20

Thomas Kelly yanked open drawers and grabbed fistfuls of freshly pressed shirts. He pulled jackets and their hangers from the closet, swept the desk clean of pens and notepads, and stuffed everything recklessly into his suitcase. He was normally neat and methodical about his packing, as he was about everything, but nothing right now was normal and the only thing that mattered was to get away from here. To where? He didn’t care. The next plane out of Rome, wherever it was going. Beijing, New York, Kuwait City. Somewhere he knew no one, no one knew him, and he could try to understand what had happened to him this day.

The drawers and closets were emptied and the suitcase mashed shut when Thomas, loading his pockets with his passport and wallet, heard his cell phone ring. No! Whoever it was, let them— But conscientious habit had by then forced the phone from the top of the bureau into his hand. An unknown number, a Rome code. Again unconscious routine took over; he’d been at the service of others, trying to be of use, for so long. Before he quite knew what he was doing he’d answered it.

“Thomas Kelly.”

“Buongiorno, Father.” An unrecognized voice, speaking, after that first word, in an English lightly accented. “You don’t know me but we have reason to work together. You must bring me the Concordat.”

Thomas stopped in the middle of his room, suitcase waiting on the bed. “Who are you? What do you mean?”

“Who I am is not important. You will be more interested, perhaps, in whom I know.”

“What are you—”

“Thomas.” A new and this time familiar voice. “It’s Lorenzo. Whatever this man tells you to do, don’t do it!”

“What— What are—”

Through the phone, Thomas heard muffled, unintelligible sounds. Then the other voice was back. “He is a brave man, your friend. Surprising, for a man of the Church. You’re usually such cowards. Father Kelly, I don’t have much time and neither do you. You’ll bring me the Concordat or your friend will die.”

Thomas sank into the armchair. He bent forward over the phone. Weakly, he said, “What?”

“My people need that document. It’s time the hypocrisy and evil of your Church was revealed for the world to see. Your friend the Cardinal wanted you to find it so he could hide it again and save your Church. Now you’ll have to find it to save him. He’s here with us, and not, believe me, by his own choice. If you don’t bring us the Concordat, he will die.” A brief pause. “No, better. Yes, much better. He won’t die. He’ll never die. I’ll make him one of us.” Thomas heard a horrified intake of breath that could only have come from Lorenzo. “Yes, a marvelous idea,” the voice continued. “I’ll give your friend eternal life. Isn’t that what you men of the Church are always going on about? Eternal life. Won’t he love that?”

A foul and futile promise. Lorenzo’s words rang in Thomas’s head. The destruction of men’s souls.

“No,” Thomas said. “This isn’t happening. This isn’t real.”

“I’m sorry. I’m afraid it is. You’ll go back to those of our people you’ve already met, the two who are searching, and you’ll help them. You’ll find the Concordat and bring it to me or I’ll have the pleasure of welcoming your friend into our Community. We’re not unrepresented in your Church, but he’ll be our first cardinal. Quite an honor, wouldn’t you say?”

“No!” Thomas heard Lorenzo yelling from a distance. “Thomas! Don’t help him! They—” His words were cut off.

“Oh, yes, he’s very brave.” The voice was mocking now. “Willing to die for his Church and his God, I have no doubt. But sadly, I don’t think he’s going to get that chance. Go join the search for the Concordat, Father Kelly, and wait for my next call.”

The connection was cut.