The Parchment (34 page)

As the cardinals bade their farewells to their host Cardinal Obregon, Barbo walked over to Calvaux.

“Jean, I didn't know you would be here.”

“Nor did I until earlier this evening. The Montelamberts might be better described as a dynasty than a family. Obregon is a distant relation. He called and invited me to the reception.”

“You spoke eloquently tonight. I was impressed with your candor.”

“Thank you. I believe strongly that the next pope should be a pastor. What about you, Francesco? You were close to Benedict.”

Barbo smiled. “Jean, I'm a member of the Curia—I've had no pastoral experience.”

“I said we should choose a pastor, not necessarily someone with pastoral experience. They're not the same. The qualities of a good pastor can be found even among the members of the Curia.”

Cardinal Barbo could not hold back a laugh. “‘Even among the members of the Curia!’ Jean, by this time you must have some inkling of how the Curia works. A bureaucratic process determines orthodoxy. If I were to advance a position, it would be reviewed and compromised for weeks until what emerges would bear no resemblance to my initial position. In the Curia, you'll find your share of canon lawyers and theologians, but not too many pastors. Benedict tried to dismantle the bureaucracy but with little success.”

“You said tonight that we must open our hearts to the Holy Spirit. We priests often forget that the advice we give others applies to us as well.”

Barbo's limousine left the Angelicum and headed toward the Vatican. As the car approached the Tiber, Barbo saw flashing lights ahead. A police barricade blocked the street. Barbo got out of the car and walked inside the stanchions.

A police officer pushed Barbo back. “You must stay behind the barricades.”

“What happened?” asked Barbo.

The policeman answered. “A woman is threatening to jump from a building. She's holding a baby.”

“I'm a priest. Let me through.”

“I guess it can't hurt.” The policeman pushed the barricade aside.

Barbo ran toward the building. When the cardinal reached the entrance way, he was stopped. Barbo recognized a familiar voice. “Detective Cameri, let me try to save the woman.”

“I apologize, Your Eminence. I didn't recognize you. But you cannot go inside the building when someone is threatening suicide. It's against policy.”

“For God's sake, Cameri, let me try.”

The detective looked up at the woman standing on the ledge of the building holding her baby. He shrugged his shoulders. “All right, go ahead. She's a prostitute. We think she was beaten by some junkies and then gang raped. They went after the baby too. It's not a pretty sight.”

“Thank you, Detective.”

“I'll go with you. Try to get her to give up the baby. It'll give her a reason to live.”

Barbo climbed the stairs and walked out on the roof. He tried to sooth the woman. “I'm a priest. Are you a Catholic?”

“I was a long time ago.” The woman began to cry.

“What is your name?”

“Maria.”

Barbo moved closer to the woman. “God loves you, Maria. He loves your baby, too. What is her name?”

The woman hugged the baby. “I call her Eva. It was my mother's name.”

“Where was Eva born? Here in Rome?”

“Yes, but there's no life for my baby here. Look what they have done to her!”

She lifted the baby for Barbo to see. The movement caused her to lose her balance. Barbo caught the baby as the woman fell from the ledge to the street below.

“I must anoint her.” Barbo pushed the baby into Cameri's arms and ran down to the street.

A police car had broken the woman's fall. When Barbo reached the street, she was still breathing.

Barbo bent down and kissed the woman. “God will lead you into paradise, Maria.”

Barbo blessed the woman and held her hand while she died. Cameri placed the baby in her dead mother's arms for a final farewell.

When the ambulance took the baby away, Cameri walked over to where Barbo was standing. “Tonight took guts, Your Eminence. You tried. Just remember one thing. Maria is just another casualty of your friend Visconti's clients.”

Barbo stared for a moment at Cameri and then walked slowly back to his limousine. Cameri could see that the secretary of state was holding back tears.

Barbo showered when he returned to his apartment on Via Mascherino. The water washed away the blood but not the emotions he had experienced on the street tonight. For the prostitute Maria, he was not Francesco Cardinal Barbo, Vatican Secretary of State, but a simple priest helping another human being die. He hoped he had mattered in the woman's life.

“Open your heart to the Spirit.” Calvaux was right. Barbo had spoken those words on innumerable occasions to innumerable people, but he had never opened his own heart.

Barbo's thoughts returned to Visconti. He could easily justify giving in to Visconti's demands — after all, he would be acting to protect the Church and the papacy, let alone the millions of poor and uneducated Catholics who would be scandalized by the contents of the parchment. If protecting the Church meant that Visconti's clients would profit, then so be it. The profit would be the unintended consequence of achieving the greater good. But tonight, perhaps for the first time in his life, Barbo had seen the faces of those unintended consequences—Maria and her baby.

“Open your heart to the Spirit. You might be surprised at what happens.”

Barbo poured brandy into a snifter. Suppose he told Visconti there would be no deal — that he would not help those who contributed to the death of Maria and the rape of her baby. Suppose he
told Visconti that he would not compromise the Church's integrity or his own for this piece of parchment?

The phone rang, and Barbo looked at his watch. It was almost two o'clock in the morning. The caller-ID panel showed the call originated in Castel Gondolfo. He picked up the receiver.

“Francesco?” The pope's voice was strong despite the lateness of the hour. “I could not find the telephone number for your apartment. I had to wake Sister Consuela to get it.”

“Tell Sister Consuela that I was not the cause of her losing a night's sleep.”

“I will, Francesco. I was kneeling by the side of my bed praying when I saw you kneeling next to me. You were troubled by something. We are old friends, Francesco. Can I help?”

Barbo yearned to ask his old friend about the Magdalene parchment and Visconti's blackmail but dared not. Doctor Hendricks had laid down strict rules that the Holy Father must be shielded from any talk of problems or difficulties. They would only deepen his sense of guilt over abdicating.

“Whatever it is, Francesco, have the courage to put your trust in God. He will help you.”

Pope Benedict clicked off the phone.

Rarely in one's life — never for some — there are moments of moral clarity when a person sees exactly what must be done. For Barbo, that moment came when Benedict said: “Have the courage to put your trust in God.” Calvaux's words, the sight of the dying prostitute, Benedict's phone call—they were all parts of the same message. Barbo knew what he had to do.

Fellows had said there would be a preliminary report on the carbon dating at about nine o'clock this evening. If, by some miracle, the parchment turned out to be a hoax, the force of circumstances would end the deal with Visconti. If the document proved to be genuine, however, he would tell Visconti there would be no deal. Barbo would put his trust in God.

As Barbo took his seat in the General Congregation, Cardinal De-sion, the prefect of the Congregation for Bishops, sat next to him. The prefect's position perfectly suited Desion's personality. Anyone who sought an episcopal appointment had to pass his scrutiny. In many ways, Desion was a bellwether. Because of his dealings with the hierarchy, Desion knew the thinking of most Church leaders around the world. Even more significant, perhaps, many of the cardinals who would select Benedict's successor owed their episcopal appointments to Desion.

“Francesco, come join me for a cappuccino at the coffee bar. We have a few minutes before Marini starts the meeting.”

Barbo and Desion found a table in the corner farthest from the door. Although Desion exuded Gallic charm, Barbo knew him to be a wily and tough adversary.

“Extraordinary—the pope abdicating like this. Who could have predicted such a thing?” Unconsciously, Desion put his hand to his face to conceal a childhood scar.

“Pope Benedict was a great leader, Desion. In our ranks, there are few like him.”

“You are right, Barbo. The Church will miss his gentle but steady hand.” Barbo knew that Desion's words were leading to a different subject.

“You know, Barbo, as prefect of the Congregation for Bishops, I met weekly with the Holy Father to review episcopal nominations. We spoke often about the future leadership of the Church. He told me once that he gave you a cardinal's hat not as a reward for your past accomplishments, but for what you would do in the future. Pope Benedict had a high regard for your talents, Barbo. “

“I was privileged to work closely with the pontiff. He had a firm grasp of even the most complex problems.”

“The Holy Spirit will guide us to the next pope. But many think they hear him hovering over you, Barbo.” Desion chuckled.

“I will not be chosen, Desion. There are many others.”

“The papers mention you as a cardinal who has many of the qualities the Church needs on the Chair of Peter.”

“Desion, I'm too old to be elected.”

“You're seventy. After the long reign of John Paul II, some of our colleagues will regard your age as one of your most appealing qualities.”

Barbo smiled. “In other words, Desion, my pontificate will be short.”

“I'd rather say that your pontificate would not be too long.”

“But longevity runs in my family. My father died when he was ninety-four.”

Desion chuckled. “Keep that fact to yourself, My Lord Cardinal Barbo.”

A bell rang.

“Cardinal Marini calls us to our task, Francesco.”

The camerlengo rapped his gavel to bring the session of the General Congregation to order. “My brothers, we have much to do.”

As he rapped the gavel a second time, a Vatican staff member hurried up to the podium and handed Marini a note. The camerlengo was dumbstruck at what he read. “His Eminence Cardinal Obregon has suffered a massive stroke. The doctors say he will not live out the day.”

There was stunned silence in the room.

His face ashen, Cardinal Chavez rose from his sear. “Alejandro was my close friend for many years. I must go to his bedside.” Tears rolled down the Mexican cardinal's cheeks as he tried to remain composed.

Cardinal Muñoz stood up and started to follow Chavez out of the room. Chavez shook his head. “No, Ignacio. Alejandro would want us to proceed as before. The Church must have a new Holy Father.”

When the shock of Cardinal Obregon's stroke had worn off, Cardinal Marini opened his briefcase and took out a letter. “There is more bad news. Cardinal Tien has emailed me from Hong Kong.
His doctors are concerned that he may have been exposed to a new and virulant strain of Kowloon flu.”

“Then he must not come,” insisted Cardinal Vaggio from Florence. “Can you imagine a serious outbreak of flu in the conclave?”

Marini nodded in agreement. “I will inform Cardinal Tien. I'm sure he won't be surprised by the decision.”

Marini bent over and rummaged through his briefcase. He took out an envelope sealed with red wax. “Yesterday the papal chamberlain found this among Benedict's papers. It is labeled ‘cardinal nomination
in pectore
.’” There was a murmur in the room. Barbo stood to be recognized. “Pope Benedict did tell me at the last Consistory that he was nominating one cardinal
in pectore
. The pontiff was convinced that public nomination of the individual should be deferred to a later date. Cardinal Krause, you are the most knowledgeable canon lawyer among us. What should we do?”

“If a nominating pope dies without revealing the name of the ‘in pectore’ appointment, the nomination is void.
Mutatis mutandis
, the same rule should apply when a pope abdicates. The
in pectore
nomination should lapse. We should burn the document.”

“Why don't we just ask Benedict who it is and give him his hat?” Cardinal Reysin shouted out his remarks as he walked down the center aisle of the meeting room.

“It's a question of canon law, Cardinal Reysin. Even if Benedict announced the name today, the appointment would be void.”

“Krause, I thought you said that the rule specifically applied only to a papal death, not to a papal abdication.”

“Yes, but a rule of canon law must also be applied
‘in consimili casu’
—for these purposes, an abdication is similar to a death.”

Reysin muttered for all to hear, “Between canon lawyers and the Curia, it's amazing that the Catholic Church has managed to survive and surge into the eighteenth century.”

As the cardinals left the meeting room at the end of the afternoon session, Cardinal Desion walked out beside Barbo. “I would say it's been a good day for Diefenbacher. Obregon won't be around to speak against him. And Tien! He would never have voted for
Diefenbacher if he were the last candidate on earth. As for Reysin—his little exchange with Krause probably pushed the American farther into Diefenbacher's camp.”

Professor Baldini handed the wet sheet to Fellows. “Martin, the preliminary carbon dating results confirm my earlier test. The parchment is first century—it's not a forgery.”

Fellows's face was impassive as he looked at the results of the test. After a few moments, Fellows excused himself and left Baldini's office. “I must call Cardinal Barbo with this information.”

Barbo walked back to his apartment on Via Mascherino. As he passed the Church of San Dominico, he stepped inside and knelt in a back pew. When he had first been appointed secretary of state, Barbo often stopped at the church to say Mass on his way to the Apostolic Palace. But it must have been two years since he had done so.

Barbo saw an old woman patiently cleaning the votive candle-holders throughout the church. Picking up each holder, she would scrape off the congealed wax and insert a new candle. Barbo could see that for the woman arranging each new votive candle was a prayer.