To Kill the Pope (20 page)

Seeking to uncover the truth about the Church's most recent near-tragedy, Tim stepped in Istambul into religious history and tragedies of a time long past. He remembered Machiavelli's dictum that one “should never take simple truths seriously”; complex truths were what mattered. When Istambul was still known as Constantinople—and “New Rome”—after Emperor Constantine, who founded the city astride the Bosphorus in the fourth century and embraced Christianity, the Schism of 1054 had come to divide the Latin and Greek Christian churches. It was over the issue of the Christians of the Roman Empire of the East—Byzantium—refusing to remain in communion with the pope and Rome. This separation has never ended, with Rome and Constantinople remaining at bitter odds over long centuries. Indeed, Constantinople was attacked at the dawn of the thirteenth century by the armies of the Roman pope in the form of the Fourth Crusade. And in the twelfth century, the mysterious heretical sect of Bogomils had been spawned just north of Byzantium proper, in Philippolis and Bulgaria, to spread west to Lombardy and then to the south of France. It led to the infernal Albigensian Crusade, ordered by the pope of Rome, that resulted in the deaths of hundreds of thousands of believers, massacred or burned at the stake.

Now, Tim reflected, how ironic was it that he was searching in Istambul—the new Constantinople—for answers to the mystery of a terrible tragedy that might have occurred in Rome just five years ago. Even today, the fate of Roman popes and the Roman Church could not be disassociated from Byzantium. There was obviously no connection between events more than nine centuries apart, but Tim was a believer in the endless power of history.

For instance, he considered, a truly demented Greek Orthodox fanatic, steeped in the memories of the schism and Byzantium's ultimate collapse four centuries later to make room for Islam's
Ottoman Empire while Rome thrived, might have conceivably masterminded a vengeance for the Fourth Crusade by killing Gregory XVII. Men possessed of religious fervor and undying memories are capable of savage deeds. For this, such a fanatic might have hired a professional assassin like Circlic, notwithstanding his Muslim identity. And a year to the day after the assassination attempt in Rome, a Spanish priest, belonging to an ultra-right-wing religious group, rushed at Gregory XVII at the Fátima shrine in Portugal with a bayonet in hand. It reminded Tim, once more, not to underestimate religious hatreds morphed into murderous psychoses.

Tim, of course, ruled out as preposterous the idea that he was dealing with a Byzantium act of vengeance: it was too Byzantine, and he had first thought of it as a hypothetical illustration of the power of religious history. Moreover the two churches had already begun a tentative march toward reconciliation when Pope Paul VI flew to Istambul almost twenty years ago to embrace Greek Orthodox Patriarch Atenagoras I at the lovely little church of St. George by Golden Horn Bay.

Still,
someone
had hired Circlic, Tim now being firmly convinced that the Turk had not acted on his own. The principal lead he was following, based on the CIA file, was in the direction of the Gray Wolves, and the fundamental question was whether, why, and on whose account they had planned the Rome shooting. And Tim knew that the plot had not been Turkish-inspired. The overwhelming majority of Turks were secular Muslims who had greeted Gregory XVII with respect and courtesy. There was no trace of anti-Catholic sentiment in Turkey, unlike, for example, in fundamentalist Pakistan where, Tim had recently read, a Christian Pakistani had been sentenced to death for blaspheming Islam.

In fact, a small Jesuit community functioned in Istambul as a scholarly religious research center and Tim was anxious to visit it. He thought that his fellow Jesuits could offer him useful guidance, preferring not to seek out his Turkish Muslim contacts to avoid unnecessary curiosity or suspicion. The Istambul community had been advised by the General Superior in Rome that Father Savage, a Vatican expert on Islam, would be coming to the
city for his own research and they were requested to be of discreet assistance. It was a perfectly routine request.

*  *  *

The morning after his arrival, Tim took a taxi across the desperately traffic-choked Yeni Galata bridge over the Golden Horn to the Jesuits' quarters in a small house near Kapali Çarşi, the teeming Covered Bazaar of four thousand shops. On this occasion, he regained his casual Jesuit appearance, dressing in slacks and a sports shirt, ideal for the Istambul heat and marking him in the street as a foreign tourist.

A young Polish Jesuit priest welcomed Tim, led him to a modestly furnished sitting room, offered him a cold soft drink, and inquired what he could do for Father Savage. He spoke English with a slight accent; he had studied theology at Cambridge.

“We are looking into terrorist organizations in the Muslim world,” Tim told him, “because of the surge of terrorism in this whole region and the concern over how it might affect our Church. The explosions that destroyed the two Christian Maronite churches in Lebanon the other day—and forced the cancellation of the Holy Father's journey there—are examples of what worries us . . .”

“I'm afraid that we're turning into something of an investigatory and law enforcement agency in addition to all our other duties,” he added with a conspirational smile, “and I was hoping that you could guide me a bit, at least as far as Turkey is concerned. I guess this is part of our Jesuit tradition . . .”

“Yes, I understand,” the Polish priest said. “We share your worries and I have been thinking about it for some time. But I'm not sure you will find much in Istambul. Because Turkey remains so secular since the days of President Atatürk decades ago, we don't have
Jiddah, Hezbollah,
or
Hamas
type of religious-political radical organizations here. So far, anyway. Still, you never know. The Turks are given to incredible political and ethnic violence, as you must have heard: the massacres of Armenians and the Kurds, the more recent military coups, the hanging of Premier Adnan Menderes, the invasion of Cyprus, and so on . . . So one day it could be channeled into religious violence . . . The fellow who tried to kill the Holy Father was a Muslim, wasn't he?”

“Yes, I believe he is a Muslim, but I know very little about him,” Tim replied. “It's not a subject I have followed very much . . .”

He hated to lie to his host, and hastened to change the tack.

“But what about Turkish right-wing terrorist organizations that are
not
religiously oriented? Is this something we should take into account? I hear that such organizations do exist . . .”

“You are absolutely right,” the young Jesuit said. “They certainly exist, they are very active as part of the whole Turkish political picture, and I suspect that they have ties with the Turkish secret police. But, basically, they are freelancers. They are not a problem for us at the moment, but I try to keep track of them, just in case. You never know when a political terrorist finds it convenient to turn against a religion—his or ours. Anyway, politics and religion have always overlapped here in Turkey . . . For example, we have something called the Gray Wolves. I hear that the Turk who shot at the pope had once worked for them. Have you heard about the Gray Wolves?”

“No, not really,” Tim answered. “What, exactly, are they?”

“It's a very strange outfit,” the Jesuit explained. “They kill political opponents of the government, they hate leftists, they massacre Kurds in the mountains, they deal in drugs and weapons, and they make a lot of money. Nobody's quite sure who actually runs the Wolves these days. Maybe it's a committee of some kind. But I am fortunate in having a few contacts with them. It's one of my quiet research projects. For all I know, they may have serious Muslim fundamentalists among them.”

“That's interesting,” Tim remarked, trying to conceal his excitement and appear casual. “Do you suppose I could meet them? It sort of fits into my research as well . . .”

The priest pondered the question for a moment, slowly lighting his briar pipe. He tugged pensively at his lower lip as he put down the pipe on the table.

“I imagine it could be arranged,” he told Tim, in turn sounding casual. “Let me see what I can do about it in a day or so. I've got to locate some of those guys. Where can I reach you? How long are you staying in Istambul?”

*  *  *

They met again at the Jesuits' quarters three days later as the sun was setting in the west over the fifth-century walls built by the Emperor Theodosius II to protect Constantinople from invaders. The Pole explained to Tim that he had arranged to introduce him as an American businessman, “a bit on the shady side,” to an acquaintance of his. Tim knew better than to inquire how the Polish priest had come to be acquainted with Turkish Gray Wolves and why he was instructed to pose as a “shady” businessman. But Jesuits tend to trust one another's judgment, and Tim was glad he had invested Holy See funds in the purchase of the Brioni suit. His guide was wearing a light windbreaker over a sports shirt.

The priest drove the Jesuit community's small Japanese car in a zigzag fashion in the tangle of Istambul's downtown streets, often checking his rearview mirror. He was silent, just puffing on his pipe, as he navigated the fairly short distance east through the evening traffic. The car passed between Sultanahmet, the magnificent seventeenth-century Imperial Blue Mosque, and St. Sophia Basilica, which Constantine the Great erected in the fourth century, and then the Jesuit veered slightly to the right. Tim could see to his left the walled-in immensity of Topkapi Palace's buildings and courtyards overlooking the Bosphorus and the Sea of Marmara. The compound, he remembered, once included the
seraglio,
the harem for wives and concubines of Ottoman sultans. Only a few months earlier, Tim had gone to the Rome opera for a performance of Mozart's
Abduction from the Seraglio,
and found himself thinking of Sister Angela. Now he smiled in pleased reminiscence of the moment. St. Sophia under Byzantium and Sultanahmet under Turkish power had witnessed and sheltered awesome loves and plots, betrayals and carnages. Again, Tim thought, he was surrounded by history and millennial traditions of great conspiracies and great romances.

Presently they stopped in front of a dilapidated three-story house on Mehmet Aga Street, and the Pole led the way inside. Several boys kicked a soccer ball on the sidewalk, showing no interest when the two foreigners walked past them. A door opened on the second front landing, and the two priests were waved in by a short Turk with a grizzled short beard, wearing a checkered lumberjack shirt. It was breathlessly hot in the darkened apartment.

“This is Mohammed,” the young Jesuit said to Tim. Turning to Mohammed, he said, “this is my friend from America, Mr. Savage.”

Middle-aged with suspicious eyes and smelling richly of garlic and onion, Mohammed clapped his hands. A curtain was drawn open at the end of the room and a young woman walked in, carrying a copper tray with three tiny cups of steaming Turkish coffee. Mohammed gestured to the Jesuits to help themselves, then fixed Tim with an unfriendly stare.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” he asked harshly in Turkish. The Pole translated.

“Well,” Tim said, “I am looking for some special business opportunities in Turkey, and the Father, whom I met the last time I was in Istambul, thought you could offer me some advice.”

“What kind of opportunities?” the short man asked suspiciously.

“Well, I deal in arms and things like that,” Tim informed him, smiling engagingly. Dealing in arms was a convenient cover because “negotiations” with a prospective buyer could be stretched out long enough to gain time and the trust of the Wolves and, Tim hoped, obtain the information he needed. In addition, his Vietnam experience made him convincingly knowledgeable about weaponry.

The Turk studied him, scratched his beard, and fixed him with another tough look.

“You wouldn't be with the CIA, would you?” he asked. “We don't need
provocateurs . . .”

“Hell, no,” Tim said truthfully, sounding offended. “What do you take me for? A fool? An amateur? I do business deals, and if you're not interested, I can go elsewhere. You guys are not the only game in town. And I don't like insults . . .”

He started to get up, but the short Turk waved him back into the chair.

“No insult intended,” Mohammed said. “I'm just careful. We've had bad experiences dealing with Americans. But I trust the Father here. We checked him out a long time ago when he first came to Turkey. That's why I agreed to meet you when he asked me. So what's on your mind?”

“I'm in weapons as I said,” Tim answered. “Right now, some friends and I would like to dispose of stuff that's stayed behind after the last war in the Middle East . . . and some stuff from Vietnam that's still available. You know, M-16s, grenade launchers, and even bigger items if I find the right customer—and get the price I want. For immediate delivery . . . I hear that you people might be in the market. Or have clients who are . . .”

“It's possible,” Mohammed said. “It's possible. Of course, I have to discuss it with my associates. How long will you be in Istambul?”

“As long as necessary,” Tim told him.

The Turk switched to English. “We'll be in touch,” he said, rising. “I'll contact you through the Father if we decide to talk with you again.”

On the way out, Tim had a quick glance of athletic young men, automatic weapons at the ready, behind the curtain from where the tray of coffee had come.

*  *  *

A week had elapsed before Tim's hotel room phone rang and the Polish Jesuit invited him to “dinner” at the community behind the Covered Bazaar. Tim assumed that Mohammed was consulting with his fellow Wolves, but he also took it for granted that he was being closely watched. It was elementary in the world of spying and terrorism. Tim's movements and behavior, accordingly, were designed to convince all concerned that he was a bona fide crooked American businessman, really trying to clinch arms deals in Istambul—one of the world's greatest arms bazaars.