CS 01 The Grail Conspiracy (23 page)

"Will they come up with a list first, like nominations? What are
the qualifications, anyway?"

"Technically, any Catholic male can be elected."

Cotten adjusted her head to rest better in the crook of her arm.
"That's it? Any man who's a Catholic? I thought he had to come up through the ranks-had to be a priest, then a bishop, then a cardinal
or something."

"Nope. Any Catholic man is eligible. Of course, once elected, he'd
have to accept the job. In reality, it's a death sentence. Once you're
pope, there's no retiring or resigning or taking time off. You're it for
life."

"Let me get this straight. Mikey Fitzgerald, the barkeep at the
Rathskeller, who is Catholic, not necessarily a good practicing Catholic,
could be the next pope?"

"You got it, but Mikey's a long shot. Put your money on one of
the senior cardinals-someone like our friend Antonio lanucci would
be a likely choice, but there are half a dozen who have a good chance.'

A beep sounded on the phone. "Hold on a minute," Cotten said.
"I've got a call coming in."

She hit the flash button. "Hello."

"Cotten, it's me," Thornton Graham said.

"I'm on the other line."

"Can you call them back? This is costing me a sweet penny."

Cotten grunted an annoyed sigh. "All right." She didn't want to
hang up on John, but Thornton was calling from Rome. She supposed it was the right thing to do. Again she switched lines. "John, it's
Thornton. He's covering the pope's death, and he's calling long distance. I'm sorry, I need to take his call."

"Sure. I'll talk to you soon."

She clicked over to Thornton. "Okay. I'm back. I hope this is
important."

"I miss you. And it's not the geographical distance. It's the distance that you've put between us. I don't want to-"

Cotten rolled to her side. "Stop. Please."

"How can I? What do you think, I can just flush a handle and
everything I've felt for you will disappear down the toilet?"

"Good choice of words, Thornton." Cotten's eyes closed. Funny,
this time she was worried about hurting him, not him hurting her. "I
did it. You can, too. It's time to move on. I think it's probably better if
we only speak about work-related things. I thought we already got
that straight."

"I slummed in some dive of a bar tonight and sat there thinking
about nothing but you. Five, six Grand Marniers later I got the
courage to call."

"I'm not going to listen to this, Thornton."

"I just needed to hear your voice" He breathed out a long,
mournful breath. "Do you know I haven't had sex since the last time
with you? What does that tell you?"

Cotten sat up. "That you're horny and you're calling for phone
sex. It's not your heart that's aching, Thornton, it's your dick."

"Come on, Cotten. Missing the feel of your warmth isn't an
insult. I've been sitting here with people all around me, and all I can
hear in my head are your little whimpers, your-"

She glanced at the clock. Nine o'clock. "It must be about three in
the morning. You need to go to bed. Too much Grand Marnier. You'll
kick yourself in the morning."

"No, I won't."

"Trust me. Close your mouth, go back to your room, and crawl
under the covers. I'll make it easy for you. From now on, I'm not
going to answer your calls at home anymore. And don't leave me
messages on the answer phone. I'll know it's you from the Caller ID,
and I'll delete them without listening. If you need to talk to me about work, call me at the office. Goodnight, Thornton. See you when you
get back."

"I won't give up."

"Goodbye, Thornton."

THE LAST RAYS OF the sun illuminated the chalky trail of the small
charter jet streaking toward New Orleans. The solitary passenger,
Cardinal Antonio Ianucci, dressed in a black suit and Roman collar,
sat in the wide leather swivel chair watching Bogalusa and Picayune
pass beneath. Ahead, the fading sunset reflected off the dark waters of
Lake Pontchartrain.

After the long flight from Rome, the jet had refueled in New York
where two U.S. Customs and Immigration officers boarded. The cardinal presented them with his diplomatic passport-a leftover from
his years of service with the Vatican Secretariat of State.

He declared nothing.

Shortly after takeoff he had enjoyed a dinner of grilled calamari,
Sicilian style, followed by veal scaloppini with wild mushrooms along
with half a bottle of Revello Barolo.

"Your Eminence, can I bring you anything else?" the young female
attendant asked just before the pilot announced their final descent.

"No, thank you." The cardinal was content, his belly full and his
insides warm with wine.

Ianucci rested his head on the back of the seat and thought of his
encounter two nights previous with the prefect in the Secret Archives.
The cardinal had explained that he was leaving the next day to visit
relatives in America. He would be bringing them gifts-rosaries and
religious medals that had actually touched the Holy Grail. It was
enough to convince the prefect that the midnight visit to the Archives
was innocent. Clever, he thought.

Afterward, the cardinal had returned to his Vatican apartment,
fallen on his knees, and prayed to God to forgive him for lying, but
knowing it was necessary to fulfill divine providence, to accomplish
God's will.

The pontiff's fatal heart attack caused enough disturbance in the
Vatican that lanucci found it easy to slip away, telling his staff he
would return to Rome within a few days.

But the upheaval at the Vatican paled to the turmoil inside him.
He kept replaying Sinclair's arguments in his mind and reciting the
logic of the scriptures. And the death of the Holy Father ... that had
to be the hand of God delivering a sign to him.

He pried his fingers between his throat and collar, feeling the need
for air. His palms and soles iced, but were wet with perspiration. He
was doing the right thing, he reassured himself. The Cup had been
delivered to him-God's hand at work. With the Heavenly Father's
blessing, he accepted the task of leading the Church, preparing the
flock for the Second Coming, and ...

He blinked back tears. God would entrust him to mentor the
child.

lanucci looked down at the city lights spreading across the darkness like the wave of profound faith that spread through him. This
had to be right.

The signs were all there.

With a thump, the jet touched down and taxied to a private aviation terminal. As the whine of the turbines wound down, Ianucci
took the titanium travel case from the storage cabinet. He blessed the
crew before disembarking.

Charles Sinclair emerged from the waiting limousine and walked
toward him, his hand outstretched. "Your Eminence, welcome to New
Orleans. I hope you had a good flight."

"Yes, very pleasant."

"It only gets better from here." He motioned toward the travel
case. "May I?"

Ianucci's fingers tightened around the handle as one last spurt of
doubt sputtered in his brain.

"Your Eminence?"

The cardinal looked at Sinclair. "If you don't mind, I'd rather hold
on to it a bit longer."

"I completely understand," Sinclair said, and the two men walked
to the limousine.

In another few minutes the black stretch limo sped across the tarmac onto the airport access road and blended into the rush of city
traffic.

Giant, deep green magnolias lined the entrance drive to Sinclair's
plantation estate on the banks of the Mississippi. lanucci watched the
lights from the sprawling mansion appear through the shadows of
the trees, first as a distant twinkling and finally a flood of brilliance.

"I thought we would be going directly to the BioGentec facility,"
the cardinal said.

"I've prepared a long time for this day, Eminence. Everything we
need can be done right here. It keeps our work private. I'm certain
you will be impressed with our lab. The specifications bore our task
in mind."

The limo pulled up to the main house, and the cardinal waited
until the driver opened the car door. Getting out, he looked up at the
three-storied, columned mansion, cascades of light from the floodlights washing over the surface. White, all white, how perfect the color.
Pure. Unsoiled. Innocent. Immaculate.

"Beautiful, Dr. Sinclair," lanucci said, standing on the brick driveway. He found his hand clutching at his chest, the other gripping the
handle of the titanium travel case. So this was the place the child
would be born. His eyes drifted over the estate and up to the sky-a
clear sky, every star shining. Yes, he stood on sacred ground.

Although he couldn't see it, the cardinal felt the heaviness of the
river nearby. In the distance, a tugboat's horn sounded. The world
went on, not knowing what was about to happen here. As a thief in
the night.

"Your bags will be brought to your room;" Sinclair said as they
entered the grand foyer. The marble floors led to a staircase beneath a
massive crystal chandelier. "Would you like to freshen up from your
trip?"

"I'm fine, Doctor-and very anxious to proceed."

"But you must be tired. We could wait until morning. And to be
honest, Your Eminence, the lab is somewhat boring-just a jumbled
collection of tubs, wires, electronic monitoring devices ..."

"No, no. I do not believe I could sleep. Besides, in some respects, I
feel I'm about to enter the new Bethlehem-the modern-day manger
so to speak. I must see it."

Sinclair gestured. "Then right this way." He led the way past
entrances to rooms that included a library, a video conference center,
and his personal office, and then into a barren hallway. At the end of
the corridor was a metal door resembling the entrance to a bank
vault. Installed in the wall by the door was a combination keypad
mounted beside what looked like the bowl of a metallic soupspoon
resting on a protrusion extending a few inches.

Sinclair placed his index finger face down in the spoon-like
device. Instantly, a digital readout above the spoon scrolled the LED
message: Dr. Charles Sinclair. Identity confirmed.

"You use your fingerprint as security?" lanucci asked.

Sinclair gave the cardinal a condescending smile. "We go way
beyond fingerprints here, Eminence." He pressed a series of numbers
into the keypad and the display changed to Learning New User.
"Please place your index finger on the scanner as I just did, and I'll
explain."

The cardinal did as he was told. He looked up at Sinclair. "It has a
tickling sensation."

"That it does, Eminence. We now have a sample of your DNAthe most reliable source of human identification known to man. A
minute layer of epidermis has been sanded off your finger-so
minute that you only detected a tickle. Within seconds, the skin cells
were analyzed and your complete DNA profile is now stored in our
databank. Even if you altered your fingerprint pattern, which I'm sure
you would not do, Eminence, we could still positively identify you.
Our new BioGentec DNA security system is one hundred percent
accurate.

Sinclair gave the cardinal another patronizing smile and tapped
the screen, making lanucci look at it.

Enter code.

"What we're about to do here demands intense safeguards," Sinclair said. "As accurate as DNA identification is, the system requires a
second security check-an entry code. Without it, the system prohibits entry even with DNA identification."

lanucci lightly rubbed his thumb against his index fingertip while
he watched. "What is the code?"

Sinclair reached for the keypad and pressed the six-digit combination. "One I think you would find most appropriate."