The Secret Cardinal (32 page)

Bruni smiled. “Not necessary. I had the same look on my face two nights ago. This bishop has been in jail a very long time—the Chinese do not approve of the Church—and the pope wanted him out. The camerlengo, Cardinal Donoher, is in charge of this mission. My associates and I had no problem with this until we learned that Pope Leo secretly named this bishop a cardinal and has asked the conclave to consider him for the papacy. After the first vote, this Chinese bishop has emerged as a viable candidate.”

“How did you acquire this information?” the priest asked, shocked by the detailed revelation.

“We have a source.”

“
Inside
the conclave?”

Bruni shrugged. “The introduction of this Chinese bishop to the conclave was viewed by my associates as a potential threat to our plans.
We do a great deal of business with the Chinese, so we informed them of our concerns and asked them to take care of the problem.”

“What do you want me to do about this?”

“I do not like the idea of killing a priest. Get word to Cardinal Donoher. Warn him that the Chinese know what he's up to. The rest is up to him.”

48

CHIFENG, CHINA
October 31

Liu leaned against the corridor wall outside the interrogation room, eyes closed, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, his body exhausted beyond anything he could remember. More than forty-eight hours had passed since Tian ordered him to Chifeng to end Yin Daoming's life. His knee ached, and the bruise on his head compounded the sensation of a spike being driven up into the base of his skull.

Technicians from the coroner's office rolled a gurney down the corridor and parked it next to where Liu stood, narrowing the passage to half its width. They were dressed in white, and each man had smeared a strong aromatic balm across his upper lip as a defense against the stench of death that awaited them inside. Liu masked the smell with his unfiltered cigarettes.

Liu heard a rattling sound moving down the corridor toward him. At once, he knew it was Peng.

“Do you have to make so damn much noise?” Liu asked.

“The officer up front asked me to bring you these.” Peng tossed him the bottle. “Headache?”

“What do you think?
Cao!
My skull is splitting. These cultists will drive me mad.”

Liu poured out a pair of tablets and swallowed them dry, eager for relief. Peng stepped aside as the technicians emerged from the interrogation room with a white plastic body bag. The underside dripped as they carried it out, though with what Peng didn't want to know. As
they laid the bag on the gurney, he could tell it contained a body that was small and light.

“That's the last one,” the technician said, handing Liu a clipboard of paperwork.

Liu signed the release forms allowing the bodies to be cremated and disposed of—there were no next of kin. He returned the clipboard, then leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

“Did they tell you anything?” Peng asked.

“Just religious nonsense, nothing of use.” Liu snorted a laugh. “You know what the old man said before he died? He forgave me. Do you believe that? The criminal forgave me. Upside-down world and you wonder why I have a headache.”

“The cure for your headache is rest and good news.”

“You have either?”

“A promising lead. An Air Force officer was returning to Base 20 near Jiuquan last night when the bus he was riding on broke down. As they changed the tire, he and the other passengers saw three objects fly overhead. They had large wings, scalloped like those of a bat.”

“Maybe they were bats.”

“Bats do not have engines.”

Liu's eyes opened. “Continue.”

“The officer could not see the aircraft clearly, but each had an engine that was powering their flight. They were no more than eighty meters off the ground, and he estimates their speed at one hundred kilometers per hour. When the officer returned to his base, he reported what he saw and inquired about any experimental aircraft being tested at night. Fortunately, his superior officer was aware of our investigation and made the connection.”

“Gansu, eh?” Liu pondered.

“The use of light aircraft capable of night flight fits perfectly with the needs of their mission. And we know Kilkenny and at least one accomplice arrived in Mongolia—this answers how they crossed into China. The question is, Why did they not return the way they came?”

“Because they are being aided by these cultists,” Liu replied, the answer painfully obvious to him. “They were kept in hiding until dark and warned to avoid the border.”

Peng nodded. “Based on the time of the sighting and the officer's estimate of speed, we believe they are covering between one thousand and twelve hundred kilometers per night. And always over sparsely populated areas.”

“Which is easier to do the farther west they go. That still leaves a large border to protect.”

“Yes,” Peng agreed, “but now we know what we're looking for.”

49

VATICAN CITY

The sounds of Billie Holiday and Her Orchestra greeted Donoher as he entered the catacombs workroom, the jazz legend's seductive voice dancing with Oscar Peterson's piano through “These Foolish Things.” Grin sat at his workstation eating a croissant, a steaming cup of espresso nearby. His freshly laundered cassock hung from a coathook near the door.

“All's quiet on the eastern front,” the computer guru said before the camerlengo could ask the question foremost on his mind.

Donoher pulled up a chair and sat down. “I heartily approve of your choice of music this morning.”

“I'm weak when it comes to a woman with a great set of pipes, and few can deliver raw emotion like Lady Day.”

“That lovely woman had more than her share of pain to draw upon,” Donoher agreed. “Have you learned anything from Velu's BlackBerry?”

“He was telling the truth. Since arriving in Rome, he's corresponded only with his brother—all updates on mother Velu's condition. Some very depressing reading.”

“Velu and I spoke with his brother last night—his mother's life is near an end.”

“Then I hope he makes it back home in time. I did check the server handling all the Vatican WiFi traffic, and it came out clean. Just a handful of e-mails that sync perfectly with what's on his PDA.”

“Then Velu's not our leak.”

“Doesn't look like it. While I was in the server, I checked out all the other message traffic. I can identify all the devices used by the
guards and other Vatican personnel, and even which hot spots they tapped into to send their messages. Velu's PDA is the only one that connected with the hot spot in Domus Sanctae Marthae.”

“Poor Velu. Among the penalties for what he's done is excommunication
latae senteniae
.”

“I know what excommunication is, but what was that bit of Latin at the end?” Grin asked.

“There are two types of excommunication,” Donoher explained. “
Ferenda senteniae
is a judgment imposed by a Church superior or a Church body.
Latae senteniae
happens automatically, at the moment the sin is committed.”

“Do not pass GO; do not collect two hundred dollars.”

“In a manner of speaking. Historical interference with papal elections made such an extreme penalty a necessity. In a way, it's a direct attack on the papacy.”

“What's on the agenda today?” Grin asked.

“Prayer and reflection coupled with an exhortation by the senior cardinal deacon, which should shake things up as he's an old fire-and-brimstone man. I expect there will also be a bit of discreet politicking going on. With any luck, we'll see some progress when voting resumes tomorrow.”

“With any luck, we'll see Nolan and his team cross the Chinese border with Yin.”

The workroom phone rang, and Grin checked the caller ID.

“It's your assistant,” he said as he offered Donoher the handset.

“Good morning, Sister.”

“Your Eminence, I have Colonel Gergonne, the commandant of the Swiss Guard, holding for you. He says it's a most urgent matter he needs to discuss with you.”

“I'll speak with him.”

The line went silent for a moment as Sister Deborah transferred the call.

“Good morning, Colonel,” Donoher said.

“Your Eminence, I apologize for disturbing you during the conclave, but I have a young priest in my office who is most insistent on speaking with you. In fact, he has been here with us for much of the
night. I have verified that he is who he claims to be—a priest assigned to the Basilica di San Giovanni in Laterano—and that he has no history of mental illness and is unarmed.”

“Has he given you any indication about why he needs to talk to me now?” Donoher asked.

“He claims to have information for you about a threat to the conclave and a Chinese bishop.”

“Colonel, have him brought to my office straight away. I'll meet you there shortly.” Donoher shook his head, amazed, as he rose and cradled the handset. “The Lord indeed works in mysterious ways.”

“How so?” Grin asked.

“Would you believe that this very morning, a priest has appeared on our doorstep with information regarding the source of our leak? I'll let you know what I learn.”

After Donoher left, Grin looked up at the ceiling and whispered, “God, don't get me wrong. I like divine intervention as much as the next guy, but right now our people in China need it more than we do.”

50

After interviewing the priest, Donoher attended a brief service in the Pauline Chapel, where Cardinal Cain, the senior cardinal in the order of deacons, lived up to his reputation and delivered an exhortation to princely brethren in a basso profundo that shook the foundations of the Apostolic Palace. As the rest of the cardinals returned to their rooms to reflect and pray, Donoher changed into less conspicuous priestly attire and was taken by a Swiss Guard in an unmarked car to the Gemelli Polyclinic.

Cardinal Gagliardi was asleep when Donoher arrived, and the Sicilian looked no better than during the camerlengo's previous visit. Donoher closed the door behind him to dampen the noise from the corridor. Outside, it was cool for this time of year, but the sky shone clear blue and the midday sun created a warm pool of light by the window. Donoher found an old rosary on the table beside Gagliardi's bed, its ebony beads polished smooth by thousands of recitations. He moved a chair into the patch of sunlight and began to pray.

Donoher lost track of the time as he prayed, his thoughts gliding in and out with the rosary's familiar cadences. He had completed two circuits of the rosary—contemplating the joyful and luminous mysteries of Christ's life—and was about to start the sorrowful mysteries when Gagliardi stirred.

“Water,” the Sicilian rasped, his voice thin and hoarse.

A pitcher of ice water and a plastic drinking glass with a straw sat on a bedside tray table. Donoher filled the cup and placed the straw close to Gagliardi's lips, which were cracked and dry. The cardinal sipped gingerly, the parched interior of his mouth absorbing the liquid like a dry sponge. When he had drunk enough, Gagliardi turned his head away. Donoher removed the cup and wiped a droplet that escaped from the corner of the patient's mouth.

“You're looking better,” Donoher lied.

“If I looked any worse,” Gagliardi's words came in barely audible gasps, “I'd be dead.”

“What do your doctors say?”

“That I will die soon.”

“Does your family know?”

“Just my nephew. I don't want a death vigil. Do we have a new pope?”

Donoher shook his head. “Deadlocked. Voting is suspended until tomorrow.”

“Papabili?”

Donoher pulled his chair close to the bed so that his face was just a few inches from the Sicilian's.

“In the last balloting, Magni was the only one with more than thirty votes. Escalante and Oromo are both mired in the mid-twenties, followed by Velu.”

Gagliardi tallied the votes in his head and recognized the shortfall. “Who else?”

“Bishop Yin. He fell back a bit after the first ballot and has languished in the teens. I expect his candidacy will falter in the next round.”

“For the best. Ryff?”

“He threw in with Magni's supporters rather than split the European vote. That's been the only real change. There was some interesting movement between those backing Velu and Oromo this morning, so we might yet see a Third World consolidation to challenge Magni.”

“He needs the North Americans,” rasped Gagliardi.

“Don't they all, but the United States is divided. The older urban areas favor Oromo, but the regions with a growing Hispanic presence are backing Escalante. The Canadians, I suspect, are more inclined toward Europe.”

“All good men, but two bold moves are not good for the Church.”

“You may be right,” Donoher offered. “Perhaps the Church needs a caretaker after a pope like Leo.”

“Magni would be best,” Gagliardi agreed.

“If that is God's will. Is it yours?” Donoher asked pointedly.

“Eh?”

“Is it your will that Magni become the next pope? Is it your hand I see in the shadows deftly orchestrating his ascension?”

“What are you talking about?” Gagliardi asked.

“Motivation. You missed a wonderful sermon this morning. Cain really outdid himself—I wouldn't be surprised if he won a few votes in the next round, despite his age. He asked each of us to question our motivation, to question what was truly behind our previous votes. He got me thinking. The Italian cardinals have always been a very loyal group, true both to the Church and one another. As a bloc, they've enjoyed the historical position as king makers in the Church. Then I thought about the papabili, how these five good men all found their way to this point in history, and it struck me that from the moment they became cardinals, you played a part in each man's career. You guided their appointments on committees; you made sure they traveled and became known among the college. From your position in the Curia, you nurtured them, but your actions, when viewed through Cain's lens, now seem calculated. Did you get your thirty pieces of silver?”