Magnificat (53 page)

“Cardinal Gemme,” said Dame Leonie with an effort, “perhaps it would be better to arrange another time for your discussion with Pope An. You have much on your mind, and it could be that you require—”

He rounded on her without warning. “Be silent,” he said very softly. “You are in a sacred place.”

Her mouth was dry and she was cold to the bone. She stepped back from him, no longer able to maintain her pretense that there was nothing strange about Cardinal Gemme’s behavior. “Eminence, please,” she whispered.

“There is no more Eminence. The Pope has ended Eminences.” He took up his post at the windows again. “Ah. There is the limousine. Six more motorcycles for escort. Who is deceived? She is a warlord surrounded by soldiers. They must bring their own light to find their way in the darkness,” he added contemptuously as the four stands of bright security lights were set up at regular intervals along the street.

“Perhaps she has reason to protect herself,” said Dame Leonie, chiding herself for her folly as she spoke.

“God will not be denied His vengeance. If she surrounded herself with tanks and warheads, she would not escape her pride.” He slipped his hand under his jacket. “It is a glorious thing to gain a martyr’s crown.”

She needed every bit of her will to keep from throwing herself on Cardinal Gemme. Dame Leonie knotted her hands in her skirt and ground her teeth, but still the desire to bash in Cardinal Gemme’s skull remained. As if from a great distance she heard herself say, “Give it up, Eminence. Don’t do this.”

Cardinal Gemme did not laugh, and for that Dame Leonie was thankful; his smile was ghastly enough. He stood at the windows, watching the limousine pull to the entrance, watching the men of her escort open the passenger door. “We will be delivered from evil, as God promised, but we will have to show that it is our desire to be delivered.”

Pope An was on the narrow sidewalk now, her simple black silk clothing as familiar as her serene features. She spoke briefly to her chauffeur, then looked toward the entry arch.

“What do you think?” asked Cardinal Gemme with detached curiosity. “Does she know she is the agent of Satan?”

Dame Leonie was unable to speak.

Dionigi Stelo and four of his assistants came through the archway and took up the task of escorting Pope An.

“Not much longer, Dame Leonie,” said Cardinal Gemme. “God will forgive you for helping her; you are an ignorant woman, and it is not your fault that you believed what you were told. Women are always prey to attractive deception, and Satan uses this weakness even as God forgives it.”

This slighting remark goaded Dame Leonie out of her fear. She prepared herself for action, aware that there would be one chance and one chance only to save herself. She stepped out of her torturous shoes, prepared to run when she could, then bent down to retrieve one of them.

Cardinal Gemme swung around toward her. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

“My feet hurt,” she said honestly. “I’m taking off my shoes. I want to see if there is anything wrong inside them.” She indicated the high-heeled dress pump in her hand. “Do I have your permission?”

He was no longer listening. He had cocked his head, intent on the first footfalls from the floor below.

Dame Leonie held the shoe in her hand, turning it over slowly. The heel was very narrow, elegant and hard to balance on. She felt it, tried bending it, and was satisfied that the core was steel. Careless of her nails she began to peel back the guard at the base of the heel, exposing the metal.

A few sharp orders were heard as more feet came up the stairs. Cardinal Gemme left the window and went to the door, standing beside it, listening.

While Dame Leonie finished her task, she thought, I cannot believe I am doing this. I cannot believe that I am preparing to attack Cardinal Gemme. But she could not believe that Cardinal Gemme was mad enough to carry explosives on his body, to plan to ambush Pope An. She pulled away the last bit of guard. Now she had to choose the moment.

Someone called out and the steady progress of footsteps was halted. The shuffle and confusion that replaced the upward march was ominous.

“Soon, very soon,” said Cardinal Gemme, his hand still under his jacket. “There will be an end to the reign of the Antichrist.”

Dame Leonie closed her eyes. She had to strike and immobilize at the same time; for as long as Cardinal Gemme could reach the trigger, he could set off his deadly package. As sensible as it might be she knew she could not bring herself to strike at his head, for she was not capable of killing him. There had to be another target.

There were footsteps in the hall now, approaching the door.

Dame Leonie rushed forward, her shoe raised. She brought the heel down with all the force she possessed, and to her horror felt, after a minor resistance, the steel sink deep into the muscle where his neck joined his shoulder.

Cardinal Gemme screamed and struck out, his clenched hand slamming into the side of Dame Leonie’s head as his blood welled over his jacket and shirt, spattering the wall and the floor as he swung his arm again. His scream turned to a howl as he fell against the doorframe.

Dame Leonie staggered, sickened and dizzied.

There were shouts and running footsteps now. The door was flung open and Axel Maetrich stumbled through, a pistol in his hand, three men crouched behind him with weapons at the ready.

More men appeared in the hall, all holding pistols or tazers. Dionigi Stelo was among them, and he rapped out orders to the Vatican Security men, insisting that they remain where they were.

Cardinal Gemme started to whoop with pain and rage.

Axel Maetrich lowered his pistol. He stood over Cardinal Gemme, ignoring the Vatican Security weapons that were suddenly trained on him. He signaled to one of his Eurocops. “Grab his arms. Don’t let him touch anything. He’s carrying a bomb.”

Dionigi Stelo could not let this go unchallenged. “This is Cardinal Gemme. He is not some anarchist, he is a Prince of the Church.”

“And he’s carrying a bomb,” said Maetrich again. “We have proof. Don’t go near him, and don’t allow him to move.” Maetrich’s second moved close enough to Cardinal Gemme to stop any attempt he might make to start the fuse of his bomb.

“Someone get a doctor,” called Stelo. “The Cardinal is bleeding.” He watched in dismay as the red stain spread. He signaled one of his men to get moving. “Keep your mouth shut about this. Just bring the doctor and leave the rest to me.”

Maetrich was beside Dame Leonie now, his arm across her back. “You’ll be all right, Madame,” he said with great formality. “When I agreed to let you handle this, I didn’t expect anything quite like.…”

Dame Leonie was queasy now, and her head had not stopped ringing. She swayed, as much from shock as from hurt. “I didn’t think…Dear God, there’s so much blood.”

“You did a fine job,” Maetrich assured her in a low voice. “You were fine.”

Looking down, Dame Leonie saw that her skirt was dappled red, and she shuddered at the sight. “I must…I’ll have to change.” Her voice faded and she wobbled on her feet.

Maetrich held her up. “Not yet, Dame Leonie. There’s a little more to take care of.” He guided her to one of the low-slung chairs and helped her into it. “Take it easy. We’ll handle everything. We’ll remove Cardinal Gemme in a moment.”

There was another flurry of excitement at the door, and then Pope An came into the room. She looked first at Cardinal Gemme, now half-conscious and pale against the wall. She muttered a few words in Chinese, which caused Dame Leonie to glance up. “What has happened here?” the Pope inquired, looking directly at Dame Leonie.

“I…Cardinal Gemme…doesn’t seem himself,” Dame Leonie said weakly.

“Apparently not,” said Pope An, looking around a second time, this time turning her attention to Axel Maetrich. “What is this all about?”

Maetrich paid no heed to the angry glare Stelo shot in his direction.

“Cardinal Gemme is carrying explosives. A reinforced police van is on its way.”

“Really?” Pope An looked toward him. “How did you discover this?”

“There was…there was a timely warning,” said Maetrich.

“How very fortunate,” said Pope An dryly.

Though she had started to shake uncontrollably, Dame Leonie made herself speak. “Someone…a guest…informed me of the problem. I suggested that the Cardinal be discreetly checked, to determine if it was true. When it was established that he was carrying explosives, we selected a course of action.” She pressed her hands together, attempting to use the tension from that to stop trembling. “He was planning to kill you. And himself.”

“And you as well, it appears,” said Pope An. She moved a little nearer to Cardinal Gemme. “What an unexpected weapon.”

Maetrich stepped between Cardinal Gemme and Pope An. “Best to keep your distance,” he said.

Pope An obligingly moved back a step or two. “This is not to become another scandal,” she said to Maetrich, then motioned to Stelo. “Cardinal Gemme is to have the best protection. See to it.”

Dame Leonie started to ask a question, then thought better of it. Some other time, she thought. Some other time.

From where he lay, Cardinal Gemme began a steady, whimpering whine like the complaint of an abused puppy. His face was pasty but for the scar, which had gone raspberry bright.

“We’ll see he gets back to the Vatican without incident,” Stelo assured the Pope. “We’ll use closed vehicles and—”

“Back to the Vatican?” she repeated. “Oh, no, Stelo, I fear you have misunderstood me. I wish you to keep guard on him, so that he is not pestered by the newspeople. You cannot bring him to the Vatican unless the court allows it.” She looked around and saw Axel Maetrich in his priest’s disguise. “Sergeant, you have jurisdiction here. You must take Cardinal Gemme in charge. Stelo will accompany you, if that is satisfactory?”

Maetrich stared at Pope An. “You will not protest?”

“I?” said Pope An. “My authority does not extend to Roman law, Sergeant. Cardinal Gemme committed his crimes in Rome, not the Vatican, and as such he must be dealt with under Roman law.” She moved toward Dame Leonie. “If you think it necessary, have our protection given to Dame Leonie. Otherwise we must permit the Eurocops to do their work.”

“Then we had best leave the room to them,” said Dionigi Stelo, his features rigid with disapproval. “Since you will not permit us to do our work.”

Pope An met his eyes directly. “I most certainly will permit you do to your work. What I will not allow is for you to do the work of Eurocops and Interpol. As a Magistrate, I respect the limits of the law.” Her attention shifted to Axel Maetrich. “Pay attention to what I say. You will not be allowed to encroach on the work of Vatican security.”

Finally Dame Leonie stopped shaking, and a profound lethargy stole upon her.

“As you say, Madame,” Maetrich agreed. He signaled to one of his men. “Accompany the Pope upstairs. And one of you, take Dame Leonie to a quiet place where she can recover. And ask her to make a preliminary report.”

Dame Leonie roused herself from this torpor that threatened to overcome her. “There is a study on this floor, if that will do,” she said, doing her best to restore a more normal tone to this most abnormal situation. As she started toward the door she was pleasantly astonished to find that her legs would support her. She also realized that she was still barefoot, and felt a rush of embarrassment that was as senseless as it was intense.

“Dame Leonie,” said Pope An as she came up to her, “I am most humbly grateful to you for your courage. Without you, I fear many of these men would be injured, and I might well be dead.” She bowed formally, adding in Chinese, “I am in your debt.”

“No, no,” said Dame Leonie, shocked that Pope An would think such a thing; she would have protested more had the physician not arrived with Eurocop escort to tend to Cardinal Gemme and the police cleared the room of everyone but Dionigi Stelo, Axel Maetrich, the physician, and the whimpering Cardinal.

Chapter 28

Officially it was a relaxing weekend for President Carey; unofficially it was a confrontation he had sought to avoid. As he got out of his helicopter in the middle of the back pasture of Elihu Nimmo’s land, he hoped that there were no media types keeping watch with long-range binoculars. He waved to the riders who waited for him on restive horses, the three of them each leading a second, saddled horse.

“Climb aboard,” offered Tom Nimmo, holding out the reins of the tallest of the three horses to the President. “He’s used to big men.”

“I haven’t been on a horse in a decade,” Carey protested as he took the reins and prepared to mount. Tall as he was, he found the seventeen-one-hand black gelding formidable. He wished now he had worn something more substantial than running shoes and light-weight slacks.

“Shadow won’t mind. He’s gentle and easy, just the way your secretary told us you like ‘em,” Cliff Anderson said, glancing toward their companion. “You said you wanted to talk in private.”

“This is pretty private, I’ll give you that,” Carey conceded as he mounted and met Cardinal Mendosa’s eyes on the level. He pulled the big gelding back. “The other horses?”

“For your bodyguards, Secret Service and what-all. We’ll leave a couple of them here to watch you and take the rest back to the house. Don’t worry,” Tom assured him, “we know how to get to the barns without attracting attention.”

“Good,” said President Carey, and swung Shadow around to walk beside Cardinal Mendosa’s grulla. “They told me you like to ride, Cardinal.” It was the best opening he could think of.

“Used to. I don’t have the time for keeping up my touch. It was different way back when. Junior rodeo and the rest of it, when I was a kid,” said Cardinal Mendosa. “But I’m lucky if I ride one day a year now. There are times I miss it.” He nudged his grulla with the side of his leg and the gelding slid away. “I used to ride his mother, twenty years ago. He’s thirteen, as I remember.” He shrugged. “You’re not here to discuss horseflesh.”

“No,” said the President. “We have a number of problems we have to review. They’re all urgent.”

“I’m sure we do, and they are,” said Cardinal Mendosa, giving his nephew a single wave as Tom started back toward the ranch house, leading two of the Secret Service men. “If you hadn’t called me, I would probably have tried to reach you. But I would have understood if you hadn’t wanted to talk to me, with separation of Church and State.”

“I wish I could stand on that, you have no idea how much I wish I could, but it isn’t possible. Not with all this millennial fever. The entire world’s going crazy. Thank God I only have to worry about America—it’s bad enough. You know what Williamson has been saying. Marcus is worse. You didn’t hear his harangue last night, I’d guess. He’s trying to get his people to identify all Christians they don’t agree with so that when the Last Days come, they’ll know who to kill and won’t get the wrong people by mistake. Patton’s been telling his followers to burn down all religious buildings but his own. He has promised a place in heaven for anyone who ruins any church or synagogue or mosque or whatever that isn’t part of his Revelationist Pentecostal Church. They wrecked a meeting house in Cleveland yesterday. A meeting house, for Chrissake. What’s the point of attacking Quakers? Reverend Thorn’s Fundamentalist Coalition has staged demonstrations in a dozen major cities over the last week, saying that the world is going to end. And there are tens of thousands of people who’re agreeing with him. There’s even a large organization of Jews who are saying that the Messiah is coming—for the first time—by the end of this year.” He saw a stand of cottonwood about a quarter of a mile away. “It would be a good idea to get into cover. Just in case. We don’t want to be spotted. Is it possible?”

“Lead the way,” said Cardinal Mendosa, nudging his grulla to a jog-trot. “When I was twenty I could ride this way all day and never feel a thing. Now, if I’m in the saddle more than two hours my back’s stiff as cordwood. And my legs are terrible.” He made a dismissing gesture. “So what is the most pressing? The Fundamentalist crunch or the anti-Catholic activities of the last several months? Or what happened in Tampa last week? It can’t be Cardinal Gemme’s breakdown can it?—that was less than four days ago.”

“Didn’t that surprise you, Cardinal Gemme doing that?” President Carey could not resist asking.

“It fair to bowled me over. Marc-Luc is the kind of man who’s always been proud of how forward-thinking he is, and how reasonable. He’s got a lot of press over the years on those counts. And now this.” He shook his head. “Maybe it wasn’t the attack that got him, maybe it was this millennial looniness.”

“And you leave for Rome tomorrow, don’t you?” asked President Carey, hating the steady jarring pace.

“Very early, yes,” he said. “As you were certainly aware. I have assumed you wanted this meeting to be wholly confidential, or you might have arranged for me to reach Rome via Washington D.C.”

“If I wanted every newsman in the U.S. and Canada on the front lawn, that would be the way to do it.” He pulled his black in as they neared the stand of cottonwood. “I might as well announce I’ve chosen sides; that’s what they’d make of it, no matter what we said. But there’s been too much of that already.”

“You have a point,” said Cardinal Mendosa, also slowing his horse. “Tell me what you want to discuss, then.”

Now that he had the opportunity he sought, President Carey hesitated. “I don’t want to tell the Catholic Church its business.”

“But you’re going to anyway, at least so far as the U. S. of A. is concerned,” Cardinal Mendosa finished for him, his manner steady and friendly. “That’s your job, isn’t it? And it probably has something to do with the disputes that keep cropping up between Vince Walgren and me, am I right? You have to make the effort to end the hostilities between those who agree with him and those who agree with me.”

“Cardinal Walgren has been very outspoken,” said President Carey.

“He’s been outspoken ever since he got his red hat,” said Cardinal Mendosa bluntly. “He’s been riding his success at stopping Hispanic gangs from proliferating and having wars and riots in Southern California for all its worth, and now it suddenly gives him worldly political clout to use his popularity with that portion of the Catholic community to disrupt all the things the Pope has been doing. He’s got the credibility in the public eye, and that makes a difference.” He looked over at President Carey as he stopped his grulla. “Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

“Among other things, yes,” said Carey. “He is determined to persuade American Catholics to reject your requests for giving Pope An the benefit of the doubt. He might very well try to make his followers, or your followers, seem like splinter groups from real Catholicism. You are aware that he has been very critical of your support of Pope An for the last half year.”

“I could hardly miss it,” said Cardinal Mendosa dryly. “Yes, Vince Walgren doesn’t like the way things are going. He has taken it upon himself to interfere with the reforms Pope An has introduced. Vince Walgren tends to forget that the Pope is the final authority in the Church, Chinese woman or not.” He looked over at President Carey. “I’m assuming that if you expect me to keep your confidence, you will keep mine?”

“Of course,” said President Carey, just a little too quickly.

Cardinal Mendosa pretended he had not heard this too-prompt agreement. “You see, Cardinal Walgren—if I may be blunt?—has trouble with women. He resents them. He is anti-abortion, not because of the soul of the unborn, but because he believes that women must suffer for the Sin of Eve. The press hasn’t paid much attention to that side of him. He wants women punished for being able to get pregnant. He has dogmatically opposed any change in the status of women in the Church. Unfortunately, he has taken the Apostle Paul as his guide, and Pope An has put a stop to that, for everyone in the Church. Apostles won’t do it any more. The only authority she will recognize is Christ.” He rested his forearm on the saddlehorn and leaned forward. “The changes Pope An have made for women in the Church have troubled Cardinal Walgren deeply. He’s feeling undermined and he has to do something to shore himself up. The appointment of Prioress Wilgefortis Standart to the Curia, the Congregation of the Propaganda, was the last straw for him, not to mention most of the Curia. He is aware that it is not wise to attack the Pope directly, not even this Pope. He is convinced he’s right, but not so convinced that he wants to chance excommunication. But he is determined to attack her supporters, preferably her American supporters. Which means me.”

“You do support Pope An,” said President Carey.

“Yes, I do, completely and unreservedly,” said Cardinal Mendosa, adding simply, “And I will continue to support her as long as God gives me life.”

“And no matter what her rule does to the Church,” President Carey went on, prodding.

“Since her election was determined by the Holy Spirit, I wouldn’t be a very good Cardinal if I set myself against the Pope. Okay, I haven’t always seen eye-to-eye with the Throne of Saint Peter, I admit it. But Pope An is something different. I know how…startled we all were when we elected her. Twice. There wasn’t anyone politicking for her, and no one who stood to profit from her election. Because none of us knew she existed. But she was elected. Whatever she does, she does it with the license of the Holy Spirit, and that is an authority that no true Catholic can question.” He cleared his throat. “Some of what she does might be a bitter pill for a few of our guys to swallow, but that’s not the fault of the Holy Spirit or Pope An. That is the human capacity for mistake.”

“No matter what Cardinal Walgren does, or says,” said President Carey heavily.

“No matter what,” said Cardinal Mendosa. “But don’t worry; I don’t want to lock horns with him if I can help it. I don’t like to see the Church so divided at a time like this. The rest of Christendom has turned itself inside out over the beginning of the Third Millennium. The Mormons are dashing off to the far corners of the earth on their crusade, and the way the Baptists are acting, we ought to be weaving robes of white wool. I’d rather the Catholic Church didn’t join those festivities. We’ve had more than enough of that this last year.” He rubbed his eyes. “I can’t stop supporting Pope An, but I can urge Catholics not to be drawn into religious disputes, either with other Catholics or members of other sects or religions. I can give a press conference to that effect, if you like; on my next visit we can arrange for some kind of ecumenical debate, if that seems like a good idea. In the meantime I can arrange to tape a dozen different spots you can show anywhere in the country. I can slant them for regions or for Protestants instead of Catholics. Hell, I’ll talk to Jews and Muslims and Buddhists and Hindus and Zoroastrians and pagans and atheists and people who worship the strange little guys from outer space, if it’ll help. I can tape a couple of lectures, too, that clarify the role of the Pope in the Church, so those who are worried about Pope An might be less upset. I’d be very happy to do that; we’ve got a little studio of sorts at Four Evangelists, and I can have the tapes ready for you before I fly out of here,” Cardinal Mendosa offered. He sneezed once and went on. “I don’t know if it would make much difference, but I’m willing to try that or any other reasonable means of diminishing the hostilities.”

“Religious battles at the start of a re-election campaign.…” President Carey opened his hands to show how futile it felt to him.

“I do understand, Mister President,” said Cardinal Mendosa. This time he stopped the sneeze before it got started. “It’s the number, you know, the two thousand. It has them all spooked, and that includes Republicans and Democrats.” He sniffed. “Have you talked to Alex Bradeston yet?”

“Last week,” said President Carey. “He told me that the situation in New England was getting very disturbing. I don’t know what to do about that situation, though there’s going to be violence before too long. If I interfere, it’s against the Constitution, because I would be disallowing freedom of religion. I don’t argue with the principle, but the abuses of it.… That Julian Salonipolis has been stirring up all kinds of trouble, most of it along sexual lines, calling for a return to traditional Christian values, meaning bigotry and the rest of it,” he said, watching as Cardinal Mendosa drew a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes. “Is something the matter?”

Cardinal Mendosa gestured to the trees. “I’m allergic to cottonwood,” he said, ending on a lavish sneeze. “Sorry.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” President Carey demanded.

“Because I agree with you about security. And most people around here know I never go near cottonwood. So clearly, whoever’s over here sure as shit ain’t me. It’s a double screen.” He blew his nose and looked directly at the President. “Go on. Traditional Christian values, meaning the most repressive rules Paul could think up, like telling women to be silent in church and submissive to the rule of their husbands; and the resultant fifteen hundred years of the erosion of legal rights for women, and the diminished position of children, and the adapting of those dicta to endorse a social order that reduced most of European females to the position of property.” Seeing Carey’s expression he managed to chuckle. “Does it surprise you, my attitude about this? Why should it? We’re not all of us conservative bastards who never got over the way our mamas toilet-trained us.”

“Clearly not,” said President Carey, aware that he had underestimated Cardinal Mendosa. The rangy Texan with the badger-grey hair was a force to reckon with. He decided to ask one unguarded question. “Why do you keep doing it, knowing the deck is stacked against you?”

Cardinal Mendosa sniffed his way through a laugh. “Oh, pure cussedness, in part. At least half of the time. Someone has to hold up our end of the table.” He grew serious; he turned his reddened eyes on President Carey. “Though there is one more thing: truly, in my heart of hearts, I
believe
.”

* * *

Clancy McEllton sat at the writing desk in his Paris hotel suite and scribbled notes from time to time as Cardinal Hetre paced up and down, gesturing and ranting about the legal debate over Cardinal Gemme. He listened only to the cadence of the rise and fall of the inflection of the Cardinal’s voice and paid no heed to the subject matter.