Magnificat (33 page)

“Of course. But I am pleased you are here, nonetheless,” she answered in Chinese and let Willie translate.

“We owe you an explanation for our intrusion,” said Captain Hafen.

“Not at all. I gather you are worried about the train being mobbed,” said Cardinal Cadini, approaching the two Eurocops with a genial grin. “If half of what we have been told is true, there is a very good reason for your concern. Tell us what you have in mind.”

Captain Sigura’s gaze swept the room suspiciously. When he spoke he sounded angry. “We are posting forty men on this train. We don’t want anything to happen to this…woman.”

“Of course not; and you’re taking sensible precautions. We were just remarking on how easily harm could come to the Pope,” said Cardinal Cadini, making a point of radiating his famous charm. “None of us could want that. At the same time, no one wants to draw attention to how vulnerable she is. Which is why you have stopped the train in this remote place, so that no one would learn of your plans but us. Very prudent.”

Under this amiable onslaught some of Captain Sigura’s hostility faded. “We must not let word of…the woman’s arrival in Rome leak out, not until we know we can bring her to the Vatican without incident. The men we are putting on this train are here to guard her, in case anything more drastic than Siena occurs. We cannot afford to permit anything or anyone to harm her. We have problems enough without that.” He shot a single, speaking look at Captain Hafen. “The newsmedia are everywhere.”

“Naturally. You have your work; they have theirs. Neither you nor they have any need to apologize for doing your work. This is a most remarkable story. You can’t blame them for trying to make the most of it, can you?” Cardinal Cadini sat down, indicating two chairs near the cluster of sofas. “Please. We’ll all be more comfortable if we do not stand on ceremony—or our feet.”

It was not very funny but everyone laughed dutifully.

“The guard on the train is an emergency measure. We don’t intend to provide her constant security. It isn’t appropriate. We are reluctant to give this woman an armed escort from the train station to the Vatican, to be candid. The Roman police have already requested that we delay her arrival until very late at night, when most of the demonstrators are gone. We’re supporting their request. Officials at the Vatican have said they would rather not have any kind of weapons in her escort. They believe it would invite violence.” Captain Sigura frowned at Zhuang. “But the way things are, I believe it is necessary. If you have seen the news, you will know that Rome is explosive now, and because of that, we think it would be best if we take her to the Vatican as discreetly as possible, and that means armed men and a guarded transport. There is no other way to get her to the Vatican without exposing her to great danger.”

As Willie translated, Zhuang’s face set into an expressionless mask. “I see,” she said quietly. “I hadn’t realized how difficult this could become. Tell me, do you think that many people would be hurt if I attempt to get through the crowd during the day?”

“It is possible,” said Captain Hafen.

“It is likely,” said Captain Sigura at the same time.

Zhuang considered her answer. “Willie, tell them that I do not want anyone hurt because I have come. From what you and Mendosa have told me, there are many who fear what I may do. If I begin by causing harm, those who are in doubt will then be certain I bring ruin. I dislike the notion of stealth, but if that is the means to lessen the tension in Rome, then decide on a time of night when it will be safest for me to arrive.”

Cardinal Cadini started to protest; Cardinal Ochoa gave her a look of grudging respect.

“I dislike the idea of you sneaking into the Vatican, too,” said Cardinal van Hooven after a moment of reflection. “It looks too secretive and shabby. It could be as damaging as a serious riot.”

Cardinal Ochoa and Cardinal Cadini protested at once, for two entirely different reasons. Cardinal Cadini gestured them into silence. Captains Sigura and Hafen exchanged a single, apprehensive nod.

“If you are certain it is a bad idea, then propose something better,” Cardinal Cadini recommended. “Aren’t Texans noted for their ingenuity?” This was directed to Cardinal Mendosa.

“That’s one word for it.” Cardinal Mendosa leaned back and focused his eyes on the middle distance. “We’ll arrange it.”

“In the meantime, we will begin—” said Captain Sigura.

“There
is
another way,” said Cardinal Mendosa, cutting through the rest. When he had everyone’s attention, he said, “I am convinced that Zhuang is right, and she must not cause any unpleasantness when she arrives at the Vatican. No argument there. At the same time, she is not a spy or a scoundrel, needing to enter her own house by stealth.”

“It’s an impasse,” said Cardinal Cadini sadly.

“No, it’s not,” said Cardinal Mendosa with a lazy grin. “We’ve been trying to think how to get
through
the problem, when what we ought to do is get
over
it. Captains,” he went on, speaking to the Eurocops, “do you think you can arrange for us to be brought in by helicopter? There’s space enough at the Vatican to set a couple of them down.”

Captain Hafen smiled; Captain Sigura nodded sagely.

When Willie finished translating, Zhuang looked over at Cardinal Mendosa. “Will they permit it?”

“Permit what, Worthy Magistrate?” He used English and ignored the hard stares of the others.

“Will they permit us to land a helicopter at the Vatican?” She watched him closely as she listened to Willie.

“Well, hell’s bells, Zhuang,” said Cardinal Mendosa, his grin widening, “you can do what you want; you’re the Pope. It’s not what
they’ll
permit, it’s what
you’ll
permit.”

She listened with great concentration. “Is there any mistake in arriving by helicopter? Is it worthy conduct?”

Cardinal Cadini chortled. “Who knows? No new Pope’s ever done it before.”

“But is it correct?” Zhuang persisted.

This time Cardinal Mendosa leaned forward and looked directly into her eyes. “Is it what you want to do?”

She glanced at the two EECPA Captains and back at Mendosa. “Willie, tell them—” she began in Chinese. “No,” she went on in English. “I will say it myself. Yes.”

Cardinal Mendosa shrugged. “If that’s what you want, it’s what we do. You’re the Pope; you want to arrive in a helicopter. Your wanting it makes it all right by me. Not that that matters.” He turned to Hafen and Sigura. “What do you think? Can we pull it off?”

Captain Sigura answered first. “There is a private airport about ten kilometers north of Orvieto. The men could remain on the train, in case of trouble down the way. It might confuse the press, too. We could stop the train there and obtain an escort—”

“A small escort,” Willie suggested. “They’re waiting for her in Orvieto and you don’t want to alert them, do you?”

“A small escort,” Captain Hafen conceded.

“That would give the Roman police and the Vatican security force time to clear the landing area,” said Captain Sigura. “And we’ll use EECPA helicopters.”

“I have never been in a helicopter in my life,” complained Cardinal Ochoa, though no one listened to him.

“Make that three,” Cardinal Mendosa recommended, entering into the plans with satisfaction. “If there’s just two helicopters, some lunatic could decide to take a shot at one of them. It’s not so likely to happen with three. Spreads the risk around a little. And it keeps us from having too many Cardinals wiped out if anything goes wrong.”

“Sounds reasonable, I have to admit,” said Captain Hafen. “We’ll get on the radio and—”

“Radios leak,” Cardinal Mendosa warned.

“In code, in code,” said Captain Sigura.

“If you were planning that I should come with you, Charles,” said Cardinal Cadini, “I would just as soon continue on the train. I don’t like heights, and if there is any need to field questions from the press, they know me.”

“So they do. They know me as well. I will stay on with you,” offered Cardinal Gemme. “But I think Cardinal Mendosa’s point is well-taken,” he went on to the Eurocops. “If the escort remains on the train and Cardinal Cadini and I stay aboard, it’s less likely that the newsmedia will get wind of what is going on, and will only learn of the diversion after Zhuang is safely at the Vatican.”

“It makes sense,” said Captain Hafen.

“Okay,” said Cardinal Mendosa, and once more grinned at Zhuang Renxin. “Well, Your Holiness, you got your helicopters.”

Chapter 18

A few minutes after two in the morning three white-and-blue EECPA helicopters came fluttering over Rome from the north. They were no different than any other Eurocop helicopters, and very few people paid much notice of them, if they were aware of them at all.

Sylvestre, Cardinal Jung stood in full diplomatic regalia at the entrance to the garden, surrounded by Vatican security. A few were obvious in their Swiss Guard uniforms, but most were in inconspicuous clothing; they were armed and efficient. Cardinal Jung despised them all on theological grounds almost as adamantly as he insisted on them for pragmatic reasons. He squinted up at the approaching helicopters. Some distance away there was a knot of priests with Dominique, Cardinal Hetre and Vincent, Cardinal Walgren, all of them trying to restrain the excitement and curiosity that consumed them. Everyone was speaking and hardly anyone was heard.

“Is the entire reception committee here?” asked one of the senior security men. He had a strong Genoese accent and a face like a twelfth-century steel helmet.

“Not all. Not yet,” said Cardinal Jung. Ever since the scrambled phone call had come warning the Cardinals of the imminent arrival of the Chinese woman, he had been fuming. He had tried to convince Cardinal O’Higgins, Cardinal Tsukamara, Cardinal Lepescu, Cardinal Stevenson, and Cardinal Bakony to refuse to recognize the incoming Pope, but without success. Now they were gathering to welcome her. The idea that she would set foot on Vatican soil galled him; that they would have to greet her was almost intolerable.

“Have the rest been summoned?” persisted the security man.

Cardinal Jung scowled. “So I have been told.” He looked over his shoulder as if expecting to see assembled Cardinals trooping forward. “It is very late. It is inconvenient.”

“They had better come quickly, if they want to be here when the helicopters land,” said the security man with a nod in the direction of the approach. “They’ll land in three or four minutes. She’s in the first one.”

“No doubt with that Texan,” muttered Cardinal Jung, who coughed as if to dismiss his angry observation. He despised Cardinal Mendosa, a feeling which had given way to loathing as well when, against all reason and prudence, the Texan had gone to China and found the woman whose name they had written. If only Cardinal Mendosa had kept out of it, thought Cardinal Jung. If only Cardinal Mendosa had realized the situation was impossible, and accepted the wisdom of the rest. The Church would not have to face the embarrassment of this moment.

“That’s what the report said,” the security man told him as if he could not hear the animosity in Cardinal Jung’s voice. “Cardinal Mendosa and his translator are riding with…the Pope. You must be glad to have this long wait finally behind you.”

“Glad?” repeated Cardinal Jung, his glittery eyes starting to protrude from his head. “That we are being made the joke of the world? How can such a thing make me glad?” He turned abruptly at the sound of hurried footsteps; Alexander, Cardinal Bradeston was all but running toward the garden, trailed by two young American priests.

The security man nodded his approval. “About time. I hope more are coming. This is a pretty paltry turn-out so far. You don’t want her to think she’s unwelcome.” His smile told Cardinal Jung that the staff was fully aware of how most of the men felt about this distressing Papal election.

“It isn’t my decision,” Cardinal Jung said at his huffy best. “Little as we may like it, we have agreed that this is the will of the Holy Spirit.”

“Good enough for me,” said the security man, and took the portable telephone from his belt. “Better not use these any more tonight,” he said into the device. “We’re probably being picked up by eavesdroppers all over the city.”

There was a crackly reply, and the man returned the telephone to the clip on his belt. “Just a precaution, Your Eminence,” the man said to Cardinal Jung. “You can’t keep anything private on one of these things. Anyone with the right equipment can monitor what we say. Under the circumstances—”

Cardinal Jung sighed his compliance.

The lead helicopter was overhead now, and descending slowly, the rotors beating as fast and regularly as the innards of a bread-kneading machine. It was near enough for Cardinal Jung to make out an armed man in the seat beside the pilot. The noise was overwhelming.

Cardinal Bradeston came up beside Cardinal Jung. “We’re lucky to see this, Eminence,” he bellowed into Cardinal Jung’s ear, panting a little from his exertion. “This is an historic moment.”

“What?” Cardinal Jung shouted, not able to hear.

“We’re lucky to see this,” Cardinal Bradeston repeated more loudly, taking care with each word.

“If you insist,” said Cardinal Jung. He glanced at the Bostonian Cardinal, and noted with distaste that the man was wearing a business suit and lapel pins. He favored Cardinal Bradeston with a disdainful look before returning his attention to the lowering helicopters. He stopped praying they would crash.

The second and third helicopters paused, hovering, over the garden. From the roof of Saint Peter’s came a sudden, bright beam of light.

The security man nodded his approval.

Another searchlight on the roof of the Vatican Museum sprang to life and the three helicopters were suddenly suspended in their glow. From the banks of the Tevere there rose a ragged, waiting cry as those patient watchers began to realize what was happening.

“We’re going to need more protection,” said Cardinal Bradeston to the security man. “Listen to them.”

“It’s already been arranged. Two squads of Eurocops arrived ten minutes ago. They’re getting into position right now.” He had to yell this at Cardinal Bradeston and was aware that only half of his words were heard. “Better stand back, Your Eminences,” he added, pointing to a spot a little to the rear.

Cardinal Bradeston did not bother to answer. He retreated, plucking at Cardinal Jung’s satin sleeve to pull him along.

“What—?” Cardinal Jung blustered.

By now the lead helicopter was very close; the shrubbery around the garden tossed and writhed in the rotor-wash. The searchlight beams followed the helicopter as it dropped the last short distance to the mosaic court, landing squarely on the enormous inlaid crossed keys. The rotors whined as they slowed.

An instant later the security man gave a signal; half a dozen men in inobtrusive clothes rushed forward, surrounding the helicopter. All of them were armed, and their eyes were wary. Above them the other two helicopters hung on the might of their self-generated storms, waiting while the first was unloaded.

The door in the right side of the first helicopter was pulled open, and the armed man from the cockpit stepped out. He crouched in the glare, like a escaping convict trapped in prison surveillance lights, his machine pistol at the ready. A moment later he signaled to those inside.

Cardinal Mendosa appeared in the open door, his eyes shaded against the brilliance of the searchlights. The wind from the helicopters above rumpled his clothes and disarranged his badger-grey hair; he grinned. He waved once, then stepped out, turning to offer support to the person behind him.

Everyone in the garden fell silent as Zhuang Renxin put her hand on Cardinal Mendosa’s arm and emerged into the light. She peered at the shapes beyond the brightness and said something to Cardinal Mendosa, which caused Cardinal Mendosa to turn to the man just behind them. Willie Foot bent down and said something to the Chinese woman. The Chinese woman nodded and laughed.

“Welcome to Rome, Worthy Magistrate,” said Cardinal Mendosa as he knelt beside her.

“Mendosa, get up,” she said in her version of English.

For once he refused. “Not this time, Worthy Magistrate. If I don’t kneel the rest will not; they’ll assume I don’t recognize you for what you are,” said Cardinal Mendosa through Willie. “This time you will have to allow it, like it or not.”

“But there is no reason.” She looked around and then up at the remaining helicopters. “What cause can you have to make them—”

“Tell her to put her hand on my head,” said Cardinal Mendosa to Willie, not wanting to be misunderstood in Chinese. “Right now.”

Puzzled, Zhuang followed Cardinal Mendosa’s instructions. “I say this is most unnecessary, Mendosa, and unseemly. Now, get up,” she ordered when she had taken her hand from his brow.

Cardinal Mendosa obeyed with alacrity. “If you insist,” he told her in his inexpert Chinese. “Walk ahead of me, Worthy Magistrate,” he went on in English, as he motioned to Willie to fall in beside him. “Stay on the path toward the arch.”

“This is most absurd—” she protested even as she complied.

Cardinal Mendosa remained three steps behind her; he chuckled. “You ain’t seen serious absurd yet, Worthy Magistrate,” he said, but the words were lost in the surge of the rotors as the first helicopter prepared to rise, leaving room for next one to land.

* * *

In the antechamber to Dominique, Cardinal Hetre’s study, two men were waiting. Cardinal Hetre could sense their impatience through the closed door, and this served to increase the ferocity of his headache.

“Is there anything I can get for you, Eminence?” asked his second assistant, a tense young man from Fort Gary whose French was so Canadian that few of the Europeans could understand him.

“No,” he replied. “No.”

“Perhaps I should summon your physician,” suggested Father Duvenant.

“And have him tell me again that there is nothing wrong with me? No, thank you.” He saw the consternation in Father Duvenant’s face and did his best to modify his outburst. “And he may be right this one time. This last week must have given many of us headaches. If we are expected to come up with a coronation that changes the participation of the Pope in the Mass, well.…”

“Anyone would get a headache, most certainly,” said Father Duvenant. “Of course.” He did his best to look relieved. “I can’t say that I wish we could trade places, Eminence.”

“You would be mad if you did,” Cardinal Hetre said, wishing he could make a joke of it; flippancy came hard to him at the best of times. “Tell Cardinal Llanos and Cardinal Sinclair that I will be with them directly. Please. I’ll take something for my head and be along.”

“Do you want me to tell them?” asked Father Duvenant, “about your head?”

The French-Canadian Cardinal shook his head emphatically, which only served to increase the pain in his temples. “Of course not. It would only create problems. You know what the other Cardinals think. They are suspicious of my headaches. You’ll find a better way to make my excuses.”

Father Duvenant nodded once. “As you wish, Eminence.”

“You’re very good; probably better than I deserve,” said Cardinal Hetre, and squirmed at the uninvited images that surged through his mind. He knew he had to resist them for the sake of his soul; he could not succumb to those despicable needs, no matter how many others did. It was an offence to the Holy Spirit and his rank. He had known this all his life. The Church made no allowances for such appetites. He crossed himself once, appalled at the sudden vision of Father Duvenant naked and bowed before him. A prayer caught in his throat. How many times would he be tormented by these unholy lusts? He motioned Father Duvenant away.

Cardinal Llanos watched Father Duvenant as he came through the door. “How long must we wait?” he asked in impolite haste. Both he and Cardinal Sinclair were in secular dress, their dark suits as uniform as if they worked in the corporate world. Each wore his lapel pins and each had a crucifix tie-tack.

“Another ten minutes, Eminences. Fifteen at the most. He is not…not quite himself yet. Please, be seated and let me bring you some refreshments.” He was not sure what there was to offer these august men, but he knew that anything was preferable to leaving them cooling their heels, neglected in this little room.

“Fifteen at most,” said Cardinal Sinclair. “All right. But if His Eminence does not present himself then, we will have to leave. Regretfully, of course. Were it not for the…unusual developments of the last few days, we might have more leeway. With our daily press conference two hours away, there are more obligations ahead of us today beyond attending Cardinal Hetre.” His soft, Irish voice did not make his warning any less stern.

“I am sure he will be with you shortly,” said Father Duvenant. “It is the pressure of events.”

“Another headache,” said Cardinal Sinclair, and motioned away Father Duvenant’s protestations before he could voice them. “You don’t have to say anything, Father. We know the Cardinal of old and we have encountered these headaches of his for years. He can say what he wants: we understand.” He looked at Cardinal Llanos. “We’ll remember his suffering in our prayers.”

“Of course we will,” said Cardinal Llanos. He sighed. “But keep in mind, there is the coronation to prepare for. I’m convinced His Eminence wishes to give us the benefit of his prayerful reflection.”

“Most assuredly,” said Father Duvenant, who had been mulling over a few ideas of his own and hoped to present them to Cardinal Hetre in the next few days. “I know he has given many hours to contemplation and—”

Cardinal Llanos shook his head. “You need not tell us, Father; it’s not as if we were foreign press. Cardinal Hetre is as bewildered as the rest of us. None of us know what is best to do, not even Cardinal Mendosa.”

“But it must take place very soon,” Cardinal Sinclair said. “Every day we postpone the coronation is one day that those who oppose the Church gather strength and credibility from our inaction. It has been more than a week since she arrived. We must settle the matter soon.”

“Doubtless Cardinal Hetre is aware of these things,” said Father Duvenant. “I have heard him discuss them with members of the Curia.”

“Leave the Curia out of this,” begged Cardinal Sinclair. “They’re the worst of all. Cardinal Fiorivi has already protested the Curia’s refusal to admit any non-Catholics to the Vatican until after the coronation of the Pope.” He forestalled Father Duvenant’s questions with a single raised finger. “And do not bring up the issue of calling her Pope. That is the proper title. Male or female or anything in between, we still call the Pope Pope. That much we can agree upon.”