The Chimera Sanction (21 page)

Legnano closed the document. Clasped hands resting on the desk, he leaned forward, eyeing the now mute cardinals one by one, their faces frozen in incredulity. He pushed his glasses atop his nose again,
speaking
in a quiet but firm voice.

‘Now you understand why I’ve convened you.’

Signorelli spoke. ‘This is completely outrageous. This borders on … on heresy. Yes, I’ll say it, heresy. He’ll never get the Council’s approval. He’ll—’

‘Cardinal, may I remind you that he doesn’t need the Council’s approval. He is the ultimate authority. He is God’s interpreter,’ said Legnano.

‘Doesn’t he want to ensure legitimacy?’ said Sforza.

‘He’ll get it by the fact the Council has been convened. That’s all he needs to make it legitimate,’ answered Legnano.

There was a moment of silence as the cardinals stared at each other. Legnano turned to Gonzales, the newcomer, whose face seemed to irradiate a permanent, beatific grin. ‘Monsignor Gonzales, you haven’t spoken yet. What do you think of this?’

‘I, I would have to analyze the texts more closely,’ said Gonzales, seemingly caught by surprise. ‘We all know that the Church is in the need of reforms, yes?’ He smiled at the cardinals, seeking reassurance. ‘Although some of these seem quite drastic, I must admit. On the other hand as you pointed out, Cardinal Legnano, His Holiness is God’s interpreter.’

Following the meeting of the Curia the previous day, rumors were flying within the Vatican that the agenda of an upcoming
ecumenical
council would shake the very foundations of the Catholic Church. Legnano summoned the cardinals to his office, in an attempt to defuse the looming crisis.

Cardinal Jean Fouquet spoke. ‘Your Eminences, this is heresy, I say, outright heresy. I cannot send this agenda to the archbishops. They’ll revolt and with good reason. Women priests? Abolition of the Holy Credo? These attack the very core of our beliefs. These alone are
sufficient
grounds for deposing him.’

‘What are you saying?’ said Sforza, his eyes twinkling with astonishment.

‘I’m saying we depose Clement XXI as of unsound mind,’ said Fouquet, his tone peremptory.

The cardinals looked at Fouquet in disbelief. ‘You cannot be serious,’ said Signorelli.

‘I’m dead serious, Cardinal,’ continued Fouquet, glaring down at the expansive Signorelli. ‘Pope Clement’s kidnapping has obviously affected his judgment to the point of insanity. Heresy and insanity. Both are grounds for deposition under Canon law,’ said Fouquet.

‘Monsignor,’ said Sforza. ‘Even if we were to agree to this, this extraordinary procedure, from what I remember in my seminary days, it is long and sometimes inconclusive. Also, I remind you that Pope Benedict IX held the papacy three times, even if deposed.’

‘Your Eminences, we don’t have the luxury to wait,’ said Fouquet. ‘Once he issues the writs of convocation for the Council, we cannot start the deposition procedure. I say we act now.’

‘Your Eminences, please, a bit of calm,’ said Legnano. ‘Before we even think of such a move, consider its effect on the Church. The deposition proceedings will wreak absolute havoc. There will be a fight for power.
It will turn into an ugly legal battle before the courts of the Vatican. Do we really want this? Don’t forget once the procedure is started, it can’t be stopped. Who knows what this may lead to? Another schism? Do we want to trigger another Avignon? Come now, surely we don’t have to go that far.’

‘Why not let the ecumenical council judge him?’ said the cherubic Signorelli. ‘That way, he will see the error of his ways or if he persists, we’ll have the solid support of the Church to depose him.’

Gonzales, who had remained markedly silent, spoke. ‘Monsignori, let me be the devil’s advocate for a brief moment.’

‘Of course,’ said Sforza.

‘What if the Council accepts the Pope’s proposed changes?’

The cardinals didn’t have long to think of a response, before Cardinal Legnano spoke again. ‘Your Eminences, we have another urgent problem to discuss.’

The cardinals looked at Legnano, then at each other, perplexed.

Legnano took a piece of paper from underneath his agenda and waved it at the cardinals. ‘I received this, earlier this morning. It’s from de Ségur. It’s about the diary.’

Upon receiving Legnano’s pressing call about the letter, Dulac had caught the mid-morning flight to Rome and taken a taxi to the Vatican. He entered Legnano’s office.

‘Thank you for coming on such short notice, inspector,’ said Legnano, clasping Dulac’s hand warmly.

‘De Ségur rings my bell every time, Your Eminence.’

‘I’m not sure what you mean.’

‘Gets my attention, if you prefer.’

‘By the way, inspector, I’ve heard that you’ve been suspended. Is that information correct?’ Legnano asked, a look of sympathy on his rugged face.

‘Good news travels fast.’

‘Actually, this might be better….’

‘I’m not sure I follow.’

‘Never mind, I’ll explain later. Please, inspector.’ Legnano showed him to the sofa in the center, and handed Dulac de Ségur’s letter. ‘We received this yesterday.’

Dulac sat down and read.

‘The man doesn’t let up,’ said Dulac. ‘If I remember my Latin, he’s saying “the meadows will bloom, day by day.”’

‘Very good Mr Dulac,’ Legnano said.

‘Has His Holiness seen it?’

‘There’s no need to implicate and embarrass His Holiness any further. We’ve discussed it within the Curia, Mr Dulac, and concluded that even if we pay de Ségur, he’ll make copies and continue his blackmail.’

‘I see,’ said Dulac, starting to feel ill at ease.

‘Mr Dulac, I won’t beat around the bush.’ Legnano, his hands clasped on his lap, shifted slightly to face Dulac. ‘The Vatican is facing an internal crisis of major proportions. We really didn’t need this
additional
bit of aggravation. The Curia discussed the impact this diary would have on the papacy if made public and we decided this threat must be eliminated.’

Dulac sat in silence, his jaw agape. ‘I, I think I misunderstood.’

‘You heard correctly, Mr Dulac.’

‘Why, why are you telling me this, your Eminence?’

‘Because we think you can best execute the mandate.’

Dulac sat upright on the edge of the sofa, ‘I’m, I’m sorry. I’m at a loss here. You want me to eliminate de Ségur?’

‘I didn’t say that, Mr Dulac. We want you to eliminate the threat.’

‘Pretty thin distinction. Anyways, I’ve been suspended. I don’t—’

‘Actually it’s all the better for us. You can give this, this mandate your complete attention. Consider it a private matter, Mr Dulac. Nothing to do with Interpol. You will be paid accordingly.’ Legnano took back the letter from Dulac’s quivering hands.

‘Monsignor, just out of interest, what would be the terms of this … mandate?’

‘Before we discuss the details, we wish to determine your level of commitment. Should you refuse, Mr Dulac, this conversation never occurred. Are we clear on that?’

‘I’m still having trouble digesting all this, your Eminence.’

‘Of course. But as the letter states, we don’t have much time. Tell me, as a matter of professional interest, Mr Dulac, if you were to accept, I presume you would call on some…. I believe you have some contacts?’

‘I’m not sure what you mean by contacts.’

‘I mean, in your capacity as Interpol agent, you may have come across persons that could—’

‘None that come to mind, off hand. But I’m still curious. Why me, your Eminence?’

‘Because we trust you, Mr Dulac. Because this file is highly sensitive. Because you are the only one, apart from ourselves and de Ségur, who knows about the diary. Besides we thought it would seem natural that you would be motivated to “close the file”, so to speak.’

Dulac shifted uncomfortably in the sofa. ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence, your Eminence, but you still haven’t answered my question. How am I supposed to eliminate the threat without eliminating the person behind it?’

‘I leave that entirely up to you, Mr Dulac. It’s the result that counts.’

‘If I were to even consider this, just the logistics for this kind of
operation
would be expensive. Very expensive.’

‘Mr Dulac, I haven’t made myself clear. Price is not a meaningful consideration.’

‘And you want my answer yesterday.’

Legnano nodded.

Dulac endured the bumpy flight back to Paris, resisting the temptation of the usual dose of Glenlivet, and instead invited Karen for dinner at Montet’s. After a mundane meal, they skipped dessert, rushed to Karen’s flat and replaced the dessert with a session of vigorous sex.

As Karen lay naked in bed beside him, perspiring and replete, Dulac could feel her heavy breathing warming his right shoulder. She moved up and kissed his neck softly.

‘So you stick this beautiful neck out and lose your head if it doesn’t work. Is that it?’ she said.

‘Metaphorically and physically.’ He reached over to the night table and grabbed the package of Gitanes.

‘So apart from the money, why would you even consider the Curia’s mandate?’

Dulac sat up on the edge of the bed and lit a cigarette. ‘That bastard de Ségur is long overdue for some prison time. When he got away last year with the French president’s help, I swore to myself I was going to make that happen. Here is the perfect opportunity for me to keep that promise.’

‘And if it works, Interpol gets the credit, just like when you rescued the Pope?’

Dulac took a long drag, ‘Thanks. I really didn’t need that comment.’

‘I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. It’s just that whatever you do, you can’t seem to win.’

Dulac stood up and walked to the window. The evening’s last rays of soft gold light shone on the leaves of the small oak trees below. After a moment he turned, watching her as she lay lounging in the residual warmth of his side of the bed. ‘I’m still puzzled as to why Legnano chose
me. Why not a professional firm?’

‘Like the Mafia?’ she said, her left elbow propped on a pillow.

‘He doesn’t have to go down that route. I’m sure there are other ways.’ Dulac blew a puff of smoke onto the window pane. ‘I must admit it would give me the greatest of pleasures to trump that prick Harris.’

‘Careful. Aren’t you letting a bit of vengeance cloud your judgment?’

‘I’ve thought of that. Not really.’

‘What if things go wrong? What about your career?’

‘What career? Weren’t you the one to say “time to think out of the box, Thierry?”’

‘This isn’t exactly what I had in mind.’

‘When opportunity knocks,
Carpe diem
. Seize the day.’

‘I suppose.’

‘Besides, with the Vatican’s deep pocket….’ Thoughtful, Dulac started back towards the bed. ‘Come to think of it, many years ago I knew the son of the Venezuelan Ambassador to Belize. A certain Juan Garcia. I wonder what happened to him.’ Dulac donned his boxer shorts. He returned to the living room, opened his laptop, and typed in Interpol’s people search databank. ‘Code invalid,’ read the computer screen. Damn. Harris again, that asshole. He called Gina, at forensics.

‘Gina Marino.’

‘Dulac. Listen Gina, I need a small favor.’

The following morning, Dulac discovered a brown envelope under his door as he entered his apartment. Good girl, that Gina. As Dulac went through the file, he could see that Juan Garcia’s reputation had gone from dubious to bad. Descendant of a wealthy sugar cane Venezuelan family, he’d inherited the right business at the wrong time: world-wide antitrust law enforcement coupled with increasing union demands and the rising strength of the American sugar barons had made for decreased profit margins in his once protected segment of the industry. Juan had become a minor player, an untenable position for a man of his expensive appetite: one Ferrari 360, one Aston Martin Virage, one Donzi 35 R speedboat. A sailboat in Douarnenez. Christ, I’ll bet he still has that old Dragon class sailboat. Memories of prior, happier times came flooding back. Dulac took out the photographs. They showed Garcia in various sexual positions with a well-endowed, middle-aged blonde. He looked at
the back of the photographs: ‘Cartel leader Vic Baldoni’s wife Michèlle & Juan Garcia.’

The report went on, mentioning that many of the South American sugar barons had noticed the similarity between the harvesting, refining and distribution of sugar and that of cocaine. Although the
allegations
were still unproven, Garcia’s flamboyant lifestyle seemed to give credence to the supposition. A recent investigation by the Venezuelan Department of Justice had fizzled out, for lack of live witnesses. Men and women whom Garcia came into contact with had the disturbing propensity of winding up missing, or dead.

Dulac knew that under normal circumstances, it would be impossible for anyone not in Garcia’s immediate entourage to reach a man like Juan Garcia. However Dulac had a trump card, his father Paul. Ex-French ambassador to Venezuela, Paul Dulac knew Juan’s father. A few calls later to the right people in the French and Venezuelan diplomatic corps, and Dulac had Juan Garcia’s private telephone number.

‘Is this Juan Garcia?’ said Dulac.

‘Who is speaking?’

Dulac immediately recognized the voice. ‘Thierry Dulac, you might—’

‘How did you get this number?’

‘Through the Venezuelan embassy. You might remember that my father Paul and your father sailed together in France about twenty years ago? The Thalassa Cup?’ Dulac waited for a reply.

‘You have the wrong number.’

‘Hold on a second. Just hold on. Surely you remember that day I couldn’t let go the mainsheet and that we nearly rammed the
breakwater
off Douarnenez. I think the name of your father’s boat was … Aphrodite, yes Aphrodite.’

Another pause. ‘But of course I remember. Just checking.’ The voice became friendlier. ‘How are you? What have you been up to these past … Has it been twenty years already?’ said Garcia in a curious mix of Oxford and Spanish accent.

‘Something like that.’

‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’

‘I’m calling you because I have some business I’d like to discuss with you. An interesting opportunity, I think.’

‘What kind of opportunity?’

‘Sorry, it’s rather confidential. Not the sort of thing for eager ears.’

‘I understand. Where are you, my friend?’

‘In Paris. And you?’

‘I’m in Florence till tomorrow afternoon,’ said Garcia.

‘Would you have some free time for me? An hour will be plenty.’

‘What is this about?’

‘I’d rather tell you privately,’ said Dulac.

‘I see. We could have lunch at 12.30 at The Trattoria Stromboli. Do you know it?’

‘In Piazza Della Signoria, I think.’

‘That’s right. What kind of business did you say you were in my friend?’

‘See you then.’