The Templar Concordat (41 page)

“You are a Templar, Mancini?”

“Yes.”

“Does the Pope know?”

“He will when you tell him.”

“Why have you kept this secret?”

“Orders.”

“Why are you telling me now?”

“Orders.”

“Do you know what the Master wants that is so urgent?”

“That’s between the Master and the Pope.”

“But the Templars think it’s urgent?”

“Urgent enough that the Templar Master is in the air bound for Rome at this moment. Believe me. That means it’s urgent.”

“Does it have to do with all this treaty business?”

“Yes. Believe me, Carlos, we’re on the same side on this one. These guys need to get together. Let’s make it happen.”

“Ok.” Carlos stood up and grabbed the Coke and Kaiser roll. “I’ll give you a call with a time and place.”

*     *     *

The meeting with the Templar Master began at 8:00 pm, and Carlos had been sitting in front of the door for two hours now, holding the Beretta through a pocket slit in his cassock. He wasn’t sure about these Templars, and now that he knew about Mancini, he didn’t even know who or where they were. Mancini should have told them.

When he told this to the Pope, the Pope had remarked, “Mancini? Templar? Figures. So, is he a spy or a Guardian Angel, Carlos? Sometimes it’s hard to tell them apart. But I’ll ask this Master tonight.”

Carlos moved the chair aside at the Pope’s knock from inside the office, and stood back as the Master and Pope shook hands. “Pray for luck, Pedro,” said the Master, “Pray for luck.”

The Master then extended a hand to Carlos. “Pierre LeBlanc, Father Perez, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” The Templar Master spoke excellent Spanish, and drilled his deep blue eyes into Carlos. “The Pope told me something of your history together, Father Perez.” The Master released his hand.  “Believe me when I say he needs you more than ever now.  And if you’re ever looking for a job…” With that, he nodded to the Pope and limped to the other end of the hallway where Mancini waited, holding a snap-away briefcase hiding a FN90.

Carlos followed the Pope into the office, and the Pope pointed to the papers scattered across the work table. “There’s our copy of the endorsement of the Concordat. Get it to Agretti, but make a copy first. The Templar took his with him. It’s done. We are now officially allied with the Knights Templar under the terms of the Concordat of Nocera.”

The Pope stuffed his hands in his pockets and gazed out his window at St. Peter’s Piazza. “We have essentially been betrayed, Carlos, betrayed by our own people here in the Vatican, right under my nose. And it takes the Templars to show me what’s happening under my own nose.”

The Pope pointed to the table. “Help yourself. There’s a picture of the Treaty of Tuscany that was stolen from the Vatican Library while St. Peter’s got bombed. Transcripts and translations, too. Latin and English. There’s a Spanish one, too”

“You mean the treaty is real? That thing Al Dossary has is real?”

“Yes. And there’s also a copy of Mancini’s report to Agretti telling him it was stolen. This guy, Callahan, a Templar, figured it out and called in more help, also Templars. They have had our backs all the way through this. They just didn’t realize Agretti sat on the report about the library theft, and I didn’t know diddly.”

The Pope started pacing. “No, it’s worse than that. Agretti and Santini sat right here and lied to me about it. All that ‘Holiness’ crap they spout and the sons of bitches sat right there and lied. But the Templars thought I knew all about the theft of the treaty and was hatching some grand plan. They didn’t know how stupid I really was. They gave me way too much credit.”

“But, Boss, it still might be a fraud. How do we know until it’s tested?”

“Tested? Al Dossary has already had it tested in London. It passed with flying colors. He’s sitting back there laughing his ass off at us.”

The Pope took an orange chair and spun back and forth. “Sit down and I’ll tell you the whole sordid story.”

When the Pope finished briefing Carlos he said, “So, I’ve just denied a treaty exists that does exist. I’ve denied Al Dossary has it, and he does have it. I’ve denied it is authentic, and Al Dossary has already run the tests proving it is authentic. And there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell that Santini just tripped down those stairs. He’s been up and down them so many times, he could do it backward on one leg. I wish I had at least a clue about what’s going on here.”

Carlos knew the Pope well enough to keep quiet. Anything could happen when he got like this.

“I need some bishops around here I can trust,” said the Pope. He gave Carlos a sideways look. “Damn it, Carlos, you’re Bishop Perez now.”

“But, Boss…”

“I’m the Pope and I say so. So shut up and put your name on the list of new guys.”

“No, Boss. Don’t do it. Where did I go wrong?”

“You haven’t done anything wrong. Like I told you, I just need some bishops around here I can trust. Your number’s up.” The Pope gave him an evil grin. “Starting from the bottom.”

“You’ll change your mind when you calm down.”

“Like hell I will. When’s the ceremony for the investiture of the new bishops?”

“Two weeks.”

“Too long. Find some guys on the list who are local, in the Rome or Italy. Get them in here in the next few days. We’ll make them bishops, you, too. In fact, I think I’ll make you the first so you have some seniority.”

They sat quietly for a few minutes, then the Pope said, “You know, in Mexico at least we knew who the enemy was.”

“We’ve been in worse spots,” offered Carlos.

“Yeah? When? Historians call Urban VI the Mad Pope. They’ll be calling me the Idiot Pope.”

Dhahran, Saudi Arabia - Tuesday, April 28

Hammid eased back into his lounge chair on the balcony and enjoyed the hot evening breeze coming in from the gulf. By day it was a killer, and the evenings were still hot, but the dry breeze made it much more pleasant.

“Zahid, something is wrong here. Why is that Pope so confident? He’s looking for a fight when he should be trying to squirm out of this.”

Zahid finished chewing his piece of zadder bread and leaned back on the wall of the balcony facing Hammid. Zahid could see Hammid was shaken by the Vatican response yesterday. His carefully planned steps weren’t leading where he wanted. The Pope wasn’t cooperating.

“There are a number of possible explanations. Remember, he has access to everything in the Vatican Library, and he has access to excellent scholarship. Perhaps he has some other document showing the treaty is a hoax. They all might be neatly filed under ‘Refutation of Treaty of Tuscany.’”

“What do you mean?” asked Hammid.

“Well, suppose somebody forged a treaty in 1189, forged the names of Popes and kings, forged royal seals, and passed it as real? Suppose he got caught. And suppose there was a record? And suppose the Vatican has the record?”

“But the histories say nothing about that.” Hammid aimed finger at Zahid. “You assured me.” 

“Correct. And would an attempted forgery by some conman be of any real historical significance, especially if the forger was caught and hanged? Nobody would care. It would all be forgotten in a few years. Things happen all the time that never make it into histories.”

“How can you be sure of this?”

“Sure? I can’t be sure. I’m just guessing about the Pope’s confidence.”

“But the treaty passed all the tests,” Hammid protested.

“Sure it did. If someone in 1189 had forged it, he would have used paper and ink from 1189, and seals from 1189, and names from 1189. Suppose I forged a letter from you today. I’d use paper from today, ink from today. In a thousand years it would pass all the tests saying it came from today. But it would still be a forgery.”

Hammid stood up and leaned his elbows on the balcony railing. “Think the Pope might be setting a trap? Make us look like fools? He might be sitting on his own balcony laughing at us?”

Zahid shrugged.  “I’m not psychic. I’m just saying what is possible, and how it might be possible.”

Hammid tossed the remains of his drink off the balcony, then threw the glass after them. “Well, he’s up to something. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be so confident.  He knows we have the treaty. He knows what it says. He knows it is real. Why all the insults and challenges if he knows he can’t back them up? That press conference was carefully planned. What’s wrong with him?”

Zahid folded his arms, gazed up at the stars, then back at Hammid. “Listen, Hammid, you can never, ever underestimate the Vatican. They will do anything, and it’s no accident they have survived 2,000 years. They have records and archives nobody outside of their inner circle is even aware of. They are not cataloged, circulated, or subject to academic investigation. The secret Archives are just what the name says. Secret. This treaty probably comes from them, and just got shuffled along the wrong path and ended up in our hands when they reorganized. A mistake.”

Zahid rolled his cold Coke between his palms. “On the other hand, maybe he’s just bluffing. The problem is we don’t know.”

“Bluffing? That doesn’t make sense. He thinks we’re afraid of his bluster? How could anyone think that?”

“I can’t tell you, my friend. I don’t know his mind. I deal with history and old documents. You deal with today’s politics.”

“Hmmph. Don’t forget this old treaty is today’s politics.”

Politics, thought Zahid, how could he ever get away from it? Its poisonous tentacles kept growing, entangling, and choking everything decent. He took a seat and watched Hammid’s back. The Pope had genuinely rattled him. He just wasn’t playing the part Hammid had written for him. Someone had once said the mark of a leader was how he dealt with uncertainty, and Hammid seemed to be wavering.

“Something else.” Zahid waved a finger. “This is a different Pope. He grew up in the slums of Juarez in Mexico, slipped across the border every day for twelve years to go to American schools in El Paso, fought in the American Marine Corps  during Viet Nam, and used the money the US military gave him to go to college. Only then did he join the Church. Then he fought corruption, drug cartels, and organized crime in Mexico and managed to stay alive. Never underestimate him.”

“So what? I don’t care about his poor Mexican childhood.”

“You should care because he’s the toughest enemy you have. The other recent Popes would try to pray with you. This guy will rip your throat out.” How far he could push Hammid, he wondered. The Pope was far tougher than Hammid, and Hammid probably knew it.

Hammid spun and pointed a finger at Zahid. “Well, I’m not afraid of him. Continue as planned. I don’t care what the Pope does.”

At least he had made a decision, thought Zahid. “Ok. You want to take it public in Cairo? At the university?”

“Yes. Yes, we have no choice.”

*     *     *

And this just in to CNN… Hammid Al Dossary has responded to yesterday’s Vatican denial of the existence of the Treaty of Tuscany by pledging to allow scientists from around the world to examine the treaty at the University of Cairo. We go now to Greg Conrad in Cairo… Greg, what can you tell us?

Thanks, Tom… We’re here as you can see behind me, at the sprawling campus of one of the Islamic world’s largest universities, and it is here that Hammid Al Dossary announced today that he will allow a select group of scientists to examine the Treaty of Tuscany to determine its authenticity.

Now, this is a big departure from his other recent statements when he would not commit to when or where he would allow access to the treaty. Sources tell us that he has proposed an international committee composed of nine experts, three to be chosen by Al Dossary, three to be chosen by the Vatican, and another three to be chosen by the first six. So, Al Dossary’s choices would get together with the Vatican choices, and select another three. That would be a committee of nine, Tom.

We can’t help but wonder if the strong denunciation of the treaty and Al Dossary yesterday by the Vatican has prompted this latest move by Al Dossary. Also, we have no indication yet about whether the Vatican will participate in the investigation.  This is Greg Conrad in Cairo.

Philippines - Tuesday, April 28

The Templar Master picked up the phone and called Carlos Perez. “Carlos?  Pierre LeBlanc here.  Is he available?”

“No, but I bet he’ll make an exception. Hold a minute.”

The Pope came on the line. “Pierre, what can I do for you?”

“Remember the remedial treaty plan we talked about?”

“Yes,” answered the Pope, “of course I remember.”

“We need your help.”

After the Master explained what he wanted, the Pope said, “I think you’re crazy, but I sure don’t have a better idea. Carlos will let you know who to contact when it’s set up.”

*     *     *

Bishop Reyes put the phone back in its cradle and scratched his head. The Pope? Calling him? He wasn’t a cardinal. He wasn’t an archbishop. He wasn’t really anyone important. When he looked at the hundred Filipino bishops, he ranked so far down he looked up at everyone.