safe built under the floor of his office. For once in his long and successful career, he did not have any confidence in his ability to perform as required. Everyone in the Western world would be seeking to meet Cardinal Mendosa. The savvy, outspoken Texan was known to have a sixth sense for phonies, and that alone spooked Bell. Once or twice in his life he had come up against such people, and he had always fared badly.

His new secretary knocked on his door. “Cardinal Cadini is here for your three o’clock appointment, Professor,” she said, her shiny hair swung to catch his attention.

Ordinarily Bell would have allowed himself the pleasure of a little flirtation: Norma was the kind of woman who turned him on—busty, leggy and glossy. But today he gave her a distracted nod. “I’ll be right out. Give him a cup of coffee or something.”

“All right,” she said, clearly disappointed at her reception.

Bell fiddled with the stack of papers on his desk, delaying the moment when he would have to put into effect the only plan he had been able to think of since he received word from Karodin, for he knew that it was not a very clever notion. He kept hoping that something better would occur to him, though nothing did. He could not postpone taking action indefinitely. He got up, raked his fingers through his hair, adjusted his tie and fixed his mouth in a polite smile. If only he did not like Cardinal Cadini so much, it would be easier to use him.

“Good afternoon, Martin,” said Cardinal Cadini, holding out his hand. He was unusually dapper today, with a burgundy tie and a summer-weight suit in a flattering shade of dove-grey.

“Out of uniform again, I see,” said Bell, reassured by Cardinal Cadini’s firm grip. “Glad to see you looking so fit.”

“Ah, my physician is a tyrant,” Cardinal Cadini complained genially. “He insists that I walk each morning, and I am terrified to disobey, for then he sets his nurses after me.”

“A terrible fate,” said Bell, then turned to Norma, trying to make up for his earlier lack of interest. “Sorry you have such a churlish lout for a boss, Norma. I guess it’s the weather.”

“It is pretty muggy,” she said, letting him off the hook.

“It’s all the tourists,” said Cardinal Cadini. “They raise the temperature of the place. I’m quite certain of it.” He smiled at Norma then looked quizzically at Bell. “Are you sure you can spare the time? If you have other—”

“No; no, I want to pick your brains, actually,” said Bell, making himself tend to his appointed task. “So long as the Church is going to have such a monumental upheaval, I figure I might as well get a book and a promotion out of it.”

“The academic predator,” said Cardinal Cadini, opening his hands to show he was helpless against one. “I suppose I ought to have anticipated this.”

“From more quarters than mine alone,” said Bell, permitting Cardinal Cadini to precede him out the door. “I thought we might go along to the Villa Borghese, to enjoy the air.”

“And the tourists?” asked Cardinal Cadini. “Why not? It will give me a little time away from the Vatican.” He shook his head in mock self-recrimination. “How can I speak of the Vatican that way? You cannot imagine how the place has been since Premier Zuo made his announcement. I though the entire Curia had run mad, the way they reacted. And some of the Cardinals!”

“Very bad?” asked Bell.

“I do not expect teen-aged schoolboys to behave so badly.” He clapped one hand to his breast. “And I am as bad as the lot of them, admitting this to you. But I suppose you would know something of it in any case.”

“It will probably be all over the news tonight,” Bell said by way of consolation.

They descended a single flight of stairs and well out tall doors to a pillared walkway.

“I am particularly fond of this place in the spring, when the wisteria are blooming,” said Cardinal Cadini. “Very pretty, the wisteria, but they tell me they aren’t in fashion right now.”

“I like them, too,” said Bell, adding, “Shall we take a cab? My treat.”

“In that case, by all means,” said Cardinal Cadini, toddling after Bell as he hurried toward the street.

Bell snagged a cab in short order, and opened the door for Cardinal Cadini. “
Prego
,” he said as he climbed in beside his guest and gave their destination to the driver.

Traffic was aggressively and typically Roman, and the cabbie hurtled along with the best of them. In the thirteen minutes it took to reach the Villa Borghese, the cab narrowly avoided nine collisions, which Bell ignored and Cardinal Cadini found invigorating. They got out near the Museo Borghese and ambled in the general direction of the Giardino del Lago.

“All right, Martin, ask me your questions; there will be many, many things written about the Church now and it is good to know that someone might wish to get it right.” Cardinal Cadini beamed at Bell. “It’s a foregone conclusion that Willie Foot is going to come out of this a rich man, but you might as well garner some of the loot, as well.”

“You sound cynical,” said Bell in surprise.

“I? Never,” said Cardinal Cadini. “I am a trifle fatigued, that’s all. It is a privilege of old men to grumble from time to time.” He watched as a group of schoolchildren ran down the path pursued by a young, harried teacher. “Since we can’t do that, we grumble.”

“Of course,” said Bell, trying to think of a way to turn the conversation the way he needed it to go.

Cardinal Cadini saved him the trouble. “Actually, the one you should be speaking to is Cardinal Mendosa. He’s the one who’s had direct dealings with…I suppose we’ll have to call her Her Holiness.
Madre Maria!
there are some tongues that are going to trip over that phrase!” He slapped his hands together.

“Cardinal Mendosa is in China, isn’t he?” asked Bell.

“He leaves to go there in the morning. He will fly from Hong Kong to Chengdu—”

“And Willie Foot will be with him?” Bell interrupted sharply.

“Willie Foot speaks Chinese fluently. Cardinal Mendosa does not,” said Cardinal Cadini. “They travel together.”

“How fortunate for Willie Foot,” said Bell, startled to hear how jealous he sounded.

“It’s a sin, Martin,” said Cardinal Cadini in gentle reprimand. “Envy is. Try to avoid it, if you can.” He grinned. “Not that I don’t feel a touch of it from time to time. I can’t help wishing I, too, were going to be flying to Chengdu, and then driven to Hongya. But God selects His servants as He chooses, and even Cardinals must bow to His judgment.”

Martin stared at Cardinal Cadini. “You find this…funny, don’t you?” He could see the amusement increase in Cardinal Cadini’s bright little eyes.

Cardinal Cadini nodded several times as he walked, and finally answered his companion as if apologizing. “Well, you see, it’s just that I’ve never had so much enjoyment from a Papal election before.”

Chapter 14

The wind off the fields smelled green and the sky was paled by thin, high clouds when the four cars pulled up in front of Magistrate Zhuang’s house. The government escort attracted the attention of the people in the fields less than the rangy American and the tall, lean Brit.

“Don’t look now, Charles,” said Willie, “But we’re being goggled at.” He lifted one hand in what could have been a half-hearted wave: no one in the fields waved back. “I wonder how much they know about what’s going on?”

“My guess is they’re probably curious to know why their Magistrate has been given an exit visa. Maybe they’re hoping to find out who they’re going to get in her place. And don’t doubt they know she’s leaving and someone else will be Magistrate here.” He turned to their driver and thanked him in his rudimentary Chinese. As he looked up at the house, he felt intense awe, as if the force of Zhuang Renxin had increased during the time they had been gone. “Do you think she’s home?”

“If she’s not now, she will be in a few minutes,” said Willie, then answered an inquiry from the head of their escort. He explained their brief conversation to Mendosa. “One of the escort will remain with us at all times, and tape recordings are to be made of all talk between us, and with Magistrate Zhuang. They want a full record of what Magistrate Zhuang is told.”

“That smacks of blackmail,” said Mendosa lightly. “I suppose Premier Zuo has to cover his ass, like all politicians.”

“He has to have something concrete, in case his rivals question his wisdom in permitting Magistrate Zhuang to leave, and for so peculiar a reason. It could be used to raise doubts about his abilities to lead.” Willie added a few words to the Colonel with them, adding to Mendosa. “He doesn’t like it when we talk too much English.”

“Why? Has he said?” Mendosa asked, masking his irritation at this lack of respect with a business-like geniality.

“You’re doing better,” said Willie, approving Mendosa’s demeanor. “Chinese always understand business, no matter what wrapping they put in it. China, far more than France, is a nation of shopkeepers. That
is
France, isn’t it?”

“Stop blathering, Willie,” Mendosa recommended. “They’ll think you’re exceeding your authority.” He folded his arms out of nervousness. “It will distress them to learn—”

“Actually, I suspect that two of our escort are fluent in English, the way our pilot was on the flight to Chengdu,” said Willie. “I don’t know how they handle Italian, if at all, but I caught one of them smiling at breakfast when you compared your pressed pork to a squashed horny-toad. And one of the others nodded at your observation that the planting is coming along quickly.”

“How did you translate horny-toad?” Mendosa asked, feeling now so on edge that his skin seemed to have shrunk two sizes.

“As literally as possible.” He answered an inquiry from one of their escort, then nudged Mendosa’s arm. “Ready?”

“Long since,” he answered, utterly sincere. He had been preparing for this since he had his first vision, since that long-ago Lenten season when he had seen the face of a Chinese person in full Papal regalia. At the time he had thought it was an odd nightmare, but over the decades, he had come to recognize it for what it was, to accept his vision, as he had learned who the Catholic President was who died in Dallas, as he had seen it in dreams three years before it happened. For the last week, his visions had been so constant that he was badly in need of sleep. He smoothed the front of his suit. “After you, my boy.”

Willie chucked and offered a single modification. “After the good Colonel”—he indicated the leader of their escort—“and his two officers, Charles.”

They were something of a parade going up the steep steps to the house. Once again the darkness of the porch surprised Mendosa, and he waited while the Colonel rang the small bell that hung near the door with its clapper chain.

The Colonel brought his two men to attention.

Magistrate Zhuang opened the door almost at once, bowing to her guests as the door swung back. She spoke the proper phrases of welcome to her guests, then added, “I was pleased to learn that you were returning, Mendosa.”

He wanted to kneel and kiss her ring—the ring she did not yet wear—but he knew it would serve only to embarrass the others. So he bowed as the valet had trained him to do. “Thank you,” said Mendosa in Chinese. It was inexpert but it earned him a glimmer of approval as Magistrate Zhuang stood aside to permit the five men to enter.

Once he was over the threshold, the Colonel spoke urgently and rapidly to the Magistrate, saying, as Willie informed Mendosa, that if the Worthy Magistrate should decide that she did not wish to leave China to take over so corrupt an institution as the Catholic Church, she had only to inform him and the process of securing her visa would stop at once and she could remain where she was, doing her work as Magistrate.

“You are very kind, Colonel,” said Magistrate Zhuang. “But I have made up my mind, and I don’t think anything Mendosa tells me now will alter my decision. I have accepted my election, no matter how unexplainable it is.” She indicated the same room where she had sat with Mendosa and Willie and Nigel No when they had come the first time. “If you will sit down, I have much to learn about my responsibilities and duties.”

“Very to-the-point,” added Willie when he had translated her remarks. “She is very close to being rude to the Colonel.”

“I don’t want her to do that,” said Mendosa, who feared more delays. “She doesn’t have to do that on our account.”

“She isn’t too critical, Charles,” said Willie. “As a Magistrate, she has certain lee-way in how she addresses officials.” He led the way into the study. “Since we have been asked to sit here,” he told their escort, “I am eager to comply with the Magistrate’s wishes.”

“Of course,” said the Colonel, signaling the other two men to enter. He took the chair nearest the Magistrate’s; his expression was one of immense satisfaction. “The corrupter of the innocent will have to find a less worthy place,” he remarked.

“I gather we’re not being flattered,” said Mendosa as he sank into one of the other chairs.

Willie nodded. “You’re right.”

“Tell the Colonel for me that in my Church we praise modesty and humility. I take this lesser seat gladly.” Mendosa did not look at the Colonel as he waited for Magistrate Zhuang to join them.

After Willie passed on Mendosa’s remarks—somewhat edited so that they would not give too much offence—he said, “Do you think we should offer to help the Magistrate? It doesn’t seem quite fitting for her to be playing at parlor maid. She’s gone to fetch tea for all of us.”

“You’re the expert on China,” said Mendosa. “If you think it’s wise, I’ll do it. If you think it would make an awkward situation worse, then we will remain where we are.” He favored the Colonel with a small, tight smile. “I wish I could get that smarmy look off his face. He’s as bad as a politician saying he wants to be Vice-President. He’s making this as hard as he can, isn’t he?”

“I’m afraid so,” said Willie, seeing again the slight flicker of understanding in one of the escort’s eyes. “It would be prudent to watch what you say, Charles.”

“Why?” Mendosa asked. “They’re assuming the worst about me already, so why not give them some reason for their opinion?”

Willie turned his eyes toward the ceiling, knowing this was going to be a very long stay.

Magistrate Zhuang came into the study with a tray in her hands. “I have brought tea,” she announced, and was startled when Mendosa rose. “What is the meaning of this?”

“As long as you are standing, Worthy Magistrate, I will stand, if you please.” Mendosa had no idea how Willie might explain this, so he added, “It is a sign of respect, Worthy Magistrate.”

“It is a very strange custom, if that is the case,” said Magistrate Zhuang, doing her best not to sound condemning.

“There are many strange customs you may have to learn to accommodate,” said Mendosa. “Having others stand in your presence is only one of them. I thought it might be easier for you if you had an opportunity to get used to a few of them before we leave for Rome.”

Willie handled all his translation with deliberation and care, knowing the Colonel could intervene at any moment. “He is telling you the truth, Worthy Magistrate. Whatever you may think of the Cardinal, he is not deceiving you.”

“I am aware of that,” she said. “But I am perplexed by much of what he says and does.”

“Then his advice is wise,” said Willie at once. “And he is right—there are many things you will have to learn before you go to Rome. This is a painless way to begin, isn’t it?”

“I hope you’re being as eloquent as you sound, Willie,” warned Mendosa. “I don’t want her getting the wrong impression at this stage of the game.”

She heard them out and gave the issue her consideration. “I will permit it so long as it is not done foolishly.”

“Whatever that means,” said Mendosa when Willie had relayed her answer.

“I suspect it means that she doesn’t want you or her to be criticized by the Colonel for inappropriate behavior.” Willie hesitated. “I could rise, too, if that would help.”

“Ask the Worthy Magistrate,” Mendosa recommended.

“Later,” said Willie. “When we’re all a little more comfortable.”

“Oh, let’s not wait that long,” said Mendosa dryly, sitting again now that Magistrate Zhuang had taken her place. “I’ve got a hunch that’s never going to happen.”

* * *

“I’m afraid International Vision, Ltd. is not prepared to pay for any more trips to Rome, Mister McEllton,” said Mister Greene as they sat on their usual meeting bench. The park was busy this warm afternoon and a number of families could be seen out on the long slope of lawn leading down to the ornamental pond. “We had hopes that you would be able to learn for us from your uncle, but apparently that isn’t possible. You have realized a very handsome profit from your efforts and I hope that the amount is sufficient to purchase your silence as part of your services?”

“That’s always part of the bargain,” said Clancy McEllton, annoyed that the man could suggest he would behave so unprofessionally after his many years as an operative.

“It is reassuring to hear it from you,” said Greene, staring at the small boy who was trying to sneak up on a large white duck.

“He’s never going to catch it,” said Clancy, following Greene’s line of vision. “The ducks here have too much experience to get caught.”

“It’s only a duck, Mister McEllton,” said Greene reprovingly.

“Never underestimate ducks, Mister Greene,” said Clancy. “There are parts of the world where ducks are preferred to dogs as guards.” He recalled, as he said it, that it was geese, not ducks. Well, it was close enough for him to make his point. He decided to offer one last morsel. “I don’t know what this means, if it means anything, but the last time I went to see Uncle Neddy, I learned that Cardinal Hetre, of Canada, has been visiting him, too. Apparently he hasn’t said anything to Cardinal Hetre, either.”

“Why was he there?” asked Greene, not quite concealing his interest.

“I don’t know. But he has come five times in the last month, and that seems significant to me.” He placed his loosely folded hands in his lap. “None of the other Cardinals have been to see Uncle Neddy, or none that I know of.”

“Cardinal Hetre,” said Greene meditatively. “That’s certainly odd.”

“I think so,” said Clancy, and waited for Greene to speak again.

After the greater part of a minute, Greene asked, “Visiting Father McEllton? What would be his reason?”

“I don’t know. But I think it has to be important, don’t you?” He did his best to appear apologetic. “I can’t shake the feeling that Cardinal Hetre has decided to talk to Uncle Neddy for some of the same reasons I’ve been trying to. It has something to do with this new Pope. Uncle Neddy knows something, and Cardinal Hetre wants to know what it is as much as we do.”

“An interesting supposition, if true,” said Greene, his expression belying his attempt at the laconic.

Clancy nearly lost his temper. “You know, after our last meeting, I did a little checking up. Call it a reflex, or a habit; I wanted to know what this International Vision, Ltd. of yours is all about.”

“We’re a private philanthropic foundation,” said Greene.

“You’ve got that part down pat, haven’t you?” Clancy challenged; he continued relentlessly, beginning to enjoy himself. “I found out that International Vision, Ltd. is hidden in a maze of holding companies and international corporations. But what it comes down to, if you dig deep enough and long enough, is an arm of Reverend Williamson’s organization. You are funded by Revelation, Inc., a charitable research corporation that is styled the R and D branch of the Salvation Syndicate, Reverend Williamson’s church corporation. I’ve also taken the time to listen to some of Reverend Williamson’s remarks about the Catholic Church and the new Pope. I’d guess that part of your purpose is to find some evidence of manipulation or tampering with this Papal election, in order to discredit it, or cause so much scandal that the new Pope will not be able to function because of public pressure; that way the whole authority of the Church can be undermined. How close have I come, Mister Greene?”

“You’ve done a very good job,” said Greene, his face hard with anger. “And it was extremely foolish of you.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” said Clancy. “I really do doubt that, Mister Greene.” He leaned back on the bench, enjoying himself hugely. “The riots in New York and Philadelphia were organized by people working for the Salvation Syndicate. It took me a long time on the computer and a dozen stolen access codes, but I have enough material to convince the Church hierarchy that you are contributing to the upheaval in the laity.”

“That’s ridiculous,” said Greene but without conviction.

“No, it’s not,” said Clancy. “Or you wouldn’t be sitting here listening to me. I can prove some of the rioters aren’t Catholic at all, but volunteers from the Williamson organization, specifically instructed to cause trouble. I can also prove that several of these so-called spontaneous riots were carefully timed to make the most of the international news programs. Your motives are questionable at best. I’m sure you don’t want the Church to find out all the things I have.”