The Second Messiah (14 page)

CARDINAL UMBERTO CASSINI
was seated behind the ornate desk made of dark Brazilian mahogany in his office overlooking St. Peter’s Square, working through some papers, when the floor-to-ceiling oak doors opened softly and a young prelate in a black soutane appeared. “Monsignor Ryan has arrived, Your Eminence.”

Cassini looked tired as he threw down his eighteen-karat-gold pen on his desk blotter. “Good. Then let’s not keep the man waiting. Send him in.”

The prelate bowed and withdrew.

Cassini stepped over to a bookshelf behind him. He pressed on a red leather-bound book, there was a soft click, and the entire shelf swung open on hinges. A short hallway was revealed behind the bookcase. Cassini pulled a string and a light sprang on.

A stone spiral stairway led up and down, part of the maze of ancient stairways and tunnels that honeycombed the Vatican. In a recess was Cassini’s private safe with an electronic keypad. He punched in the code and the safe door opened.

Inside was a brown leather briefcase with an elaborate security chain. He removed the briefcase and lay it on his desk, then crossed to the open French windows and looked out over a stone balcony.

Since he had presided over the election of the new pope, life had been hectic indeed, so many pressing things on his mind, and Cassini anxiously fingered the cross around his neck. He turned back as the door opened and Sean Ryan entered.

He looked younger than his fifty years, with a boxer’s broken nose and a rugged physique, and he smiled as he stepped into the room.
Cassini
was aware of a man of considerable, hearty charm. But he also knew that behind the charm lurked a brain as sharp as a stiletto and a temperament that didn’t suffer fools gladly, traits that had served Ryan well as head of the Security Office.

Cassini came in from the balcony as Ryan crossed the room, knelt, and kissed the cardinal’s ring. “Your Eminence.”

“Sean, thanks for coming so promptly. There’s coffee on the table if you want some.”

Ryan got to his feet. “No, thanks. I’m still a tea man myself, Your Eminence. The Romans may have conquered half the world but they still haven’t mastered the art of a good cup of tea.”

Cassini gestured for Ryan to sit in one of the red leather wingback chairs opposite. “No doubt you’re wondering why I asked to see you.”

As Ryan looked across, he saw dark rings underneath Cassini’s eyes, as if the man had been up half the night. He also couldn’t fail to notice the bookshelf ajar, the secret passageway beyond, and the brown leather security briefcase lying on Cassini’s desk.

As head of security Ryan had offered Cassini advice on the choice of safe he had installed many years ago, but not its location behind the hidden bookshelf—that had been Cassini’s choice. Ryan knew that the little Sicilian cardinal seemed to take great enjoyment flitting between various floors and offices using the Vatican’s maze of secret passageways, as if he were a child playing at some elaborate game of hide-and-seek.

“It had crossed my mind,” Ryan suggested.

Cassini pushed the bookshelf with his hand and it floated back into place with hardly a sound, except a tiny click to register that it had locked in place. “Before we get down to business, there’s something I must ask of you.”

“Your Eminence?”

“The conversation we are about to have, and what I am about to show you,
must
remain totally confidential. That is of the utmost importance. I think you’ll understand why afterward.”

“Of course, as Your Eminence wishes.”

Cassini nervously fingered the cross around his neck, glanced at the locked briefcase, and sighed. “Good. You are aware that the Holy Father has made known his intentions in regard to the future course the church must take, and in particular his plan to make public all files held in the Vatican Secret Archives.”

Ryan nodded. The word had spread like wildfire, and nothing else was being whispered about in the Vatican’s offices and corridors. “A brave step, Your Eminence.”

From his desk, Cassini picked up a beautifully made letter opener with a silver blade. The bone handle was hand-carved from deer antler, a gift from the last pope. Inscribed on the gleaming blade were words Cassini treasured: “
With great affection, to a loyal and dutiful servant of God
.”

Cassini pointed the blade at Ryan. “A brave step indeed, Sean. Not to mention the fact that he has taken the name Celestine the Sixth. Celestine, from the Latin, meaning ‘supremely good,’ or ‘angel.’”

Ryan said, “Am I right in saying that the last Celestine was the only pope in history ever to have resigned? He was certainly a strange character—a thirteenth-century dreamer, prophet, a healer.”

“And a reluctant pontiff if ever there was one, at least if we’re to accept church history. It’s said that he believed there was no meeting place between the pursuit of power and riches and the worship of God.” Cassini raised an eyebrow. “Indeed. I have heard whispers that already some are calling our new pope the ‘second messiah,’ because he promises to return the church to the true ways of Christ. And because he appears to have intimated a belief in some kind of broad religious unity by opening our secret archives to all Christian religions. At least it sounded that way to me. It’s certainly a noble belief, but if history is anything to go by, I fear its fruition is highly unlikely.”

Ryan nodded. “I must admit I’ve heard the rumors. Including a few outspoken ones that even dared to call him an Antichrist.”

“Not all in high office will agree with the Holy Father’s plans but he is one of the few absolute monarchs remaining and his word is law.
He
refuses to change his mind despite the strong advice of some of the Curia.”

“So when exactly will the archives be made public?” Ryan inquired.

“The Holy Father intends to make an announcement from St. Peter’s Square. He hasn’t yet said when, but I have a feeling it could be soon, certainly within a week or less.”

“And may I ask what all this has got to do with me?”

Cassini sighed, and threw down his letter opener. “Quite simply, I fear the intentions of His Holiness may put his life in danger.”

Ryan said, “How exactly?”

“No doubt you can imagine that some of these secret files contain information on historical and supernatural matters so highly sensitive that they have been deliberately kept from public knowledge. Without meaning to put too fine a point on it, some of the material will be quite shocking. And to be blunt, there will be those who wish certain of our more sensitive Vatican files were not revealed.”

Ryan said, “Who might that be, Your Eminence?”

Cassini raised his hand. “We’ll come to it later. As you well know, I number myself among those of authority within the Vatican who are privy to certain of its secrets. And few organizations keep secrets better. Our archives are perhaps the most securely guarded in the world. But now we must prepare to obey our Holy Father’s wishes.”

“But why exactly should his life be in danger?”

Cassini looked uneasy as he picked up the leather briefcase and the chain lock rattled. He opened it with a key from his cassock, then slid out a thick, red leather folder with a wax Vatican seal that had already been broken. The bundle was tied with wax cord.

Cassini tapped the folder. “You’ll understand once you read the pages inside this file. It’s a list of some of the material from the Vatican Archives that will be released. I am invoking my protocol to have the list available for you to examine, which is within my power to do. The keeper of the archives—who knows nothing of this—believes I am simply studying the documents on the Holy Father’s behalf.”

Ryan licked his lips. “What sort of material is in there?”

“Highly confidential, the sort I spoke about. Considering that you’re in charge of the Holy Father’s security, you ought be aware of the stakes in this matter. And I think you’ll agree that once you’ve read what’s inside, they are very high stakes indeed.”

Cassini smiled bleakly, then continued. “Normally, what’s inside this folder would never—and I mean
never—
be made known to the outside world. The reasons will become obvious. Some of the matters dealt with go back a long time, even to the time of Christ, while others are more recent. And now you, Sean, are about to have the unpleasant privilege of knowing some of those secrets.”

Cassini moved the leather folder to the center of the desk. He lifted the glinting steel letter opener by the bone handle and with an expert flick of his wrist, slit the wax cord.

Ryan said, “Now there’s a man who knows how to use a blade.”

Cassini smiled tightly as he slid the folder across. “It must be my Sicilian blood, Sean.”

Ryan looked uncomfortable as he hefted up the bundle with a beefy hand. “Why do I have a bad feeling about this?”

Cassini nodded to the papers. “For now just read, Sean. Then we’ll talk.”

RYAN CLOSED THE
folder in Cardinal Umberto Cassini’s office. His hands were trembling as he looked up, ashen-faced. The Irishman looked stunned, overcome by a deep sense of turmoil. Over fifteen minutes had passed but he had not felt the time go by. “
My God
,” he breathed. “Everything I’ve read is
really
true?”

Cassini said quietly, “Every word is fact. Now you understand the seriousness of the situation we find ourselves presented with.”

Ryan was too dismayed even to nod. Finally he managed to speak. “Holy Mother, it’s dreadful. Truly dreadful.”

“Does it shake your faith?”

Ryan put a hand to his brow. “Why, n-no. I’ve been too long a priest, my faith too ingrained, but I
am
truly shocked. This frightens me deeply.”

“And now you must also understand why the Holy Father’s life may be in danger.”

“Has he been made aware of that fact?”

Cassini replaced the documents in the folder. “Of course. I told him so after his election. But he remains firm. He considers this matter a personal crusade.”

Ryan shook his head, still ashen. “Now you have me really worried, Eminence. Some of that stuff will be sensational.”

“Which is why we must ensure the pontiff remains alive before and after he makes these secrets public.” Cassini tucked the folder into the briefcase and locked it. He again pressed the red leather-bound book and the bookshelf swung open. Stepping into the secret passageway, he returned the briefcase to his private safe and extinguished the light after him.

“You can be assured the security arrangements I’ve put in place are more than adequate. But I’ll certainly consider any improvements you might think of,” Ryan said.

Cassini pressed shut the bookshelf and heard it click into place. “That’s exactly why I summoned you here. There’s a saying I’m sure you’ve heard. Do you know what makes God laugh?”

“People who make plans,” answered Ryan.

Cassini nodded, unsmiling, and took his seat. He neatly replaced his treasured letter opener at the top of his desk ink blotter. “True. But I’m a man who likes to make plans. I don’t just want security watertight, Sean. I want the Holy Father hermetically sealed. It’s no reflection on your professionalism, but I’d like to go over your security arrangements, just to be certain. I’m convinced that the days ahead will be especially fraught with danger. We’re all aware how easy it was for that lunatic assassin, Mehmet Ali Agca, many years ago.”

“I can assure Your Eminence that our security measures have improved immensely since then.”

Cassini sat forward. “Yes, I’m quite certain they have. But we can’t allow room for error. Especially under these worrying circumstances.”

Ryan frowned. “What circumstances would those be, Your Eminence?”

“There may be those among our clergy who speak reverently of our new pope, who almost see him as a Christlike figure. I’ve mentioned that some among the Curia, elated by his intended reforms, even talk of him in terms of a ‘second messiah.’”

“Yes, I’ve heard it said.”

“John Becket is certainly an unusual man. By all accounts, those who have known him since he was a young priest say he always had an unearthly air about him. People could never fully decipher him. They got close to him, but never close enough that they could admit they knew him completely. He played his cards close to his chest.”

Cassini sighed and slapped a palm on his desk. “However, there are two things that you never mentioned in your reference to history,
Sean
. For one, the last Pope Celestine was murdered by hired assassins. Which almost seems like an unwelcome bad omen.”

“Omen?”

“Don’t you recall the famous prediction of your Irish St. Malachy, Sean? Our John Becket is prophesied to be the world’s last pope.”

Half an hour later, Sean Ryan was seated behind his desk in a small, cluttered office on the third floor of the Umbria building, just inside the Vatican walls. The view faced a small square and was rather pleasant, were it not for the loud traffic noise that vibrated through the double glazed windows—a noise the Romans called the
tufa
.

The door opened and Ryan’s secretary appeared. A tall Italian Jesuit with a dour face, he carried a silver tray bearing a cup of steaming hot chocolate and a small plate of sugary biscuits. Under his arm was a bunch of newspapers and a clutch of classified security files. He placed both on the desk. “The Nut File you requested, Monsignor, and the daily publications.”