The Accidental Pope (26 page)

The three prophecies of Fatima, now revealed, and other appearances of the Holy Mother had made clear the extent of the dangers faced by the Church and all mankind, threats to the world that would come to pass unless the Church could liquidate, not merely overcome, this evil cloud lurking at the opening of the third millennium. The former pope had believed implicitly that Our Lady of Fatima had indeed saved his life, even though the third prophecy predicted otherwise.

He had bent over on this day of the feast of Fatima to look at the emblem on the dress of a young girl commemorating the Holy Mother's appearance. The assassin's bullets had missed the pontiff's head but wounded him in the body. Alois Estermann, commander of the Swiss guard, had thrown himself over the killer and saved the pope's life. And Estermann himself became the victim of the Evil Spirit when, twelve years later, still commander of the Swiss guard, he and his wife were murdered in their Vatican quarters by a deranged young guardsman who then killed himself—the first ever suicide or murder recorded of a Swiss guardsman.

Bill, now in full contemplation, was startled by the pope's dogmatic view of the struggle between good and evil in the universe. He was amazed by the way the pope tied earlier prophecies to immediate events. Yet he had seemed to imply that the third prophecy at Fatima by the Holy Virgin was not the end of the dangers to the Church.

As Bill had laboriously translated the Italian words into their English equivalents the hair on the back of his neck stood up. The epistle stated that Orthodoxy in the East, fundamentalism among the Muslim nations, remaining communism, and apathy within Catholicism's most powerful nation—America—stood ready to cripple the Church in the new millennium.

The pope had gone on to write (as closely as Bill could make out) that there was imminent trouble not revealed in any of the prophecies of Fatima. War, pestilence, and widespread genocide would occur in the early twenty-first century. This had certainly begun, the pope noted, citing that half the population of Africa would die of genocide uprisings and the disease of AIDS if these evils were not stopped. What he saw at this moment seemed a fourth prophecy not widely revealed. The last and final battle between Christianity and Islam would be waged during the early days of the new millennium. Baghdad would be wiped out and a million soldiers would fall as the Cross of Christendom replaced the Crescent of Islam.

There was more, but Bill could not cope with it, since he was unsure of the accuracy of his translation. But essentially he read into the message that, as the first pope of the twenty-first century, he himself would be embroiled in the constant war of good against evil and that, as such, his own survival was uncertain.

“Enough!” he heard himself say aloud. There were more specifics with which he must deal within this letter of warning, this
avviso,
but that would come later, when he had someone he could trust read the epistle. “Shanahan,” he murmured. In any case, his impression was one of caution, even fear. He accepted the letter's overwhelming prediction that if he served the Holy Spirit as intended, he would not live long.

Pope Peter turned from the pleasant view of the square. Walking back to his desk, he picked up the phone. Sister Miriam, the assigned secretary, answered.

“Put through this telephone call for me, and when I'm finished tell the cardinal secretary of state he can come to the office.” Bill, dazed by what he understood to be the sense of the communication transcending life and time sent to him by his dead predecessor, sat down and waited.

23

MARK McGWIRE PHOTO AT THE VATICAN

Maureen Kirby peered out her bedroom window toward St. Peter's, still feeling the exhilaration of the historic events of the day before. She relived the moment when she had seen Bill Kelly emerge on the balcony. It was still hard for her to believe it had occurred. As the sun rose higher in the sky above Rome, she wondered when she would see “Bill,” the new pope, again. What would she call him? “Your Holiness,” of course, but the familiar first name of “Bill”? She thought of trying to telephone him, but the thought of getting through the Vatican switchboard to the pope was too daunting to contemplate. She remembered how difficult it had been for her father to reach the president when Pope John Paul II wanted to talk to him, so she imagined that it would be practically impossible for her to get through by phone to the pope even though he was just down below.

As she was wondering how to explain to her schoolmates and headmistress, Sister Ann Marie, her short but, as it seemed to her, close relationship with the new pope, the private residence telephone rang. Maureen picked it up. “
Pronto,
Villa Richardson,” she said.

“Just a minute, please,” came an impersonal female voice. “To whom am I speaking?”

“This is Maureen Kirby, Ambassador Kirby's daughter.” Then she heard the call being transferred at the other end of the line.

And suddenly the warm, New England–accented voice boomed on the telephone, “Hello, Maureen. This is Bill! How have you survived these last twenty-four hours?”

“Bill!” she shrieked. Then, “Your Holiness—”

“Remember the last thing I said to you?”

“Of course, Holy Father. It's just that this is all such a shock. I mean…”

“Understood—and likewise. Is your dad home? OK, do me a favor and ask him if he can see me today with Tim Shanahan and, yes, Brian Comiskey before he heads back to Ireland.”

“I'll sure do that, Holy Father. Just as soon as he comes in.”

“And Maureen, I haven't forgotten your promise to cook me your specialty dinner.”

“Anytime, Holy Father. Anytime at all.”

“As soon as my kids get here, we can all have dinner together.”

“Sounds great. Can't wait.”

“Got paper and a pen handy? I'll give you the private number.”

She wrote down the number. “I'll try to reach Dad on his cell phone.”

“Thanks, Maureen.”

Kirby was attending a meeting with World Vision representatives on the hunger crisis in Africa when his cell phone buzzed.

“OK, Maureen. I understand. Put the number next to my office phone.”

Kirby left the meeting, returning to the residence. The call to the apostolic apartment went directly through to the pope.

“Your Holiness, it's so good to hear from you! Yes, these have been hectic days for both of us. I'm happy that things are working out, so far.”

Ed listened to the pope's request. “Yes, of course I'll be there, and I'll call Tim and make the arrangements. I'll drive in with him to avoid being seen.”

Monsignor Tim Shanahan was obliged to cut the class in “Epistles of the Apostles” he was teaching at the “Greg,” as the Gregorian Institute was fondly known, in order to meet with Ambassador Kirby before their papal appointment. Cardinal Comiskey had, of course, alerted him to Bill Kelly's mentoring needs the day before.

“I am not sure of the welcome I'll receive from Robitelli, who I hear will continue on as secretary of state,” Shanahan began as he sipped a cup of tea with Kirby in the Villa Richardson sun room. “I take a far more freewheeling approach to ecumenical education than that approved by the Italian traditionalists.”

“I gather Bill sensed something of the sort when he brought up your name,” Kirby remarked. “But you two will understand each other perfectly. Aside from Notre Dame and Columbia, you had the advantage of being brought up in a good Catholic working-class St. Louis family and your father worked for Anheuser-Busch. You have the credentials to act as Bill's Vatican navigator.”

“Your assessment of the situation eases my mind, Ambassador. I love what I'm doing, but if the Church calls, I'll answer the call.”

“Brian and I are in total agreement. It would be ideal if you could move to the Vatican and take over Pope Peter II as a full-time job”—Ed saw the pained expression that came over Shanahan's face and quickly retrenched—“despite your devotion to NAC.”

“Not only that, Ambassador, I could well upset the delicate balance between this—to understate the matter—unorthodox papal succession and Vatican bureaucratic stability as symbolized by the present secretary of state.”

Now it was Kirby who expressed dismay, and the rector of NAG continued hastily. “However, as I told him personally yesterday, I stand ready to do whatever His Holiness desires. NAC is only a few blocks from the walls, if initially it proves better not to relocate inside. Perhaps at some point, if it is deemed appropriate, I can become a Vatican resident.”

“I believe Cardinal Comiskey could agree to such an initial arrangement.” Kirby glanced at his watch. “Well, if you are ready we'll drive down now to the Vatican. Monsignor Cippolini has left word that he'll expect us without advance notice.”

A tall, slightly rotund cleric in a simple black cassock, Tim and the ambassador drove through the gate in Tim's run-down, beat-up Fiat. Ed Kirby had to admire, as he had so often since coming to Rome, the freer, energetic, vigorous quality of the younger clergy of the new millennium. The Church had changed since he was a devout Catholic boy, not eating meat on Friday and fasting, not even water allowed, from midnight Saturday to Mass on Sunday morning. But still, many devout and dedicated young priests like Shanahan were always there to answer the call of the Church. Kirby registered Tim's proven brilliance, yet here he was driving a decrepit car in a foreign country over three thousand miles away from his family and friends.

Monsignor Cippolini greeted them at the entrance to the apostolic apartment and led them up the marble staircase to the third floor, then down the corridor to the pope's private chambers. He knocked gently on the double door. A nonclerical aide silently directed them into the pope's library. Moments later Peter II entered. To Monsignor Cippolini Bill said, “Al, try to see that we are not disturbed?”

“Yes, Your Holiness. Will you want tea perhaps?
Caffè,
juice?”

“Maybe later,” the pope replied. “Thank you.”

Cippolini nodded and excused himself, closing the door behind him as Bill turned to Ed Kirby. “Thanks for getting Tim here to me. We hardly had a chance to say two words when we first met.”

“Those were hectic moments, to say the least, Your Holiness,” Tim acknowledged.

“Brian Comiskey is a great admirer of yours.”

“I've had the honor and the pleasure of knowing the cardinal for several years.”

“Yes. Well, the purpose of this visit is to set up the lines of communication between the two of us. You understand, of course, that I need a sort of spiritual guide for my new surroundings, and I hope you will try it out for a while. I know how much you love your present assignment, but I need some stability around here as I settle in.”

“Your Holiness,” Ambassador Kirby interrupted, “I've gone over that ground with Tim.”

“And?”

“In a nutshell, Tim realizes that a degree of opposition might be generated by having too many Americans around inside the walls. He feels he may be able to do more to help the cause by staying where he is. He shouldn't appear to be part of your inner structure here, at least for the moment.”

Bill gave the rector a questioning look. “Do you feel that I am going to be boxed in? All my incoming calls go through the Vatican switchboard and I don't know where all else. Same with outgoing calls. I asked for a private outside line and number this morning. It didn't seem to be a very popular request. I mean, after all, John Paul II brought all his Polish loyalists into the Vatican. He even had a Polish cook.” They all laughed.

“Naturally, Pope Bill, your secretary of state wants to know everything you are doing and thinking,” Tim said. “It's been his standard operating procedure for years. And you did the right thing keeping him on. For now, that is.”

“Well, Tim, Brian Comiskey and Ed Kirby feel you are the answer to my lack of experience. No pope, particularly the first American, should be without an American top adviser with your expertise. If you can teach the young lads studying to be priests or teach advanced Church study and what the hierarchy of the Church is all about, I guess that I can learn from you as well.”

“Robitelli can't complain too bitterly if you decide you want to consult with a fellow American who is experienced in Vatican tradition,” Kirby pronounced.

“We'll see,” Shanahan cautioned. “You will all too quickly learn how easy it is to upset the curia and its leaders, the cardinals who want to run this place.” He cocked his head and gave the pope a shrewd look. “If you want me to accept the assignment, I'll do it. But if things get too hot or uncomfortable for you, please whisper in my ear and I'm out without a peep! I ask only one favor: On my day off I like to walk around Rome visiting Churches and museums wearing my St. Louis Cardinals baseball cap and brandishing my Irish walking stick. And I'm a big Mark McGwire fan, so a photo of the all-time single-season home run king will be prominently displayed in my Vatican office as it is at NAC.”

“The walking stick is fine, but I am a Red Sox fan and will never forget what the Cardinals did to us in 1946 and 1967.” The pope stuck out his hand, however, and Shanahan warmly grasped it back.

24

PETER II AMONG THE TOURISTS

A week had passed since Bill Kelly was elected pope. Tim discreetly moved down from the Gianicolo and NAC to act as the closest person next to the leader of the Catholic Church. Tim's reputation was well known, so the transition was going more smoothly than anyone would have imagined. Some privately might have hoped he would fall on his face, but as yet that didn't appear to be happening.

The media by this time had researched every available source of information on “Pope Bill,” as friends referred to Peter II, even ferreting out records at his seminary. He had been at the top of his class both academically and athletically, along with one other, Brian Cardinal Comiskey, his fast friend as well as one of the youngest bishops of Ireland before rising to the status of cardinal. Already a TV movie of the week had been written based on Father Kelly's romance with the Irish colleen for whom he had sought and received dispensation of his priestly vows.