Magnificat (37 page)

“How can you be sure?” Cardinal Tayibha persisted.

“Because Charles does not harm those he cares for,” said Cardinal Cadini, his small, bright eyes taking on an unexpected sternness.

Cardinal Tayibha made a gesture to indicate he would accept Cardinal Cadini’s judgment. “The people still have doubts about the two of them.”

“The people have doubts about everything concerning this woman,” said Cardinal van Hooven. “That is why we are having this meeting.”

“Yes. I have many reservations about her, but I do not dispute the need for agreement. We have many questions yet to answer.” Cardinal Tayibha did not protest his mild reprimand. “I pray that we all receive wisdom from what we do here.”

“May God hear your prayer,” said Cardinal Cadini before going to greet Cardinal Sclamonde, who hesitated in the doorway, reluctant to come in.

Cardinal Nkomo and Cardinal Durand arrived next, and Carlo Urbi decided it was time to begin serving coffee and tea and wine. By the time Cardinal Mnientek, Cardinal Hauptberger, Cardinal Gemme, and Cardinal Sinclair joined them, the staff was busy filling cups and glasses and passing trays of sweets.

“I must say,” remarked Cardinal O’Higgins as he entered the library behind Cardinal Jung, “if we have to deal with so unpleasant a dilemma as our present one, this is the way to do it.”

“You make light of a tragedy,” said Cardinal Jung in his most portentous accents. “I cannot help but fear that the direst predictions of our enemies will prove minor compared to what we will have to endure at the hands of this foreign woman.”

Cardinal Cadini had heard Cardinal Jung’s orotund tone from across the room. He hastened over to the condemning Swiss and offered him a cup of coffee. “Unless you prefer the wine? There is an excellent Pinot Grigio and a very nice shooting sherry,” he recommended. “The pastry is very light except for the Napoleons. And the truffles are superb.”

This did not mollify Cardinal Jung, who shook his head heavily. “I am nearly in accord with those who say that it is our love of indulgence and excess that has brought us to this terrible state. We are reaping the harvest of our luxury and dissipation.”

Cardinal Cadini did not quite laugh, but he could not suppress a smile as he said, “Nevertheless, it is a shame to let such excellent fare go to waste now we have served it. If you are concerned, we can distribute what is left over to the prisons. Or you can fast for a day or two in compensation. That might be sensible for us both; my physician is always encouraging me to fast. But in the meantime, Cardinal van Hooven would be offended if you did not taste anything at all.”

“I find your flippancy distasteful,” said Cardinal Jung. “This is not the occasion for humor or celebration, but mourning.”

“No, of course not celebration,” said Cardinal Cadini, clearly unconvinced. He sighed once as Cardinal Jung surged away from him.

“There is nothing to do about him,” said Cardinal van Hooven as he came up beside Cardinal Cadini.

“Possibly. No one is past praying for,” corrected Cardinal Cadini gently. “Still, I suspect His Jungian Eminence is a harder case than most.” He swung around as Cardinal Montebranco came through the door. “Who hasn’t arrived yet?” he asked Cardinal van Hooven.

“Tsukamara and Tondocello,” said Cardinal van Hooven. “I won’t be surprised if Cardinal Tondocello doesn’t come. He’s not feeling very well; the stress makes his kidneys worse, if that’s possible.”

“Poor man,” said Cardinal Cadini with sympathy.

“Indeed,” said Cardinal van Hooven, then turned as Carlo Urbi tapped him on the shoulder. “Yes? What is it?”

“Pardon, Eminence, but we have a request from Cardinal Tayibha for China tea.” He looked uncomfortable, which was rare for him. “This is very awkward. I would rather save the tea, but.… We have some for the woman, but if you think it would be all right.…”

“How much do you have?” asked Cardinal van Hooven.

“Oh, the quantity is no problem. But would it be proper to serve it to Cardinal Tayibha before it is served to the Chinese woman? Perhaps if I made some fresh.…”

“I am certain Her Holiness would not consider it improper of you to serve Cardinal Tayibha first,” said Cardinal van Hooven with great patience. “In fact, she might well insist upon it.”

Carlo made another one of his not-quite-bows. “Thank you, Eminence,” he said and withdrew at once.

“Sometimes I marvel that anything can get done around here,” said Cardinal Cadini as he watched the retreating figure of Carlo Urbi. “We’ve become entirely too hide-bound, my friend. When the chief caterer needs permission to serve a cup of tea, things have gone too far. The more I think about it, the more I believe it is a good thing that Zhuang is here.”

Cardinal van Hooven considered his answer. “There are many reasons to be thankful that we have been able to bring her to Rome.”

“How very diplomatic,” said Cardinal Cadini, then noticed that Cardinal Gemme was scowling at Cardinal O’Higgins. “I suppose I’d better break that up before it turns ugly.”

“I would appreciate it,” said Cardinal van Hooven. “The last thing we need is more of us taking sides. Her Holiness is supposed to be here in ten minutes, and we need to achieve reasonable accord by then. If those two can’t be calmed down, who knows what kind of reception she’ll have?”

Cardinal Cadini offered Cardinal van Hooven a jaunty salute. “My pleasure, Piet,” he said, and sauntered off toward the elegant Cardinal Gemme, smiling affably at everyone he saw.

Cardinal van Hooven took advantage of the moment to leave the library to relieve himself; it was going to be a long afternoon and he did not want to miss any of the meeting. As he was washing his hands, Cardinal Llanos came into the lavatory.

“It’s a good thing you’re doing this, Eminence,” said the Cardinal from Managua. “So few of us are as sensible.”

“You’re very gracious to say so,” Cardinal van Hooven responded; in the mirror over the sink his thick glasses made his eyes appear to be suspended in front of his face.

“I thought I ought to warn you,” Cardinal Llanos went on in the same tone. “I received a note today that said Zhuang would not leave this meeting alive.”

“Oh?” Cardinal van Hooven stopped in the act of drying his hands.

“Yes. It was unsigned, of course.” He stepped into the cubicle protecting the urinal.

“Of course,” said Cardinal van Hooven. “But we have all heard of threats against her.”

Cardinal Llanos did not answer until he had left the cubicle. “That may be. But this one came from inside the Vatican. I thought I should mention it to you for that reason.” He went to the sink. “You may want to take precautions.”

“Thank you, I already have.” He started to open the door, but decided to explain. “Half of Carlo’s staff are Vatican security.”

“Um.” Cardinal Llanos reached for the soap. “Let us hope they are sufficient.”

Cardinal van Hooven nodded once as he left the lavatory. As he hurried down the corridor toward the library he frowned, trying to interpret the message contained in Cardinal Llanos’ warning. Little as he wanted to recognize it, he had been anticipating trouble. Now it seemed that trouble might arrive.

Carlo Urbi was waiting for him as he came through the door. “Eminence, we have just received word that the Chinese woman and Mister Foot are waiting for permission to come here. What would you like me to tell them?”

“Tell them we require another ten minutes to prepare. Then I will welcome them both.” He was sharper with Carlo than he had intended to be, and he made himself add, “You are being very careful, and I appreciate all you are doing.”

“Thank you, Eminence,” said Carlo.

“There’s no reason for thanks, not under the circumstances, except mine to you.” Cardinal van Hooven favored Carlo with a sketched blessing before he made his way toward Cardinal Hauptberger, who stood near the tray of candied fruit.

“Are we about to start? They’re getting restive, aren’t they?” asked the tall Austrian. “At least Gemme isn’t holding forth any more.”

“No; the Dutch are about to do that,” said Cardinal van Hooven with a faint, fatalistic smile.

“Just as well,” said Cardinal Hauptberger. “Better sound a gong to get their attention.” He picked up another piece of candied pineapple.

“You’re probably right,” said Cardinal van Hooven as he continued to the center of the room; he stood there a few seconds, then coughed once. “Eminences,” he said, raising his voice a little. “Eminences, please.”

The babble faded slightly. A few other voices could be heard asking for quiet. Then there was silence.

“I am pleased,” said Cardinal van Hooven as the rest turned toward him, “that you were all willing to come to this meeting. It is one of our last opportunities to prepare ourselves for the onslaught of public reaction that is certain to follow the elevation of Zhuang Renxin, who will reign as Pope An.”

“You mean it is our last opportunity to choose a single position to express for the Vatican,” said Cardinal Bakony with undisguised scorn.

“No, that is precisely what I do
not
mean,” corrected Cardinal van Hooven with uncharacteristic heat. “That is the last thing we ought to do. We need to find the most flexible approach. You, Eminence,” he went on, singling out Cardinal Bakony because of his challenge, “cannot expect Hungarians to accept the same answers that Cardinal Sclamonde expects of the Belgians, or Cardinal O’Higgins expects of the Mexicans. We must determine a course that will not compromise anyone who—”

He was interrupted by the sound of a breaking cup.

As the gathered Cardinals stared, Jivin, Cardinal Tayibha, slipped from the chair where he sat, tea darkening the front of his black cassock.

Chapter 20

Every bell in Rome was ringing. The clamor was so enormous that even the steady drone of traffic was lost in it.

On the balcony overlooking Saint Peter’s Square, Zhuang Renxin, dressed in a plain white satin cassock, stood with her arms upraised as she faced the mass of humanity crammed into the piazza below. She wore no tiara but she carried a tall crucifix, her only concession to the symbols of Papal authority. Five Cardinals stood beside her, all in finery greater than hers. At her side, Willie Foot waited in a cut-away coat and striped trousers, for all the world like a groom on a wedding cake. In deference to Pope An, he carried his silk hat instead of wearing it.

"I am asked,” said Pope An in Chinese, pausing so that Willie and a dozen or so others could translate, “to pronounce God’s blessing on the city of Rome and the world. Because it is a tradition, I will do it, but reluctantly, for nowhere in the writings about Jesus does it say He ever pronounced such a blessing.” She looked over at Cardinal Cadini and saw his happy smile. “But it is recorded that Jesus said that we are all children of God, and so I offer blessing, in that spirit, on the city and the world.”

There was a mixture of applause and derisive whistles from the huge crowd below. A few people held up banners, most of them denouncing the new Pope and calling for another election.

“This could be very messy,” said Cardinal Sinclair softly. He was standing on Pope An’s immediate right; his ruddy, Irish complexion was sweat-beaded and plum-colored from the combination of heat and embarrassment.

“Patience, Eminence,” Cardinal Mendosa recommended. He was slightly behind Cardinal Sinclair, already uncomfortable in the cumbersome garments required for a Papal coronation. His feet were squeezed into satin shoes which made his arches ache. He longed for his new pair of cowboy boots.

“You know what she’s going to say, don’t you?” Cardinal Sinclair whispered fiercely.

“Not precisely,” said Cardinal Mendosa in his very best drawl. “You never know with Magistrate Zhuang.”

“It is customary to speak on the analects of Jesus at these times, or so I have been informed,” said Pope An. “I can find no reason to depart from that custom. And so I have selected from the records of Matthew and Luke, the seventh and eleventh chapters, respectively.” She waited while the translators caught up with her, little expression on her face.

“She’s not going to change the prayer, is she?” whispered Cardinal Belleau in dismay; he was between Pope An and Willie Foot.

“I doubt it,” Willie whispered back, keeping the rest of his thought—at least for the moment—to himself.

“I have been told I am expected to speak with you about your religion. I will do that.” Pope An took advantage of the translating lag to hand her tall crucifix to Cardinal Fiorivi. “I have been studying the things Jesus said in those texts, and I would like to comment on His admonition that you ask and it will be granted.”

“Jesus, Joseph, and Mary,” murmured Cardinal Sinclair, turning away as if to cough but actually to cross himself.

“I have had this explained to me, and have been instructed on the history of the translation, the various interpretations that have been made of these passages, and I have come to a conclusion it is my intention to explain to you.” Pope An at last looked down into Saint Peter’s Square. “For you have come here to seek, to ask, expecting an answer.”

Cardinal Montebranco had gone quite pale and he tried to catch Cardinal Tsukamara’s eye. He fervently hoped that the many television cameras trained on the balcony had not been able to register the repugnance that he was certain was clear on his face as it was in his heart.

Willie noticed how much the attention of the crowd had changed. He had seen these shifts before, and it made him uneasy. There was nothing he could do to warn Pope An without causing general alarm. He made himself concentrate on her words.

“I tell you this: to receive a thing, you must ask for it. You must name it to receive it. Otherwise you are prey to whims and influences that will turn you from your sincere desire because that desire is undefined. If you do not know what this desire is, then it cannot be given. It is not enough to profess a longing without understanding. Learn what you want to have, for only then can it be within your reach.” Pope An paused, her eyes still on the crowd below. She waited calmly while the translators strove to turn her Chinese into Italian, French, Spanish, German, Russian, Greek, Swedish, Arabic, Samoan and English. A few of the translators relied more on Willie Foot than the Pope herself.

At the edge of the enormous crowd, EECPA Captain Hafen shook his head and glanced over at Commander Bouleau. “We’re both going to see work from this,” he said to his Interpol counterpart.

“At least they’re listening,” said Commander Bouleau, indicating the crowd. “We can worry when they stop.”

“Or someone points a gun,” added Captain Hafen. “Although how we are to get through that mob and keep control, I can’t imagine.”

“Let the Swiss Guard worry about that. They’ve got men all through the crowd, and Vatican security has spotters on the roof. I’m worried about what happens when everyone tries to leave.” Commander Bouleau made a single, significant nod toward the entrance to the piazza. “It could be difficult.”

“That it could,” said Captain Hafen.

Now that the translators had caught up, Pope An continued. “It is said in these analects that if you seek, you will find. It is an idea that has become distorted, or so my studies suggest. I believe it would be wiser to regard the phrase in this context: you cannot find if you will not seek, if you do not know what you are seeking. If you wish to find, seek first, for otherwise you will not achieve the goal of your quest.”

“I hate her calling the Gospels analects,” said Cardinal Jung loudly enough to be heard; he was stiff in his finery and indignation. He was not among those on the balcony. Instead he watched from a specially constructed platform where more than two hundred of the upper-echelon Vatican staff were allowed to share the stands with seventy-one of the eighty Cardinals present, two more slights that the Chinese upstart had visited on him. That she should occupy St. Peter’s chair! He sat very still, determined not to give this woman the satisfaction of knowing how deeply she had offended him. He had intended to be absent for the coronation, but had been dissuaded from such action by his Confessor; now he wondered if he ought to have complied with Bishop Wasserlauf's instructions: surely attending this fiasco was un-Christian.

“Further it is said that the door will open for you. It is also reported that Jesus said you must knock, for if you will not knock, there is no admission. To ask admittance when you do not know what lies beyond may be reckless, as Jesus cautioned you. It is this last that convinces me that the first two parts have been misunderstood, and that each exhortation is intended to guide you to self-knowledge and wisdom, which will not come if you are not willing to pursue them in their own right.” Pope An fell silent again, and for a time her gaze rested on the platform where so many of the Cardinals sat. Her black eyes were tranquil.

The crowd had become attentive, and there was only the sound of shuffling and coughing. In the area reserved for newsmedia, reporters and cameramen alike competed to capture the moment.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” whispered INS anchorman Stephen Goldman into his lapel microphone. “This is amazing.”

“Those who petition without knowing what they ask for will encounter confusion and disappointment. How could they not? If you will not identify what you seek, you will find inappropriate things, and will say that it is the fault of Jesus, not your lack of definition. Only with understanding comes the thing itself.” She reached out and took the tall crucifix once more. She nodded once to Cardinal Fiorivi in acknowledgment of his service.

When Willie had finished his English rendition, he muttered in Chinese to Pope An. “I fear you’ve set the cat among the pigeons.”

She frowned slightly, considering, then nodded. “I take your meaning, but I don’t see reason for the warning. I am doing the thing I have been asked to do.”

“You know as well as I that most of them don’t want that,” said Willie, still in Chinese, keeping his voice very low so that his cautions would not be picked up by the microphones that sprouted in front of them like a bouquet of electronic flowers.

“More than they do not want me?” she asked, and without waiting for an answer, she went on to the last of her address. “Therefore, let each of you seek within himself or herself to find what it is that you truly want to receive; you may find you do not want what you have previously sought, or that the thing you wish for, you have already. Only then will you be able to knock where you wish to enter.” There was not enough room for her to step back more than a few inches, but she did this, lowering her head to show she had finished speaking.

“That’ll light a fire under them,” said Cardinal Mendosa softly as he leaned a bit forward. His mouth was stern but his eyes glinted with humor.

Pope An understood him well enough to respond in inexpert English, “Do you think so?”

“Watch them.” Cardinal Mendosa pointed down into the piazza. “They’re the gauge.”

As the translations faded a tremendous shout rose from Saint Peter’s Square, fueled by as many emotions as there were mouths to shout.

On the Vatican platform, some of the staff were cheering, following Cardinal Cadini’s emphatic lead, but most cried out in protest and dismay. In the second row, Cardinal Hetre clutched his temples and wished he could bury his face between his knees; his headache was making him quite sick. Behind him, Cardinal van Hooven was the only one who was singing; very softly he began the tenor line of Bach’s
Magnificat
in D. He wished there were trumpets to accompany him, and a choir to join in.

* * *

“It’s not the kind of thing we can sweep under the table, and certainly not at such a crucial time,” said Cardinal Fiorivi, regarding the nine Princes of the Church who sat in his reception room; all but two of them were in secular clothes, welcoming suits and ties after the elaborate vestments of the previous day. Beside him stood Dionigi Stelo, the head of all Vatican security. Commander Bouleau waited at the far side of the room. “Cardinal Tayibha was murdered. The world press has already reported on his death. It’s not going to go away.”

“What does…the Pope say?” asked Cardinal Hauptberger. He was clearly uncomfortable with the discussion.

Cardinal Fiorivi sighed. “Her Holiness used to be a Magistrate. She said the murder must be investigated.”

“Because she was the target,” dismissed Odo, Cardinal Ruhig of Köln.

“Because a man was killed,” Cardinal Fiorivi told Cardinal Ruhig sharply.

“Because there’s scandal enough without an unsolved murder at the Vatican,” said the titian-haired Leo, Cardinal Pugno of Udine. “And she’s right.”

“Truly,” said Cardinal Fiorivi with a gesture to Dionigi Stelo.

He began without preamble, “The lab report indicated the presence of a poison that is manufactured for quick killing. After a matter of hours it is difficult to detect in the body, for lowering temperatures destroys its traces.” Dionigi Stelo had a soft voice, one that most had to strain to hear; it was part of his authority. All the Cardinals listened closely. “It isn’t readily available, this poison. Most of the time it is used by…shall we say espionage agents. Had it been administered at another time, we might not have been able to demonstrate its presence and the Cardinal’s death would have been attributed to natural causes. We must be thankful that Cardinal Tayibha died so publicly.” As he said the last his voice dropped even more. “We are left with a delicate problem: most governments will not admit they have access to such poisons. And they all do.”

“What are you saying?” asked Cardinal Pingari. He was one of two Cardinals present wearing a cassock.

“Whoever put the poison in the tea had to get it from somewhere. And that person wanted it to be very clear that it was a murder. Whether Cardinal Tayibha was the intended victim, or the Pope, or anyone else present, by administering the poison so that it would kill in full view the murderer made it plain that the poison was intended to be recognized for what it was. As I have remarked, the poison is not easily acquired, not from general nor black market sources. The drug cartels are a possibility, but they have so much poison of their own they could use.…” Dionigi Stelo looked down at the carpet. “In my position I must assume that someone on this staff, or associated with the staff, was able to obtain the poison somehow.”

“And by extension that means a government may be involved as well?” said Cardinal Pugno, his eyes shining and hard as sapphires.

“That is one possible conclusion,” said Stelo carefully.

“Or perhaps a faction within a government is responsible—a group acting on its own authority,” suggested Cardinal Ruhig, who had learned a great deal during the most obdurate part of the Cold War.

“It would seem more likely,” said Stelo after giving Cardinal Fiorivi a quick look. “It is our most reasonable theory at present. We have men working on it.”

“How many?” demanded Cardinal Lepescu.

“It isn’t my place to say, Eminence,” Stelo replied evenly.

“What is the purpose of those extra men?” asked Angelo, Cardinal Damovich of Trieste, his long fingers steepled under his cleft chin.

“They are investigators, protectors,” said Stelo.

“Catholics?” asked Cardinal Pingari.

“Most of them,” said Stelo. He paused. “We have also added to our agents within in the Vatican.”

There was a stillness among the Cardinals. Finally Cardinal Aquilino spoke. “He’s right. The poison had to get into the tea somehow, didn’t it? It didn’t just fly there by itself.” He was a last-minute addition to the unofficial committee, taking the place of Jeffrey, Cardinal Durand who had been sent that morning to a private conference with President Carey. The hawk-faced Cardinal from Chicago studied Dionigi Stelo with narrowed eyes. “Any leads on that front?”