The Inca Prophecy (37 page)

‘Any time you want a job, you’ve got one,’ Shaked said to O’Connor as a shaken, trembling and bitter von Heißen was led away by Shaked’s men.

‘Doesn’t pay enough.’ O’Connor grinned as he walked over to Aleta. ‘You okay?’ he said, putting his arm around her shoulders.

‘I will be,’ she said, wiping away tears. ‘It’s a shock to finally see him in the flesh.’

‘Are you up to a dive? I can grab one of Shaked’s boys if you like.’

‘No, I want to do it. I owe it to my grandparents.’

Chapter 44

‘E
xtra Omnes
,’ Felici ordered. The ancient Latin phrase was the order for all advisors, private secretaries and medical staff to vacate the Sistine Chapel. From this point on, the election would be run by the cardinals themselves. Six long, draped tables had been placed on each side of the chapel underneath Michelangelo’s creation fresco, each table seating ten cardinals. More desks had been placed near the altar for three scrutineers and three revisers; the latter’s task was to double-check the work of the scrutineers. The chapel’s inlaid marble floor had been protected by carpet and Felici had ensured that radio and cell phone jamming devices had been installed in the space underneath.

Cardinal Sabatani took his seat on the left of the chapel and looked around. Cardinal Felix Schäfer, Bishop of Munich and Freising, nodded from across the room. Schäfer was young, but precisely what the Church needed, and Sabatani had been working quietly
in the background to gain the necessary numbers for him. Schäfer, for his part, had been working equally hard to garner support for Sabatani. Sabatani glanced at Felici. There would, he knew, be stiff opposition from the conservative camp.

‘It is distressing to have to raise this at the beginning of a conclave, Eminences,’ Felici intoned after he’d introduced the opening prayer, ‘but before we convened in lockdown, many of us were confronted with confidential Vatican discussion papers in this morning’s media, so I would remind you all of our oath of secrecy and the grave duty we have before us. We must proceed with the clear intention of doing what is right for the good of the Universal Church …
solum Deum prae oculis habentes
… having only God before our eyes.’

Sabatani’s gaze was inscrutable, but there was little doubt in his mind as to who had leaked his discussion papers. The damage was done. The ruthlessly ambitious Felici would stop at nothing.

‘I would also remind you to disguise your handwriting when filling out the ballot papers in front of you.’

Sabatani wrote Cardinal Schäfer’s name on the small, rectangular ballot paper marked
Eligo in Summum Pontificem
– I elect as supreme pontiff.

One by one, in order of seniority, the cardinals approached the altar, each holding his ballot above his head so that everyone could see it. Sabatani placed his ballot on the gold disc covering a large silver and gold urn embossed with the keys of St Peter and quietly recited the oath: ‘I call to witness Christ the Lord who will be my judge, that my vote is given to the one before God I consider should be elected.’ He up-ended the paten and dropped his ballot into the
urn under the watchful gazes of the three scrutineers.

The scrutineers mixed the ballots and then counted them to ensure there were 121. Satisfied, they extracted the ballots one by one. The first two scrutineers noted the names and the third scrutineer announced them to the college:

‘Cardinal Ferdinando Sabatani …’

‘Cardinal Salvatore Felici …’

‘Cardinal Felix Schäfer …’

‘Cardinal Felix Schäfer …’

Felici mentally tallied the results and wondered which bloc was supporting Schäfer. He considered Schäfer’s candidacy to be just as dangerous as Sabatani’s, as they were both in the same liberal mould. Schäfer was also very young. John Paul II had been only fifty-eight when he was elected in 1978, and he had led the Church for over twenty-six years. Schäfer was even younger. Some of his colleagues might need reminding that long papacies were not without risk.

Chapter 45

Save for some drifting weeds and silt, visibility was surprisingly good under the water. O’Connor swam slowly underneath the island towards the area below von Heißen’s hut, the bubbles from his and Aleta’s regulators mingling with the rotting totora reeds on the bottom of the floating island. O’Connor probed the area with his torch beam. He was about to tie off a length of nylon cord for a more detailed search when he saw it: the corner of what looked like a metal box protruding above the mud. He grabbed Aleta’s wrist and pointed with the torch beam, and they swam towards it. The metal trunk was half-buried in the silt, and O’Connor carefully scraped away the mud while Aleta focused her torch on the rusted hasps. O’Connor reached for his knife, prised the hasps apart and raised the lid, causing a flurry of silt and rotten totora reeds. Several heavy calico bags and a waterproof package were lying in the trunk. O’Connor opened one of the bags and two gold ingots glinted in the torch beam. He turned
to Aleta. Even through the bubbles rising around her mask, he could see the excitement in her eyes. But the waterproof package intrigued them even more. Aleta spelled out DIARY in the silt and O’Connor nodded in agreement.

The sniper adjusted the focus on his binoculars and watched the ferry return to Puno harbour. Whatever the mission had been amongst the islands of reeds, it hadn’t taken very long, but again, there was no clear shot at his target. He would have to be patient.

O’Connor looked around the Puno railway station, but sensed nothing unusual about the other passengers; he and Aleta boarded the train for Cusco, en route to Machu Picchu. The zenith of the sun was just eight days away.

‘Do you ever slum it?’ Aleta asked, as she settled back into the comfort of a first-class seat on Peru Rail’s Andean Explorer for the ten-hour trip to the old Inca capital.

‘Not if I can avoid it … which used to give the boys and girls in accounts in Langley no end of grief. They caught me out once. I claimed some taxi fares to balance my allowances, but when they discovered I’d actually been on one of our aircraft carriers all hell broke loose.’

‘And what was your excuse? An honest oversight?’ Aleta raised one eyebrow.

‘I just sent a message to them asking them if they had any idea how big those carriers were. Prompted a rocket from my old DDO Tom McNamara, but he smoothed things over.’

Aleta shook her head and placed her hand on O’Connor’s knee underneath the table. ‘I meant what I said earlier. I’d like to come back here one day.’

‘We will.’ O’Connor squeezed her hand. ‘But there’s a little matter of two crystal skulls to uncover first,’ he said, reaching for his briefcase.

‘Not to mention the prophecy and the Lost City of Paititi. Do you think it really exists? Given how many expeditions have set out in search of it, you’d think someone would have found it by now.’

‘Not necessarily. The jungle can be impenetrable. Look how long it took to discover Machu Picchu. The Inca started building it in 1400, but Hiram Bingham didn’t uncover it until 1911. I suspect Paititi does exist, but it’ll be well hidden by the jungle.’

‘The question is, where?’ pondered Aleta.

‘Somewhere deep in the Amazonian basin, I suspect. There are still tribes out there who’ve never seen a white man. Perhaps if we uncover the second skull, which seems to be located somewhere in the area of Machu Picchu, there will be another clue.’

‘Felici would be beside himself if he knew we were getting close,’ Aleta mused.

‘That bastard’s been in cahoots with Wiley from the very beginning.’

‘You think he’s behind the leaks on Sabatani?’ They’d read about them in the newspapers.

‘Tom McNamara used to say that if you want to find out who’s
behind a leak, find out who benefits. By discrediting Sabatani, Felici places himself in a strong position to be elected pope.’

‘Oh God, what a frightening thought. Although it wouldn’t be the first time they’ve had a charlatan on the throne of Peter,’ Aleta said.

O’Connor grinned. ‘They don’t like you to know about their less than holy popes. I remember reading about the Ballet of the Chestnuts once … fifty of Rome’s most beautiful courtesans crawling naked between candelabra picking up chestnuts, guests mounting them from every direction, with the Pope’s servants keeping score of ejaculatory capacity so His Holiness could give out the prizes … Must have been quite a night.’

‘Yet my father would never hear a bad word said about the Church,’ said Aleta. ‘He absolutely adored John XXIII, and often told me the story of the night he arrived in Istanbul, without anyone in the world. Archbishop Roncalli, as John XXIII was known then, drove his old Fiat down to the docks at midnight to put my father on a ship to Guatemala. Von Heißen was waiting for them in the shadows, but Roncalli and the head of the Jewish Agency bribed the ship’s captain and he took my father and other children on board.’

‘Well it’s taken a while, but justice has finally been served to von Heißen,’ O’Connor said, opening the diary they’d recovered from the waterproof bag at the bottom of Lake Titicaca.

‘I’m amazed the Israelis let you keep the original of that.’

‘There’s honour amongst thieves, and they have a copy. Anyway, they’re more interested in prosecuting von Heißen for his role at Mauthausen rather than what went on in the Vatican. But this is the smoking gun we’ve been looking for, and when we fire it again,
it will reverberate around the world. We’ve now got it in writing that Felici’s father, a gentleman of the pope, no less, laundered Nazi gold and spirited von Heißen out of Europe disguised as a priest.’ O’Connor turned to von Heißen’s spidery entry for 2 June 1945:

Alberto Felici demanded 50 per cent of the gold. Outrageous, but 11th Armoured Division are close and advancing rapidly. Reluctantly agreed as Vatican Bank will effectively cover any traces. Disguise as a simple priest very effective. American soldier guarding road from Mauthausen to Venice very apologetic after describing road as a ‘fucking mess’. American Mustang fighters screaming overhead. Road littered with burnt-out tanks and armoured vehicles of a once proud Third Reich. The military have betrayed the Fatherland! As part of my deal with Felici, I must part with the exquisite pectoral cross – solid gold, with a magnificent ruby in the centre surrounded by twelve large diamonds. Felici most impressed – expressed a wish that one day his son might wear it.

‘That cross was in my family for a very long time,’ Aleta murmured softly. ‘It was taken when the Nazis rifled through my grandfather’s apartment in Vienna. It originally came from an archaeological dig on the Mount of Olives. I think Grandpa Levi traced it back to Richard the Lionheart and the Third Crusade.’

‘Must be worth an absolute fortune, which would also appeal to Felici.’

‘It’s unique,’ Aleta agreed, ‘and only someone as arrogant as Felici would continue to wear it.’

‘If the cardinals knew about this, it would be enough to stymie
Felici’s election, but it’s probably too late for that now. At the very least it will throw the spotlight back on the Vatican’s involvement with Hitler and the Nazis … there are a number of court cases against the Vatican Bank, and perhaps it’s time they opened up their books.’

‘You’re going to make the diary’s information public?’

O’Connor shook his head. ‘Like Mossad, the last thing you and I need now is publicity. When this is over, I’ll leak it to Campioni at the
Vatican Insider
, and regardless of who is elected, the cardinals will have to clean up the mess. When the contents of Felici’s vault on Lake Como and his relationship with Wiley become public, it’ll make the paedophile priest scandal look like a sideshow. Let’s go and sit in the observation car … I’ll shout you a pisco sour.’

In the observation car, the barman, attired in black waistcoat and bowtie, mixed Peru’s national drink: pisco, sugar, lemon, the white of an egg and angostura bitters. A band was playing beside the bar, and the soft panpipe sounds of ‘El Cóndor Pasa’ floated through the train.

The shores of Lake Titicaca gave way to the tufted grasses of the Andean highlands and the train reached Juliaca, where the tracks ran through the centre of town and a jumble of markets. Colourful tricycles, some with barbecues welded to the front with meats sizzling on the plates, added to the chaos of the streets. O’Connor was once again on alert, scrutinising the crowd to see whether anyone boarded the train. Children ran alongside the carriages as they moved slowly past the mud-brick buildings, just metres from the track, before the train began its climb to La Raya, a small village on the Altiplano dominated by towering snow-capped Andean peaks.
The twin towers of a small church stood sentinel over the market – an oasis of colour in the desolate Altiplano, where everything from bolts of cloth to lollipops were on sale, and where native women, often with a baby sitting in a sling on their backs, came up to the windows of the train, asking for a few sol for stuffed toy llamas.