Magnificat (26 page)

“It wouldn’t be possible,” Greene said.

Clancy clicked his tongue in disapproval. “My uncle might not speak to me, but there is nothing stopping me from putting my files in his hands. He will know what to do after that. And he will be believed, Mister Greene. I know the Curia and the College of Cardinals both have high regard for him.” He gave Greene a little time to absorb all this. “I don’t want to throw a spanner into the works if I don’t have to. I know the riots in LA were Cardinal Walgren’s doing; he’s spiteful about this Chinese woman. You don’t need to account for them.”

“Good of you,” said Greene sourly, who had reached the same conclusions about the riots in Los Angeles.

“I think,” Clancy went on, “that you might want to have a few words with Dominique, Cardinal Hetre. Cardinal Walgren is a trifle too obvious and his…connections are unpleasant.” He did his best to make his smile reassuring. “What can it hurt you? You won’t get contaminated by Catholicism—it doesn’t rub off, you know.”

“I don’t find your witticisms very amusing, Mister McEllton. Perhaps you could spare me.” Greene stared hard at Clancy, his eyes flat. “Why should I bother to speak to Cardinal Hetre? He and your uncle served the Vatican together. There is no reason for Cardinal Hetre not to visit your uncle.”

“Possibly. But I think you might find him interesting. What’s the worst thing that can happen if you do this? You can find out that Cardinal Hetre supports the new Pope. You’re no more badly off than before if that is confirmed. You could discover, however, that Cardinal Hetre shares your worries, in which case you might make common cause with him, and have help from someone inside the Church.” He cleared his throat. “It would require someone to be a messenger between you, and if that is the case, what would be more natural than the Cardinal and I meet during our visits to Uncle Neddy at the monastery?”

“For which we would pay you?” Greene suggested cynically.

“Naturally.” He could feel the power in his position and it thrilled him. Nothing else in life had satisfied him the way this rush of power did. He coughed once and tried not to gloat. “Nothing too high—that would lead to questions later on, I think. We don’t want anything that could reveal a deliberate escalation of activities. That would put certain agencies on the alert. Let’s set the price at the same one you’ve been paying all along for my chats with Uncle Neddy.”

“What if we found another go-between?” asked Greene, his menace unconvincing.

“That wouldn’t be very wise,” said Clancy.

“It might become necessary,” Greene told him, lifting his eyebrows to make it clear he wanted Clancy to think about what he said. “If something should happen to you, for instance.”

“Oh, if I had an accident, I’m afraid all the major international networks would be sent copies of my work files automatically. I have those files ready to send, and if I do not give the over-ride twice a day, the machine is programmed to put the material in all sorts of electronic mail.”

“That strikes me as being a lot of trouble to keep up. No offence intended, Mister McEllton.”

The little boy was screaming now; the duck had turned on him and was giving him several bruising pecks, honking as it attacked.

“Isn’t there something about being nibbled to death by ducks?” Clancy asked merrily. “Mister Greene, we’ve managed this far. Let’s keep it up. It’ll be easier for all of us. Let’s try a meeting. If you and Cardinal Hetre can’t agree, or aren’t interested in the same things, then
basta
, it’s over. I’ll give you my files and we can call it quits.” There would be copies of his files in his records if he ever needed them; he was certain Greene guessed as much.

“You’ve given this careful consideration.” It was neither a compliment nor an insult.

“I hope so. A man in my position has to keep his options flexible.” He grinned but his eyes took no part in it.

Greene stood up. “I can’t authorize this on my own.” He let himself be distracted by the sight of the parents of the boy—at least he assumed they were his parents—attempting to extricate their child from the assault of the outraged duck. At another time he might have found it amusing. “You’ll have to allow me a few days to speak to some of the others, tell them of your offer. In my own way, I’m not much more than a messenger myself, like you.”

“Score one for Greene,” said Clancy.

“I wouldn’t try to make any other arrangements until you hear from me. Shall we say at this place again in forty-eight hours?” He prided himself on being above violence, but at that moment he would have taken a great deal of satisfaction in delivering a punishing blow to Clancy McEllton’s head. “That will give my company time to evaluate the possible merit of your proposal.”

“Sounds fine to me,” said Clancy, anticipating another round of dickering before International Vision, Ltd. gave in. They would say yes, he was certain of it, out of curiosity if nothing else.

“In two days, then,” said Greene, turning away from the egregious Clancy. “We will probably require compensation if you cannot deliver the contact you offer. You might want to think that over. If you wish to raise the stakes this way, you increase your risk.”

“Fine,” said Clancy, convinced that Cardinal Hetre would be glad to find allies anywhere. “I’ll be ready and waiting.”

“Of course,” said Greene before he strolled away in the direction of the furious duck.

* * *

At the altar of his private chapel—shared only with a Belgian, an Ecuadorian, an Italian, and a New Zealander—Lorencz, Cardinal Bakony recited his prayers without thought. Word had come from Buda-Pest that day, warning him that there was about to be another change of government. Six governments in five years! The thought of it aggravated him, bringing out his intensely competitive spirit, the very spirit he had entered the Church to subdue.

He became more engrossed in his prayers, letting the familiar words wash over him, temporarily ending the turmoil that consumed him. It was bad enough, he thought, that the Church should be brought to this ultimate indignity; but now his own countrymen were behaving like schoolchildren, favoring first this clique then that one. He had promised Cardinal Lepescu that they would meet to discuss this latest development, and hoped that the cadaverous Romanian would have some suggestions they could agree upon and carry back to their respective countries before other border skirmishes erupted. There were so many factions now, and the Old Guard from the Russian days were relishing the constant upheaval limited democracy had brought. Perhaps, he thought, they would become like the old East Germans, living in self-imposed exile in Moscow and St. Petersburg against the day when the tide would again turn in their favor.

The sound of bells brought him to his feet. He reverenced the altar, crossing himself and whispering a last blessing before leaving the chapel to Cardinal Tondocello, who was still in precarious health.

He found Cardinal Lepescu at the entrance of the Cappella del Sacrissimo Sacramento, beside the Borrormini wrought-iron gates. “God give you good day,” he said in Hungarian, knowing that Cardinal Lepescu spoke the language fluently; Cardinal Bakony’s Romanian was rusty and dependant on his expertise in Latin.

“To you as well, Eminence,” said Cardinal Lepescu, his voice low but still caught in the echoing enormity of the Basilica. “And may He grant us more peace than He has been willing to of late.”

“Amen to that,” said Cardinal Bakony, crossing himself.

The Basilica was strangely empty, tourists having been barred from Saint Peter’s for the last three days. There had been a near riot earlier in the week and it was deemed prudent to close the Vatican for the time being, to avoid further disruption. Cardinal Lepescu stepped back, noticing two priests entering the transept, going past the Capella Gregoriana.

“What is the news from home, Eminence?” Cardinal Lepescu asked, not amenable to wasting time in pleasantries. “I pray it is better than mine has been. I have been told that there were riots in Bucuresti and Cluj last night. In Cluj they brought out the militia to control the crowds. The Catholics there are protesting the new Pope already, because she is a Communist. They do not trust Communists. They are afraid her presence will give the Old Guard ideas again.”

“Oh, yes. I hear the same thing, played to a different tune,” sighed Cardinal Bakony. “And the new government, cobbled together out of hostile factions, cannot hope to find a way to stop the insanity. I have sometimes wondered if they wish to stop those riots—as long as the population is up-in-arms about the Pope, they are not apt to rebel about anything else. The government can better afford the discontent of its people directed toward the Church than itself.” He indicated the vast interior of Saint Peter’s with a comprehensive wave of his hand. “The Church is always a target when politics are unstable.”

“The Church is always a target,” said Cardinal Lepescu. “Politics do not matter.” He had begun to walk toward the Portico. “Not that they might not have a point,” he went on. “The Communists are not trustworthy, and Moscow’s Old Guard have been very quiet about this Pope.”

“What could Moscow say? It is hardly a Catholic country. And Moscow and Beijing are not good friends,” observed Cardinal Bakony.

“But that is not to say they could not turn this development to their advantage. A Communist in the Vatican, on the Throne of Saint Peter lends a legitimacy to the cause it has not had in years. The Old Guard could find it very useful if only they have a way to exploit it.” Cardinal Lepescu was almost a head taller than Cardinal Bakony, which made their conversation awkward. “They must have some expectations of her.”

“But how could they? Beijing may, perhaps, for she is Chinese, and an official, but what could Moscow’s Old Guard hope to gain? I don’t like to call them Old Guard. It makes them sound like helpless, toothless old lions, and they are not.” Cardinal Bakony watched Cardinal Lepescu with increasing doubts. “Is there some information you have that changes things?”

Cardinal Lepescu hesitated as they stepped into the Piazza di San Pietro. “Only a rumor. Not even that. It is as if I have overheard a whisper spoken in sleep.” He was in a cassock, Cardinal Bakony in a business suit. They crossed the empty piazza slowly, paying no attention to the enormous and silent crowd that waited beyond the pillared embrace of the piazza; they were cordoned off from the Vatican grounds and kept in check by Roman police and Swiss Guards.

“What is this…whisper?” asked Cardinal Bakony.

Cardinal Lepescu stared up at the balcony where the new Pope would bless the city and the world. “There is a rumor that the KGB has taken an interest in Zhuang Renxin. According to my Bishop in Cluj, one of the officers of the State Police made a remark at a private gathering. He said we should be grateful to the Russians, for without the KGB, we would have been unable to get the woman out of China.”

At this, Cardinal Bakony did his best to laugh. “Typical Russian disinformation,” he decided aloud. “That’s what I mean about the Old Guard being dangerous. Undoubtedly the KGB has taken an interest in Zhuang Renxin; it is precisely the sort of thing they are supposed to monitor. Therefore it is just what I would expect them to do. But rest assured, they do not want that Chinese woman here any more than most of us do.” He glanced toward the silent demonstrators, noticing that a few were nuns in old-fashioned habits.

“They believe that it is blasphemous for a woman to be Pope,” said Cardinal Lepescu, nodding toward the mob. “They believe that the College of Cardinals has been deceived.”

“That is what the American preacher claims on his television shows,” said Cardinal Bakony contemptuously. “They are fools who believe that.”

Cardinal Lepescu gave a slow-motion shrug. “How can we say that, when the issue may well divide the Church? How many riots have we learned of in the last three days? It must be over twenty. You do not know how many of our Catholics at home are turning to the Orthodox Church, because they believe we have succumbed to the wiles of the Devil, or the demands of internationalism.”

“The Orthodox Church isn’t as strong in Hungary as it is in Romania; we have our share of Protestants, however, and a few new cults of neo-pagans,” said Cardinal Bakony. “But your warning is well-taken. I will alert my Bishops to be more diligent.”

“That will not suffice, I fear,” said Cardinal Lepescu. “We cannot defy God’s will, yet our flocks demand it of us.” He looked away from Cardinal Bakony. “I never thought it would come to this. I assumed she would be kept in China and our claims denied. I have been preparing myself to support one of our own number to fill the vacancy, and now—!”

“Yes,” said Cardinal Bakony. “Cardinal van Hooven announced his morning that he has had another call from Cardinal Mendosa.”

“If I were not what I am, I could find it in my heart to curse that man,” said Cardinal Lepescu with quiet passion. “There is no more dangerous man in the Church than Charles, Cardinal Mendosa of Houston, Texas.”

“There is, sadly, a more dangerous woman,” said Cardinal Bakony.

“If she is in the Church at all,” said Cardinal Lepescu. “Has the Curia reached a decision about that? Have they decided how she is to be baptized?”

“Not yet,” said Cardinal Bakony. “Who would have thought we would ever be confronted with the problem of baptizing an elected Pope?”

“It has occurred before,” said Cardinal Lepescu.

“In what century?” Cardinal Bakony demanded.

With a gesture that signaled his concession of the point, Cardinal Lepescu said, “The thirteenth century. The man became an Anti-Pope over it, since he was a Jew.” He paused and smiled. “Like Jesus.”

“A thirteenth century Anti-Pope!” Cardinal Bakony jeered. “What bearing can that have on us now? I see more reason to put faith in your rumor about the KGB than in anything from so distant a time, and about so dubious a figure. The public—not just Catholics but everyone else—doesn’t care what happened so long ago. It means nothing to them, has no bearing on their lives. They are concerned with now, with borders that open and close and change by the hour, with insufficient food and non-existent medical resources, with economic policies that are never the same two days in a row, with education created for the demands of the Second World War. They are worried that their money might not be worth anything next week, or refused as unreliable when they travel. They wonder how they will eat and if there will be a school where they can send their children without spending all their savings on decent instruction. They fear they will be responsible for their aged parents when they cannot care adequately for themselves. They are afraid that the government will betray them, that the laws will not protect them, that their faith will not sustain them. They dread next year, because it could be worse than this year. They are worried about the air they breathe and the purity of their water, and the wholesomeness of their food.” He stopped as if all his energy had deserted him. “I hear them, Eminence. It is difficult to bear.”