The Secret of Fatima (16 page)

“Wait a minute,” Max said. “Before we talk about the secrets, I want you to look at something.” He grabbed his leather briefcase from a side chair and pulled out his iPad. “Here, my dear Doubting Thomas, take a look at this!” Max pressed a button on the tablet; it sprang to life. “Let's see what you think of this. Do you recall the Virgin Mary's appearance at Zeitoun in Egypt in 1968?”

Kevin searched his memory. “I don't remember.”

“In April 1968, the Virgin Mary appeared for weeks over a Coptic Church in Zeitoun, a suburb of Cairo. But unlike appearances in the nineteenth century when there were no photographs, in 1968 we had television! And there are shots of her appearance. Plus, it was broadcast live. On Egyptian television.”

“Are you sure about this?” Kevin asked.

“Look it up. There were numerous articles and photos in the press at the time. Here.” Max placed the iPad on the table. “Here is a photo taken of one of the appearances.”

Kevin stared at the picture. “How do you know it's not photoshopped?”

Drotti smiled. “We're not fools, my friend. The picture was examined and reexamined by experts, and remember, hundreds of people witnessed this. It's real.”

“Impressive, Max,” he said. “But right now, I've got a problem with another miracle, the one I was summoned here for. I've got some good friends at the CIA and they told me the
secret
contained no discernible secret message. So what was it Opus Mundi saw that no one else could figure out?”

Drotti took his napkin, dabbed his mouth, then lifted his wineglass. “Maybe you and I should look at the original.”

Kevin picked up his wineglass, too, and took a sip. They'd chosen Prosecco, a much-loved sparkling wine from the Veneto area of Italy.

“Yes. Good point. I think we need to see the original,” said Kevin.

Max said, “Only the pope can touch the secret of Fatima. Perhaps an exception can be made, no?”

“And I know just the person to do it.” Kevin smiled while raising his glass in a toast.

The waiter approached with their entrees of lasagna al forno. With layers of noodles, meat, ricotta cheese, and a tomato sauce, it smelled delicious.

“What is it about this secret, anyway?” asked Kevin as he dove into the lasagna. “The pope reveals it to the world in 2000, and it's still causing problems.”

“It's still a big deal, Kevin. Right after the pope made the secret public, on May 14, 2000, the
New York Times
ran a front page story about the revelation of the secret of Fatima. Mind you, on the front page!”

Drotti refilled both their wineglasses.

Kevin asked, “Can you get us permission to see the original by tomorrow?”

“
Vediamo
,” Max responded. Another clink of glasses. “We'll see.”

But Kevin took a deep breath, confident his new best friend was the best man on the job.

Chapter Nineteen

Rome, Italy

Kevin woke up groggy. Too much Prosecco, and the Scotch chasers didn't help, either. He finished his second cup of coffee when the phone buzzed. Katie. Her call couldn't have come at a better time. Just hearing her voice brightened his mood.

“How are you, Kevin?” Katie asked. Her voice sounded like honey melting on a hot biscuit.

“Fine … sort of,” he said.

“Oh? Did something happen?”

“It's too much to go into right now.”

“God, Kevin, I hope you're taking care of yourself.”

“Mmm, yes and no. I could use some help in that department.”

Katie laughed faintly, but ignored his innuendo.

“I have a favor to ask,” she said.

“What? Your boyfriend needs Hebrew lessons?”

“Funny. Listen, I got a letter from the agency in Bosnia. My new baby boy is expected to be born in three weeks. I need to go there to pick him up.”

“Congratulations, Katie. You'll make a wonderful mother.”

“Kevin, I want to ask if you'll join me at the orphanage and baptize my son.”

An awkward silence followed.

“Kevin?”

“I'm here, Katie.” Kevin didn't relish the thought of being with her when she picked up her new son.
Would she bring her fiancé?
His heart ached at the thought of seeing her under these circumstances. Frankly, he dreaded it.

“Of course I'll do it,” he said, casting off the warning bells.

“That's great. And Jimmy will be coming, too, so you'll get to meet him!”

“Wonderful.”

“Thanks again, Kevin. This is so important to me. We'll meet in Sarajevo. I'll email you the details.”

“Great, Katie. Can't wait.”

“Another question if you don't mind,” Katie said, her tone serious. “Did you and your friends check up on Greg Maggio's company that I asked you about?”

Kevin hesitated a split second. He had not wanted to burden Toby with this, so he had just googled the man's name and the company name and found nothing of interest. “Yes,” Kevin replied. “Nothing particularly suspicious at this point.”

“Thanks, Kev. That's a relief. Look forward to seeing you in Sarajevo!”

Hanging up, he wondered how he'd get out of this. One thing he was sure of: He didn't want to meet “Jimmy” and watch his beloved Katie go off with him and a new baby to “happy ever after.”

Kevin remained sprawled on the couch, the phone clutched in his hand. He knew there was no way out of this. If he declined to baptize Katie's baby, she would be hurt and disappointed. It would create an obstacle to their continued relationship, one she wouldn't forget.

Thank you, Lord, for yet another challenge
.

Chapter Twenty

Rome, Italy

The following morning, when Kevin opened the door to his apartment, Monsignor Max Drotti greeted him warmly.

“Mornin',” said Kevin.

“Mornin' to you, my friend. It's all done!” Drotti exclaimed. “Permission granted. I redeemed a special favor for this. Shall we go?”

Kevin smiled. “Great. I knew I could count on you, Max. I'll get my jacket.”

Drotti and Kevin went to the office of Monsignor Antonio Calvi, archivist of the Vatican since 1974. The archives were located in a subterranean network of offices and storage facilities beneath the Vatican museum complex. Calvi, eighty-four years old, was waiting for them at the door, grinning, looking every bit his age.

Sister Mary Catherine Powell, his assistant, an American nun from Massachusetts, sat by his side.

“
Bienvenuto!
” the old man greeted them enthusiastically. Introductions were made all around. Sister Mary Catherine seemed particularly pleased to meet them. Kevin noticed she was tall and pretty with auburn hair like Katie's. Probably around thirty years old. To Kevin, her perky demeanor and flashing blue eyes made her seem more of a high school cheerleader than a nun.

Calvi spoke good, but not fluent, English. “May I escort you in a piccolo tour before we sit?” he asked.

Without waiting for a reply, Calvi led them past towering shelves of old books and manuscripts, through the room containing records of every bishop and cardinal's appointments for the past six hundred years. The ambiance made Kevin imagine the set of a witchcraft gothic horror movie where cobwebs were hanging from the ceiling of a dungeon filled with books.

Calvi led them down the corridor of indulgences—the official granting of exemptions from suffering for those who'd earned the right to spend less time in Purgatory. Apparently, there weren't too many students or scholars with access to this trove of exclusive information.

As they moved along, Calvi gave explanations of the various documents. Another turn brought them to the
Miscellanea
. Kevin's heart skipped a beat when his eyes landed on the file containing the letters of Joan of Arc, used against her in 1431 at her trial. He'd always been fascinated with the whole story of Joan of Arc.

Arriving at Calvi's office, Kevin thought to himself that it was exactly what he'd imagined: Worn wooden furniture, a carved Italian table resting below a brass chandelier hanging from the cathedral ceiling.
Dracula would love this place
, Kevin thought as they took seats around the table. He couldn't help but think nostalgically of the times he and Katie had watched horror movies. Knowing he'd miss those trysts, he winced.

“I've been told about your mission, Father Thrall,” Calvi began. “I'm quite surprised. No one, besides the sitting pope of course, has ever touched the secret. But I know I must follow orders.” Calvi threw his head back and struck a pose, looking upward, as if to say his order had come from the highest authority.

With that, Calvi rose and removed a painting of St. Mark from the wall, to reveal behind it an embedded safe. He squinted dialing the combination numbers. “I can assure you,” he said, “since I knew you would be coming, this is only a temporary placement. The secret is normally stored in the most secure part of the archives.”

From the safe, Calvi removed a jeweled velvet pouch sealed with crimson wax on which a mark had been embedded. As he broke the seal, his face was gnarled with pain. Slowly, his eyes focused as he gingerly removed four sheets of yellowing paper, handwritten and dated 1944. He placed them on a table directly in front of Kevin. “Here,” he said. “Please don't take long. It's fragile.”

Kevin picked up the pages one by one and examined each one. He couldn't fully understand the written Portuguese script, although the writing was clear and the letters well formed.
Was there a clue in something other than the text?
Kevin perused the secret while the others in the room with him held their breath. The haunting quiet continued for several minutes. No one dared interrupt while Kevin absorbed the document's contents.

Finally, after about twenty minutes, Kevin laid the pages on the table and signaled to Monsignor Calvi that he'd finished. Calvi breathed a sigh of relief and went about reinserting the pages into the pouch.

“If I may, monsignor, I'd like to ask a few questions,” Kevin said.

Monsignor Calvi looked at Monsignor Drotti for a signal and Drotti nodded ever so slightly. “Yes, Father,” Calvi said. “
Prego
.”

Kevin took his notebook out of his jacket. “Would you confirm for me the last time the secret was removed from the safe?”

Calvi's voice dropped an octave. He sounded grave. “It was May 13, 1981, the day John Paul II asked to read the secret.”

Sister Mary Catherine piped in, “Monsignor Calvi personally took it to the papal library. That was the day His Holiness was shot by Mehmet Ali Agca in the Square. His Holiness was whisked straight to the hospital. He didn't return to read the secret.” Her head dropped in sadness.

“His Holiness Quintus II hasn't read it?” Kevin asked.

“He has, Father, but he read it here in the archives. It wasn't removed.”

Kevin nodded. “Did anyone else have access to the secret that day in May 1981?”

Calvi shrugged. “The secret was in its pouch on the table in the library. When the pope was shot, everyone ran to the window to observe the … uh … activity in the Square. There was much shock, much commotion, as you can imagine.”

“So it's possible that it was compromised,” Kevin commented.

Sister Mary Catherine said, “Over the years, we've asked that same question. The truth is, we just don't know.”

“Who was in the library at the time?” Kevin asked.

Calvi thought for a moment. “Cardinal Umberto Silvano, Cardinal Claudio Marini, who is with the secretariat of state, Cardinal Serrano, and Cardinal Bartilucci, who was the predecessor of Cardinal Porter. And there were several junior clerics and attendants. Of course, I was present.”

Kevin scribbled some notes, put his notebook away. “Monsignor Calvi, what do we know about the circumstances under which Lucia wrote the secret in 1944?”

Calvi frowned. “We know that what you've just seen she wrote in the presence of the bishop of Leira and a young man, a cousin of Lucia, who assisted the bishop.” Calvi hesitated for a moment before continuing. “In fact, before she died, I met Lucia, along with her cousin who helped her when she wrote the document in 1944. Her cousin went on to become a priest, you know.”

Kevin signaled to Max that it was time to leave.

“Thank you for your time,” said Kevin. “And thank you for allowing me to read the original document.”

“You are most welcome. I hope it's helped,” said Calvi.

Max Drotti accompanied Kevin back to his quarters, retracing their walk past St. Peter's and up the hill to Villa Domenica. The sun was setting in faint orange hues along the gardens and the west side of St. Peter's Basilica.

“You look troubled, Max,” Kevin said as they were approaching his apartment.

“I thought you ended that meeting rather abruptly,” Drotti said.