God's Spy (31 page)

Paola ran towards Fowler, who looked deathly pale. As she crossed the room, she tore off her jacket to use as a torniquet for Fowler’s wound.

‘Lie down.’
‘It’s a good thing you got here, my friends,’ said Cardinal Casey, slowly recovering enough to get back on his feet. ‘That monster had taken me hostage.’
‘Don’t just stand there, cardinal. Go and get someone . . .’ Paola began, as she tried to help Fowler stretch out on the floor. And then she suddenly realised exactly where Casey was headed: to the spot next to Karosky’s body, where Pontiero’s pistol had fallen to the ground. It struck her that she and Fowler were two very dangerous witnesses. She felt around for her revolver.
‘Good afternoon,’ said Inspector Camilo Cirin as he walked into the room with three agents of the Vigilanza in tow. He hastened over to the cardinal, who was leaning over to grab the pistol from the floor. He immediately straightened up again.
‘I was beginning to think you were never going to show up, inspector general. You must arrest these two immediately,’ Casey said, pointing at Fowler and Dicanti.
‘Forgive me, Your Eminence. I’ll be with you in a moment.’
Camilo Cirin looked down. He walked over to Karosky, picking up Pontiero’s pistol along the way. He poked the tip of his shoe at Karosky’s face.
‘It’s him?’
‘That’s right,’ said Fowler.
‘Fuck, Cirin, a fake cardinal,’ Paola said. ‘How did that happen?’
‘He had very good references.’
Cirin put things together at an incredible speed. Behind his impassive face was a brain operating like a machine. He instantly recalled that Pauljic had been the very last cardinal nominated by John Paul II – only six months ago, at a time when the Pope had rarely got out of bed. He remembered that he had told Samalo and Ratzinger about the nomination of a cardinal in pectore, whose name he had revealed to Casey alone, so that Casey could announce the papal choice upon his demise. It wasn’t very hard to figure out whose lips had breathed Pauljic’s name into the stricken Pope’s ear, nor who had acompanied the new ‘cardinal’ to Saint Martha’s for the first time, in order to introduce him to his intrigued brethen.
‘Cardinal Casey, you’ve a lot of explaining to do.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Cardinal, please.’
Casey looked out of sorts, but he soon began to recover his usual arrogance, his perennial pride, the very thing that had led to his downfall.
‘Over the course of many years, John Paul was preparing me to continue his work. You, more than anyone, know what could happen if the control of the Church should fall into the hands of those who lack the necessary discipline. I trust that, in the present instance, you will act in the best interests of the Church, my friend.’
Cirin’s eyes arrived at a summary judgement in a split second. ‘I will of course do so, Your Eminence. Domenico?’
‘Inspector,’ said one of the agents who had entered the room with Cirin.
‘Cardinal Casey will celebrate the novendial mass in the basilica.’
The cardinal smiled.
‘Afterwards, you and the other agent will escort him to his new residence: the monastery at Albergradz, high in the Alps, where the cardinal will be able to reflect on his actions in solitude. He will also have the opportunity to improve his mountain-climbing.’
‘A dangerous sport, from what I’ve heard,’ said Fowler.
‘Most certainly. Plagued with accidents,’ Paola added.
Casey didn’t respond. His silence revealed exactly how far he had fallen. He hung his head, his chin resting against his chest. He didn’t say a word to anyone as he left the sacristy, accompanied by Domenico.
Cirin knelt at Fowler’s side. Paola held his head up with one hand, pressing her jacket on to the wound with the other.
‘Permit me.’ He moved Dicanti’s hand away. Her improvised dressing was already soaked and he put his own wrinkled coat in its place. ‘You can relax; there’s an ambulance on its way. Do you mind telling me how you managed to get into this circus?’
‘We avoided your ticket booths, Cirin. We prefer to use those of the Sant’Uffizio.’
Cirin, seemingly impeturbable, raised an eyebrow. Paola understood that this was his way of showing surprise.
‘Ah, but of course. Old Gonthas Hanër, a man who never quits. I see that he’s relaxed his criteria for admission to the Vatican these days.’
‘But his prices are high,’ Fowler said, as he thought about the wrenching interview that awaited him the following day.
Cirin nodded. He knew what Fowler was trying to tell him, and he leaned even more heavily on the jacket wrapped around Fowler’s wound.
‘That could be sorted out, I suppose.‘
An emergency medical crew entered the room, carrying a stretcher.
While the two medics attended to the injured man, inside the basilica eight altar boys and two priests carrying censers waited at the door to the sacristy for Cardinals Casey and Pauljic. It was now four minutes past twelve and the mass should already have begun. The more senior of the two priests was tempted to send one of the altar boys into the sacristy to find out what was going on. Perhaps the oblate sisters, in charge of overseeing the sacristy, were having problems with the appropriate vestments. But protocol demanded that he stayed where he was, keeping watch over the participants in the mass.
At the last moment Cardinal Casey appeared by himself at the door that led into the basilica. The altar boys escorted him to the altar of Saint Joseph, where he would lead the mass. The faithful perched closest to the altar during the ceremony talked among themselves, whispering that the cardinal must truly have loved the Pope. Casey was in tears throughout the entire mass.

‘Calm down; you’re out of danger,’ said one of the nurses. ‘We’ll be on our way to the hospital in a minute. They’ll run some tests on you but the haemorrhaging is under control.’

The emergency crew lifted the stretcher, and at that instant it hit Paola: the alienation from his parents, the rejection of his inheritance, the terrible resentment. She stopped the two men carrying the stretcher just as they were loading it into the ambulance.

‘Now I get it. The private hell you both shared. You went to Vietnam to kill your father, didn’t you?’
Fowler gave her a startled look. ‘Sorry?’
‘Anger and resentment are what took you to Vietnam.’ Paola spoke as quietly as possible in order to keep the others out of the conversation. ‘The deep hatred of your father, the cold rejection of your mother. The refusal to accept your inheritance. You wanted to cut every tie you had with your family. And the interview with Victor where you talked about Hell. It’s all in the dossier you gave me. It’s been right in front of my face the whole time.’
‘Where are you going with this?’
‘I get it now,’ Paola said. She leaned over the stretcher and gently placed her hand on the priest’s shoulder. Fowler was in pain and barely repressed a moan. ‘I understand why you took the job at the Saint Matthew, and how it made you what you are today. Your father abused you as a child. That’s the truth, isn’t it? And your mother knew the whole time. Just like Karosky. Which was why he respected you. Because the two of you had been on opposite sides of the same line. You chose to become a man, and he chose to be a monster.’
Fowler didn’t reply; it wasn’t necessary. The men carrying the stretcher started towards the ambulance again, but Fowler gathered his strength and managed to look at her and smile.
‘Take care of yourself, dottoressa.’

In the ambulance Fowler fought to maintain consciousness. His eyes closed for a second but a voice he recognised brought him back. ‘Hello, Anthony.’
Fowler smiled.
‘Well, Fabio. So how’s your arm?’
‘Pretty well fucked.’
‘You were lucky on that roof.’
Dante didn’t answer. He and Cirin were sitting on a bench that backed on to the ambulance’s cabin. The Vigilanza superintendent tried to fight off his typically cynical expression despite the fact that his left arm was in a cast and his face was covered with bruises. Cirin for his part wore his habitual stony face.
‘And so? How do you intend to kill me? Cyanide in the drip? let me bleed to death? or the classic shot to the back of the head? I personally prefer the latter.’
Dante’s smile was joyless. ‘Don’t tempt me. Maybe one day, but not now, Anthony. This is a round trip. There will be a better opportunity.’
Cirin looked straight at Fowler. ‘I want to thank you. You’ve been a great help.’
‘I didn’t do it for you. Or for your cause.’
‘I know.’
‘In fact, I was certain you were behind all this.’
‘I know that too, and I don’t blame you.’
The three said nothing for the next few minutes. Finally, it was Cirin who began to speak.
‘Any chance you’ll ever work with us again?’
‘None whatsoever, Camilo. You tricked me once. I won’t let it happen again.’
‘One last time. For old times’ sake.’
Fowler thought for a few moments.
‘On one condition. And you know what that is.’
Cirin nodded. ‘You have my word. Nobody goes near her.’
‘Nor the other – the Spanish girl.’
‘That I can’t guarantee. We’re still not sure she doesn’t have a copy of the disk.’
‘I spoke to her. She doesn’t have it, and she won’t talk.’
‘That’s good. Without the disk she can’t prove a thing.’
This time the silence in the ambulance stretched and was interrupted only by the beeping of the electrocardiogram attached to Fowler’s chest. The priest was fading, little by little. Cirin’s last words came to him as if through a fog.
‘You know what, Anthony? For a while there I was sure that you were going to tell her the truth – the whole truth.’
Fowler didn’t hear what he said in response, but it didn’t matter. Not every truth will set you free. He knew that even he couldn’t live with his truth, much less put its heavy weight on someone else’s shoulders.

RATZINGER IS CHOSEN AS THE NEW POPE, ALMOST UNOPPOSED
andrea otero
(special correspondent)

rome
– The Conclave that gathered in order to choose Pope John Paul II’s successor came to a close yesterday with the selection of the former Prefect of the Congregation of the Doctrine of the Faith, Joseph Ratzinger. Despite having sworn on the Bible to maintain secrecy, under penalty of excommunication, regarding the election of the Pope, the first reports from Conclave members have already begun to slip out. It appears that the German cardinal was chosen with 105 votes of the possible 115, many more than the 77 he needed to obtain a majority. Vatican sources state that the overwhelming support Ratzinger enjoyed is unprecedented, and even more so in light of the fact that the Conclave took only two days to make its decision.

El Globo
, Wednesday, 20 April 2005, page 8

Experts attributed the unprecedented and swift election of Ratzinger to the lack of any real opposition to this candidate, who was, in the early stages, very far behind in the race. Sources close to the Vatican indicate that Ratzinger’s principal rivals (Portini, Robayra, and Cardoso) would never have attracted the necessary votes at any time. These same sources further commented that the aforementioned cardinals seemed ‘a little out of it’ during the election of Benedict XVI.

Wednesday, 20 April 2005, 11.23 a.m.

The man in white robes was the sixth person to greet Paola. Two weeks earlier and one floor below, Paola had waited in a similar hallway, a bundle of nerves, ignorant of the fact that at that very moment her friend was slowly dying. Two weeks later her anxiety about the correct way to behave was gone, and her friend avenged. An enormous number of events had taken place in those past few days, not the least important of which were in Paola’s soul.

The criminologist stared at the door still adorned with the red ribbons and wax seals that had been hung there to protect the office between the death of John Paul II and the election of the new Pope. The Supreme Pontiff gestured towards the door.

‘I’ve asked for them to be left there for a while. They’ll serve to remind me that this post is only temporary,’ he said in a weary voice as Paola kissed his ring.

‘Your Holiness.’

‘Inspector Dicanti, welcome. I asked you to come so I can personally thank you for the brave things you did.’
‘Thank you, Your Holiness. I only did what my job required.’
‘No, ispettore, you went far beyond what your job required. Sit down, please,’ he said, gesturing towards one of the throne-like chairs in a corner of the office. A gorgeous Tintoretto hung overhead.
‘Actually I was hoping I’d meet Father Fowler here, Your Holiness,’ Paola said, barely disguising the urgency in her voice. ‘I haven’t seen him in ten days.’
The Pope took her hand and smiled in a comforting manner. ‘Father Fowler is resting in a safe place out of harm’s way. I took the opportunity to visit him last night. He asked me to send you his greetings and gave me this message: “Now is the time for both of us, you and I, to let go of the sadness we feel for those we have left behind.”’
Those words were enough to provoke an intense emotional catharsis in Paola, and she was no longer able to hold back her tears. She spent another half-hour in the presence of the Holy Father, but whatever conversation may have taken place in his office is known only to the two of them.

A short while later Paola went out for a walk in Saint Peter’s Square. It was a little past midday and the sun was a brilliant ball of light. She took out Pontiero’s packet of cigarettes and lit the last one. Her face lifted towards the open sky and she let the cigarette smoke escape from between her lips.

‘We got him, Maurizio. You were right. And now get a move on – go into the fucking light and leave me in peace. And hey, say hello to my father for me.’

The author wishes to express his thanks to Antonia Kerrigan and Tom Colchie, the best agents an author can hope for. At Orion, to Kirsty Dunseath. Her command of Spanish and her passion for detail have helped substantially in making this novel possibly even better than the original. And I can’t forget to thank my mano James Graham, author of a classic New York novel and translator of the one hundred thousand words you have just read. The efforts of these four people went far beyond what their job required.

Various people played key roles in the research for God’s Spy: Julie Meridian and Alice Nakagawa in New York, and Dobbie and Mike Nelson in Maryland (thanks for letting me sleep on your sofa); masterly psychiatrists Carlos Álvarez and Thomas Hurt, who helped me to make detailed profiles of Victor, Paola and Anthony; and Sor Fermina in Vatican City. To you, and to those who helped and who asked not to be mentioned, many thanks.