The Accidental Pope (6 page)

Cardinal Comiskey looked about the group. “He is a devout Catholic, but Church matters of this scale would either intimidate him or strike him as a big joke … as foolish as our big joke here. Any more questions?”

Cardinal Mederios thanked him after the mumbling and puzzled laughter had died down. As silence enshrouded the group again, Cardinal Willeman moved the meeting forward. “Well, as I see it, brothers, we have dug our own grave. If, as the
camerlengo
pointed out and we all knew from the first day, we have, by the rules, elected a legitimate pope, then we must inform him of it even though he will no doubt laugh at us and forever wonder what really goes on in a papal conclave.”

A visibly shaken Cardinal Robitelli stood up, asking to be recognized. “Brothers, do you have any idea what will be said—what the consequences will be—if we send someone out of here without any indication to the watching world about what has happened? It would immediately be perceived that we had elected someone outside the conclave, as has happened on rare occasions in our past history. Or perhaps there is a question about the background of the new pope. The press will have a feeding frenzy!”

Robitelli turned abruptly to confront Motupu. “Please, dear brother, for the sake of the Church, please reconsider your position and withdraw your demand.”

Cardinal Motupu pushed himself out of his seat and looked around. “I openly confess, dear brothers, that, as many of you may suspect, I reacted out of anger at being so blatantly chastised when this conclave began. I apologize herewith to Cardinal Robitelli for my actions. But having heard all the arguments presented so far by Cardinal Willeman, I am confident in another reason for my position. I have always felt that our hierarchy is apt to get entrapped in rules and tradition, frequently to the point of losing sight of our duty to lead Christ's flock with love and not doctrine. So I cannot conscientiously withdraw from the position, which to me is right. Who of us is to say that, though we call this Bill Kelly affair our ill-conceived joke, it is not the call of God to bring a new dimension into our near-moribund Church, an attitude more like Peter and his bark?”

Motupu's demeanor was not challenging now that he had expressed himself; indeed, the African cardinal seemed to be trying to conciliate. “If you decide at the very least not to confront Bill Kelly with the result of our vote, I will accept your group opinion and never do or say anything about the subject again. But I won't vote unless the offer is made. One less vote cannot make a difference.” He gave Cardinal Robitelli a reproving glance. “I will accept anyone else this conclave may choose … other than myself. I withdraw my name from consideration. That is final.”

Silence again settled over the group as Cardinal Motupu seated himself. It now seemed evident to many that Cardinal Robitelli would be elected. Willeman stood to try to define the position in which the conclave found itself. “Thank you, Cardinal Motupu, for your open and sincere statements. I am certain we all respect your opinion.” He looked around the seated assemblage. “I suppose, then, dear brothers, what I need to determine is whether any of the rest of you share Cardinal Motupu's persuasion.”

After a short pause the five other black cardinals stood up. Then other cardinals from Europe and all the American cardinals took to their feet. Soon thirty cardinals were standing, and others looked indecisive.

“Well, dear brothers,” Cardinal Willeman said, taking charge, “it seems the next issue to be determined is how we will proceed to communicate with Mr. Kelly as soon as possible and get back to our conclave after he has refused. Only then we can get on with the business of electing a pope.”

Tension ebbed and flowed as, without waiting to be asked, the cardinals broke into small groups, discussing ways to solve the problem. Unanimously, the conclave agreed that since Cardinal Comiskey knew Mr. Kelly personally and indeed had been the source of the impasse, he must be the one to go out on their behalf and deal with it. Since a second three-day period of voting had ended, the conclave was due another day of retreat, and no voting would take place tomorrow in any case.

Australia's Cardinal Keating now took over. “With efficient travel plans Cardinal Comiskey can see Bill Kelly in America and be back in two days,” he said.

Cardinal Cushman nodded. “I will call my Boston diocese from the emergency phone here and have Bishop William Murray meet Cardinal Comiskey at Boston's Logan Airport, to take him to my residence. I will instruct Murray to ask no questions and keep this entire mission a secret. He will drive our brother to Fall River, where Bishop Sean Patrick will arrange for him to get to Kelly on Cape Cod.”

Brian Comiskey nodded gratefully. “I appreciate your making all these arrangements, Your Eminence.”

Cardinal Cushman glanced at his watch. “If you are to make Alitalia at two o'clock, you had best be on your way. With the six-hour time difference, you should be in Boston by three-thirty this afternoon.”

Robitelli snapped back to his takeover mode. He strode to the emergency phone, picked it up, and had Monsignor Cippolini, administrator of the Sistine Chapel, on the line.

“Your Eminence, do you need medical services?” came the wary tone.

“I need for you to listen carefully and do exactly as I say. Do you understand?”

“Yes, yes, Your Excellency,” Cippolini replied.

“We have found it necessary,” the cardinal continued, “to have one of our number leave the conclave to obtain important information necessary to proceed with this election. Discuss this with no one. Call the Vatican travel office for a round-trip ticket to Boston on the afternoon flight today for Cardinal Comiskey, and have Tony bring a car around to the emergency side door. Cardinal Comiskey will be coming out shortly. Everything must be kept completely confidential. Do you understand?”

“Of course, Your Excellency. Immediately.” Cardinal Patsy Monassari stood up and addressed Brian Comiskey. “Not to worry about the cost. I will see that all your expenses are taken care of by the Vatican Bank.”

Inwardly Brian grinned at the overt manner in which Patsy had reminded the college of cardinals of his ultimate financial power.

*   *   *

Within a short time of leaving the conclave, Comiskey had returned to his room in the Vatican hotel, at Piazza Santa Marta, changed to the black suit and Roman collar of a parish priest, then decided to call his friend, Ambassador Kirby. Brian was well aware of the unexpected problems that could arise along the way in the course of this mission. Also he had an uneasy feeling about Kelly, a resolute man known to follow his own judgment above that of any other man or, when he was a priest, any other cleric. Comiskey called Kirby's private number at the residence, and Kathy Kirby told him that her husband was out jogging.

“Please, Kathy, I must speak to him.”

“The conclave?” Kathy began.

“I'll call back in half an hour. Please try to get word to him out there on those paths.”

*   *   *

Tony, the deceased pope's favorite personal driver, was standing at the back door when Brian, carrying an overnight satchel, emerged from the newly constructed St. Martha Hotel inside the Vatican, built at the close of the millennium especially to house the cardinals during conclaves. Tony shut the door, then took his seat behind the wheel and started the engine of the sleek black Mercedes.

“The airport in half an hour, Your Eminence. There's the Santa Anna Gate ahead and we're on our way out.”

Passing the Vatican City post office and shopping market on the left, they drove by two alert Swiss guards who recognized Tony and the car and waved them through. They took the turn at Via di Porta Angelica.

Loitering across the street from the Santa Anna Gate in front of the souvenir and pizza shop were two members of the regular Vatican press corps, Victor Simon of Associated Press and the Reuters correspondent, Mario Pullella. Also there, ever looking to make media contacts, was Father Farrell, giving the two veteran reporters the benefit of his informed opinions and hoping to get his name mentioned and even a plug for his latest novel on Catholic Church intrigue.

“The seventh day,” the AP man remarked. “Has it ever happened that a conclave was so stalled?”

“Oh, yes. The college has been known to be locked in for twelve days. Let's see, that was in fifteen hundred and—”

“Hey!” the Reuters reporter exclaimed. “Isn't that a Vatican car?”

Tony was waved through at this moment.

“It is,” Farrell responded. “Considering nothing is moving, it's strange to see a motor pool Mercedes coming out.”

“There's a guy wearing the collar in the backseat,” the AP writer observed.

Farrell stared into the backseat of the vehicle. “My God! It's Comiskey. What's he doing outside?”

“I don't know,” the Reuters man replied. “But there's a story here for sure!”

The AP man was already reaching for a roll of lire as he ran to a parked taxi. “Deloce, fifty thousand lire if you don't lose that Vatican Mercedes,” Simon shouted, pulling open the door and climbing in. Before he could shut it, Pullella and Farrell had crowded in beside him.

“Hey! This is my cab!”

“Ours,” his Reuters colleague contradicted.

AP was already furiously dialing his cell phone. “Give me Elizabeth Redmond.”

The AP bureau chief came on the line immediately and her reporter breathlessly described what was happening. “Any idea where?” Redmond asked.

“We're past Circo Massimo,
l'ambasciata,
and now on the Appian Way. He seems to be leading us onto the
autostrada.
Maybe the airport. Something's up. We've got Farrell with us. I'll put him on. Maybe you can get a quote.”

Farrell took the cell phone authoritatively in hand and barked into it, “A cardinal leaving the conclave is unheard of. There may be some kind of schism there.”

The AP man grabbed his phone back.

“Simon, how did you get onto this?” the bureau chief asked.

“Something had to be happening after seven days, so I waited at the Santa Anna Gate to see what.”

“Good show. I'll put it over the wire.”

The Reuters reporter was already gathering quotes from Farrell to build up his story when it finally materialized.

“We're definitely heading for Leonardo da Vinci, that's right,
Fiumicino
airport,” the AP man called to his bureau chief.

“Cardinal Brian Comiskey of Ireland has left for the airport. Something big.”

“Stay with it all the way. Climb on the plane with him.”

“I don't have much money, but I got a credit card and my passport.”

“Hang in there!” Elizabeth Redmond urged.

At the airport, Tony pulled the Mercedes up to the curb and the door was immediately opened by an official-looking man in a pin-striped suit. “Buongiorno. Come sta? Eminenza, I'm Umberto Alessi, Alitalia's vice president in charge of business operations. Follow me, Eminence. I have your ticket.”

“
Bene, grazie,
Umberto. I've got to make a phone call.”

Before Brian could say another word, the two reporters had leaped from their cab and were chasing after him, calling out questions. Umberto Alessi spirited Brian away from this would-be curbside interrogation and led the way past security to Alitalia's
sala d'aspetto,
a private briefing room that was only used for government officials from the Republic of Italy upon arrival back in Rome before being questioned by the press. AP and Reuters followed the cardinal's every move while frantically trying to find out where he was going.

6

KIRBY'S CALL

It was later in the morning than usual for Ambassador Ed Kirby to start his daily seven-mile-plus jog. At ten
A.M.
in beat-up running shoes and exercise togs, he left his residence at the top of the Gianicolo Hill, the highest hill in the city and perhaps the most beautiful location in all Rome. Gianicolo was not one of the original seven hills. It was situated outside Rome when the seven were originally fortified. Across the street stood the American Academy, a residence founded by J. P. Morgan, where visiting scholars and writers could live gratis. Ernest Hemingway was one of the many American writers so graced. Close by was Villa Pamphilli, with its seven and a half miles of paths, water fountains, formal gardens, bocci courts, ponds, soccer fields, and Roman statuary. One roadway had been named for Martin Luther King, Jr.

The ambassador was always impressed by the magnificence of the park and how beautifully it was maintained by the city and respected by the amazingly large number of people who used it every day. It was a very different picture than was apt to be found in most American city parks.

While Kirby jogged ahead, a security car with three Italian secret service agents slid onto the road behind him, apparently to follow.

Along with most Catholics throughout the world, Kirby wondered what was going on at the conclave. He looked down the hill, taking in the Vatican on his right and its Sistine Chapel, where for days the cardinals had been trying to elect their new pope.

Rome was spread out below him. He could see St. Peter's Square, where hundreds of tourists were gathered in anticipation of sighting the column of white smoke. When at last it emerged from within the chapel, those in the square would be part of history. They could say they had been present when the new pope was at last elected.

Kirby had seen many dramatic ceremonies at the Vatican. The beatification of the first Gypsy saint had brought over a hundred thousand Gypsies from around the world and the magnificent Easter Sunday Mass, with nearly one million pilgrims on hand.

As he jogged the path running parallel to Via Aurelia, one of the longest streets in Italy beginning at St. Peter's Square, his eyes searched for the Pacelli estate, home of the family of Pius XII. When Kirby had first arrived in Rome, the U.S. embassy was located there. Anytime he wanted to meet with top Vatican officials, diplomats, or world figures he could be sure they would show up because they so loved the atmosphere and the historic surroundings of the place. A staffer for the king of Spain had even called one day to ask if King Juan Carlos could stop by the embassy to see the home of Pope Pius XII after his meeting with Pope John Paul II was concluded.