The Accidental Pope (55 page)

The pope hazarded a cautious chuckle at the evident joy in the cardinal's face. This man had proved a subtle impediment in Bill's papal planning toward the unorthodox and the forward thinking. But Bill expected roadblocks from the traditional-minded Robitelli and Bellotti.

“I think that's amazing, Bellotti.” He still couldn't use the cardinal's first name, or a suitable diminutive. “Imagine, a genuine missionary right here in the Vatican. When do you want this joyous event to take place?”

The cardinal rubbed his hands together in expectation. “I say we strike while the iron is hot. What about tomorrow morning at your seven o'clock Mass? You can just sit in your place to watch or join me in a con-celebration. What's your choice?”

The pope could see that Bellotti had something else on his mind, something missing from the conversation. “Well, I don't want your convert to think that I'm trying to steal the show. I'll just sit in my seat and be a simple attendant tomorrow, if that meets with your approval.”

The cardinal stood up and stretched out his hand. “Magnificent. Thank you so much.” He turned toward the door, pausing to grab another handful of nuts. “See you in the chapel.”

*   *   *

Just before seven the next morning Pope Peter finished his morning mediation and took his seat at the front of the private chapel. Waiting for the Mass to begin, he glanced to one side to see if he could identify the new convert but soon realized that his knowledge of the laypeople who came to his Mass was still limited. He did not want to turn around and stare at those filling the small chapel. He gave himself completely to the celebration and was lost in the peace of Christ until Communion.

Cardinal Bellotti paused, smiling at the pope before continuing. “At this time, dear friends, I would like to announce that we have a convert who has been moved by Christ's grace to join us wholeheartedly in His Church. I would like her to come forward first to receive Communion.”

The cardinal walked around the altar and held the chalice and host to await his convert. The pope felt a knot tighten in his throat as he turned and watched his daughter, Colleen, advance to receive the Body and Blood of Christ. His two younger children followed her. He reached for his handkerchief to wipe away his tears of joy. It was going to be a beautiful day, he thought. Perhaps the happiest he had known in Rome since the day he had gone to Leonardo da Vinci airport to meet his family when they first arrived. If Mary Kelly had been there, she would have been filled with pride for the growth her oldest daughter had accomplished.

After Communion the pope stood up and walked to the back of the chapel, where he hugged and kissed Colleen and shook hands with Cardinal Bellotti. “Well, Leo, or would it be Lenny? What a marvelous and happy surprise.”

“Try ‘Leo.'” The cardinal paused. “Bill.”

39

IRELAND

Fortunately, when Cardinal Comiskey arrived in Rome on only a day's notice, Bill was feeling his old rugged self. He had almost daily visited the tunnel in the catacombs where Meghan had fallen down into the now virtually confirmed burial place of St. Paul. The pope had accompanied Meghan to the site of her discovery and actually laid his hands on the uncovered stone sarcophagus in which the Vatican archeologists had pronounced the interred human bones almost surely those of St. Paul. There was no question in Bill Kelly's mind that Paul had come to him in his hour of self-doubt and was now showing him the way. Paul's Crete was indeed his own Africa.

Cardinal Robitelli noticed the marked change in Bill Kelly's demeanor and self-confidence. It was as though overnight he had quietly become the self-assured pontiff, unshakable in his beliefs, and undisputed ruler of the Holy See.

The secretary of state was annoyed by the short notice the cardinal of Ireland gave when he requested a meeting with the pope on the day of his arrival. “He's got too much access and is slighting our protocol,” Robitelli complained to the curia.

Bill Kelly was pleased to hear Brian was on the way, short notice notwithstanding. He planned a family dinner that evening for his friend, to be followed by a quiet meeting afterward with Tim Shanahan.

Roger, Colleen, and Meghan were happy to see “Uncle Brian” again and asked during dinner when they might visit Ireland. With his omniscient smile Brian replied, “That's what I came to talk to your dad about.”

“Is it, now, Brian?” Bill cut into the cries of joy from his two youngest children. “And just when does the pope amend his schedule to accommodate this visit?”

“How about St. Patrick's Day and a few days around it?” Brian asked.

Roger let out a whoop of joy.

“Doesn't His Holiness have anything to say about it?” Bill asked.

“Well, it's three weeks to St. Patrick's Day. Can we cart you over to Ireland for the occasion?”

“Yes!” Roger cried joyously.

Later, after dinner, Brian, Tim, and Bill met as usual in the library. “Now, Brian, how do we handle this?” the pope asked. “Robitelli and Father Tucci will have fits if I even suggest it to them. They weren't happy with the planning of the Africa trip.”

Cardinal Comiskey turned his sad eyes to the pope. “In case you missed it while you were away, there's been a deepening of the mistrust among the people and political parties in Northern Ireland. Even a resurgence of the “troubles.” Certainly nothing like Omagh in '98. But new threats. I try to keep the Catholic side steady, but it doesn't take much to get the latest IRA faction all riled up. Paisley is always going to be his same nasty, hateful self. Let a Protestant fire a Catholic from his job, a Catholic complain about discrimination in Belfast, or a Protestant girl go out for a drink in a bar with a Catholic boy and we have the makings of violence all over again. We need some sort of ecumenical peacemaking gesture right now. The “troubles” are not in the news, but they're on the minds of Protestants and Catholics alike.”

“Well,” the pope said cheerfully, “it is close to St. Patrick's Day. What better place for the Kelly family to celebrate the feast day of the patron saint of Ireland than the Emerald Isle itself? What do I tell my cardinal secretary of state? Not that his objections carry much weight anymore.”

“I'll tell Robitelli that we need the pope to make the visit,” Brian agreed. “And when would that be more appropriate than St. Patrick's Day?”

“I'll tell him from me that the family wants to go. So to you, Brian,” Bill smiled sympathetically, “I leave the explanations of how the presence of the Holy Father can help calm things down and fend off disaster.”

The pope turned to Tim Shanahan. “Tim, maybe you can help explain to these last-century clerics around me that things move faster now. Planes arrive in less time and problems mount faster. A week or even a day for the old-fashioned planning, as important as it is, can lose us the reason for going in the first place.” He turned back to Brian. “I take it things are urgent in Ireland?”

“I'm afraid so. The six counties in the North still see sporadic violence and threats from both the Catholic and Protestant sides. I have pretty good relations with both the Unionists and Nationalists. They consider me an honest broker. I have worked very closely with both Protestant and Catholic children on a number of projects, which have created good relations. We now have an Irish-American pope, and Pope Peter II is in an unparalleled position to help heal deep wounds. Much as the Polish pope brought the Communists into reconciliation with the population, I believe that Pope Peter can accomplish the same in Ireland. But our problems, despite the peace process, frayed by the bombing at Omagh and subsequent outbreaks and the long-standing tensions during the marching season, are likely to erupt. Time is essential if we are to get them behind us once and for all as we take on the third millennium. We hear dire warnings in the Fatima prophecies that the twenty-first century will unleash some sort of apocalyptic conflagration. Let it not start in Ireland.” Brian gave his old friend a beseeching look.

Bill Kelly stood in the middle of the small library where he held these most intimate meetings. “The Vatican must also adjust to this new era of advanced communications. We have to be able to move as fast as any modern government if we are to make the Holy See as viable as any other world nation. If I have to be perceived as impetuous and antitraditionalist so be it.” He clapped a hand on the cardinal's shoulder and smiled broadly. “So the Kellys will be in Ireland for St. Patrick's Day. Like it or not at the curia.”

“Bill,” Brian said, “thank you. As the Polish pope ended by personal diplomacy the blight of Communism on his people, Bill Kelly has that same opportunity. I need a power behind my efforts as the honest broker to end, once and for all, the Irish troubles.”

*   *   *

Brian Comiskey spent a day of preliminary planning for the Irish visit with Tim Shanahan, and visited again a second time with the pope. They met this time in his small personal study, and, it being six o'clock, Bill Kelly brought out a bottle of Jameson Irish whiskey and poured them each a drink, placing the bottle on the table.

“I'm glad you came, Brian, very glad. I probably would have sent for you. I have a list of reforms I want to see addressed. They have been ignored or swept under the rug by the previous cardinal secretaries of state, but the necessity for them can't go away. A few of them are even now being activated in Africa under Gus Motupu's authority, signed and sealed by me personally. I don't have to tell you what he is trying to do there: the disease, starvation, and genocidal tribal wars. We face a covert challenge from Russian Orthodoxy, which is no more than an attempt to gain political control in the new millennium. Islamic fundamentalism, the extremist movement which resorts to murder, war, and bombings in the names of Mohammed and of Allah, is different and has a better God than ours, they say.” Bill raised his glass, and he and Brian sipped the fine Irish whiskey.

“Bill, you look worn out,” Brian said. “What's the matter?”

“I don't know! I picked up something in Africa, some kind of virus. God, when I think of those poor nuns out there with the diseased and starving, trying to live up to their vows. I wish I could do more.”

A worried look came over Brian's countenance. “Are you getting the right medical attention?”

“Yes, I believe so. You are the only person outside the medical staff that knows now. I pray I'll accomplish all I want to do. Use me every way you can.”

“Robitelli has no idea you may have a really serious medical problem?”

“I don't believe so, Brian.” His eyes searched his friend's face. “When I first came here I thought that was the miracle and I wondered if I was up to the job. But I placed my trust and confidence in God, worked hard, and now I feel good about the Church being on the right course. It doesn't seem a miracle at all. People's faith has kept my dream alive. That's an easy concept if you see it as a Church of martyrs fed to the lions. But when the pain, confusion, and disagreement come from inside, it is hard to comprehend. Yet here we have Cardinal Robitelli, opposed to my way of doing things, against my even being here in the first place, nevertheless willing to obey my commands. And that is what holds the Church together from top to bottom. You can call it ‘loyalty to God.' That is why the Church has survived all these centuries. We have disagreements with one another within it, but as a Church we are ‘serious.' Persecutions, wars, or dictators cannot silence the word of God.”

“I expect that we will hold both the Church and Ireland together, and your coming will ensure that. I have built up considerable Catholic and Protestant cooperation and even a certain amount of mutual respect and understanding. But your presence in the country … that's the key.”

*   *   *

As the days before the trip to Ireland passed and planning intensified, general excitement also built. Colleen was delighted that Jan Christensen would be part of the pope's retinue. Roger was happy that Michael Degulis, the big affable Swiss guardsman and the other victim of the skateboard accident who had since become his best friend, was the second guardsman sent along for special security. Bill Kelly realized once again that his commander of the Guard was not only practical, but also knowing.

Before Brian flew back to Ireland, he explained to Robitelli the extreme importance of the pope making the trip at this time. Brian was prepared for a long, drawn-out battle over the timing and the rushed planning, but he was such a clever negotiator that even the skeptical Robitelli shortly realized he was no match for the witty and convincing Irishman. He was also in no hurry to test the pope's mettle again. Robitelli almost offhandedly agreed and told Brian to work with Father Tucci.

The morning following his meeting with Comiskey, the secretary of state arranged to meet with the pope to discuss the Irish trip. Bill Kelly felt like popping a few Turns pills before the cardinal arrived, figuring he was in for a battle.

As the cardinal seated himself, the pope was somewhat surprised to see a wide smile on the cardinal's angular face. Robitelli laughed softly. “I can see by your expression that you are expecting our usual confrontation, Bill. Well, as you no doubt are already aware, your friend Comiskey is hard to slow up. He did all the arguing for you. And after we had both calmed down he was able to convince me of the value a papal visit to Ireland could bring to the Church overall. That's not to say I'm delighted, but…” He spread his hands in front of him. “But I think perhaps—”

His words were suddenly broken off by a bang on the door, which flew open as Meghan came rushing into the office. “Dad! Dad!” she exclaimed, holding up her Bible. “I've been reading this like you told me to. Listen to this!”

The pope was shocked by the interruption. “Meghan, what is the matter with you? Don't you know enough to knock before you enter a room? Especially this office?”