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Chapter 1 As he set the nib of his pen on the vellum, Ottone, Cardinal Folgar, was possessed by a strange dizziness; there was a whiteness behind his eyes, light that was more than light, a fluttering of breath, a sense that something hovered over him, a moment that was suspended in eternity. Then it was gone and he passed a shaking hand across his brow, murmuring thanks to God that He had chosen to leave him on earth a little longer. How ironic, he thought in the next instant as he touched the crucifix that hung on his breast, if he died now, while the Cardinals were gathered in conclave to choose a new Pope: a new Pope for the second time in three years, and with the millennium fast approaching, bringing with it a religious fervor Cardinal Folgar had not encountered before in his lifetime. From inclination as much as habit the Cardinal still prayed in Latin, relishing the tolling cadences he had mastered as a child. Now the familiar liturgy took his mind off the peculiar, brief episo
Chapter 2 “Habemus Papam!” came the glorious announcement to the assembled faithful in the oval-shaped plaza below. An answering cheer went up, and the thousands flocked more tightly toward the balcony where the news was given. In the splendid Latin phrases—one of the few remaining rituals in the ancient tongue—it was proclaimed to the world that Ottone, Cardinal Folgar of Verona would reign as Celestine VI. Again there were cheers, interspersed with a few derisive whistles, for Cardinal Folgar was an outspoken and staunch conservative who was not as popular as some of the Cardinals. In general the new Pope was greeted enthusiastically, for he had always stood firm against the radical elements in the Church, and for the traditional values of family and Catholicism. “I sure hope we know what we’re doing,” Cardinal Mendosa whispered as the international press closed in for the story. He had dreamed again that night and what he had seen still troubled him. “What do you think about the new
Chapter 3 Over his morning coffee Fitzwilliam Ellery Jocelin Foot reviewed the notes he had made during the last few days. He had not yet shaved and his robe was knotted loosely over his pyjama-bottoms. The sunlight coming in through the tall windows made his dining table glisten where it was not strewn with papers. Beyond his small balcony Rome was warming up in heat and noise. When the phone rang he retrieved it from the alcove and sat down once more. “Pronto,” he said as he answered. “Willie,” said Cardinal Mendosa, his Texas accent at its strongest. “Are you going to be in for a while?” “I can be,” Willie Foot answered, trying not to reveal the excitement he felt from the call. “I have to go out around eleven-thirty.” “I’ll be there before then,” said Cardinal Mendosa. “I won’t keep you long. Promise.” “Is this about the recessing of the conclave?” Willie inquired as innocently as he could; every journalist in the world was trying to get a story on the astonishing announcement that
Chapter 4 When the report came back to Jivin, Cardinal Tayibha, he heard it with a sinking heart. As soon as the priest in Nepal concluded giving his apologetic news, Cardinal Tayibha did his best to assuage the worst fears. “Father Hastin, you have done your work well. I am impressed with what you have been able to achieve in so little time. Few would have been as diligent as you have been. That you were not able to discover the identity of the man we seek in China is no cause for blame. Or for guilt. You have done more than anyone in the Church to discover who this man is, and you have done it with dispatch and without questioning the reason for the search.” Father Hastin, the Cardinal knew, had been a priest for little more than three years and was still caught up in the newness of his work, and in the need to prove his worth. “There was only the slimmest chance that you could have found the man. God asks the impossible of us only when He performs a miracle.” “But there was no reaso
Chapter 5 Fourteen Cardinals sat together in a corner of the diplomats’ lounge adjoining Saint Peter’s. Each of them stared at Charles, Cardinal Mendosa. Nine of them could not believe they had heard right. “A Chinese widow?” Cardinal Gemme asked. “There isn’t some mistake? Mightn’t that be her son’s name? Or another…relative?” “No children, according to the report. And no living male relatives with a personal name like Renxin. It was male relatives you’re asking about, isn’t it?” said Cardinal Mendosa, reading the page he held though he had memorized the information there. “But a widow,” said Cardinal van Hooven. “It is…difficult enough that this Zhuang is a woman, but a widow.…” His pale, magnified eyes were bleary. “It was bad before. This is very…awkward.” Marc-Luc, Cardinal Gemme gazed at the enormous Bernini sculpture on the other side of the room. “Does Jung know? Do any of the other reactionaries? Or those who aren’t…affiliated?” “Not yet; not that I know of,” Cardinal Mendosa
Chapter 6 It was fifteen minutes before the appointed hour when Clancy McEllton arrived at the little grove just off the main equestrian trail in the park. He looked innocuous enough—looking innocuous was his stock-in-trade—as he strolled past the designated bench four times, apparently enjoying the flowers. When he was satisfied that he was not being set up, he strolled a quarter of a mile down the lane, then came back toward the appointed place at a comfortable amble, his unmemorable features set in a curious half-smile; he rather enjoyed being back in the field again after three inactive years; and the money had piqued his interest, he could not deny it. A man sat on the bench now, a tall, thin fellow between forty and fifty with a nervous tick in his cheek. He cleared his throat as McEllton sat down. “It’s…uh…to o nice for rain tonight.” He said the code as if he were a sixth grader forced to recite in class. His accent was faintly southern U.S., but McEllton did not know the State
Chapter 7 “Why would a journalist be traveling with a member of the clergy of the Roman Catholic Church?” The military officer asking the question still held all of Willie Foot’s documents in his hand, though he had returned Charles Mendosa’s to him. “I speak Chinese and Mendosa does not,” said Willie promptly, glad that he could offer the truth as an explanation. “I have served as a translator for him before this journey. There was a Catholic meeting, you will recall, on Asian issues in Manila, which I covered, and where I was able to assist Cardinal Mendosa. As it happens, I was on assignment in Rome when he decided to make this trip, and he asked me to accompany him.” “And why is it that this journey was not arranged through proper diplomatic channels?” the officer inquired. It was quite warm in the characterless roadside building where the army had stopped them. There was a pervasive odor of machine oil still on the air. He looked from Willie to Mendosa. “And why is the churchman n
Chapter 8 “They should reach Hongya by afternoon, probably after three,” the man reported to Dmitri Karodin. “They’ve had to detour around some road construction, and it is raining. If the weather had stayed clear, they would have been there by now.” “I see,” said Karodin, pulling thoughtfully at his lower lip. He had sent two of his secretaries out of the office and disconnected his recorder, for he wanted nothing official to remain of this conversation. It was quite early in Moscow and the sun was valiantly striving to penetrate the dense high clouds which gathered over the city. “Has anyone attempted to contact them? Anyone at all?” “Not that we have noticed. There is no mention of such attempts in any of the reports we have received.” He cleared his throat. “We have not had time to question those they have spoken with yet, but—” “I am certain the People’s Republic would know if there had been such an attempt,” Karodin said, cutting him off. “What about the Chinese press? Mendosa is
Chapter 9 Shortly before dawn a telephone call on his private line woke Zuo Nangkao in his Beijing home. He moved away from his sleeping wife and lifted the receiver. In Hongya the monitor from the People’s Cooperative Fire Emergency Resources peered over his notes. “I took pictures and—” “Do you know what was said?” Premier Zuo interrupted, aware that his field agent was good at his job. “Could you get close enough?” “No, but they talked well into the night. Magistrate Zhuang made sure there was a chaperon, of course. She is a very prudent woman.” He cleared his throat and lit another cigarette. “The driver left for a while in the evening and returned with food.” “There are places in Hongya where he must have gone,” said Premier Zuo, unwilling to be drawn into useless speculation. “What more can you tell me?” “The foreigners are going to sleep at her neighbor’s house. They are supposed to leave in the morning. Probably not too early because they were up so very late.” He chuckled unpl
Chapter 10 By the time Cardinal Mendosa’s plane was leaving Hong Kong, word had spread through the upper echelons of the Catholic Church with the determination of a wildfire in a garbage dump—the infuriating Texan had actually done what he had set out to do. “And he was not stopped or questioned or detained? The Chinese authorities actually let him approach this woman?” demanded Cardinal Jung when he heard the news. “Why didn’t they forbid him to speak with her? Why wasn’t he turned back at the border? He’s a Cardinal! He’s an enemy of the People, in their eyes. They’re probably right, in his case.” “No,” said Cardinal Bradeston when he could get a word in. “Aside from some routine questions given to foreigners, they let him go. I spoke to him earlier today, on scrambler. They were not bothered coming or going.” Around them the small, Asian-style garden was coming in full growth, the newest addition to the Vatican gardens. “Then she will be questioned. You may be sure of it. Small wond
Chapter 11 An argument camouflaged as a discussion was taking place in the Cardinal’s private reading room in the Vatican library; it had begun shortly before midnight, and now, nearly two hours later, showed no sign of abating. Cardinal Gemme and Cardinal Jung had squared off early and were still throwing dogma and precedents at each other, seconded or decried by about thirty of their fellows. None of them admitted they were waiting for word from China. Charles, Cardinal Mendosa did not find this bickering amusing, and, after an hour of it, had left for his own quarters. He admitted being restless, though he was utterly convinced that Zhuang Renxin would agree to reign as Pope. He knelt at his prie-dieu, making no effort to block the visions that had crowded his mind all day. It was a relief to experience them, for denying their existence was a greater strain than perceiving them. Even the one vision that troubled him the most, that ended in confusion and tremendous light, did not ups
Chapter 12 It was windy in The Hague, and Gunnar Hvolsvollur was still trying to restore order in his pale hair as he came into the meeting room. “I must apologize for being late,” he said in English. Vitale, Cardinal Cadini beamed at him and responded in the same tongue, “In such weather it is not surprising that it takes time to get from place to place. I was told that tree branches have blown down in a few places.” He was in a business suit and for once wore his two lapel pins. “I am very pleased that you have been willing to speak with me.” Gunnar Hvolsvollur nodded uncomfortably. “I was told you had been ill. I trust your health is better.” The inquiry was little more than a delaying tactic while he sized up the charismatic Cardinal Cadini; he looked around the small conference room. “Who else will be here?” “Just you and I, Mister Secretary-General,” said Cardinal Cadini. “And thank you for your kindness: I am recovering very well for a man of my age.” The Icelandic Secretary-Gen
Chapter 13 Dominique, Cardinal Hetre could not bring himself to use his voice at all. The softest whisper would join with his intolerable headache to shatter his skull, he was certain of it. He knelt in the little chapel, one of the tiny Renaissance jewel-boxes which were tucked into odd angles of the Vatican. He had been there for well over an hour, unable to speak the words he wanted to address to God, dreading what the sound would do to him. The tolling of distant bells had been agonizing; his own voice would be more than he could bear. Reluctantly he crossed himself and rose, arm out to steady himself, for dizziness went through him as he stood up. The faint squeak of his shoes on the marble floor seemed a series of small, fragmenting explosions. As he reached the wide hall, he made himself walk directly, with purpose, ignoring the throb in his temples. Thank God, he thought, finding no blasphemy in such expression, that the Vatican had been closed to tourists since the announcemen
Chapter 14 The wind off the fields smelled green and the sky was paled by thin, high clouds when the four cars pulled up in front of Magistrate Zhuang’s house. The government escort attracted the attention of the people in the fields less than the rangy American and the tall, lean Brit. “Don’t look now, Charles,” said Willie, “But we’re being goggled at.” He lifted one hand in what could have been a half-hearted wave: no one in the fields waved back. “I wonder how much they know about what’s going on?” “My guess is they’re probably curious to know why their Magistrate has been given an exit visa. Maybe they’re hoping to find out who they’re going to get in her place. And don’t doubt they know she’s leaving and someone else will be Magistrate here.” He turned to their driver and thanked him in his rudimentary Chinese. As he looked up at the house, he felt intense awe, as if the force of Zhuang Renxin had increased during the time they had been gone. “Do you think she’s home?” “If she’s
Chapter 15 At the conclusion of morning Mass, Sylvestre, Cardinal Jung hastened out of the Vatican in order to meet with Cardinal Hetre and some unknown associate of his in a place where they would not be noticed. Although he did not like wearing secular garments, he had made grudging concession to Cardinal Hetre’s request that he take care not to be conspicuous. His business suit was undertaker-charcoal and his shirt was dull, pale mauve. He had chosen a tie of dark-grey-and-mulberry. He had used only one of his permitted lapel pins, which rankled as he rode in a taxi toward the prearranged destination. The driver took to the road with gusto, charging through narrow streets and narrower distances between other vehicles with an insouciant smile and a negligent hand caressing the steering wheel, as if traffic was the last thing on his mind. He had tried a few remarks to his imposing passenger, then shrugged and sang quietly to himself as he headed for the Forum. He decided that his taci
Chapter 16 About an hour before dawn Dominique, Cardinal Hetre woke from troubled sleep. He sat up in bed, propping his five feather pillows behind him. He did not want to summon assistance, for he knew what his staff thought about these episodes—it was the same thing they thought about his headaches. He had heard them discussing his health, complaining that the Cardinal fancied himself an invalid. The worst of the lot was Father Gamba from Toronto, who made no secret of his opinion. Cardinal Hetre crossed himself and attempted to pray, but he could think of nothing to say to God Who had so bitterly disappointed him. After a short while, he began to address Mary, God’s Mother, perpetually Virgin. For the first time the phrase sounded ludicrous. He had never questioned dogma before, not seriously, but now the concept of a woman who had given birth to a child, no matter how miraculously conceived, afterwards remaining perpetually virgin struck him as absurd. No woman could make such a cl
Chapter 17 It was impossible to reach the Vatican by road. Tens of thousands of Catholics, non-Catholics, anti-Catholics, the crazed and the curious had turned out to catch a glimpse of the woman from China. Several vocal minorities shouted slogans against the new Pope, calling her Antichrist and Whore of Babylon, Communist and Subversive. A few smaller, more respectful groups staged demonstrations of support, a contingent of nuns going so far as to celebrate a Mass at the base of Castel’ Sant’ Angelo; the break-away group that claimed the right of succession to the Throne of Saint Peter for themselves sang the Requiem. Others recited prayers in Latin and admonished sincere Catholics to turn away from revisionist policies and irreligious practices which had made the Church a puppet in godless hands. Thieves of all sorts took advantage of this marvelous opportunity. The newsmedia gobbled it all and asked for more. Not everyone approved of this exploitation, but those who objected were i
Chapter 18 A few minutes after two in the morning three white-and-blue EECPA helicopters came fluttering over Rome from the north. They were no different than any other Eurocop helicopters, and very few people paid much notice of them, if they were aware of them at all. Sylvestre, Cardinal Jung stood in full diplomatic regalia at the entrance to the garden, surrounded by Vatican security. A few were obvious in their Swiss Guard uniforms, but most were in inconspicuous clothing; they were armed and efficient. Cardinal Jung despised them all on theological grounds almost as adamantly as he insisted on them for pragmatic reasons. He squinted up at the approaching helicopters. Some distance away there was a knot of priests with Dominique, Cardinal Hetre and Vincent, Cardinal Walgren, all of them trying to restrain the excitement and curiosity that consumed them. Everyone was speaking and hardly anyone was heard. “Is the entire reception committee here?” asked one of the senior security men
Chapter 19 “But, Your Holiness,” protested Bishop Flanders, who had been given the task of coordinating the Coronation Mass, “it is essential that you wear the tiara at all times.” He had got up from the couch in the small sitting room of the quarters she had been assigned. There were nuns billeted on both sides of her, and a Swiss Guard in the hall, to prevent any sort of scandal. There was also an unobtrusive security camera in the northwest corner of the room. “Do not call me Your Holiness,” said Zhuang, motioning to Willie Foot to assist her. “If you insist on such a name, it must wait until the ceremony is concluded.” “If you wish,” Bishop Flanders muttered, glancing at Willie Foot as the journalist translated. She studied Bishop Flanders’ face, aware of his disapprobation. “I do not like the tiara. It is heavy and ostentatious. If you must put it on my head, then take it off as soon as possible.” Bishop Flanders had been a bad-tempered little boy and at his confirmation had sworn
Chapter 20 Every bell in Rome was ringing. The clamor was so enormous that even the steady drone of traffic was lost in it. On the balcony overlooking Saint Peter’s Square, Zhuang Renxin, dressed in a plain white satin cassock, stood with her arms upraised as she faced the mass of humanity crammed into the piazza below. She wore no tiara but she carried a tall crucifix, her only concession to the symbols of Papal authority. Five Cardinals stood beside her, all in finery greater than hers. At her side, Willie Foot waited in a cut-away coat and striped trousers, for all the world like a groom on a wedding cake. In deference to Pope An, he carried his silk hat instead of wearing it. "I am asked,” said Pope An in Chinese, pausing so that Willie and a dozen or so others could translate, “to pronounce God’s blessing on the city of Rome and the world. Because it is a tradition, I will do it, but reluctantly, for nowhere in the writings about Jesus does it say He ever pronounced such a blessin
Chapter 21 Dame Leonie looked tired from her long flight, but Willie hardly noticed. As soon as they reached his apartment, he shoved the door closed and pulled her into his arms. He held her for some time before he kissed her, convincing himself that this was no longer his overactive imagination at work, but Leonie herself; he did not need to dream of her any longer. Their kiss was complex, leaving both of them light-headed. “It must be jet lag,” whispered Leonie, unwilling to move out of his arms. “Is jet lag contagious?” Willie asked fondly. “God, it is wonderful to have you here.” He was horrified at how banal that sounded. He wanted to summon every loving word he had ever learned, entwine them all in wreaths of poetry for her; he did not know they were all in the way he spoke her name. “Leonie.” She snuggled closer to him. “You don’t know how many times I’ve had to stop myself getting on a plane and coming here. Don’t bother to tell me how foolish that is.” He kissed her brow. “Al
Chapter 22 Vitale, Cardinal Cadini was the first to laugh, and he laughed hugely, leaning back in his chair and wiping his eyes. “Oh, dear,” he said when he was able to speak. “You are going to cause an uproar, Your Holiness.” Pope An surveyed the gathering of fifteen Cardinals. “Any more uproar than my selection for this position has caused already?” “Yes, indeed,” said Cardinal Stevenson, who had not been able to bring himself to laugh along with Cardinal Cadini. He did his best to explain, all the while glaring at Cardinal Cadini from the corner of his eye. “Your election is within the purview of dogma and doctrine, but this…this strikes at the heart of all that—” “A decision made more than a thousand years after the beginning of this Church,” said Pope An at her most reasonable. “It was a political decision made by a Pope. Jesus said nothing about it. And therefore the order is subject to reversal. We are not in those barbarian times and the Church need not bind itself to judgments
Chapter 23 “Why is it,” asked Cardinal Mendosa as he strolled up to Martin Bell in the Piazza Venezia, “that every time you contact me, you won’t allow me to include our mutual friend Vitale in our conversations?” Bell hesitated, his smile slipping a bit at the corners. “I wasn’t aware that you wanted him to.…” He left this hanging. “That I wanted him to know that his Hungarian-American colleague is working with the KGB? And that I am sending regular reports to Dmitri Karodin?” asked Cardinal Mendosa sharply, watching for Bell’s reaction. “Yes,” said Bell with as much self-containment as he could muster. Cardinal Mendosa nodded. “You’re afraid that his famed liberality doesn’t extend that far.” He shoved his hand into his pocket where he had put his lapel pin. “I suppose you’re right. Hell, I’m dead sure you’re right. But I would like it if there were someone—other than you, yourself, Professor Bell—who knew. This isn’t the kind of thing I tell my Confessor, not these days. It’d be on
Chapter 24 “Now tell me, Mendosa,” said Zhuang as she faced her friend across her study. “How is it that there are such major discrepancies in what you refer to as Scripture? I have examined several versions of the same texts and I can see that no one is in total agreement about the material and its interpretation.” “No dispute, Worthy Magistrate. You’re right,” said Mendosa in his best Chinese. “Scripture as we know it is a translation of a translation of a translation of a translation of a translation. Even the Gospel of Thomas has to be translated for most of us. But it’s the best we Catholics have to offer. The same is true for all Christians.” “I’m not favorably impressed,” said Zhuang. “Why has care not been taken?” “Oh, it has,” Mendosa assured her. “But times change, and so does language. What one language says easily, another says clumsily or not at all, and then the translator must choose which word is closest in meaning. Along with the trouble with translation, there’s the m
Chapter 25 For most of the night Cardinal Mendosa had been enveloped in glorious light. He had watched as Zhuang had lifted her arms to Heaven and become refulgent; he had been consumed with the joy of it, and the splendor. It had been vexing to awaken, to leave behind that glimpse of celestial bliss. He went about his first prayers with mechanical correctness, all the while longing to be once again surrounded by his vision. Willie Foot found him at breakfast and drew up a second chair in order to join him. “I need your advice, Charles.” “You look very serious,” said Mendosa as he pulled another pastry apart. “I am.” He coughed, but not because it was raining in Rome. “I guess there’s no good way to say it, or to prepare you. It’s fresh from London, like the weather. I’m sorry.” His long face grew longer as he handed over the paper. The headline took up a third of the page, creating shock from the size of the typeface alone: POPE LESBIAN! Mendosa looked at it, his manner slightly bored
Chapter 26 Houston was wan under weepy skies; the squall that had rolled through the Gulf of Mexico had blown itself out and now all that was left of it was rain and clouds like marble. Cardinal Mendosa watched as the limousine pulled away from the jet; he looked over at his companion. “I tell you, Willie, I’m beginning to feel like the specter at the feast. Or the fox at the hunt.” Willie Foot did his best not to yawn. “Don’t worry about it, Charles. Most of the College of Cardinals feel the same way.” “You mean with the press chasing all of us?” Cardinal Mendosa asked, not paying much attention; he was waiting anxiously. “I mean the press wants to get the latest on Pope An, and what’s happening in the Church,” Willie explained with the appearance of patience. “But I’m for her. I’m on her side. I love what she’s doing.” He waved suddenly, summoning a ten-year-old Bronco to approach. “You’ll like my brother-in-law. He’s not an idiot.” “That’s a back-handed compliment if ever I heard on
Chapter 27 By the time the reception was an hour old, Dame Leonie wished she had worn more comfortable shoes; her feet were so sore from walking on four-inch heels that about the only thing she could concentrate on was concealing the pain. Yet the shoes were part of the diplomatic uniform, she reminded herself as she tried to flex her toes. “Delightful evening, Dame Leonie,” said the Ambassador from Sweden to Italy. “I can’t tell you how pleased we are that policy on these events has become more flexible at the Vatican.” “I’ll inform the Pope,” said Dame Leonie, trying to calculate how much longer she would have to be on her feet. The Ambassador’s wife smiled, her manner flawlessly gracious. “I think most of Europe…of the world, for that matter, is pleased at the changes Pope An has brought to the Church. One feels that Catholicism has accepted the responsibility for so many things that previously it ignored. The King’s speech on Friday applauded the Church for changing its position on
Chapter 28 Officially it was a relaxing weekend for President Carey; unofficially it was a confrontation he had sought to avoid. As he got out of his helicopter in the middle of the back pasture of Elihu Nimmo’s land, he hoped that there were no media types keeping watch with long-range binoculars. He waved to the riders who waited for him on restive horses, the three of them each leading a second, saddled horse. “Climb aboard,” offered Tom Nimmo, holding out the reins of the tallest of the three horses to the President. “He’s used to big men.” “I haven’t been on a horse in a decade,” Carey protested as he took the reins and prepared to mount. Tall as he was, he found the seventeen-one-hand black gelding formidable. He wished now he had worn something more substantial than running shoes and light-weight slacks. “Shadow won’t mind. He’s gentle and easy, just the way your secretary told us you like ‘em,” Cliff Anderson said, glancing toward their companion. “You said you wanted to talk i
Chapter 29 Now he knew how the vision would end; it gripped him in horror. To see that tranquil and radiant face eradicated, vanishing so terribly, so swiftly. Every time he witnessed this atrocity he strove to prevent it. He could feel himself in the vision straining to reach her in time, to place himself between her and destruction. The loss of her light, of her serenity and wisdom was more than he could bear. As he lay in a state that was not sleep he felt his ephemeral hands reach out to her, knowing already the gesture was futile, that he was restrained. He shouted to God to protect her in a voice that was only part of the vision. Beyond that vision was the vastness of mystery, and he pursued it, struggling against unknown barriers to reach it, to follow her, guard her. He could not imagine the world with her gone from it. The joy of her faith—a word she disdained—was too dear for him to lose, even to God. The ruin of her body would take her beyond the places his visions reached;
Chapter 30 From her position on the balcony overlooking Saint Peter’s Square, Pope An watched the assembled crowd with a combination of awe and distress. “Why should it matter so much to them?” she wondered aloud. “A few words will not make any difference to them, not as they suppose.” She was rigged out in Papal finery, the jeweled tiara glistening where the light struck it. “It’s important to them because of continuity,” said Cardinal Mendosa, his manner a bit distracted; he had a fourth appointment with Axel Maetrich later that evening and he was growing apprehensive about it. “That is understandable,” said Pope An, her eyes weary on this late December afternoon. “But why should it be so simple a thing? A ritual whose meaning is hardly understood? If there were purpose to this.…” She held up her hand to stop Cardinal Mendosa from explaining. “If I were born to it, I am sure it would have purpose for me. I accept that. As one who comes to this late and without apparent determination,
Chapter 31 Willie Foot, wrapped in an outrageous paisley robe, was on the phone when Leonie woke up. She propped her elbow on the pillow and watched as he scribbled notes from what the caller was telling him. She could see his grave expression, and it troubled her. As soon as he hung up, he rifled back through his notes, then glanced in her direction. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” “What time is it?” she asked, aware only that it was nearing dawn. “Six-twenty, give or take.” He rubbed at his sandy hair, then put a few more notes at the end of the ones he had already taken. She realized he was not going to explain without prompting. “What’s wrong?” He stared at his notes, as if he had not yet made sense of their contents. “There’s been a very serious riot in Warsaw. Over thirty thousand people involved, according to police estimates. One of the churches there was badly damaged, a couple hundred cars were wrecked, windows were smashed and there were a lot of injuries. Hundred in hos
Chapter 32 Houghton Carey had just arrived in the Oval Office when Maxine informed him that he had a call from the Vatican waiting. He dropped his topcoat over the back of Maxine’s chair and spent the better part of a minute cursing under his breath. “Which one is it?” he asked when he had blown off the worst of his ill-humor. “Not Walgren again.” “Cardinal Walgren is in Los Angeles at present,” said Maxine. “It’s Cardinal Mendosa.” “Mendosa!” exclaimed Carey, remembering he had a campaign appearance to make in Houston in ten days’ time. “What on earth—” “He’s been waiting for almost ten minutes. He wasn’t willing to hang up and call back.” There was no change in Maxine’s pleasant manner, but Carey could sense her alarm in the way she handled the papers stacked beside her computer terminal. “I think you’d better take it, sir.” “You’re probably right,” said President Carey with an exasperated snort. “If I read Mendosa correctly, he won’t be put off.” He indicated the outer office. “Give
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 te
Epilogue Below in Saint Peter’s Square an altar had been set up for the celebration of the Feast of Saint Jude. It was against all the recommendations of Vatican Security, the Swiss Guard, the Eurocops and Interpol; in the year and a half since the assassination of Pope An the public events permitted at the Vatican had been scaled down severely. This gesture of the former Vitale Benedetto Cadini was viewed as inexcusably risky, an assessment which amused him. Sylvestre, Cardinal Jung, his petulant baby’s-face now constantly ruddy, stood in the window of the reception room where the press would gather after the Mass, in the company of a dozen other Cardinals who would be part of those answering questions for the Church. “It’s bad enough that he took the name of Jude. Jude! What sort of name is that for a Pope? It was not correct of him to use such a name for his reign.” “It was his decision to make,” said Cardinal van Hooven, not bothering to look up from the newspaper he was reading. “
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