Magnificat (62 page)

Her sarcasm did not daunt him. “I don’t see the point.”

She flung up her right hand as if to rid herself of him. “Shall I remind you that you are facing life imprisonment?”

“That doesn’t worry me, not now,” said Greene with his own quiet version of bravado. “I participated in something that is not legal. I must be prepared to accept the consequences of my acts.”

“Yes!” Missus Camberwell-Selbie agreed emphatically, rising from the chair. “But you are shouldering the load for Williamson as well as yourself, and you have not opposed anything that Clancy McEllton has said. Between the two of them, they have made it seem that you were the one to instigate the plan.”

“In a way, I was,” said Greene, looking away from his attorney. “I was given the task of putting the plan in motion. I contacted McEllton and paid him. I was the one who made the appropriate arrangements with Cardinal Hetre. I ruled out using other Cardinals, even those who supported what I was trying to do, because I feared that one of them might weaken, or decide that Pope An had to be defended because of the office she held in spite of the disapproval of the Cardinals.” He put his hands together as if praying. “That much is true.”

“And you’ve said so in court.” Missus Camberwell-Selbie was too well-bred to stamp her foot, but the way she walked the length of the room was precariously close to it. “Do you want to be a martyr, is that it?”

Greene shook his head. “Not very much. I’d rather be away from here, in protective exile, the way McEllton’s going to be. But the fact is, we were part of a conspiracy to commit murder, and I was the one who organized it.”

“On Williamson’s orders,” she reminded him, ready to shake him for his stubbornness. “Don’t you see how important that is?”

Greene lowered his head. “If the court permits the playing of the tapes, then what happened will be clear. If the court will not allow it, then I must accept it as the Will of God.”

“This isn’t about the Will of God!” she burst out, her patience exhausted. “This is about the law.”

“They must be the same or there is chaos,” said Greene very quietly.

“Is that how you justify conspiracy to commit murder? You blame it on God?” she asked as if she were cross-examining him in court. “I don’t understand you. You have insisted that you take responsibility. Are you doing that so that you can claim some sort of moral credit?” She came and stood directly in front of him, challenging him. “This case was brought to the bar faster than any I have ever seen before. Ordinarily it would be four to six months before you would be heard, but because of the very delicate nature of the crime itself you were given a very swift trial, very swift. The motions I made to delay the trial were not permitted because of the character of the offence. And to the extent that your conspiracy could be interpreted as terrorism, since it was directed against a head of state, you have been treated very well. But prison will be different, Mister Greene.”

Rufus Greene shrugged. “If they play the tapes, I will take it as a sign that God intends Reverend Williamson to answer for his plan. If they will not, then I will know that God protects Reverend Williamson. I will not act against God.”

“Your trial is not a religious test, Mister Greene, nor should it be,” Missus Camberwell-Selbie persisted. “You are not being held accountable by anything more supernatural than a jury. There is no reason to suppose that you have to answer to more than the twelve of them.”

“Four of them said they were agnostics. One said he was an atheist. How can they be accepted for a jury in this case? How can their judgment be weighed when they have no faith? Why did you permit them to be seated?” He had voiced this protest before, but now it was especially annoying to Missus Camberwell-Selbie.

“It is precisely
because
they are not religious that they were acceptable to the prosecution and to me. Any suggestion that there was pressure put on the jury through religious institutions, either for or against you, is not to be tolerated. You don’t seem able to grasp this simple concept, Mister Greene.” She moved away, giving him space to respond. “When I sum up, I will have to mention your strong determination to assume total culpability in this case. I will also have to say that you are not responsible. I hope that this will weigh with the jury and the judge when we reach what the Americans call the penalty phase. That’s the best I can do for you unless the tapes are admitted.”

“I accept that it may come to such an impasse,” murmured Mister Greene.

“That is what vexes me, Mister Greene.” She regarded him narrowly. “If we had had more time, I would have insisted that you conduct yourself differently. As it is, I have not been given the opportunity to direct your conduct as part of your defense. That has been a stumbling-block, I fear.”

“It doesn’t matter, Ma’am,” said Greene. “I couldn’t present myself any way other than as I am.”

“So you’ve said,” she said. “Nevertheless, there are ways to behave that are more in your interests than your present conduct is. It’s too late now to remonstrate with you, but I am going to do what I can to turn this to our advantage. I am telling you this so that you will not undermine my efforts. For a change.” This last was caustic.

Greene was suddenly alert. “What do you mean?” he demanded, his soft-spoken resignation gone.

“It is my intention, if the tapes are not admitted, to ask the jury to regard your actions as those of someone incapable of comprehending the true nature of the conspiracy; I am going to compare your mental state to that of a hostage, someone who has diminished capacity to comprehend his actions.”

“You will do no such thing!” Greene bellowed.

Missus Camberwell-Selbie was not impressed. She watched him, her expression sardonic. “Finally. You are beginning to realize the situation you are in. I suppose I ought to be grateful.” She took a turn about the room. “Since Reverend Williamson made it plain that he regarded you as a kind of servant, I intend to exploit that to the limits.”

“I am not a hostage; I understood what I was doing and what the penalties for failure could be.” His face was darkening as he shouted.

There was a firm knock on the door, and the guard stepped into the room. “Is there a problem, Missus Camberwell-Selbie?”

She glared at the guard for his interruption. “Nothing I can’t handle, thank you. Please let me continue my discussion with my client.”

“If you’re certain you’re not in danger,” said the guard, showing sufficient reluctance to leave that Greene turned away and tried to restore his composure.

“My client is in danger. I’m managing very well, except for your intrusion,” said Missus Camberwell-Selbie. “For the sake of confidentiality, I must ask you to move five paces from the door, as the law provides.”

The guard shook his head as if convinced that Missus Camberwell-Selbie was taking a foolish risk. “I’m supposed to stop any trouble,” he said, making it a leading question. He rocked back on his heels to express his obduracy, then delivered a half-salute and left the room, taking care to make as much noise as possible when he locked the door.

Missus Camberwell-Selbie had taken advantage of this interruption to prepare her next move with Rufus Greene. She let the silence stretch out between them, and finally declared, “I have no intention of arguing with you, Mister Greene. I am trying to keep you out of prison. If I can get you into a psychiatric institution, I will be satisfied. That is my goal.”

“It’s not acceptable to me,” said Greene, keeping his voice low.

“Would you rather be in prison?” Missus Camberwell-Selbie shook her head. “I don’t think so. There are religious men in prison as well as out of it, Mister Greene, and some of them would not hesitate to act against you. It is very likely that you would be murdered in the first six months.”

“If it is God’s—”

“Confine your remarks to the law, Mister Greene; we are not concerned with God,” Missus Camberwell-Selbie warned him. “You have put yourself at a serious disadvantage with your attitude. I am trying now to salvage some defense for you. Without your help, I might add.” She looked down at her shoes. “Let us hope that those tapes will be ruled admissible.”

“Won’t they send me to prison?” asked Greene sarcastically.

“With any luck, they will show how completely you have been in the thrall of Reverend Williamson. That will be useful.” She went and picked up her briefcase. “I want to put you on notice that any attempt you make at subverting your defense will bolster my plea. Do I make myself plain.”

“I suppose you do,” said Rufus Greene. “You want to label me mad.”

“I want to show that your capacity to distinguish between your religious convictions and the law became confused because of the influence Reverend Williamson has upon you. I hope it will be enough.” She started toward the door, pausing to append one last caution. “Don’t rely on demonstrations to save you. And don’t expect to be a martyr.” She rapped twice on the door.

“I think you’re wrong,” said Greene, hiding his distress, as Missus Camberwell-Selbie left him alone again.

He wandered about the room aimlessly for several minutes. He rarely missed watching television, but now, with his trial and the charges against Reverend Williamson so much in the news, he longed for a set that would keep him current with public response. His realization surprised him, for he had never thought of himself as a man interested in public response. Now he was hungry for information, for an understanding of his own notoriety.

Twenty minutes later, he sat down and resumed writing, filling several pages with self-chastisement for his vanity and pride.

* * *

In the last two years, Cardinal Mendosa had become very adept at avoiding the press. This evening he made good his escape from the Vatican by going out the entrance to the Vatican Museum with a dozen scholars from around the world. He kept in their company for several blocks going north, then left them and headed toward San Giuseppe, remonstrating with himself every step of the way. “I have to be an imbecile to do this,” he said aloud when his inner castigations were not sufficient to describe his perfidy. He was on an errand he abhorred. Yet he could not disguise his inquisitive interest, nor could he dismiss the uneasy tone of the message which brought him to this church.

He entered the building quickly, and after crossing himself and kneeling to the altar he approached the confessional, avoiding the scaffolding where renovation had been underway for the better part of a year. As he had been requested to do he remained near the confessional, wishing he had taken up smoking years ago so that he would have something to do while he waited, though the thought of smoking in church offended him deeply. He did not like lingering here in the shadows, where anything might happen.

He recognized the man who approached him, but was startled to discover that he was only about five-foot-eight; Dmitri Karodin’s charisma gave him the illusion of being a much taller man.

“Good afternoon, Cardinal Mendosa,” said Karodin, holding out his hand. His smile was quick, whimsical. “It truly is a pleasure.”

“Do you think so?” said Cardinal Mendosa, irritated at the other man even while he discovered how likeable Karodin could make himself.

“Of course. Anyone who has been as punctilious as you’ve been inspires my curiosity. After our indirect association, it is gratifying to meet you in person. That is the correct figure of speech isn’t it?” asked Karodin, who knew it was.

“It’ll do,” said Cardinal Mendosa. “My assistant gave me your message this morning. I didn’t know what to make of it.”

“I don’t suppose that there is much to make of it, beyond what it said,” Karodin told him. “I have something to tell you.”

“And you didn’t want to use the telephone, send a messenger, or use any of the other methods you might have employed. That means your news is either very trivial or very important, to be entrusted to none of your…functionaries. Including that elusive figure, the one you’ve identified only as your man in the Vatican.” He did his best not to accuse Karodin of anything, but there was an edge in the way he spoke that did not escape Karodin’s attention. “Bell’s mentioned him to me. So did Stelo, before he left.”

“Ah, yes, the redoubtable Stelo,” said Karodin thoughtfully.

“Did he know who that man of yours is?” asked Cardinal Mendosa.

“Alas, no; but you will soon. I’ve asked him to meet us in half an hour,” said Karodin, enjoying the astonishment the Texan could not conceal. “I believe it would be wisest if we worked a bit more closely for a while. The three of us, I mean. Without the good offices of Professor Bell.”

“Because?” prompted Cardinal Mendosa.

Karodin brushed the lapel of his gorgeous Italian wool suit, of a shade of brown between antique oak and dark mauve. His response was indirect. “I read the statement you gave the newsmedia about the trial of Reverend Williamson, and the change of venue to Hawaii. The Department of Justice worked very swiftly for once. You’re probably right, there would have been too much sensationalism if he was to be tried anywhere in the continental United States. It’s also likely that many of his followers will not be able to get to Hawaii for his trial, and there will not be the tremendous demonstrations that were feared.”

“No argument,” said Cardinal Mendosa, wishing he could require Karodin to come to the point; he obliged the Russian by remarking, “There’s also a better chance that they will be able to seat a jury that isn’t too opinionated.”

“And the jurors will not be harassed the way they might be in the Forty-Nine.” Karodin pursed his lips. “Do you think the verdict in Greene’s case will make a difference?”

“You mean conspiracy to commit second degree murder, while under duress?” Cardinal Mendosa inquired, suspecting he was being put to some variety of test. “It doesn’t paint a very flattering picture of Williamson or his associates or his conversion techniques. By the same token, that tirade Williamson had on television shortly before he was arrested probably hurt his cause more than it helped it. Little as his people may like the Catholic Church, most of them do not condone murder. He came off looking rabid. Most Americans don’t like extremists, not after the first thrill of absolute conviction. I doubt that most of the people listening felt that Williamson was as justified as he said he was.” He lifted his brows. “Well?”