Magnificat (63 page)

“To a point, we’re in accord,” said Karodin. “Whatever danger Williamson represented has been diminished because of his behavior in the last week. Those who were uncertain of him are probably now against him; those of his followers who are convinced that he is God’s man on Earth no doubt consider him a persecuted hero. If you want my opinion, I’d say that his ranting was a gamble, a deliberate gamble. How much of that might be a legal ploy, I can’t say, but if it was one, it misfired.” He motioned to Cardinal Mendosa. “It would be wiser to leave. One or the other of us could be recognized.”

“That had crossed my mind,” said Cardinal Mendosa sardonically.

Karodin grinned. “I have a car waiting outside. I think it would be best if we let my driver take us for a short scenic tour, don’t you?”

“A short scenic tour sounds sensible,” said Cardinal Mendosa, his apprehension beginning to lift. “You want to make sure no one overhears us?”

“That’s part of it. And because my man in the Vatican is supposed to meet us at another location in a little over twenty minutes.” He started toward the door, then paused to look up at the scaffolding. “I understand that tourist donations have paid for this work. Is that true?”

“For the most part, yes,” said Cardinal Mendosa.

“What does Pope An have to say about that?” He was not expecting an answer and so was not disappointed when Cardinal Mendosa had no comment to make. He went outside, shading his eyes against the sun. “Even at the beginning of March the Roman sky is brilliant,” he said as he fumbled for dark glasses.

A limousine with amber windows drew up to the curb.

“Yours?” asked Cardinal Mendosa. “Isn’t that a little grand?”

“‘When in Rome,’” quoted Karodin, and opened the door for Cardinal Mendosa before climbing in behind him. “Were we in Russia,” Karodin went on as the limousine pulled into traffic, “we would not use a vehicle like this. But in Russia there would be places I could arrange to use that would guarantee our privacy. Oh,” he went on, seeing the rigid disapproval in Cardinal Mendosa’s face, “nothing unpleasant. There is a dacha very near Moscow that is quite nice, a wooded setting with a brook for trout.”

“And you go there to fish,” said Cardinal Mendosa, leaving no doubt as to his meaning.

“Sometimes,” said Karodin. “Unfortunately, here I am reduced to using luxury transportation.”

“How regrettable,” said Cardinal Mendosa with exaggerated sympathy. “But in these capitalistic times, I thought luxury was possible in Russia.”

Karodin laughed. “I like you, Mendosa. I suspected all along that I would. And certainly you are aware that capitalism in Russia is unpredictable.”

“You’re very kind,” said Cardinal Mendosa nastily, then relented. “Sorry. You have something you want to tell me.”

“Yes, I do.” The amusement disappeared at once. “I wish I didn’t.”

“Then it is serious,” said Cardinal Mendosa, his chest feeling suddenly very cold. “In that case, you’d better tell me; I need to know if there’s anything I’m going to do about it.”

Once again, Karodin’s response was indirect. “What is the state of Maetrich’s security effort, do you know?”

“You’re not speaking against Axel Maetrich, are you? He’s been taking very good care of Pope An,” exclaimed Cardinal Mendosa, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’ll have a hard time convincing me that he’s up to no good. He’s been dependable and circumspect.”

“No, no. That wasn’t my meaning. As far as I am aware, Axel Maetrich is a very honorable man. He has made a number of realistic and sensible changes in commendably brief time. But I fear he is short-sighted.” He leaned forward, the leather upholstery creaking with his movement.

“Short-sighted how?” asked Cardinal Mendosa.

“From what I have learned, he has become…relaxed. Now that he has instituted better security scanning for the general public and several sorts of monitors throughout the Vatican, he is convinced he is prepared and will not be taken unaware. It appears that he is satisfied that there are no more plots against Pope An, not for the time being. He has let it be known that anyone who had been thinking of killing the Pope would now have the good sense to abandon the plan, given what happened to Cardinal Sinclair’s group, Urbi, and then Reverend Williamson. He has determined that there is no reason for immediate concern, what with Interpol and the Eurocops assisting Vatican Security. I wish I could agree with him: that is not my assessment of the situation.”

“Meaning that you suspect there may be another conspiracy?” Cardinal Mendosa asked, reserving his opinion.

“I don’t suspect it, I am certain of it.” Karodin said it intractably.

The limousine crossed the Cavour Bridge and headed eastward through hectic traffic. Its size gave it an advantage against everything but trucks and vans.

“Does that mean you have suspects, or only suspicions?” asked Cardinal Mendosa, reserving his assessment for the moment.

“Some of both,” said Karodin. “What I lack is admissible evidence. I cannot take what I have to the courts, not at the Vatican and not in The Hague. But what I have learned troubles me.” He pulled a large sealed envelope from the space concealed under the armrest. “Have a look at this. If you know someone in the intelligence field you trust, get a second opinion.”

“My brother-in-law,” volunteered Cardinal Mendosa. “If you don’t object to my faxing whatever you’ve got here to him. He’s got a secure line and I have used it from time to time. He’ll keep it to himself.” He resisted the urge to tear the envelope open.

“Ah, yes, the incomparable Mister Nimmo. I’ve never actually met him, though there was a time some years ago when we came very close to it.” His smile was genuine and voracious at once. “By all means, let him examine what we have discovered and make the most of his opinion.”

“I’ll give him your regards,” said Cardinal Mendosa with urbanity.

“Please,” said Karodin sincerely. “Agents of his caliber don’t come along often. When he retired, I missed him. He understood the game better than most.” He tapped on the window dividing the front of the limousine from the back. The driver nodded. “We’re about to pick up the man you’ve been so curious about,” he told Cardinal Mendosa. “My mysterious man at the Vatican. I imagine you’ve tried to figure out who it could be.”

“Naturally,” said Cardinal Mendosa. “Leo Pugno told me about your meeting with him in Austria, but he’s not the one, is he?”

“No, of course not,” said Karodin. “He was a precaution.”

“I hope you didn’t tell Leo that; he’d be outraged.” The Texan made a gesture of restraint. “Will you answer me one question before we pick him—whoever he is—up?”

“I may. It depends on the question,” said Karodin.

Cardinal Mendosa nodded his acceptance. “Why are you doing this? It’s been driving me round the bend, trying to figure it out. The whole of it, the intelligence work, the support. You’ve gone out on a limb for Pope An. I can’t figure out what you hope to gain by it.”

“Ah.” Karodin shrugged. “And why not?” He turned toward Cardinal Mendosa. “For one thing, I have a natural tendency to…I think you call it kick shit.” His amusement faded. “Do you have any notion how rich the Church is? Do you know how much political power it has? Do you have any comprehension how great its influence is?”

“Some. Not from your perspective,” said Cardinal Mendosa.

“I thought someone like her might change that, might turn the power and wealth of the Church to other uses, less oppressive ones. At the least, I thought she would bring about a reassessment. It seemed worth the effort.” He looked out the window. “She’s been…a godsend, hasn’t she?”

“Quite literally,” said Cardinal Mendosa, his voice very quiet.

Then Karodin sat up straighter. “There he is.” He rapped on the window again and the driver pulled the limousine toward the curb in front of San Camillo. Karodin reached to open the door.

A few seconds later, Piet, Cardinal van Hooven stepped into the limousine and met Cardinal Mendosa’s dumbfounded gaze with a hint of apology. “Shocking, isn’t it? It began as blackmail, Charles,” he said as he took one of the rear-facing seats. “But eventually I decided that Karodin has a point.”

“How could anyone blackmail you?” Cardinal Mendosa asked before he could find a more diplomatic way to express it.

Cardinal van Hooven hitched up his shoulders and looked directly at Cardinal Mendosa. “Because I’m homosexual,” he answered.

Cardinal Mendosa slapped his knee. “Well, hell’s bells, Piet, so’s my nephew Tom. You didn’t have to knuckle under because of that. How many of the College of Cardinals are like you? Twenty-five percent, sounds about right, don’t you think?”

“Yes, as far as it goes,” said Cardinal van Hooven.

“Meaning?” challenged Cardinal Mendosa, pretending he did not see the irony in Karodin’s eyes.

“Meaning, I suppose, that I had little protection in the hierarchy. My family controls no banks, no corporations, no crime syndicates, no transportation organizations, has no political position, no academic acclaim, nothing, in short, that would immunize me from disgrace and excommunication.” His slight smile was sad. “Pope An changed that, but it was too late to have impact on me, other than philosophical relief.”

Karodin addressed himself to Cardinal Mendosa. “You spoke out against the persecution of homosexuals by the Church two decades ago, as I recall. It got you a great deal of attention.”

“Seventy-nine,” said Cardinal Mendosa. “I was a bishop then, and one of my priests had been arrested. God, it made me mad, watching how they dogged his heels and ran him into the ground.” His color heightened at the memory. “Josh Winters was his name, poor bastard.”

“Then you understand my predicament,” said Cardinal van Hooven quietly.

“Oh, yeah,” said Cardinal Mendosa, then made a gesture showing his helplessness. “You of all people. You’re a psychiatrist.”

This time Cardinal van Hooven was able to chuckle. “Use your head, Charles. Why do you think I became one, if not to understand my own needs?”

“Makes sense,” said Cardinal Mendosa. He looked at Karodin out of the tail of his eye. “You going to tell me why you blew van Hooven’s cover?”

“My reasons are completely pragmatic,” said Karodin. “Pope An is in danger and she needs the help of those who truly support her and her works. And,” he went on before either Cardinal could speak, “I’m relying on both of you to keep your mouths shut.”

“If it would protect her, I’d take a vow of silence this afternoon,” said Cardinal Mendosa, with such utter conviction that even Karodin was impressed.

Van Hooven looked oddly pleased behind his thick glasses, but said nothing as the limousine sped on.

Chapter 33

In spite of the scrambler and the distance, Elihu Nimmo’s voice sounded remarkably distinct, as if he were talking from Rome instead of Texas. “You had breakfast yet?” he asked his brother-in-law in Rome.

“Five-thirty’s a little early for me,” said Cardinal Mendosa, dead-pan.

“Oh.” Nimmo paused to work out the time zones. “Sorry. Your man said he’d get you and I thought—”

“Don’t worry about it, Spook. I said I wanted to take your call, whenever it came.” He was impatient with Nimmo; he was anxious to know what he thought of Karodin’s information. “I meant it.”

“Well, I didn’t want to.…” He let his apology drift. “I’ve been over your stuff,” he said, sounding more like himself. “I don’t know where you got it, but it’s damned potent. I’ve been over it, looking for flaws or plants and I’m damned if I can find any; if they’re there, I haven’t been able to spot them. I’d say this is straight goods. I’m convinced. You don’t want to hear this, but if it was up to me, I’d have to tell you that your Pope is in a very tight situation. The men behind this have a plan and they’ve covered their asses. And I don’t have a notion how you can break the case before one of these maniacs tries something stupid.”

It was the answer Cardinal Mendosa was expecting but it was also the one he wanted least to hear. “Can’t you suggest something?” he asked, hearing his desperation in his voice; the dream had ended in a nightmare again last night, Pope An’s luminous face destroyed and Cardinal Mendosa unable to prevent it.

“You mean, something you could do on the sly?” said Nimmo, in a tone that told Cardinal Mendosa that Nimmo had already thought about it.

“Yeah, something like that,” said the Cardinal.

“That depends,” said Nimmo, his manner becoming distant and critical. “You’re not in a good tactical position, but we might be able to work out a strategy that will turn it around.”

“Why is my position bad?” asked Cardinal Mendosa sharply.

“Because you live in a fishbowl, Charles. You’re always in the spotlight. You have a very high profile.” He said it casually enough, but Cardinal Mendosa could hear the disapproval behind the smooth rejoinder.

“But there’ve been other Cardinals who were trying to bring her down, and we didn’t find out about it until pretty late in the game,” the Cardinal protested.

“They had the other Cardinals to act as baffles. You don’t.”

“You mean some of the others don’t cotton to me. That’s true enough. I don’t cotton to all of them, either. And I’m not inconspicuous the way some of them are. When I think someone’s scum, it shows.” He had learned to speak about himself as if he were another person many years ago and there were times he clung to the skill with frantic tenacity—never more than now.

“You’ve been allied with the Pope since before day one. You can be pretty sure that there are some of the other Cardinals who resent the shit out of you for that.” Nimmo paused. “I’d guess, from what I’ve seen, that you’ve got half a dozen men in this plot. They’ve got to be Bishop-rank and higher up. One or two of them must be Cardinals, just for access.”

“The man who provided the information would agree with you,” said Cardinal Mendosa. “He reckons that it’s half Cardinals. Three. If there are no more than six men in the conspiracy.”

“Sounds reasonable to me.” Nimmo paused and there was a faint crackling that might be the sound of rustling paper or feedback from the scrambler. “I go along with what your man guessed. Whoever he is, he knows his business.”

“He said the same thing of you,” Cardinal Mendosa interjected.

“Well, well—that limits the field; you’ve got a good contact,” said Nimmo, and resumed his evaluation. “My fix on these guys would be Latin America, just like your contact thinks; maybe other Third-world countries, or Pacific region, where they worry about China. I go along with the assumption that the Cardinals involved are tied into the upper-class power organizations, the ones with a lot to lose if Pope An follows through with this World Hunger project of hers. The ones who have relatives in high places and money in the family. The Cardinals who protect the poor and work for the relief of the oppressed are not going to be part of this, but the guys who are part of the money-influence-prestige circuit, they fit the profile for the conspiracy.”

“It could get very sticky,” said Cardinal Mendosa, thinking aloud.

“It already is sticky, Charles. You’re so used to it, you haven’t noticed,” Nimmo corrected him. “You told me a few years ago that the Vatican was the most convoluted, deceptive, untrustworthy, corrupt place in the world.”

“It’s still true, part of the time,” said Cardinal Mendosa. “With Pope An here, things have improved a little.”

“Well, that might be good enough for you, but it would worry the shit out of me, with those ambitious back-stabbers trying to recapture their territories,” Nimmo declared, then amended his blunt statement. “That’s assuming most of them haven’t learned better yet. From what I’ve seen in these pages, you have guys there who will forgive anything but virtue.”

“That’s a fact, sadly,” said Cardinal Mendosa.

“And they’re playing it very close to the chest. The earmarks show that they’ve been working for well over a year to pull this off and this is all that’s been gleaned from them.” Nimmo paused. “Don’t move against these guys until you know absolutely that you can get them and make the case. They’re powerful and they’re protected. If you try to round them up before you’re ready, or if you leak something to them, they’ll go so far underground that they’ll reach magma, and you won’t know when they’re going to strike again until they’ve done it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” vowed Cardinal Mendosa.

“Incidentally,” said Nimmo as an afterthought, “I don’t figure it’s just politics and money behind this. I think you have first class reactionaries running this show. We’re taking about men with the same mentality as the Inquisitors had, torturing people to death to save their souls.”

“Women,” corrected Cardinal Mendosa.

“What?” Nimmo asked, thrown by this interruption.

“Women, I said.” Cardinal Mendosa repeated. “Almost ninety percent of the Inquisition’s victims were women. Go back and read the records. Or read that new book Sidgwick and Jackson just published in London, taken from the records in the Vatican Library, the one written by the American and the Brit. It’s pretty damned chilling. They sent me a review copy last year.”

“Charles, for God’s sake,” protested Nimmo. “We’re talking about a plot to assassinate the Pope.”

“We’re talking about a plan to murder a woman,” said Cardinal Mendosa. “That’s part of the issue, that she’s female. For some of those reactionaries, whether they’re conspirators or not, her sex is the most damning thing about her.” He shifted back in his chair and reached for a notebook on his desk. “It’s part of the reason for their…righteous indignation.” The last two words left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Could be,” said Nimmo. “You know more about that than I do.” He waited for a comment and when none came, he said, “Look, I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you what you wanted to hear. Okay? I wish I could dismiss your worries, saying that your informant is suffering from delusions. But you asked for my professional opinion, and I’m giving it to you the best way I know how.”

“And I’m grateful. Blame my churlishness on the hour,” said Cardinal Mendosa at once. “You’ve been very good to do this and I do appreciate your time and expertise. I guess I was hoping that you’d have a magic wand you could wave over the material we sent you and come up with identities.”

“I’d like to do that, myself,” said Nimmo, chagrined.

“I suppose I have to pass this on to Maetrich. Not that he’ll be able to do anything much with it.” He wanted to sound confident but was not able to muster the energy. “If I learn more, I’ll pass it on. You might be able to connect the dots for me.”

“I’ll try,” promised Nimmo. “Sorry again about the time.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Cardinal Mendosa. “If that was the worst thing that happens to me today, I can count myself blessed.”

“You probably do that anyway,” said Nimmo, about to ring off.

“Give my love to the family. I miss them.” He often admitted this aloud but always with the sinking feeling that he was shirking his duty by allowing himself to long for the company of his brothers and sisters.

“Will do. You try to stay out of the line of fire, Charles.” With that good advice, he hung up, leaving Cardinal Mendosa to pace the floor for twenty minutes before he went to shower and shave.

* * *

“I’ve always had a special affection for Saint Jude,” said Cardinal Cadini at his most expansive as he led the way down the gravel path toward the rear of the garden. On his right were Pope An and Sean, Cardinal Quillons of New Orleans; on his left, Sergios, Cardinal Phinees of Cyprus, and Archbishop-soon-to-be-Cardinal Keahi Wailua. Behind him, Willie and Leonie walked hand in hand. “Imagine being the patron saint of lost causes. How much more honest that is than being the patron saint of photographers, or lapidaries. What better saint to pray to, no matter what you wished. The only thing we pray for, except what’s in the liturgy already, is lost causes—that’s why we pray, because all other avenues are closed to us, or we have not yet seen them. Thinking we can do nothing more, we ask God, or one of His family to come to our rescue. Saint Jude must be the busiest of all of them.” His laughter was echoed by most of the others, except Archbishop Wailua, who was still suffering from jet-lag, having arrived from Honolulu less than twelve hours ago, and was not yet used to being in such august company so casually.

“Are you suggesting we do away with all the rest?” asked Cardinal Quillons, pretending to be outraged. “Demote all the saints but Jude? And Dismas, of course. Jesus promised him Paradise and we can’t rescind that.”

“No, and we ought not. Yet it wouldn’t hurt to be rid of some of them. Take Saint Hubert and his ravens: do we really need Odin, appropriately disguised, in the calendar any more?” The question was not meant to be taken seriously, and they all knew it. “People
like
Hubert. They like Barbara and Katherine and Benedict and Honare and Genevieve. And they like the others. But some housecleaning wouldn’t hurt. For instance, the cult of Saint Cynehelm isn’t nearly what it used to be: a prince of Mercia killed in youth at the order of a politically ambitious older sister has a tenuous claim on a martyr’s crown. And in any case history tells a different story about the lad. And his sister, for that matter.”

“What are you suggesting, Cardinal Cadini?” asked Cardinal Phinees, uncertain of how he was to respond to these extravagant statements.

“Well, we might do away with the relics, as a first step,” said Cardinal Cadini blithely, relishing his speculation. “Those jeweled caskets for bits of bones and such. It’s always bothered me, these ghastly tokens we have so lovingly collected and preserved.”

Pope An regarded him with interest, her eyes brightening. “I have been very puzzled by the relics. They are not for the veneration of ancestors, or the honor of a community, but are supposed to be some means of holding onto the presence of the saint. Have I understood correctly?”

“Generally, yes you have,” said Cardinal Cadini at once, before the other three had time to respond. “It was thought, in the earlier days of the Church, that possessing some portion of a holy thing or holy person was a viable substitute for the holy thing or person. So the chopped-off fingers of some poor wretch were preserved as relics. There was quite a lot of competition between various churches and cathedrals in the Romanesque and medieval periods. Those churches with the best relics and the handsomest reliquaries attracted more interest, and more pilgrims, as well as more money. Towns with important pilgrim churches thrived; you might call it the medieval version of the tourist trade. The relics were the bait for them. Awe-inspiring cathedrals and a plethora of relics. The bits and pieces were supposed to improve the status and spiritual benefits of the church housing them; there are more pieces of the True Cross in reliquaries than could have been used to make a dozen crosses.”

“Then the people are duped by these things,” said Pope An, no longer as indignant at the Church for these excesses as she had been a year ago.

“No,” protested Cardinal Quillons. “Not duped. Misled.”

“It appears so to me,” said Pope An, and regarded Cardinal Cadini steadily, waiting some explanation.

“Duped? Yes and no. Many of them were pious frauds, clearly intended to strengthen the faith of the people. The mentality of the time didn’t regard such things as hypocrisy or duplicity. Sometimes there were actual items held by the cathedral but because of the risk of theft, copies were displayed instead of the real thing so that the spiritual benefits to the church would not be compromised. I think that many people were truly convinced that they had the real thing, copy or not, whatever it was.” Cardinal Cadini reached a small fountain and stopped, turning to look back along the path to the villa. “You can’t blame them, really. They wanted something to promise them salvation, and these gruesome talismans seemed to do the job.”

“But they were deceptions,” said Pope An reasonably.

“Deceptions, yes, but many of them strengthened faith in spite of that,” said Cardinal Quillons, daring at last to defend his position. He was one of those men with rugged, ugly faces who were deeply attractive. “The people were credulous then, wanting to believe.”

“It was not right to deceive them, no matter what the motive,” said Pope An, sighing. “An acceptable excuse does not justify the action.”

“That’s a political statement, Pope,” said Cardinal Phinees. “We are discussing virtue.”

Pope An shook her head once, frowning a little with concentration as she pursued her own thoughts. “They are no so far apart. We are so concerned with vice that we do not question the motives of virtue. That’s an oversight.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to change that?” cried Cardinal Cadini in mock dismay. “What will the Curia make of it?”

“That’s for the Curia to decide,” said Pope An, dismissing the issue. Then she glanced over at Cardinal Cadini. “Tell me: is there anything I have done you would do differently?”