The Templar Concordat (16 page)

“Very interesting. So what? What did this Treaty of Tuscany say?” Agretti was bored.

Santini gave him the details, and watched the Cardinal Secretary of State simply lay his head down on his desk. He raised his head, tossed his glasses on the desk, and rubbed his temples.

“They actually wrote that down and signed it? The Pope signed it? Two Popes signed it? Not just one infirm Pope who we could say had Alzheimer’s, but two Popes? Two Popes defined it as an infallible doctrine of the Catholic Church! Two Popes did it? They both said God wants us to wipe out Islam? God save us. This is worse than the bomb.”

Agretti settled back in his chair, swiveled around, and looked out the window onto the Vatican garden. He said nothing for two minutes. Santini watched his back and remained silent.

The office door opened and the Cardinal’s secretary said, “Your Eminence, you have…”

“Shut up, DeSantis. Get out and don’t disturb me until I say so.” Father DeSantis quickly retreated.

He turned back to Santini. “Are you sure it went that far? You’re sure? Who else knows of this?”

“I know, you know, and the thieves know. The curators hadn’t looked at it yet, so it was just waiting to be studied.”

“Is it still in the computer?”

“No. I deleted it.” From the collection, thought Santini. No need to mention my own private computer files.

 “Backups?”

“Overwritten every seven days. Four days to go.”

“Did you say anything about it to our security people or the Italian police? Anyone?”

“I told them only that one hundred priceless medallions had been stolen. I said nothing about the treaty. I staged the medallion theft when I learned the treaty had been taken.”

“Why?”

The man thinks I’m an idiot, thought Santini. “When I found what the treaty was, what it said, when I read it, I didn’t think it prudent to let anyone know such a thing existed or had ever existed. It could only bring harm to the Church. I had to tell the police something. Something had to be stolen. So I made a huge mess and took a bunch of medallions. They’re in my private safe now.”

Agretti nodded. “You did well, Bishop.” 

“We have a complication.” Santini took a deep breath. “An American. An investigator from Vatican security. I’m sure he suspects something.”

“Why?”

“He thinks like a thief. He doesn’t think a thief would bother with medallions when he could take jewel-encrusted chalices and crucifixes. He does have a point.”

“Well, stick to your story. How do you know what the thieves were thinking? Tell him to ask the thieves. Let me know if he causes any more problems.”

Agretti turned to a shiny, black computer on his desk and pecked on the keyboard. “How come the Internet has no reference to the Treaty of Tuscany?”

“Eminence, the Third Crusade did not cover the kings of Europe in glory. Fredrick Barbarossa drowned on the way and his army turned back. Richard of England and Phillip of France couldn’t get along. Sabotaged each other. Jerusalem was not recaptured. And Richard became the Austrians’ prisoner while his mother ruled and his brother John robbed the English blind back home. At the time, they were all too content to forget about the whole thing. And Pope Clement was trapped between opposing political forces. Whatever could be forgotten was forgotten.”

 “Forgotten by everyone except the Vatican library?” Agretti snapped. “If the library hadn’t kept it, we wouldn’t have this problem now.”

“Right.” Santini sat up, red-faced. “And we wouldn’t have Aristotle, Socrates, Livid, Augustine, and a long list of others who would have been lost without the diligence of the Church, this library, and the people who built and defended it.”

Santini took a deep breath. “Eminence, it is the responsibility and duty of the Vatican Library to preserve all documents and manuscripts of importance to the Church and its history. That’s what we do, and we do it very well.”

Agretti cocked an eyebrow. This bishop wasn’t afraid of a fight.

“Yes, yes. I know. Ok. Sorry.” Agretti pulled a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his cassock. He tapped one out and grabbed a heavy silver lighter from the desk. “And now we don’t know where the treaty is? Is that it?”

“Yes,” Santini curtly answered. He deeply resented any criticism of the Vatican Library or its mission.

“You have a copy of the treaty?”

“Several. The original Latin document and Italian and English translations I made.” Santini took several pages from his briefcase and handed them to Agretti.

When Agretti finished reading the translations, he blew a huge cloud of smoke straight up in the air.

“It’s true, it’s true. Two Popes said this crap was the duty of all Christians and an infallible doctrine of the Church. Diplomatically, this would be a disaster if it got out. We’d be pariahs.  And worse, it could destroy the Church. How many other copies or translations are there?”

“Eminence, besides the ones here, I have two copies of the original and the translations in my office safe.”

“Bishop, say absolutely nothing about this treaty to anyone. I’ll get back to you about how we want to proceed here.”

Santini nodded. “I understand, Eminence.”

“You’re a good man, Santini. I understand you have taken full charge of the Vatican Library after the Cardinal Librarian’s unfortunate death with the Holy Father on Sunday. I don’t know who the next Pope will be, but I do know we will need a good man as the next Cardinal Librarian. Keep that in mind, Santini.”

Back in his office, Santini’s secretary said he had the Cardinal Secretary of State on the line.

“Yes, Eminence.”

“Santini, I want you to destroy every copy and every translation of that treaty you have. Do you understand me?”

“But, Eminence, we can’t just destroy history. It would be… it would be contrary to our mission. It would be wrong.”

“Right now, Santini, our mission is to preserve the Church from its enemies. Now you told me you no longer have the original, so I want you to make sure there is nothing left to indicate that treaty ever existed. That means no paper, no computer copy, nothing stashed in your hard drive or underwear drawer, no nothing. Can I rely on you?”

 “Eminence,” he said, “it will be done within an hour.” Santini leaned back and thought it would probably be prudent not to ask the Cardinal what he would do with the copies Santini had given him. Perhaps one day they, at least, could be recovered for the library.

“And remember, Santini, the new Pope, whoever he is, needs cover on this. He needs deniability. You don’t need to say anything to him, whoever is elected, or anybody else about this. I’m not asking you to lie, I’m asking you to support the new Pope and the Church by having no conversation that could ever link the Pope to knowledge of this treaty. Let me take care of that.”

Santini swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “I understand, Eminence.”

“Good. We need men like you in leadership positions here, and we need a new Cardinal Librarian. Understand, Santini?”

“Yes, Eminence, I do.”

“Something else, Bishop. In the unlikely event… uh, the event… uh, that I am elected Pope… we never spoke about this.”

“Never, Eminence.”

“Good man, Santini. Good man.”

Santini entered the passwords for his private section of the computer files and accessed the image of the treaty. What a vile thing. His finger hovered above the DELETE key, then retreated.  It was still history, and history had to be preserved. Besides, nobody knew about his private collection in the computer. He could protect both the Church and history. That was his burden.

Vatican - Wednesday, March 25

Santini was right. The American was back. Damn. He strolled into his office, gave Santini a nod, and flashed a tight smile. The man had no sense of protocol.

“Bishop, what does a keycard for the library look like?” Callahan lowered himself in to a chair, folded his hands, and leaned back.

Santini reached for his card that hung around his neck and held it up.

“You always keep it around your neck like that?”

“Yes. It’s too easy to mislay something here. This way I have it handy and prevent its loss.”

“Will that open anything in the library?”

“Yes. It has super-access privileges.”

 “I see.”  Now Callahan’s face wouldn’t stop itching.

Where is he going with this, thought Santini. Stay calm.

“Can we take a look at room H21?”

Room H21? How on Earth did he know that? What’s going on here? Santini’s heart pounded up into his tightening throat.

“Are you alright, Bishop?” asked Callahan. “Is there something about H21 I should know?”

“No… no, no,” stammered Santini. “It’s just… just that in terms… in terms of a theft, it is shocking to think anyone would have taken anything from H21.” Recover yourself, he thought. Think. Think. Nobody can find out about that treaty. Promise yourself. Promise your Church.

“Why is that, Bishop?”

“H21 is a sorting room for our Twelfth and Thirteenth Century collection of papal manuscripts. They are absolutely irreplaceable.” Good job, he told himself, stay on this line. “Absolutely irreplaceable.”

That got to him, thought Callahan. H21 is the last thing he wants to hear.

“Can we take a look at H21?” asked Callahan.

“Certainly. Certainly. Can I ask why?”

Callahan shrugged. “Sure. The security logs show it was opened with your keycard shortly after the cameras show you and the two thieves entering the building.”

Think very carefully, and speak very carefully, Santini thought. “Impossible. I never went near it.”

“Let’s just take a look.” Callahan stood up and immediately felt light-headed. Must have stood up too fast. The doctors had warned him about concussions.

When they reached H21, Santini took a seat while Callahan wandered around. He has no idea what he’s looking at, thought Santini.

 “So, who opened the door, Bishop?”

“I’ve been puzzling over that, and I think I understand what happened.” Be very careful, he thought. Callahan’s exhaustion might be an act. “I presume the thief took my keycard after I was unconscious.”

“Used it and then went back to the reading room and put it back around your neck?”

“Well, no. When I awoke, my things were scattered around.” He fingered the glasses, keys, and keycard hanging around his neck. “The paramedic had removed them and opened my cassock. But I know I had my keycard when I was handcuffed to the table. The next I knew, it was on the floor near me with my other things.”

Santini pressed his fingertips together in front of his chest and nodded a few times. “Yesterday, Mr. Callahan, you asked me to think like the thieves. Well, suppose they didn’t want anyone to know they had been in this room. That’s another reason they might have replaced the keycard.” He shrugged. “Just a thought.”

That was very good, thought Callahan. Liar. “Well, since we know H21 was entered, and it’s logical to presume the thieves entered, I think the room has to be sealed by security until we can do a detailed inventory and a forensic examination.”

Callahan flipped open his cell phone. “Mancini, yeah, it’s Callahan. I need a twenty-four hour guard on room H21 in the library. Cut off all keycard access. That includes me and Bishop Santini. Once nobody can get in, we can start opening it up one card at a time. We need to do a detailed inventory to see if anything’s missing.”

“You can’t do that,” sputtered Santini.

Callahan waved him quiet and went back to the phone. “I’ll close the door and wait for the guard.”

He turned to Santini. “Listen, Santini, something doesn’t compute here, and we need to find out what.”

Just Santini? No longer Bishop Santini? He was being treated like a common criminal. “This is not acceptable. I’ll take this to Cardinal Agretti.”

“Who?”

“Cardinal Agretti, the Vatican Secretary of State. He’s the highest-ranking member of the Curia until we have a new Pope.”

Callahan shrugged. “Sure. Go for it. Give him my number.” He pointed a finger at Santini. “But keep this in mind. One, we have evidence of a crime. Two, this room is now a crime scene. And three, a thousand people got blown to hell out there. So call whoever you want.”

Santini’s indignation was real, and his anger was real. But nothing would be found in H21. Maybe a few filing mistakes, like in any sorting operation, but nothing more, nothing about the Treaty of Tuscany.  He had done his duty. To hell with Mr. Callahan.

Rome - Wednesday, March 25

Just after 5:00 pm, people began to arrive at a run-down second-floor office above a vacant warehouse in a shabby section of Rome.

The earliest arrivals came from Italy three days ago, and as the week progressed they came from southern France, Switzerland, Austria, and southern Germany. The last came from the UK. Most came by train, but some used private cars. Some came to the warehouse in taxis, but most arrived on foot, preferring to walk the last few blocks. Some were fit, trim, and moved with the easy confidence of athletes. Others were the everyman in the street. Some looked like maids, and some like fashion models. A surprising number were in their seventies and eighties.