To Kill the Pope (34 page)

This fact naturally ruled out any formal alliances, Tim concluded as he reached the outskirts of Carcassonne and its industrial suburbs. But, he decided, the basic idea ought not be discarded altogether. A right-wing, if not downright reactionary, brand of Catholicism was remarkably strong in southern France—as were right-wing politics—and it was quite plausible that those still faithful to Cathar ideals and traditions would be active supporters of the Fraternity and its fight against Rome. They would be likely to favor the ancient church rules and rites that Vatican II had buried. The Fraternity, of course, was a public religious institution though it did not follow that everything it did in its endeavors was public or publicized. Thus, involvement on the part of individual Cathars would add to its strength and reputation. Cathars and Catharism were highly popular and respected in the
Pays Cathare.
Besides, Archbishop Leduc was anxious to expand his following, and the Fraternity proselytized in a discreet manner. It cost a lot of money to run his organization's far-flung activities.

What intrigued Tim the most was whether people of Cathar persuasion, however it could be defined nowadays, were being manipulated by the Fraternity of St. Pius V for very specific purposes. For reasons of Cathar history, still thinking of their region as a giant battlefield, they might be fertile ground for anti-papal sentiment leading to decisive action. Why, for example, had Raymond, the bookseller, reacted so angrily to Tim's question about the Cathars and the pope? Was he sympathetic to the Fraternity because his hatred of Rome over the anti-Cathar crusade dovetailed so neatly with Leduc's contemporary ire?

*  *  *

Action was very much on the minds of four men gathered in the late afternoon later that week in the elegant ground-floor library of a large eighteenth-century mansion on a rural estate known as “Les Horns” below the hilltop town of Fanjeaux and a quarter-mile over a sandy lane from the highway running southwest from Carcassonne to Mirepoix. It was a walled estate, sitting alone in an empty field with Cyprus trees hiding it from view. Stone towers at the four rounded corners on the roof of the four-story structure afforded its inhabitants protection. The iron gates guarding the courtyard were padlocked, and there were black iron shutters over the mansion's windows. Two cars were parked in the courtyard. On the wide terrace leading to the main entrance, three athletic young men in dark suits stood silently, arms akimbo.

In the library, its walls covered with precious Gobelin tapestries above the bookcases, the four men sat around a beautifully polished oak table, conversing intensely in low voices. Three of them had come to “Les Horns” urgently summoned by Bishop Charles Laval, who had been informed about Tim Savage and the imam. The youthful-looking bishop, who resided at the mansion, was one of Leduc's deputies. Rotund and hard-eyed, Laval had worked for him in Casablanca as private secretary, and was the first to be consecrated by Leduc after the founding of the Fraternity, a major act of defiance of Rome that Gregory XVII had chosen to tolerate that one time. Laval's own private secretary, a mousy middle-aged priest blessed with an infinitely inventive mind, sat next to him. The young Frenchman in a gray suit, who served as the Fraternity's chief of security and liaison for foreign operations, was at the other side of the table. And next to him the chair was occupied by Jake Kurtski, who had arrived from Rome, via Toulouse, that morning with the security chief, who had finally admitted that his first name was Jean-Pierre. Kurtski was not concealing his annoyance, staring at the ceiling decorated with frescoes of a posse of flying angels in pastel colors, and chewing on his usual dead cigar.

For one thing, Kurtski did not understand a word of the conversation conducted in French among the three Fraternity of St. Pius V men. Jean-Pierre addressed him in English only as
required—to ask quick questions and relay instructions—and Kurtski was furious at being treated dismissively as a servant.

“Do we have any idea where this American Jesuit is to be found at this point and what he is doing?” Bishop Laval asked the security chief, sounding highly impatient.

“Well, Excellency,” Jean-Pierre replied, “we are not certain. We know, of course, that he was in Toulouse last week, when he met with the Muslims and you had the call from the prelate at St. Adalbert's telling you about it. As soon as you informed me, I phoned the imam on the off chance that the Jesuit had given some indication concerning his plans, but he had not . . . It also occurred to me to inquire at the Jesuit Residence in Toulouse, but they didn't know where he went. He was not returning there. But we did have some luck this morning, Excellency . . .”

“What happened?” the bishop inquired, leaning forward.

“Our old friend Raymond, that bookseller in Le Somail, called my office to report that an American professor of religion had come to see him yesterday,” Jean-Pierre said. “He wasn't dressed like a Jesuit and didn't tell Raymond that he was a Jesuit. But it must be the same person . . . Raymond became very suspicious when, at the end of the evening, the American asked how Cathars would feel about an assassination of the pope. He thought that he should call our attention to it immediately . . . The American spent the night at the local hotel, but, of course, he has already left . . . And, yes, he told Raymond that he planned to visit our seminary at Mirepoix. That's all we know so far, Excellency.”

“Yes, it all makes sense, but, unfortunately . . .” The Bishop thought for a moment. “I suspect that Raymond's call confirms that the Jesuit is busy tracking the matter of Gregory XVII. His question about the Cathars obviously was not accidental. I can't imagine why and how he located the imam in Toulouse, but now the fact is that the secret is no longer a secret—and we may be facing a terrible crisis . . . I've already mentioned to the Archbishop the priest's call from Toulouse, and he is very disturbed . . .”

Jean-Pierre and the private secretary nodded, and Bishop Laval went on, analyzing the situation.

“But we must be rational about it,” he said. “First things first . . . To begin with, we must assume that the Jesuit already has, or will
very soon, communicated his findings about the 1981 attempt to the persons on whose behalf he is acting. I can't believe that he is doing it on his own. It could be on behalf of Rome, but the Jesuits aren't getting along so well with the pope. Still, we know nothing about him. In fact, our top priority must be to learn exactly who he is. We have friends in Rome who could help . . .”

“Absolutely,” the security chief agreed, making a note.

“If Rome has been informed about 1981,” the bishop continued, “the consequences could be devastating. It is, of course, possible that Gregory XVII will keep silent about this whole subject. I'm not convinced that the pope has much to gain at this point from going public. After all, he is a rational Frenchman. Yet, we cannot take chances.”

“That's a good point, Excellency,” his private secretary commented. “We can cut our losses up to a point if the Holy See keeps its mouth shut, and I'm inclined to think that it will. The pope needs no new scandals and problems in the Church. I fear, however, that we have to suspend our planning for the new action—at least until the situation is clarified. And buy ourselves some protection . . .”

He cleared his throat and signaled that he had more to say.

“The whole thing has become incredibly complicated,” he went on. “We cannot rule out the danger that, no matter what, the facts behind the assassination attempts will surface in some fashion . . . and then a revolt could develop within the Fraternity itself. Obviously, only very few of us are aware of the truth and of the Archbishop's thinking. An awful lot of our brothers and sisters, who haven't quite reached
our
level of analyzing and correctly interpreting the Archbishop's commands, may be appalled and shocked by our actions. We could lose followers on a vast scale. Whatever we do, we must remain watchful, alert, and extremely careful. Therefore no new efforts to achieve our objectives.

“Naturally,” the bishop said harshly. “All preparations must be put on hold. In the meantime, we cannot afford to let the American Jesuit run around loose. Even if he doesn't say a word of what he knows, he remains an enormous danger to us. If nothing else, we cannot proceed with any of our plans so long as he remains
alive. His death is a fundamental necessity. In sentencing him, I feel that we are acting as if we were an ecclesiastic tribunal in the old days. So he must be located and the sentence carried out. But, in God's name, find him quickly.”

Jean-Pierre turned to Kurtski, speaking to him in English.

“The orders I gave you in Rome have been reconfirmed,” he said. “You are to track down this Father Timothy Savage and execute him on the spot. Of course, we shall help you to find him. He cannot be very far from here. In fact, we have an idea where he might be.”

“Fock
you,” Kurtski replied evenly. “It will be done, one way or another. And I'll do it but just make sure I get paid . . .”

Bishop Laval rose to signal the end of the meeting. Taking Jean-Pierre aside, he whispered, “Why don't you coordinate with our friends at SDECE in Paris? Perhaps you should talk with your pal Sainte-Ange there, and tell him what's happening. Remember how helpful they were to us with de Marenches?”

*  *  *

One of the things the Jesuit librarian had told him in passing, Tim remembered, was that the Pius V Fraternity had a seminary for its priests in the town of Mirepoix, not far from Carcassonne. It was run as openly as any other Catholic seminary. Interestingly, Mirepoix had been the site of a synod of “Good Christians”—the Cathars—in 1206. The first fact was most relevant to Tim as he pondered where to turn next. A visit to the Fraternity's seminary, he decided, would be the logical step at this juncture. He was unaware of the existence of any other public Fraternity institutions, and therefore he had no choice, regardless of risk. The second fact, that a Cathar synod had been held in Mirepoix over 780 years ago with 600 heretic knights in attendance, was totally irrelevant, except in the symbolic sense of interactions and overlapping currents in the religious history of southern France. However, he thought, it served as a good explanation to Raymond, the bookseller, of his announced plan to visit Mirepoix.

In Carcassonne, Tim picked up an armful of pamphlets at the Center of Cathar Studies. The next day, he set out in his rented car for Mirepoix. About halfway, he passed Fanjeaux, lording over the landscape from its steep hill, another monument to the religious
past that refused to go away. A sign along the highway identified Fanjeaux with St. Dominic.

Mirepoix, as he saw upon entering it from the highway in mid-afternoon, was a jewel of a medieval town tucked away off the beaten path of modern tourist travel in the gently undulating foothills of the central Pyrénées. The five or six thousand people to whom Mirepoix is home and the farmers from the surrounding countryside do not at all mind this privacy of isolation, though they are content to welcome occasional tourists driving to Carcassonne or the Principality of Andorra in the high mountain passes to the south.

The Mirepoix people are well-off and pleased with their lives, and on warm-weather afternoons, once or twice a week, they gather to dance old-fashioned dances to the exhilarating music of accordions, guitars, trumpets, and violins on the concrete floor of the municipal open market, cleared of its stalls for the occasion, next to the arcades of Mirepoix's rectangular main square. They really have fun, these middle-aged farm couples and the young and elderly town dwellers. And, of course, everybody knows everybody. Tim, having registered at the little hotel behind the square, strolled over to sit in a sidewalk café and watch them enjoy themselves, a vanishing art, even in rural France.

Settled a millennium or so ago, Mirepoix has a rich history, what with the endless power rivalries and, as everywhere else in the Languedoc, religious feuds and wars. At one point, the whole region was ruled by both the king of France and the king of England. As far back as 1143, when records began to be scribbled in monks' calligraphy, Mirepoix had declared its fealty to Raimon Roger, the Count of Foix, who reigned over his independent mountain fief. He must have been an ancestor of Monsieur Raymond, the bookseller, Tim thought as he scanned the local tourist pamphlet with its smattering of history. The count and Mirepoix were firmly anticlerical, battling the bishops of the established Roman Catholic Church for sway over the Pyrénées area. It was nearly a century
before
the Cathar wars, but it solidified the climate in which the count's descendants would later welcome to Mirepoix men and women whom the Holy See already regarded as heretics. This had been solid Cathar country, starting with the aristocracy.

Having resolved to pay a visit to the seminary, Tim was uncertain whether, if it worked well, he should try to obtain through its Father Superior an appointment with Archbishop Leduc. All the signs, he believed, now pointed in the archbishop's direction and, sooner or later, he would have to meet him. Otherwise, Tim would have to report to Monsignor Sainte-Ange that his inquiry would come to a halt. Actually, he was not sure whether he in fact had the authority to set in motion what might well become a confrontation with the archbishop; this might not be proper in terms of protocol for an obscure Jesuit; Tim, of course, planned to appear at the seminary in clerical garb. He would sleep on the Leduc quandary, then see how matters developed at the seminary. His instinct warned him against contacting Sainte-Ange. He would have loved, however, to hear Sister Angela's voice, along with her advice. Since Paris, Tim kept thinking about her much of the time—during his long drives, trying to fall asleep at night.

*  *  *

The following morning, Tim went unannounced to the Fraternity seminary. Guided by directions from the hotel clerk, he drove southwest for about three miles to the unmarked entrance to a large estate, a wide open gate in an enclosure of fences covered with greenery. Turning left past the gate on to a long tree-shaded driveway, Tim saw ahead a Provençal-style three-story mansion, gleaming white in the morning sun, and lesser structures surrounding it. There was a touch of an American college campus about the estate, Tim thought. As he neared the main building, he noticed priests in cassocks and younger men in less formal clerical attire coming and going relaxedly over well tended lawns, skirting spectacular flower beds. Tim was reminded of his Jesuit seminary back in Pennsylvania. The Mirepoix campus was so pleasantly peaceful, so removed from the tensions and conflicts of the outside world.