The Secret Cardinal (24 page)

“Were they captured?” Donoher asked, horrified.

Grin paused the video and zoomed in on the officer who shot the two prisoners. He enhanced the image enough to show the woman's face clearly.

“Even without the hair, I know that's Roxanne Tao. What you just saw was the riskiest part of Nolan's plan—if you'll pardon the pun—executed flawlessly.”

“But it looked so real.”

“That was the whole idea,” Grin said as he panned back and hit the resume key.

Donoher watched as the two bodies were zipped into bags and loaded into the back of a truck. Two men in suits appeared, beckoning to Tao. After a brief discussion, she led them to the truck. The rear of
the vehicle was turned slightly away from the camera, so it was impossible to see what was happening until the soldiers accompanying Tao opened fire. The one-sided exchange ended quickly, and the truck bearing Kilkenny and Yin fled the scene. The bodies of the two men and several guards littered the yard.

“What just happened there?” Donoher asked, stunned.

“I don't know, but if our people opened fire, they had no other choice.”

The image switched to the prison's main entry seconds before an explosion tore the large paired gates apart. The fleeing truck cleared the burning debris, and the screen abruptly turned blue.

“As soon as they got out, I took the prison offline,” Grin explained. “That's what cut the feed we were watching. With any luck, it also gave our people a head start.”

“When did all this happen?” Donoher asked.

“Just a few hours ago.”

“I wonder where they are now.”

“God only knows,” Grin said, “but I'm keeping an eye out for clues.”

“Well, I had best return for the morning session.” Donoher rose and smoothed out the folds in his cassock. “I'll visit with you again during the midday break.”

“While you and the rest of the cardinals have God's attention, try to slip in a good word for our people in China.”

“I'll be driving the good Lord to boredom with the monotony of my prayers on that subject,” Donoher promised.

 

 

WHEN THE CARDINAL ELECTORS had taken their seats and the doors to the Sistine Chapel were closed, Donoher walked up to the altar. He bowed his head and prayed quietly for a moment before turning to face the other princes of the Church.

“My Venerable Brothers, before we begin the next balloting, I would like to apologize for my absence at the meeting of the general congregation this morning, but under the circumstances it was unavoidable. I can report only that Cardinal Gagliardi's condition remains
quite serious. Many of you know of the cardinal's ongoing battle with heart disease, and I ask that you all remember him and his family in your prayers.”

A murmur of approval rippled through the conclave, heads nodding at the suggestion. Several cardinals touched their own chests, their hands unconsciously drawn to the scars that ran like hedgerows down their sternums. Cancer and cardiovascular disease were frequent companions of men past a certain age.

Cardinal Aquaro of Brazil rose and nodded to Donoher, indicating that he wished to speak.

“I recognize my Lord Cardinal Aquaro,” Donoher said, ceding the floor.

“A question only, Eminent Brother. Do you have anything to report regarding Bishop Yin?”

Donoher's brow furrowed as he considered how to answer Aquaro's question, and he felt every eye in the room studying him.

“My Lord?” Aquaro prodded, attempting to rouse the camerlengo from his thoughts.

“Bishop Yin is no longer a prisoner of the People's Republic of China. Earlier this morning, our effort to liberate him succeeded—but only to a point. The Chinese government is unfortunately aware of Yin's escape, and I can only assume the authorities are making every effort to prevent his departing the country.”

Cardinal French of Philadelphia stood, and Donoher acknowledged his request to speak.

“My Lord, are the Chinese aware of our involvement in this matter?”

“I don't believe so, but I have no information as yet to accurately answer your question. I continue to pray for the success of our effort, but I must also be mindful of the sacred duty of this conclave. Both Cardinal Gagliardi and Bishop Yin are wise and holy men, and either I am sure would serve the Church well as pope. But at this moment, both are in mortal danger, which in my mind precludes them as candidates for the papacy. It is not my intent to dissuade any of you from casting what I am certain would be a vote made in good conscience,
but we must all consider the needs of the Church. If there are no further questions, we should begin.”

After Donoher returned to his seat, the masters of ceremonies distributed the ballot papers to the cardinal electors. Lots were then drawn for those who would assist in the day's balloting. Wheeler of Australia, Unkoku of Japan, and Hielm of the Netherlands were selected as scrutineers. The infirmarii were Freneau of France, Oromo, and Siegfried of the Curia. Veblen of Miami, Garay from Quebec, and Prati of Florence were drawn as revisers. With all in place for the second ballot, those assisting the conclave departed the chapel, leaving the cardinals alone to vote.

No pope was elected on the first ballot, triggering an immediate second. Though no candidate garnered more than forty votes, Donoher noted certain trends emerging. Cardinals receiving fewer than ten votes in the opening session all but disappeared, their supporters moving on to stronger candidates. Magni held steady through the morning ballots due to the strong backing of the Italian cardinals, but lost the lead. Oromo and Escalante surged into the mid-twenties, with Yin, Velu, and Ryff hovering in the mid-teens.

As the notes and ballots were tossed into the stove, Donoher wondered who would eventually emerge from the crowded field of candidates. Although Yin lost ground, doubtless because of what Donoher had said, the camerlengo was amazed that the imperiled bishop continued to find support among the cardinal electors. That a conservative group of men so bound in tradition would even consider so bold a move as to elect Bishop Yin heartened him. As a student of American history, Donoher believed Jefferson was correct when, in a letter to James Madison, he wrote,
A little rebellion now and then is a good thing
.

33

XIYUAN, CHINA

Peng Shi responded quickly to the summons and presented himself in the anteroom of Minister Tian's office suite. The young officer was dressed in a dark gray suit with black wingtip shoes, a starched white shirt, and a patterned silk tie. He looked very much like a member of the diplomatic corps, though in fact he was an intelligence officer and had in the previous year distinguished himself over the course of an investigation into an attack on a manned Chinese spacecraft. That notoriety had the unfortunate effect of rendering his cover as a junior member of the embassy staff in Washington, D.C., useless, necessitating his recall to Beijing until a new identity could be created for him. As the glow of his hero's welcome in the halls of the Guojia Anquan Bu faded, Peng found himself missing the excitement of working in a foreign capital.

“The minister will see you now,” Tian's assistant announced politely.

The man opened the ornate wooden door, allowing Peng to pass through into the minister's office. Tian sat in a leather chair behind a large desk of black lacquered wood. In furnishing and objects, the space surrounded its occupant with the visible trappings of his office and reminded all visitors of the power directed from inside this room. Glancing past the minister, through a panoramic span of ribbon windows, Peng saw the famed gardens of the imperial Summer Palace in their autumn splendor.

“How are they treating you in the Tenth Bureau?” Tian asked.

“Quite well, Minister.”

“Good.” Tian pointed a wireless remote at a large flat screen wall monitor. “Please look carefully at these photographs and tell me if you recognize this man.”

Peng walked up to the screen and studied the images. It had been more than a year, but the man's face was still quite fresh in his memory.

“This man is Nolan Kilkenny,” Peng declared, though his voice betrayed some confusion.

“Are you certain?” Tian asked.

“Absolutely, but these photos—has he committed a crime in China?”

“Several.”

“But Nolan Kilkenny uncovered the murder of our
yuhangyuans
aboard
Shenzhou-7
and brought the criminals responsible to justice. This man is a hero.”

“
Was
a hero,” Tian corrected. “Today, he is an enemy of the state. But before I elaborate, I have a few more photographs for you to look at.”

The images changed. On the left, Peng saw Kilkenny standing in the lobby of a building next to an Asian woman with long black hair. A black-and-white image of a woman in an officer's uniform filled the right side of the monitor. The date and time index at the bottom of the image indicated that it had been taken that morning.

“I took this first photograph in August of last year,” Peng said, “in Washington, D.C. The woman was identified as Roxanne Tao, an associate of Kilkenny's.”

“She is also an American spy wanted for espionage in this country. Once the preliminary identification was made on Kilkenny, putting a name to her was not difficult. Can you confirm the woman on the right is Tao?”

“The quality of this photograph is poor.”

“It was taken by a surveillance camera at Chifeng Prison,” Tian offered.

“I cannot confirm a match with absolute certainty, but it appears so, and it makes perfect sense. They have worked together before.”

“That was our analysts' thinking as well.”

Tian moved on to the next pair of images. One was a recent
photograph of Yin, the other taken at his arrest in the late 1970s. Peng studied both and felt a faint sense of recollection about the older photograph.

“This is the criminal that Kilkenny extricated from the
laogai
in Chifeng this morning.”

“An American spy?” Peng asked, assuming he had seen the picture during his training as an agent.

“A Roman Catholic bishop. You have a sense for Kilkenny and Tao, followed them for a few weeks, no?”

“That is correct.”

“Good. I want you to fly to Chifeng and assist the man tasked with hunting them down. You are to be his second.”

Peng nodded.

“You performed well on your last assignment—I expect the same effort now. On your way out, pick up your flight information and a briefing package from my assistant. This is a matter of great political importance, Peng. These people
cannot
be allowed to leave China.”

“I will do my best, Minister.”

34

CHIFENG, CHINA

The Chinese Catholics aiding Kilkenny's team led them on a circuitous route out of Chifeng and into the grasslands of the Inner Mongolian steppe. Northwest of the city, they switched from cars and trucks to horses and rode off into the wilderness. Yin beamed like a child when he mounted a soft brown horse with Kilkenny, thrilled with the experience. Throughout the journey, the smile never faded as he rode tall in the traditional wooden saddle, stretching his body like a sail to capture the sunlight and fresh air that he had been without for so long.

The journey ended near sunset as they approached a large circle of yurts, the original encampment having grown since their departure the previous night. Trails of smoke spiraled from openings in the conical roofs, and the aroma of grilled meat and vegetables filled the air. Several people, all ethnic Mongolians, ran to meet them, while others excitedly announced their arrival to those inside.

“You made it!” Gates roared as Kilkenny and Tao dismounted. “Everybody in one piece?”

“Pretty much,” Kilkenny replied. “How'd you guys make out?”

“Still shaking the sand out of our boots, if you know what I mean. Nothing a few bottles of Baadog and some barbecue won't cure. What the hell happened back there?”

“Beijing decided today would be a good day to execute Yin,” Tao replied. “The man they sent to do the honors showed up just as we were preparing to leave.”

“Sorta sent things right down the shitter. Think it's a coincidence?” Gates asked in a low voice.

“No,” Kilkenny replied. “So quietly remind the guys to stay sharp because we don't know where the leak is.”

“At least we covered your exit pretty well. There's been a distinct lack of movement from Chifeng toward the prison, so I suspect your buddy Grin cut ‘em off real good.”

Kilkenny nodded. “The brief time we were in the city it was business as usual—no checkpoints or increased police patrols. In that regard, our luck is still holding.”

Gates rapped a couple of knuckles against the side of his head. “Knock on wood, it'll hold until we're outta Dodge.”

“Seems our hideaway has gotten popular with the locals.”

“Yep. The folks who collected me and the boys from our extraction point planted roots overnight. Gives the place a real lived-in look, and as a bonus, three of those yurts are hangars for the BATS. When you give the word, we can be wheels-up in ten minutes.”

“Good work. Where's my gear?” Kilkenny asked.

“Hangar number three,” Gates replied, pointing at the third yurt from the left.

Inside the yurt, Kilkenny discovered a group of grinning children playing in one of the BATs. He checked the aircraft to verify the controls were locked out and that the children could not accidentally start the engine.

Kilkenny unzipped a small duffel bag and pulled out his helmet. A few children climbed out of the BAT to watch him. He made a great show of struggling to put on the helmet, acting as though it was too small, and the children laughed at his performance. When the helmet was on, the children peered through the dark visor but could not see his face. They waved hands in front of the visor to test if he could see them, and he played along with the game.