The Chimera Sanction (25 page)

‘Cardinal Sforza will see you now, Cardinal Brentano,’ said the elderly nun with the hooked, witch-like chin.

Seated behind his plain walnut desk, Sforza tried to appear somber, trying to disguise his contentment as Brentano walked in. With Brentano’s removal from the Curia, a large power vacuum had been created, a vacuum Sforza intended to fill personally.

Brentano looked as if he hadn’t slept all week. His usually piercing eyes, now encircled by red rims, had dulled to a viscous green. Sforza couldn’t help noticing that the furrows on either side of Brentano’s mouth had deepened noticeably. He looked ten years older than his 65 years. Now ousted from the Curia, Brentano’s authority had all but evaporated. Both knew it and the relationship of former equals had changed forever. Yet Brentano still wielded a significant amount of
influence
. It was said that he managed to exert that influence by dubious means. Stories were rampant that he kept personal, secret files on
everyone
of influence. Even on the Pope. Sforza knew that to underestimate such a man would be a grave mistake.

‘How are you?’ said Sforza in a mechanical tone, not really wishing to know the state of his former adversary’s health.

‘Tired. I will not hide from you that these past few days have been
extremely stressful.’

‘I understand.’ Sforza had to be compassionate, but not overly so. To
show too much sympathy would appear hypocritical.

‘Let me get to the point,’ said Brentano. ‘There are rumors circulating
about a movement to depose the Pope.’

‘I’ve heard of it.’ Sforza felt no need to inform Brentano of the extent
of his involvement.

‘Am I wrong in thinking that you support this view?’

‘The matter is under serious consideration by the Curia.’

‘Come, come Cardinal, I’ve heard that you’re one of the instigators,’
said Brentano, his tone caustic.

‘Cardinal, you surely didn’t come here to tell me what you already
know,’ said Sforza. ‘You have surely considered that you will need
support from inside and outside the Vatican for such a procedure to
succeed.’

Ah. Here it comes. The offer of his support in exchange for mine
later, in his bid for the papacy, thought Sforza. ‘Yes I have.’

There was a brief moment of silence, as Sforza waited for Brentano’s
pitch.

‘You are undoubtedly also aware that once the procedure is started, it
will paralyze the Vatican for the duration of the proceedings?’

‘Perhaps, although unlikely.’

Another moment of uneasy silence. Like gladiators before the fight,
each man wanted to know where the other stood before compromising
his own position.

Brentano yielded first. ‘The papacy can’t stand to be paralyzed for
six months, maybe more. We are at a crossroads. If you are part of this,
I ask that you reconsider. I will not support any movement to depose
Clement XXI. As a matter of fact, I will oppose it.’

‘Really?’ Sforza sat astounded, as Brentano stood impassive, staring
down at him.

‘I thought this might surprise you,’ said Brentano. ‘But you fail to see
that the papacy itself is at stake here, Cardinal. It goes beyond differing
views on dogma. If you undertake this, it will take years to come to any
kind of resolution. The Church is already weak enough. It can’t take yet
another schism within its ranks. That will kill it as surely as I stand here
before you. I ask you to reconsider, Cardinal, in the name of the papacy, in the name of the Church. Let the ecumenical council take a decision on this matter. I always find that it is easy to let things take their natural course, down the path of least resistance, rather than force the issue. Do you agree?’

Sforza sat silent, his mouth agape. Here was a man who had recently suffered the humiliation of being removed from the Curia by the Pope and that would have given him every reason to embrace the movement to depose him. Brentano was the last person, Sforza thought, to oppose the Pope’s removal. ‘The movement has gathered a lot of momentum already. I don’t think it can be stopped,’ said Sforza, now knowing what he wanted to know. He looked at his watch. ‘I’m afraid I must cut our meeting short, Cardinal Brentano, I have a Curia meeting in ten minutes.’

As Brentano walked down the corridor outside Sforza’s office, a warm feeling of deep satisfaction invaded his being. The opening gambit had worked: Sforza had taken the bait and had appeared genuinely shaken. Moments later, Brentano entered his new, minuscule office, went straight to his desk and picked up the phone.

Dulac waited on the line while at the other end, the phone kept ringing. After a moment, he heard Gina’s familiar voice came online.

‘Good morning, Gina. How are things?’

‘Fine, Mr Dulac.’

‘Any news on de Ségur?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘How is Lescop doing?’

‘I’m really not the one to ask. Why don’t you contact him directly?’ She didn’t sound the least bit sympathetic.

‘Just wondering if you’d heard anything. I have a question for you, Gina. Suppose you wanted to find out if someone is being
impersonated
by another, and you didn’t have fingerprints or DNA samples to compare. What would you use?’

‘Well, we’d probably do a morphological analysis of the body and the head. Then, we’d do an iris recognition scan. It’s more trustworthy than fingerprints.’

‘Interesting. How close would the scanner have to be from the
persons you’d be comparing?’

‘With the new OnSight scanner, about two meters.’

‘Not possible. What else?’

‘Mr Dulac, I really don’t have time to—’

‘What else?’

‘There’s the good old voice analyzer.’

‘Gina, let me buy you lunch.’

‘Today?’

‘I can be in Lyon before 2 p.m.’

‘Well, I don’t know. I—’

‘Thanks, Gina. You’re terrific.’

After making reservations at the St Amable, Dulac had taken the 11.54 am TGV train to Lyon. Sitting with Gina, sipping their glasses of rosé, Dulac waited for the waiter to leave before dropping the bomb.

‘What? The Pope an impostor?’ exclaimed Gina, her dark eyes
sparkling
with disbelief and indignation. ‘You’ve taken me away from my full workload to tell me that?’

‘I know it sounds a bit crazy, but just bear with me a moment.’

‘You really need a rest, Mr Dulac.’

‘Just listen to me for a moment, Gina. There are too many inconsistencies, too many coincidences. I just need a bit of tangible evidence.’

‘Even if I were to agree, I can’t do a voice analyzer test without proper authorization. Besides, use of the equipment must be logged. I can just imagine Mr Schwarz’s reaction if—’

‘But you could get access to the voice files.’

‘Even if I could, there’s no guarantee the recordings would be of good enough quality to make a reliable comparison. There are so many variables and factors.’ She paused, then continued. ‘This is completely off the wall, Mr Dulac, even for you.’

‘You’re probably right. But what have we got to lose? If the voice samples all match, end of story. You’ll have spent a couple of hours—’

‘More like a couple of days on a wild, crazy goose chase. I’d have to dig out recordings of His Holiness’s past speeches, compare them with his recent ones, get at least three different sources of each of the samples.’ She crossed her arms. ‘No, definitely not. I don’t have that kind of spare time when my schedule is quiet, never mind now. Besides, the voice
analyzer isn’t a universally accepted detection tool.’

‘I don’t need bulletproof evidence, Gina. I just need something to work with. Something I can sink my teeth into. By the way, the Pope or whoever he is will be giving a special address tomorrow in St Peter’s Square. You could get a fresh sample.’

‘You’re really hung up on this. What other evidence do you have?’

‘None. You’re my only hope, Gina.’

The hot air was stifling, the sun beating mercilessly on the tens of thousands of faithful, packed tightly in St. Peter’s Square for the Pope’s Special Audience. The Vatican secretariat had announced that the Pope’s address would be given on the steps of the Basilica. A white canvas canopy, supported by four columns, had been erected to protect His Holiness and his entourage from the midday sun. Rumors were flying that the Pope would announce more dogma changes.

‘
In nomine patris, et filii et spiritus sancti …
’ he began, slowly making the sign of the cross.

The tens of thousands of faithful listened, riveted to his every word.

‘Dear brothers and sisters, I wish to thank you for your
overwhelming
and enthusiastic support concerning the changes I have proposed recently.’

A loud cheer rose from the crowd.

‘Today, I will not go into the details of such changes. That will be left to the ecumenical council.’ He stopped and took a sip of the water glass beside him, then continued. ‘I assure you that the Holy Spirit has guided me in seeing the light of the Eternal. His wishes for change will be my trusted mission.’ He took another sip of water, and mopped his brow with a small kerchief. The heat had become brutal. ‘Upon me rests the great responsibility to implement God’s vision for our Holy, Apostolic Church, the Church of the Nazarene, and making sure that it—’

Suddenly, a guard collapsed from the row of Swiss Guards standing between the assembled prelates and the crowd. Two of his colleagues
immediately bent down to help the stricken man. Moments later, a medical team rushed to his side.

Legnano whispered. ‘Perhaps we should adjourn, your Holiness, before we all faint.’

‘I agree, Cardinal. This is too much. We will resume in the Great Hall.’

Cardinal Legnano stepped up to the microphone and announced that the papal address had been postponed for an hour and would resume at the Great Hall of Audiences. Murmurs of disappointment ran through the crowd. The Great Hall could contain only a small proportion of the faithful, and many would have to follow the Pope’s address on the large video screens on either side of St Peter’s Square.

The prelates started their way across the stage towards the doors of St. Peter’s Basilica. Legnano, slightly ahead, walked up the last few stairs and reached the entrance to the Basilica, when suddenly a small
commotion
broke out behind him.

‘Someone get a doctor, quick,’ said Sforza. ‘It’s the Pope. He’s collapsed.’

A hum rose from the huge crowd as the news spread quickly. Something had happened to the Pope. ‘Has he been shot?’ asked some of the faithful. The assassination attempt on Pope John Paul II of May 13, 1981 couldn’t help but resurface in the collective memory. The Swiss Guards reacted quickly, rushing to the scene, trying to fend off the overly curious.

‘Please, let the doctor through,’ said one of the guards.

Moments later, a doctor arrived, quickly putting on his stethoscope and kneeling down. The look of anxiety on the doctor’s narrow, thin-featured face did nothing to ease everyone’s apprehension. ‘Call the ambulance. We must get His Holiness to the hospital,’ the doctor said.

‘How serious is it?’ asked one of the reporters.

‘No comment,’ replied the doctor, still trying to get a pulse reading.

‘Did he faint? Is it a stroke? A heart attack?’

The doctor didn’t answer.

In the distance, the ambulance siren could be heard above the human tumult, as it made its way slowly through the crowd.

‘Please. Stay back. Give His Holiness room,’ said the doctor as two attendants bearing a stretcher made their way through the crowd.

‘We will issue a statement in due course,’ said Signorelli to the hustling reporters busy snapping pictures as the attendants lifted the burdened stretcher into the ambulance.

Dulac, from the comfort of his well-worn leather couch, looked
distractedly
at the France 2 brunette anchorwoman, as she impassively described the fuel shortage in Kosovo and its effect on the population. Suddenly, images of the Vatican and St. Peter’s Square filled the screen and she was handed a written report.

‘We have just learned that His Holiness Pope Clement XXI has had a malaise on the steps of the Basilica, during the Special Audience at St. Peter’s Square. He has been taken to Rome’s Agostino Gemelli Clinic and initial reports indicate his condition is serious, but stable. We will keep you informed of further developments.’

Dulac’s phone rang. It was Karen. ‘I’m looking at it too,’ he said.

‘This is unbelievable. This can’t be just a coincidence,’ said Karen.

‘Maybe.’

‘I’m beginning to get this, this ugly feeling of déjà-vu.’

The other members of the inner Curia were waiting in the papal library for Cardinal Legnano to join then. The cardinal entered, accompanied by a middle-aged woman wearing a white smock.

‘Your Eminences, this is Dr Cavallo, from the trauma department of the Agostino Gemelli Clinic,’ said Legnano.

The continuous twitching of her left eyelid did nothing to dispel their collective anxiety. ‘She will give us her preliminary report. Dr Cavallo,’ said Legnano.

‘He’s had a massive stroke,’ said the doctor as she sat down, resting her hands on the conference table. ‘It’s impossible to assess the amount of brain damage, but the preliminary diagnostic indicates his left side is more affected than the right, which means motor skills will be impaired.’

‘Is his life in danger?’ asked Fouquet.

‘His vital signs are steady, but you must make a decision.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Cardinal Gonzales.

‘He must be put into an induced coma, to reduce the swelling of the brain. If not, the brain risks being flooded by the oversupply of blood;
that could kill him.

‘What decision is there, then?’ said Sforza.

‘There is an alternative, your Eminence,’ said the doctor.

‘Which is?’

‘That we try to operate now to relieve the cranial pressure. I don’t recommend it, in his present state. The operation is very stressful and could also prove fatal.’

‘What are the risks with the induced coma?’

‘Although the patient’s brain slowly heals itself, so to speak, there is severe risk of infection due to the slowing of his metabolism and
weakening
of his immune system. Pneumonia is a distinct possibility.’

‘
Mio Dio
,’ said Legnano.

‘The more we wait, the more the flooding and damage. There are risks in both options, and my role is to inform you. The final decision however is yours.’

The cardinals looked at each other uneasily, waiting for someone to take the initiative. ‘I must warn you that even if he survives the induced coma, he could come out of this completely paralyzed. On the other hand, there have been cases of miraculous recovery,’ she said.

Legnano spoke. ‘Monsignori, we must hope that the Holy Father has the necessary strength and stamina to heal. I favor the induced coma. What do you say, Cardinal Gonzales?’

Before the cardinal could answer, Fouquet interjected. ‘I think we should wait until we have more information; we can’t decide intelligently without more facts.’

‘Perhaps I haven’t made myself clear, Monsignor,’ said the doctor, looking at Fouquet. ‘You don’t have the luxury to wait. I must leave this room with your decision.’

The first ring from Dulac’s phone jolted him from his light sleep. He recognized Gina’s number.

‘What is it, Gina?’

‘Sorry I woke you, Mr Dulac. I couldn’t wait. I just finished the diphthong and rhythm pattern analysis,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Plus the overlapping wave amplitudes are completely out of synch and—’

‘Gina, slow down. Speak to me in plain English.’

‘It’s a 95.4 per cent to 98.6 per cent mismatch with any of the
samples I was able to get.’

Dulac sprang up from his bed. ‘I knew it! Gina, If you were here I’d kiss you. You’re the greatest.’

‘Now don’t jump to conclusions. As I told you, these voice analyzer tests—’

‘Gina, send me an encrypted copy by email then lock your file on this. You must keep this confidential. Understood?’

‘Pretty hot stuff, eh?’

‘That’s the understatement of the decade.’

‘Cardinal Legnano is extremely busy, Mr Dulac. Under the
circumstances
, I doubt he has time to see you,’ said Legnano’s assistant over the phone.

‘Have you any news on the Pope?’ said Dulac.

‘His condition is stable.’

‘Is the cardinal in his office now?’

‘Mr Dulac, Cardinal Legnano is very busy.’

‘Thanks.’ Dulac hung up. He’d scheduled a meeting with Roquebrun, but following the events of the previous day, he’d called and canceled it. There were more pressing issues to be resolved. He dialed Legnano’s number again, using his cellphone this time.

‘At least let me speak to him. I promise I’ll be brief.’

‘Just a minute, I’ll see if he’ll talk to you,’ said the assistant.

‘Yes Mr Dulac,’ said the cardinal, his voice a mixture of annoyance and impatience.

‘Your Eminence, I must see you. It’s urgent.’

‘Mr Dulac, the Pope went into an induced coma last night and we are on vigil. He may not make it. If it’s about the diary and de Ségur—’

‘I’ve canceled my meeting with Roquebrun.’

‘Who is Roquebrun?’

‘The man we hired for … your mandate.’

‘Yes, under the circumstances, that was the best thing to do.’

‘I must talk to you about something else. Believe me, I wouldn’t be phoning if it wasn’t vitally important.’

‘I see. What is this about?’

‘I can be in Rome by early afternoon.’

‘You’ll have to take your chances, Mr Dulac. If the Pope’s health
deteriorates, I won’t be reachable.’

‘I’ll be at your office at two o’clock.’

Dulac’s flight arrived late and the traffic from the airport was in gridlock. The cacophony of Rome’s impatient drivers leaning on their cars’ horns had nothing melodic to offer Dulac’s ears, those of a classically trained musician. Carrying his computer, he hurried through the Sant’Anna entrance to the Vatican, flashing his pass to the Swiss Guards. He rushed along the dark corridors and into the reception room of Legnano’s office. Dulac stood at the doorway, trying to catch his breath. The bespectacled assistant secretary looked up from his desk, acknowledged Dulac’s
presence
and gestured him to one of the empty chairs.

‘Please wait while I inform His Eminence.’

A half hour passed, and there was still no sign of Legnano. Dulac’s patience was wearing beyond thin. He stared at the young priest, who seemed to consciously ignore him, busying himself in his correspondence.

‘Any chance of seeing him now?’ Dulac said.

The prelate shook his head. Another fifteen minutes passed in
oppressive
silence. Suddenly, Dulac stood up and bolted towards the cardinal’s office door.

‘You can’t! You can’t go in!’ said the bewildered priest. Dulac paid no heed and opened the door.

Legnano looked up, surprised. ‘What is the meaning of this, Mr Dulac?’

‘I’m sorry, your Eminence, but this can’t wait.’

Dulac sat down in front of the cardinal, put his computer satchel onto the cardinal’s desk and opened it. Turning it on, he scrolled down to ‘voice comparison analysis’, and double-clicked on the icon.

‘Mr Dulac, the Pope’s condition is deteriorating and I don’t have time—’

‘Your Eminence, I think you should see this. It’s a digital wave analysis and comparison of the voice of the man who gave the speech yesterday in St. Peters Square, and previous speeches given by Pope Clement XXI.’

‘Get to the point, Mr Dulac.’

‘It’s not the same voice.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ve had a voice analyzer test done. It’s not the same voice.’

The cardinal slowly removed his glasses and put them on the table. A frown started to form on Legnano’s wide brow.

Dulac continued. ‘Every speech pattern is picked up: inflections, pauses, word choices, articulation, density of the consonants, pitch of the vowels, highs and lows. Nothing matches.’

‘The Holy Father has been under severe stress. Surely a person’s voice can change in such circumstances—’

‘That’s taken into consideration and factored in, Your Eminence.’

Cardinal Legnano reclined in his chair. ‘Come, Mr Dulac, surely you are a little tired.’

‘Please, your Eminence. At least look at the wave patterns.’

The cardinal put his glasses back on his thick, aquiline nose and peered warily at the computer.

Dulac pointed to the open pages in front of the Cardinal. ‘These are yesterday’s speech wave patterns on the left. Now look at the wave
patterns
on the right page.’

‘They’re quite different.’

‘My point exactly.’

‘I’ve heard His Holiness speak many times, and I didn’t see any
difference
yesterday, or for that matter last week.’

‘The human ear can be easily tricked by good acting and possibly a larynx operation. Not so with the voice analyzer.’

‘What are you getting at, Mr Dulac?’

‘The man who spoke at St Peter’s yesterday is an impostor.’

There was an uneasy silence, while Dulac waited for Legnano’s reaction of shock, negation, or confrontation. To Dulac’s amazement, Legnano remained impassive.

‘Where did you get this, this voice analyzer information, Mr Dulac?’

‘I became suspicious when I read about the leak in Le Monde, so on a hunch, I ordered a voice analysis comparison between his recent speech and earlier ones. The wave pattern analysis is fresh from our lab in Lyon. It’s 98 per cent reliable. Yesterday’s pattern is a 92 per cent mismatch with the earlier patterns, and—’

‘So you’re convinced that the man who is in a coma is not the Pope?’

‘We need a DNA analysis to confirm it, of course. That’s why I—’

‘For the moment, that won’t be necessary, Mr Dulac.’

‘I beg your pardon?’