Conclave (30 page)

LOMELI WAS RETURNED
at speed to the Casa Santa Marta in the back of a police car, accompanied by two security men. One sat next to the driver, the other in the passenger seat beside him. The car accelerated out of the Cortile del Maresciallo and took the corner sharply. Its tyres shrieked against the cobbles and then the vehicle shot forward again through the next three courtyards. The light on its roof flashed lightning against the shadowed walls of the Apostolic Palace. Lomeli glimpsed the startled blue-lit faces of the Swiss Guard turned to stare at him. He clutched his pectoral cross and ran his thumb along the sharp edges. He was remembering the words of an American cardinal, the late Francis George:
I expect to die in my bed, my successor will die in prison, and his successor will die a martyr in the public square.
He had always considered them hysterical. Now, as they pulled into the square in front of the Casa Santa Marta, where he counted another six police cars with their lights flashing, he felt they had the ring of prophecy.

A Swiss Guard stepped forward to open the car door. Fresh air fanned his face. Hauling himself out, he glanced up at the sky. Grey
massy clouds; a couple of helicopters buzzing in the distance with missiles protruding from their underbellies, like angry black insects ready to sting; sirens, of course; and then the massive imperturbable dome of St Peter’s. The familiar sight of the cupola strengthened his resolve. He swept past the crowd of policemen and Swiss Guards without acknowledging their salutes and bows, and marched straight into the lobby of the hostel.

It was as it had been on the night the Holy Father died – the same atmosphere of bewilderment and suppressed alarm, small groups of cardinals standing around talking quietly, heads turning as he entered. Mandorff, O’Malley, Zanetti and the masters of ceremonies were in a huddle by the front desk. In the dining room some of the cardinals had taken their seats. The nuns stood around the walls, apparently unsure whether or not to begin serving lunch. All this Lomeli took in at a glance. He crooked his finger to summon Zanetti. ‘I asked for the latest information.’

‘Yes, Your Eminence.’

He had demanded the plain facts, nothing more. The priest handed over a single sheet of paper. Lomeli glanced at it briefly. His fingers clenched involuntarily, crumpling it slightly. What a horror! ‘Gentlemen,’ he said calmly to the officials, ‘will you be good enough to ask the sisters to withdraw into the kitchen, and please make sure no one else comes into either the lobby or the dining area? I would like complete privacy.’

As he walked towards the dining room, he saw Bellini standing alone. He took him by the arm and whispered, ‘I have decided to announce what has happened. Am I doing the right thing?’

‘I don’t know. You must judge. But I’ll support you whatever happens.’

Lomeli squeezed his elbow and turned to address the room. ‘My
brothers,’ he said loudly, ‘will you please be seated? I wish to say a few words.’

He waited until the last of them had come in from the lobby and found their places. At recent meals, as they had got to know one another better, there had been some intermingling of the various linguistic groups. Now, in the hour of crisis, he noticed how they had unconsciously reverted to their seating on the first night – the Italians towards the kitchens, the Spanish-speakers in the centre, the Anglophones closest to reception . . .

‘Brothers, before I say anything of what has occurred, I would like to have the authority of the Conclave to do so. Under paragraphs five and six of the Apostolic Constitution, it is permitted for certain matters or problems to be discussed in special circumstances, provided that a majority of those cardinals assembled agree.’

‘May I say something, Dean?’ The man with his hand raised was Krasinski, Archbishop Emeritus of Chicago.

‘Of course, Your Eminence.’

‘Like you, I am a veteran of three Conclaves, and I recall that in paragraph four of the constitution, it also states that nothing can be done by the College of Cardinals that “in any way affects the procedures governing the election of the Supreme Pontiff” – I believe those are the exact words. I submit that the very fact of trying to hold this meeting outside the Sistine Chapel is an interference with procedure.’

‘I am not proposing any change to the election itself, which I believe must continue this afternoon as laid down in the rules. What I do wish to ask is whether the Conclave desires to know what has happened this morning beyond the walls of the Holy See.’

‘But such knowledge
is
an interference!’

Bellini stood. ‘It is quite plain from the dean’s manner that
something serious has occurred, and I for one would like to know what it is.’

Lomeli gave him a grateful look. Bellini sat to a muted chorus of ‘Hear, hear’ and ‘I agree’.

Tedesco rose and at once the dining room went quiet. He rested his hands above the swell of his stomach – Lomeli thought he looked as if he were leaning on a wall – and took a moment before he spoke. ‘Surely if the matter is as serious as all that, it is bound to increase pressure on the Conclave to come to a rapid decision? Such pressure is of course an interference, however subtle. We are here to listen to God, Your Eminences, not to news bulletins.’

‘No doubt the Patriarch of Venice believes we shouldn’t listen to explosions, either, but we all heard one!’

There was laughter. Tedesco’s face flushed and he looked around to see who had spoken. It was Cardinal Sá, the Archbishop of São Salvador de Bahia – a liberation theologian, no friend of Tedesco or his faction.

Lomeli had chaired enough meetings in the Vatican to know when the time had come to strike. ‘May I make a suggestion?’ He glanced at Tedesco and waited. Reluctantly, the Patriarch of Venice sat down. ‘The fairest course is obviously to put the question to a vote, and so with Your Eminences’ permission, that is what I shall now do.’

‘Wait a moment—’

Tedesco made an attempt to interject, but Lomeli spoke over him. ‘Will all those who wish the Conclave to receive this information, please raise their hands?’ At once, scores of scarlet-sleeved arms went up. ‘And those against?’ Tedesco, Krasinski, Tutino and perhaps a dozen others reluctantly raised their hands. ‘That is
carried. Naturally, anyone who doesn’t wish to hear what I have to say is free to leave.’ He waited. Nobody moved. ‘Very well.’

He smoothed out the sheet of paper. ‘Just before I left the Sistine, I asked for a summary of the latest information to be prepared by the press office in conjunction with the security service of the Holy See. The bare facts are these. At eleven twenty this morning, a car bomb exploded in the Piazza del Risorgimento. Shortly afterwards, just as people were fleeing the scene, an individual with explosives strapped to his body detonated himself. Multiple credible eyewitness reports state that he cried, “Allahu Akbar.”’

Several cardinals groaned.

‘Simultaneous with this attack, two gunmen entered the church of San Marco Evangelista and opened fire on the congregation while Mass was being celebrated – indeed, prayers were being said at that very moment for the welfare of this Conclave. Security forces were nearby, and both attackers are reported to have been shot dead.

‘At eleven thirty – that is, ten minutes later – there was an explosion in the library of the Catholic University of Louvain . . .’

Cardinal Vandroogenbroek, who had been professor of theology at Louvain, cried out, ‘Oh God, no!’

‘. . . and an armed man also opened fire inside the Frauenkirche in Munich. That incident seems to have turned into a siege and the building has been surrounded.

‘Information on casualties is still being assessed, but the latest figures appear to be as follows: thirty-eight dead in the Piazza del Risorgimento, twelve dead in San Marco, four at the university in Belgium and at least two in Munich. Those figures I fear are very likely to rise. The wounded must be numbered in the hundreds.’

He lowered the paper.

‘That is all the information I have. Let us stand, my brothers, and observe a minute’s silence for those who have been killed and injured.’

After it was all over, it was to be obvious, to theologians and canon lawyers alike, that the rules under which the Conclave operated,
Universi Dominici Gregis
– ‘The Lord’s Whole Flock’ – issued by Pope John Paul II in 1996, belonged to a more innocent age. Five years before 9/11, neither the pontiff nor his advisers had envisaged the contingency of a multiple terrorist attack.

But to the cardinals gathered in the Casa Santa Marta at lunchtime on the third day of the Conclave, nothing was obvious. After the minute’s silence ended, conversations – hushed, shocked, disbelieving – slowly broke out around the dining hall. How were they to continue with their deliberations after what had occurred? But equally, how were they to stop? Most of the cardinals had sat down immediately after the silence, but some remained standing. Among them were Lomeli and Tedesco. The Patriarch of Venice was peering around him, frowning, evidently unsure of what he should do. If just three of his supporters deserted him, he would lose his blocking third in the electoral college. For the first time, he appeared less than fully confident.

On the far side of the room, Lomeli saw Benítez tentatively raise his hand.

‘Your Eminence, I wish to say something.’

The cardinals seated nearest him, Mendoza and Ramos of the Philippines, were calling for quiet so that he could be heard.

Lomeli announced, ‘Cardinal Benítez wishes to speak.’

Tedesco flapped his arms in dismay. ‘Really, Dean, this cannot be allowed to turn into a general congregation – that phase is over.’

‘I think if one of our brothers desires to talk to us, it should be allowed.’

‘But under what provision of the constitution is this permitted?’

‘Under what provision is it forbidden?’

‘Your Eminence, I will be heard!’ It was the first time Lomeli had heard Benítez raise his voice. The high-pitched tone cut through the murmur of conversation. Tedesco gave an exaggerated shrug and rolled his eyes at his supporters, as if to say that the whole thing had become ridiculous. Nevertheless, he made no further protest. A hush settled over the room. ‘Thank you, my brothers. I shall be brief.’ The Filipino’s hands were shaking slightly. He transferred them behind his back and clasped them. His voice was soft again. ‘I know nothing of the etiquette of the College, so forgive me. But perhaps for the very reason that I am your newest colleague, I feel I must say something on behalf of those millions outside these walls at this moment who will be looking to the Vatican for leadership. We are all good men, I believe – all of us, are we not?’ He sought out Adeyemi and Tremblay and nodded to them, and also to Tedesco and Lomeli. ‘Our petty ambitions and follies and disagreements vanish to nothing beside the evil that has been visited upon our Mother the Church.’

Several cardinals murmured in agreement.

‘If I dare to speak out, it is only because two dozen of you have been good enough, and I would say foolish enough, to cast your ballots in my favour. My brothers, I believe we will not be forgiven if we go on with this election, day after day, until such time as the rules permit us to elect a Pope by a simple majority. After the last ballot we have an obvious leader, and I would urge us to unite behind him this afternoon. Therefore, for my part, I would ask that all those who have voted for me should transfer their support to our dean,
Cardinal Lomeli, and that when we return to the Sistine we should elect him Pope. Thank you. Forgive me. That is all I wish to say.’

Before Lomeli could reply, Tedesco interrupted him.

‘Oh no!’ He shook his head. ‘No, no, no!’ He started waving his fat, short-fingered hands again, smiling desperately in his alarm. ‘Now, you see, this is exactly what I warned you against, gentlemen! God has been forgotten in the heat of the moment and we are reacting to the pressure of events as if we represented nothing more sacred than a political convention. The Holy Spirit is not biddable, to be summoned at will, like a waiter! Brothers, I beg you, remember that we swear an oath to God to elect the one we believe is best fitted to be Pope, not the one we can most easily push out on to the balcony of St Peter’s this afternoon to calm the crowd!’

If Tedesco had been able to stop himself there, Lomeli reflected afterwards, he might have swayed the meeting to his view, which was entirely legitimate. But he was not a man who could ever stop himself once launched upon a theme – that was his glory and his tragedy; that was why his supporters loved him and why they had also persuaded him to stay away from Rome in the days before the Conclave. He was like the man in Christ’s sermon:
out of the abundance of the heart his mouth speaks –
regardless of whether that heart’s abundance be good or bad, wise or foolish
.

‘And in any case,’ Tedesco said, gesturing to Lomeli, ‘is the dean the best man for this crisis?’ He flashed that awful smile again. ‘I revere him as a brother and as a friend, but he is not a pastor – he is not a man to heal the broken-hearted and bind up their wounds, let alone to sound the trumpet. Insofar as he has any doctrinal positions to speak of, they are the very ones that have brought us to our present pass of drift and relativism, where all faiths and passing fancies are accorded equal weight – so that now, when we look around
us, we see the homeland of the Holy Roman Catholic Church dotted with the mosques and minarets of Muhammad.’

Someone – it was Bellini, Lomeli realised – shouted out, ‘Disgraceful!’

Tedesco wheeled on him – goaded, like a bull. His face blazed red with anger. ‘“Disgraceful,” says the former Secretary of State. It is a disgrace, I agree. Imagine the blood of the innocents in the Piazza del Risorgimento or the church of San Marco this morning! Do you think we are not ourselves in some part responsible? We tolerate Islam in our land, but they revile us in theirs; we nourish them in our homelands, but they exterminate us in theirs, by the tens of thousands and, yea, by the hundreds of thousands – it is the unspoken genocide of our time. And now they are literally at our walls and we do nothing! How long will we persist in our weakness?’