The Secret Cardinal (43 page)

“Tango is down!” Gates shouted. “Roxanne, you're with Yin. Terry, grab the med kit. Once we're outside, put your eyes on this bird and see how bad we've been hit.” He turned to the other guards aboard the helicopter. “You, speak English?”

“
Ja,
” the young soldier replied.

“Great. Help me move your man.”

Gates leaped over the fallen guard down onto the tarmac, then quickly scanned the area for any other threats, finding none. The two
guardsmen by the access road raced over to assist, with Velu and Donoher following at a slower pace. The injured guard cursed as Gates and his comrade gingerly carried him through the doorway.

“All clear?” Gates asked as the guardsmen moved to assist.

“Yes, only one man,” one of the guards confirmed.

Han surveyed the side of the helicopter with the pilot as the remaining passengers stepped off. The fuselage was dented and punctured in several places.

“How's it look?” Gates asked.

“I don't think we are in any immediate danger,” the pilot replied, his accent thickly Italian, “but still, everyone should be a safe distance away.”

“My thinking exactly,” Han concurred.

The wail of an approaching emergency vehicle filled the air. Gates walked with Tao and Yin toward the two approaching churchmen. As Donoher and Velu neared, their expressions of concern melted into joy.

“My Esteemed Brother,” Velu said, “It is so good to see you again.”

“It has been far too long,” Yin agreed, and he embraced Velu.

“Over all the years,” Velu added, “you were never forgotten.”

“The Church was always my constant companion.”

Velu pulled away, beaming with delight. “Bishop, this is Cardinal Donoher, the architect of your liberation.”

Yin moved in front of the camerlengo and bowed to kiss his ring. Donoher flushed with embarrassment at the gesture, feeling inadequate to be in the presence of the revered bishop of Shanghai.

“Your Eminence,” Yin said, “Nolan Kilkenny told me of your passion to win my freedom. For that, I thank you.”

“Bishop Yin, I am humbled to meet a man of your faith,” Donoher replied.

“Has there been word of Nolan Kilkenny?” Yin asked.

“Nothing, I'm afraid.”

“Then I will continue to pray for him.”

“My prayers join yours. Nolan is family to me, and I look with hope to his safe return. Now, if you will excuse me for just a moment, I must have a word with Nolan's collaborators.”

Donoher took Tao, Han, and Gates aside. As more guards and
emergency personnel arrived, the men assigned to Donoher took positions around Yin.

Donoher spoke quietly. “This is where you part company with Bishop Yin. There are matters we must attend to with him that are internal to the Church. On behalf of the Holy See, I thank you for your efforts and your sacrifice in this endeavor. Simple words cannot express our gratitude.” Donoher motioned to the pair of approaching Swiss Guards. “These men will escort you to a private suite here in Vatican City. I apologize that I cannot be with you right now, and promise to join you as soon as I am able.”

“We understand,” Tao said. “This is a difficult time for your church.”

“For all of us,” Donoher agreed, “but even difficult times eventually pass.”

69

Donoher's driver parked the sedan in a small square north of Saint Peter's Basilica, and the camerlengo led Yin and Velu through a side entry into the Apostolic Palace. The corridors along the way had been cleared of all but the Swiss Guards, and the anteroom of the Sistine Chapel stood empty upon their arrival.

“Why have you brought me here?” Yin asked, realizing where he was. “I am only a bishop.”

“In the heart of Pope Leo, you have been a cardinal for many years,” Donoher replied. “It is true you cannot vote, but you still have a role to play.”

Donoher rapped on the door. Inside, the dean of the College of Cardinals ordered them opened.

Yin looked into the chapel and saw one hundred and seventeen men in scarlet choir dress gazing back. Even the cardinals who had been too ill to attend the voting sessions in person were now present.

Thy will be done
, Yin prayed. He crossed the marble threshold.

Velu took his seat, and Donoher escorted Yin to the altar. The junior cardinal dean left the chapel to summon the secretary of the College of Cardinals and the master of papal liturgical celebrations. Donoher and Yin stood with their backs to the assembled cardinals, gazing up at Michelangelo's
Last Judgment
.

“Do you know why you are here?” Donoher asked softly.

“On the flight to Rome, we were told black smoke was seen three times today.”

“There was only one ballot today, but we had to wait for your arrival. You've been through an unimaginable ordeal, only to face this. I want you to know that you do not have to accept election.”

“Just as Christ did not have to accept his fate at Gethsemane,” Yin replied. “But he did, and I too submit my will to God's.”

“The vote was unanimous,” Donoher said warmly. “As sure a sign of His will as I've ever seen.”

The junior cardinal dean returned with the pair of archbishops and led them to the side of the altar. Both men were curious about the presence of another bishop in the chapel and assumed he was there in a spiritual capacity for the camerlengo.

“It is time,” Donoher announced.

The two men turned to face the assembled cardinals, then Donoher stepped down from the altar, leaving Yin alone.

Cardinal Scheuermann, the dean, approached Yin.

“Do you accept your canonical election as supreme pontiff?” Scheuermann's voice thundered inside the chapel.

Yin took a deep breath and looked out at the expectant cardinals. So many different faces, from so many different cultures and peoples. Yin remembered that moment in his cell when he first spoke with Nolan Kilkenny, and from his rescuer learned that the heir of Peter had sent him.

“I do,” Yin answered, his voice clear and strong.

“By what name do you wish to be called?”

“Gousheng, after Saint Peter Wu Gousheng, a martyr for the faith.”

“This way, Your Holiness,” Donoher said, shepherding Yin to a room off to the side of the altar. He stopped at the threshold. “This is the Room of Tears, for your predecessors have wept in both joy and sorrow at this moment. You enter alone. Inside you will find the white robes of your holy office.”

Donoher bowed and backed away. Yin opened the door and stepped inside. The room was small and red in color. On a table he found three sets of papal robes. Each was a different size, as the papal tailors could not fit the new pope until after he was elected.

Yin disrobed and carefully laid the black cassock on the table. During most of his years as a bishop, he wore prison pajamas, and now he was setting aside the uniform of that office forever. He tried on the smallest of the three sets of robes and found the fit acceptable. Next he tested the white zucchettos. Beside the robes lay a brilliant assortment of pectoral crosses—beautiful works of art crafted in gold and precious
stones. The crosses set out for him were superior in every way to the one he wore when he entered the Room of Tears, except one.

He picked up the hand-carved wooden cross, kissed it, and looped the cord around his neck. Tears streamed down his face as he recalled Ke Li's joy when she shared with him this most precious symbol of her faith, and tears of sorrow followed when he felt in his heart that she had died for that faith. Yin knew he would wear the martyred girl's cross to his own grave.

Yin reentered the Sistine Chapel as Pope Gousheng. Donoher guided him to a stool placed before the altar, waited while he seated himself, and placed the fisherman's ring on his finger. One by one, the princes of the Church paid homage to the new pope. Outside, the crowd spilling out of Saint Peter's Square exploded with cheers as a plume of white smoke rose from the chimney and the bells of Saint Peter's tolled the news.

An hour later, Donoher stepped out onto the main balcony in the basilica's facade overlooking Saint Peter's Square. The crowd quieted, craning to hear the name of the new pope.

“I announce to you a great joy. We have a pope,” Donoher said in Latin. “The Most Reverend Yin Daoming, bishop of Shanghai, who takes the name Gousheng.”

The crowd roared their approval at the announcement with shouts of
Viva Il Papa.
Reporters covering the event suddenly found themselves at a loss for words as well as pictures, because a man few outside of China had ever heard of or seen was now the supreme pontiff of the universal Church.

Donoher stepped aside, and Pope Gousheng emerged from the shadows and into the light to impart the apostolic blessing
Urbi et Orbi.
For the City and the World.

70

BEIJING, CHINA
November 2

The flight from Tibet, inside the windowless fuselage of a military transport, was one of the longest Kilkenny had ever endured. After being retrieved from the shore of Bangong Co along with Peng and the crew of the damaged helicopter, Kilkenny had been taken to a military base where his injuries were treated. He was placed in solitary confinement in the base stockade. Aside from routine questions by the attending physician, he was not questioned. It was as if no one there knew quite what to do with him. The brief respite of indecision ended when a squad of military police led by Peng entered his cell and escorted him to the waiting aircraft. Peng spoke to him only once, and that to inform him to remain silent during the flight. The tone in Peng's voice, though curt and official, conveyed that silence was in Kilkenny's best interest.

It was dark when Kilkenny, Peng, and the contingent of MPs landed at a military airfield. Kilkenny's guards quickly ushered him from the plane into a nearby hangar. There, both he and Peng were provided with a change of clothes—the professional attire of businessmen. Kilkenny dressed slowly, careful of his wounds and the dressings that protected them. As he cinched the Windsor knot on his tie, Peng approached with a pair of handcuffs and the final accessory to Kilkenny's wardrobe.

“When we are inside the vehicle, I will place this over your head,” Peng explained as he showed Kilkenny the black hood. “This is to conceal your presence for where we are going.”

Kilkenny nodded. “At least it's not a going-away present.”

Peng considered the remark for a moment, then shook his head. “My orders are only to deliver you.”

Kilkenny sat with Peng in the rear seat of a black SUV. The windows surrounding him were thick and darkly smoked, and the doors closed with the weighty
thunk
of armor plating. When the motorcade was ready to depart the hangar, Peng slipped the hood over Kilkenny's head.

As the journey proceeded, Kilkenny's thoughts retreated from the muffled sounds around him and the uncertainty of what lay ahead. Instead, he found solace in the memories of Kelsey. The bitter anger of his loss was gone, replaced by an acceptance of the tragedy for what it was, and a deep gratitude for the love he shared with her. Of all his life's accomplishments, he was most proud of being her husband.

Thank God
, Kilkenny thought, then realized that was exactly what he was doing. His prayer wasn't the rote formula of an ancient catechism, but a sincere expression of his thanks for a relationship through which he defined himself. For the first time since losing his wife and child, he found himself able to pray again.

The motorcade came to a stop. Still hooded, Kilkenny was led from the vehicle. He heard the rustling of dry leaves in the cool night air and their crunch beneath his feet as he trod across a paved walk. Peng wordlessly guided him toward their destination. When Kilkenny heard the sound of two wooden doors close behind him, he knew he was inside a building.

Peng brought him to a stop, and ahead Kilkenny heard a man's voice give an order. Peng responded respectfully and removed Kilkenny's hood. Kilkenny found himself inside a small, ornate pavilion. Seated before him was a stocky man with gray hair and a round face lined with experience. Like Kilkenny and Peng, the man was dressed in business attire as if the three were there to discuss real estate or the stock market.

“Mister Kilkenny, do you know who I am?” the man asked, his accent barely detectable.

“No,” Kilkenny replied honestly.

The man nodded to Peng, who then leaned close to Kilkenny's ear.

“The man you are addressing is Wen Lequan, the premier of China. Be very careful.”

“Premier Wen, it is an honor to meet you,” Kilkenny offered with a polite bow of his head.

“Mister Kilkenny, Mister Peng describes you as a man of honor. Can I accept your word that I have nothing to fear should your restraints be removed?”

“You have my word.”

Wen gestured with his hand, and Peng removed the handcuffs. With an equally subtle gesture, a circular table and two chairs were placed in front of the premier.

“Please sit,” Wen said, more an order than a request.

Wen studied Kilkenny as he seated himself and noted he was favoring one side.

“I understand you were injured as a result of your illegal activities inside my country,” Wen began. “Have you been well treated since your capture?”

“Your doctors have treated me very well, thank you.”

“Mister Kilkenny, as is the custom of your countrymen, I will be direct. You have placed me in a very difficult position.”

“I take complete responsibility for my actions and freely accept the consequences.”