Magnificat (48 page)

“So it appears it
is
the Pope who was the intended victim?” asked Farquharson. “You’re all convinced of that?”

“Yes,” said Inspector Cervi and Captain Hafen at the same time, and Lieutenant Attersee echoed them, half a second later.

“We’re proposing to slip Sergeant Maetrich into the Vatican as a Jesuit assistant. We have the co-operation of two Cardinals who are willing to give him bona fides.” Commander Bouleau looked distressed at the very idea. “We wouldn’t have done this, but we—” He made a gesture of resignation.

“It is the most pragmatic solution, so long as he is not discovered. If he is, it would be very embarrassing for many of us.” Captain Sigura looked at Doctor Farquharson. “You are expected to keep quiet about everything associated with this investigation, including our on-going procedures.”

“Naturally, naturally,” said Doctor Farquharson, sounding a trifle bored. “I have done this sort of thing before, you know.”

“But nothing quite so delicate, I’d wager,” said Lieutenant Attersee.

“I have never participated in an inquiry that was centered at the Vatican, if that is your meaning.” Doctor Farquharson gave the young Lieutenant a long, considered stare. “Nevertheless, I shall do my poor best to maintain discretion.”

Lieutenant Attersee went a darker shade of plum.

Sergeant Maetrich cleared his throat softly. “We are going to focus on the Pope during this investigation. We are certain that she is in danger, and from more than one source. If we do not solve the murder of Cardinal Tayibha to the satisfaction of the courts—”

“Wouldn’t any murderer have to be tried at the Vatican?” asked Farquharson. “The crime took place there, and it is a sovereign nation.”

Commander Bouleau sighed. “We’re trying to obtain a ruling on that. We have a petition in to Her Holiness, who—”

“The Pope,” corrected Inspector Cervi. “She abolished the other titles.”

“Yes. The Pope.” Commander Bouleau stared for a moment into the middle distance. “Yes. We’ve approached the Pope, who was a Magistrate in China. We’d like a decision on how we’re expected to proceed, since we are officially functioning in an advisory capacity only. We cannot arrest anyone, we can’t imprison him or them, and we cannot try him or them.” His frustration was digging deep lines bracketing his mouth.

“You’re not in an enviable position,” said Farquharson as if they were discussing finding a parking space.

“No. And it will be less enviable if we must—and it appears that it is likely we must—accuse a Cardinal of conspiring to murder the Pope.” Commander Bouleau rose from his chair.

“It
has
happened before,” Farquharson pointed out, once again bored.

Lieutenant Attersee had a coughing spasm.

“Somehow,” said Bouleau for all the team, “that doesn’t console me.”

* * *

“Your millennial fever has spread,” said Metropolitan Gosteshenko to his newly arrived guest. “We haven’t had religious pilgrims in Russia for almost a century, and now look at that line!” He indicated the window; beyond in the slushy snow a long line of people bundled against the cold and carrying tall walking staves with crucifixes at the top waited patiently to enter the Cathedrals of the Dormition and the Annunciation. “There are more every day.”

“They number two thousand,” said Cardinal van Hooven as he pulled off his overcoat. He was wearing a black suit and dark tie; he bore three lapel pins.

“I must agree,” said Metropolitan Gosteshenko softly. “How very awkward it has turned out to be. If the government were any more settled than it is, we’d probably have new regulations about religion, but as it is—”

Cardinal van Hooven laughed. “Pavel, my friend, haven’t you learned yet to recognize a blessing in disguise?”

“The disguise is excellent,” said Gosteshenko with asperity. “But I take your point, Piet.” He took Cardinal van Hooven’s overcoat along with his own to the small closet on the far side of his study. “I’ve made arrangements for us to be picked up in two hours, so we will be able to have a light meal before we must begin. We’re expected to arrive at the Congresshall promptly at eighteen hundred hours. There will be welcoming speeches, then Mass. You can rest here, or if you prefer, I will arrange for you to be taken to my apartment.”

“Here would be fine. I can suffer from jetlag anywhere, and I prefer to have your company,” said Cardinal van Hooven as he wandered over to the window and stared out at the lines of pilgrims. “How widespread is this movement? Do you have any notion?”

“According to our latest figures, there has been an increase of about twenty percent in the last two months. Before then, it was sporadic. But here it is, the end of February, a difficult time in Russia, but the pilgrims are on the road. All through the Christmas season their numbers increased here in Moscow. Now all the old shrines are being visited. There has also been a rise in the numbers seeking to enter monasteries. That is one thing the government has noticed, incidentally. There is distress in some quarters.” He moved behind his large desk and sank into his newly upholstered chair. “It has its benefits, of course. Church donations are up more than thirty percent.”

“Very interesting,” said Cardinal van Hooven, turning his back on the window. “But you don’t appear very pleased.”

“I’m not,” said Metropolitan Gosteshenko bluntly. “I’m apprehensive and troubled. That’s one of the reasons I was grateful when you offered to attend our conference. We need to dispel some of the wilder rumors about your Chinese Pope. People here are drawn to her and fear her at the same time; she has been denounced for her elections, what she has done and what she hasn’t done. There is constant talk of the Antichrist, as in America. I am afraid that this is the beginning of religious mania, of the sort that broke out in Greece last month. Surely you read the reports. Three churches were destroyed on Christmas day before the rioters could be stopped, and all because of what that female Pope of yours has done.”

“Which of the…um, outrages do you mean? She has done so many things in the last several months. I suppose you’re referring to her giving half the treasury to the U.N. for famine and epidemic relief?” asked Cardinal van Hooven. “Or her ruling on earnings and tithing? I think she was being very reasonable, myself.”

“The former, not the latter. It was given extensive coverage in the newsmedia here. Now there are people who are demanding that all the churches follow that example, and return half their wealth to the people who are their flocks. More than a third of the agenda of the conference has to do with church property and charity.” He flung up his hands, looking directly at Cardinal van Hooven. His eyes grew sad. “The crowds in Greece expected to receive a portion of the churches they attacked. And I am aware it would not take much for those pilgrims to attempt the same thing.”

“You might be able to anticipate the problem, stop it before it starts, if it is going to start. I supposed that was one of the reasons for the conference. Your letter implied that the Orthodox Churches are interested in adapting some of Pope An’s reforms to your practices. Isn’t that the raison d’être?” He leaned back a little more in the chair; his back was aching from the long ride in a seat that was designed for someone taller and heavier than he.

“One of many. And I wouldn’t call it quite that. We are under great pressure, as you are yourselves. Religion has become a major factor in Russian politics in the last year. The people are worshipping again, but they are also no longer willing to accept the Orthodox Church as they used to. They see the changes in Catholicism and they seek changes here as well.”

“Not everyone approves of Pope An’s reforms, or of her; you said so yourself,” Cardinal van Hooven reminded his host.

“As we are all well-aware, thank you,” said Gosteshenko. “It serves only to make our position more difficult. We do not want to appear to be imitating you, of taking the word of a Chinese Communist over that of a true Christian. At the same time, there are many who applaud what she is doing and are urging us to accept women into the priesthood and to distribute our supposed wealth to the Orthodox faithful.”

“I don’t think that was entirely what Pope An had in mind when she presented so much money to the United Nations.” He stretched out his arms in front of him, testing his stiff, aged joints; he took a perverse pleasure in their snaps and ache.

“And no matter what the outcome, we are not in a position to do the same thing,” said Gosteshenko heavily.

“But is that necessary? Can’t you find a way to demonstrate good will? Is there a gesture you could make?” suggested Cardinal van Hooven. “Nothing on the scale of what Pope An has done, of course, but something that would show you are in sympathy?”

“We’re not rich. The Communist regime stripped us of most of our wealth, and what little is left is monitored and watched. With luck this conference will be able to alter that to some degree, so that we need not answer to fifty bureaucrats every time we seek to protect our worshippers.” He swung around in his chair and opened the cabinet behind him without getting up. “I have pepper vodka, or ordinary. Which would you prefer?”

“Pepper vodka, if you would,” said Cardinal van Hooven, his magnified eyes glinting with pleasure.

“Excellent.” He took a bottle from the cabinet, and two tall, thin glasses. As he put these on his desk, he went on. “Our people are growing restless. There have been requests. I am very much afraid that if they are not met, at least in part, then they will become demands. An entire congregation in Gorky have asked that the riches of their church be distributed to the faithful. How are we to do that, even if it were possible? Do they expect us to strip the gold leaf from the icons or take the chalices and censers and melt them down?”

“They may,” said Cardinal van Hooven. “That’s what they expected in Montevideo last week, and in Cape Town the week before; it was one of the few times both blacks and whites were in total agreement.” He smiled wistfully. “The Pope authorized payments to major charities in both cities, and issued a stern warning that destruction and disrespect were not the marks of good Catholics.”

“Is she changing her tune?” Metropolitan Gosteshenko stopped in the process of pouring their drinks.

“Not she,” said Cardinal van Hooven, amusement brightening his features. “She is being a good Confucianist-Communist, serving the people with humility, but expecting good conduct from them in return.”

“And that satisfies you?” Gosteshenko was surprised enough to remain still while he waited for an answer.

“Yes, it does. She has said that she regards the teachings of Jesus as the basis for Catholicism, in fact for all Christianity. She’s quite a literalist about that. Her decisions are made in accordance with what Jesus said and her understanding of them; the rest of the Testaments, for her, are nothing more than commentary. When you examine Scripture in that light, a little Confucius and Communism isn’t too incompatible.” He glanced toward the window, frowning at the lines of pilgrims under the lowering sky. “We’ve all gotten away from the things Jesus said.”

“When she selects her Scripture for what Jesus taught, does she include the Gospel of Thomas?” asked Gosteshenko, disapproval in the question.

Cardinal van Hooven considered his answer. “Yes, I think she must. And I’m not opposed to Thomas being restored, although some of my colleagues are vehemently against it.” He thought of the irate Cardinal Jung declaiming to the Curia, using bluster and decibels where logic failed him. “There are a few very worthwhile passages in Thomas. To have the Holy Spirit identified as specifically female is a breath of fresh air.” He half-closed his eyes, and after a moment, while Gosteshenko topped off their glasses, he said, “
I am a light upon the way if you see me. I am a mirror to you if you understand me. I am a door to you who come to me. I am a road to you if you seek one.”
That is a very fine addition to the rest. I’m not so pleased about the ruining of the female by making her male so that she can be saved, whatever that means. We’ve already had protests from our women studying for the priesthood. The text is currently in dispute. It might have something to do with the belief at the time that the souls of women were not as savable as the souls of men.”

“I suspect this is very difficult for you,” said Gosteshenko; his attention drifted toward the window. “We’ve had some requests to have the Apocrypha, particularly the Gnostic texts, made available for study. We’ll be discussing that at the conference, as well.”

Cardinal van Hooven nodded slowly. “I think we might be able to help you there: Pope An has already requested that a international tribunal of scholars be established to verify and translate all the New Testament material we have in the Vatican Library. She intends to have what she calls a more accurate Scripture for Catholics by next year.”

“Two thousand, again that year,” said Gosteshenko heavily. “Doesn’t this weigh on you, Piet?”

The Dutch Cardinal rose and came to take his glass. “I am very encouraged, if you wish to know the truth. In spite of everything, in spite of the rumors and the headlines and the dismay and the upheaval, I am very encouraged.” He lifted the tall, thin glass. “Let us drink to the triumph of faith, Pavel.”

Metropolitan Gosteshenko hesitated, then lifted his glass. “Why not.”

* * *

Rufus Greene watched the large-screen television, his face impassive. He had just called his associate at the European News Bureau and had been assured that Cardinal Gemme was in serious condition but expected to recover.

“Is there anything more I can get for you, sir?” the room-service waiter asked as he made a last check of the luncheon he had served for Mister Greene.

Greene remained enthralled by the riot filling the screen. “No,” he said absently. “The notes on the table are yours.”

The waiter grinned as he reached for the money; the tip was more than generous. “You’re very kind,” he said as he started for the door.

“I am expecting visitors later, conditions permitting”—he nodded toward the riot on the screen—“and the trouble controlled. I will want to serve them refreshments,” he said, his French stilted by its very correctness.