The Secret Cardinal (14 page)

Three long rows of prelates clad in red vestments framed the sides of a rectangular space that contained the altar and the coffin, and behind these sat more than two hundred world leaders in a sea of funeral black. A choir dressed in white closed the back of the space, with the front open to the square. With a gathering so large that no building
could contain it, the people themselves became the architecture, the true body of the Church.

During a private ceremony before the funeral, the pope's body was placed inside the coffin. Archbishop Sikora then drew a veil of white silk over Leo's face, and Donoher blessed the body with holy water. At the pope's side, Donoher placed a red velvet bag containing samples of the coins minted during his long reign.

As Cardinal Scheuermann read a Latin eulogy of the pope's many accomplishments, Donoher reflected on the last item he placed in the coffin—a brass cylinder containing a vellum scroll of that same eulogy penned by a master calligrapher. The scroll was a work of art in itself but more so for the deeds it represented. The Church in the late twentieth century faced many difficult challenges, but it was Pope Leo's clear vision and steadfast faith that had helped change the world for the better.

If pride was a sin, Donoher would permit himself this indulgence. He was proud of all the Church had accomplished during the reign of Pope Leo XIV, and of his role in those deeds now committed to history.

He did not feel sorrow as the sun warmed his face while he stood on the basilica steps, overlooked by a procession of statues of the saints. He felt joy. The long suffering of his friend and mentor was over, and the wonderful soul that was the essence of that great man had at last received its blessed release and was now with God. For a man of faith, there could be no greater triumph than this.

 

 

AS THE VOICES of the pontifical choir filled the piazza with the closing hymn, the cardinals followed the pope's coffin back into the basilica, the procession passing through the great bronze doors in the center of its facade—masterworks by Il Filarete depicting Christ, the Virgin Mary, and the martyrdoms of Saints Peter and Paul.

The cardinals moved solemnly up through the nave and filled the space beneath the great dome, surrounding the confessio and the baldacchino. The pallbearers paused in front of the great pier where Bernini's statue of the mythical Saint Longinus stood bearing the spear that pierced the side of Christ, then descended the stairway into the
grotto beneath the basilica. There, the sampietrini affixed red bands to the coffin lid with both papal and Vatican seals. The coffin was placed in a second made of zinc and a third of walnut that bore Leo's name and his coat of arms.

A humble priest, Pope Leo decided early in his pontificate to forgo the traditional papal interment in an ornate marble sarcophagus, wishing instead to be buried in the earth.

“Lord, grant him eternal rest,” Donoher called out at the conclusion of the rite, his booming voice echoing inside the subterranean chamber, “and may perpetual light shine upon him.”

As those gathered in the grotto sang “
Salve Regina,
” Donoher stared down into the pope's grave and thought of another holy man in a dark hole, half a world away.

18

CHIFENG, CHINA
October 28

On the night they crossed the border, Kilkenny and the warriors rendezvoused with Roxanne Tao at the landing zone in the steppe twenty miles north of Chifeng Prison. Tao's local contacts provided yurts to house the men and conceal their weapons and equipment. During their second night in China, Gates and the Alpha team dug into camouflaged positions around the prison and began reconnaissance.

Kilkenny had lain low during the past eight days, sequestered in the yurts while the other members of Bravo team ventured into the city of Chifeng with Roxanne Tao, getting a feel for their surroundings. Inner Mongolia's tourist season was all but over, and a Caucasian face would draw more attention than he desired.

Kilkenny sat on the floor on the west side of the yurt—the men's side—with his back to the fire. He was wearing his helmet, comparing Alpha team's observations with information gathered by Chinese Roman Catholics on the heads-up display. The fresh intelligence confirmed much of what he had gleaned from the older data. It held no surprises.

Chifeng Prison ran on a tight schedule. The guards worked in three eight-hour shifts each day. The prisoners started their day in the middle of the first shift and returned to their cells halfway through the third—sixteen backbreaking hours making bricks, seven days a week. Trucks came and went at scheduled times, processed through the two gates with the same security procedures. Kilkenny had confidence in the information he had, but he really wanted the one piece he was sorely missing—the precise cell housing Bishop Yin.

“Computer off,” Kilkenny said, ending the review session.

He stood and stretched, pulled off the helmet, and absently scratched at the prickly red whiskers populating his jaw line. In addition to the scrubby beard, Kilkenny temporarily had suspended several personal grooming habits in preparing for the mission, and the prison pajamas he wore while sequestered in the yurt exuded that fusty odor he associated with a high school locker room.

Opposite the yurt's door, on the north side of the circular dwelling, stood a traditional Buddhist altar. Kilkenny approached the domestic shrine—no different really from the religious items his grandmother kept atop her bedroom dresser—and offered a brief prayer of thanks for the people helping them.

The couple that provided the yurts owned few possessions, but what they had were well cared for. Through halting English, they let Kilkenny know that he and his companions were honored guests and, as if to emphasize the point, showed him their most prized possession. Hidden behind a false panel on the altar was a worn photograph clipped from a Taiwanese magazine—the Dalai Lama and Pope Leo XIV together in prayer. Kilkenny was humbled by the tremendous risk the couple took each day in possessing that image, a risk they accepted only because of a deeply rooted faith. Only here, in the wilderness along China's northern border, could the descendants of Genghis Khan find spiritual contentment in a belief system that wedded traditional Tibetan Buddhism with Roman Catholicism.

Tao stepped into the yurt and removed her hat and coat. Everything she wore was chosen to emphasize that she was Chinese and not American. Even the way she carried herself had changed. Kilkenny considered how easily she had slipped into this native persona. The most significant change in Tao's appearance, though, was the simplest to execute. Before leaving the United States, Tao cut the waterfall of silky hair that reached her waist, trading her tresses for a functional, military bob.

“Time to do your makeup,” Tao said as she placed a low stool and a tackle box on the floor near the fire. She pointed to where she wanted Kilkenny to sit.

“I never thought I'd hear anyone say that to me,” Kilkenny replied.

Tao started by cleaning and drying Kilkenny's face, neck, and hands—areas of skin that would be visible when he was dressed. She laid out various prosthetics and began applying adhesive to Kilkenny's skin.

“Careful,” Kilkenny said. Some of the fading bruises on his face were still tender.

He remained still as Tao affixed bits of latex to simulate edemas and lacerations. In the first pass, she fattened Kilkenny's lower lip, blackened an eye and a cheek, and raised welts on his hands and forearms. Tao next softened the edges around the prosthetics with flesh-toned liquid latex, erasing seams that would destroy the illusion.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Tao asked.

“Somebody has to let Yin know what's happening. I'd hate for him to have a heart attack when Bravo shows up for his execution.”

“But why
you
? Why not one of the others?”

“You mean someone of Chinese descent?”

“Yeah.”

“Better they stay outside. If something goes wrong, they have a chance of blending in and getting away. It was either going to be Max or me, and I'd rather have him running Alpha and covering my back.” Kilkenny laughed.

“What?”

“On the flight over, Max asked me the same thing.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That I'm the man on a rope, the guy they lower down into a deep hole to rescue someone trapped in the darkness. My job is to find the lost soul and hold fast to the rope. Yours is to pull us out.”

Tao stared into Kilkenny's eyes for a moment and once more saw the strength of his conviction. They had saved each other's lives more than once, and an absolute trust cemented their friendship.

“That new haircut is still taking some getting used to,” Kilkenny said, breaking the silence as Tao resumed work on his forehead.

“For me too. I've had long hair since I was a little girl. At least it will all grow back and some deserving kids will benefit from my little sacrifice.”

After signing on for this mission, Tao donated her hair—in two
twelve-inch-long chunks—to Locks of Love to make wigs for pediatric cancer patients. Kilkenny first saw her new bob when he landed in China. The change in Tao's appearance was so severe that at first he didn't recognize her—which of course was the idea.

She applied a mix of paints and powders to tint Kilkenny's artificially swollen areas in shades of milky yellow, black, and blue. Around the open wounds, Tao dabbed on a dark viscous fluid that, as it dried, formed a crusty, fractured surface like coagulated blood. She also placed droplets of simulated scab on Kilkenny's face and neck, mimicking blood splatter. On two of his fingers, Tao blackened the nails. Last, she smeared and dribbled simulated blood onto Kilkenny's uniform, transforming him into a thoroughly abused prisoner.

“Now, just sit there for a moment and let everything really set up,” Tao said. “I have to get changed.”

She stepped behind a modesty curtain, removed her civilian clothing, and donned the dark gray uniform of an officer of the Ministry of Justice. Like U.S. marshals, cadres assigned to the Ministry of Justice were an armed force separate from the police and the People's Liberation Army. This force provided security for the courts, oversaw the handling and transport of prisoners, and, as the insignia on Tao's uniform indicated, executed prisoners.

“How do I look?” Tao stepped into view.

“Like a death-row inmate's worst nightmare,” Kilkenny replied.

“I thought men liked a woman in uniform.”

“It depends on the woman and the uniform,” Kilkenny said, recalling the first time he saw Kelsey in a NASA flight suit.

Tao caught the melancholy tone in his voice and dropped this line of banter. “Let me take a look at you.”

Tao slowly walked around Kilkenny, studying her handiwork at various angles.

“I may not win an Oscar for best makeup,” Tao said, “but it should do the trick.”

19

It was almost midnight as Bob Shen downshifted, slowing the truck as he drove up to the main gate of Chifeng Prison. The approach was a paved two-lane track covered with a thin layer of wind-driven dirt. The truck's thickly grooved tires kicked up a dusty haze behind the vehicle. A guard stepped out of the gatehouse and signaled Shen to halt.

Shen brought the truck to a stop at a white line painted across the roadway—the entire vehicle now bathed in harsh, cool light. The guard took notice of the Beijing markings stenciled on the truck's body as he strutted toward the driver's door. Two more guards appeared near the gate, their weapons trained on Shen and Tao, seated in the cab beside him.

“Papers,” the guard demanded.

With cool detachment, Tao handed a dossier to Shen, who passed it to the guard. The man quickly scanned the forged documents.

“Prisoner transfer, eh,” the guard said. “We received no notification of any transfer scheduled for tonight.”

“If you had actually read those documents,” Tao replied, her voice a blend of superiority and boredom, “you would have noticed that this transfer is
un
scheduled for reasons of state security.”

Chastised, the guard made a more thorough review of the paperwork and found that the transfer authorization bore proper signatures from the Ministry of Justice and the Ministry of State Security. The packet included a photograph of the prisoner but listed no name, meaning Beijing wanted no record kept of this person's movements within the prison system. The prisoner was obviously not a common criminal.

The guard motioned for the outer gate to be opened and returned to the gatehouse. The barrier—a five-meter-high wall of electrified chain link fastened to structural steel tubing that curved inward near
its full height and was topped with a tightly coiled helix of razor wire—rolled to the left along a narrow-gauge rail. When the way was clear, Shen pulled the truck forward to the next barrier. The outer gate closed behind the truck, and only after it was secure was the inner gate opened.

Though no longer aiming at Tao and Shen, the two guards kept their weapons trained on the truck as it passed through the gate. Tao paid no heed to the guards' aggressive stance—it was standard procedure. A lax display at the main gate would have surprised her more.

A jeep arrived at the gatehouse just as the truck cleared the inner gate. The senior guard approached as the jeep came to a stop and handed Tao's dossier to the lieutenant at the wheel. Unlike the guard, the lieutenant took his time reviewing the documents.

The young officer was a tall man, Tao realized as he stepped out of the jeep, and carried himself ramrod straight. He walked directly to Tao's window, and they exchanged salutes.