The Chimera Sanction (28 page)

‘So your strange, self-glorified messianic view supposedly justifies the means?’ said Dulac, reaching for his pack of Gitanes.

‘Spare me your obsolete, watered down, oversimplified rules of ethics, will you. Besides, isn’t that what Catholics have done all along? Isn’t that what they did against the Cathars, the Saracens, the Muslims and any religion that dared oppose them? I’m playing by their rules, Dulac. They invented collateral damage, not me.’

‘Times were different then. In case you haven’t noticed, the world has changed since.’ Dulac lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply.

‘Not enough. Not nearly enough.’ De Ségur signaled the waiter for more water.

‘I didn’t come here to discuss theology with a meandering megalomaniac. What…?’

‘You’re right. Enough waste of my breath.’ De Ségur coughed heavily. ‘Damn these drugs. They’ll kill me before the disease does.’

‘So why did you send for me?’

‘I want you to negotiate on my behalf. I want—’

‘Just a damn minute. Why in the hell should I help you get anything?’

‘Because Dulac, I have something you want. Something the Curia wants desperately.’

‘If it’s the diary….’

‘It’s not the diary.’

‘No? What then?’

‘First, let’s get back to what I want in this deal.’

‘I’m dying to hear it.’

‘Your sarcasm again, Dulac.’

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean—’

‘You get me a postponement of my trial for just six months, that’s all I ask. Look at it this way: it’ll be saving the French taxpayer time and money. I won’t live long enough to go to trial. That way, my name is less muddied. My three grandchildren, Dulac. They’re Cathars. That’s all that matters to me now.’

‘Speaking of which, I want the names of your collaborators.’

‘Forget it, Dulac. You’ll have to find them yourself.’

‘And what, pray tell, do I get in return? What’s the quid pro quo for my alleged support?’

‘This is your quid pro quo, Dulac.’ De Ségur put his cellphone on speaker and dialed. ‘Albert?’

‘Yes, Mr de Ségur.’

‘Go to the room. Put him facing the computer’s minicam web camera.’

‘Yes sir.’

Moments later, Albert called back. ‘He’s on now. Can you see him?’

‘Yes.’ De Ségur handed Dulac his cellphone.

‘Jesus. It’s the Pope.’

‘Yes, the real one this time.’

Dulac sat thunderstruck. ‘I thought you said he was lost in the Bay of Benghazi?’

‘Correction. I said he became lost in the Bay of Benghazi. The stress of the amputation plus his near drowning when the Bellerophon sank were too much for him. He’s suffering from, what do they call it? “Severe post-traumatic stress”. I think that’s the proper medical term. Pope Clement XXI is, to put it kindly, “lost”.’

His calls from Dulac and to the French Minister of Justice concluded, Cardinal Legnano went to the Segnatura room and broke the news to the cardinals.

‘He’s alive?’ asked Sforza.

‘Alive, but apparently mentally ill,’ said Legnano. ‘From what Dulac tells us, His Holiness is suffering from extensive post-traumatic stress.’

Signorelli spoke. ‘I’ve had Haeflinger check the encrypted cellphone they found in Cardinal Gonzales’s room. During the past two weeks he’s been calling Belize almost daily, and there are a number of calls to the same number from various telephones in the Vatican.’

‘My God,’ said Sforza.

‘What de Ségur is offering in exchange for the postponement of his trial is that we get the real Pope back to the Vatican here quickly, before the impostor dies, and we substitute him,’ said Legnano. ‘I’ve spoken with the French Minister of Justice and he agrees in principle. They would hold de Ségur in what they call ‘
garde à vue
’. Basically hold him under heavy surveillance, without charging him formally. They are willing to do so for four months only.’

‘
Mio Dio
, it’s beautiful. That way, the world will never know,’ said Sforza, the illuminated expression on his face bordering on the beatific.

‘Beautiful no, but ironic, definitely,’ said Fouquet smiling.

‘Ironic?’ queried Legnano.

‘Don’t you find it ironic that the real pope has a fake heart attack and survives, and the false pope has a real stroke and will most probably die?’

The prelates sat in silence. All understood the implications of de Ségur’s offer, and a sense of profound relief and satisfaction permeated the room. Words were superfluous.

Finally, Sforza broke the silence. ‘Tell Dulac to inform de Ségur that we agree.’

‘I already have, your Eminence,’ said Legnano. ‘De Ségur is waiting for a fax letter from the French Minister of Justice, whom I’ve called an hour ago. Minister George Berilet has scheduled an emergency meeting of the French Cabinet, and in principle has agreed to postpone de Ségur’s trial. They fully realize the urgency of the situation. As part of the agreement, de Ségur will hire a private jet to fly Dulac and His Holiness directly to the Guidonia Air base. The plane will arrive here late tomorrow morning. Haeflinger and his men will be there to receive His Holiness, and bring him to the Clinic. If all goes well, His Holiness will arrive before, well … before anything happens at the clinic.’

‘What about the diary? De Ségur has our money,’ said Sforza.

‘Dulac tried to get hold of it. Apparently de Ségur wouldn’t back down,’ said Legnano. ‘De Ségur insists he needs it as an insurance policy against the French government changing its mind and prosecuting early. He’s left a special provision in his will: the diary is to be auctioned off shortly after his death.’

After a long moment, Signorelli, Fouquet, Sforza, and Legnano got up one by one and left the Segnatura room. Led by Legnano, they walked, not hurriedly, in the direction of the Basilica. A general feeling of well-being permeated their beings. They had hoped and prayed for a miracle and it had happened. The papacy had come to a hair’s breadth of collapsing, but in the end, stronger than the will of mere mortals, fate (some will say God) had intervened and decided for them. In a most strange way order, if not truth, had triumphed. At least for the moment.

The cardinals entered the Basilica, made their way to the gigantic, black marble Bernini altar and one by one, knelt down before it. For once in a very, very long time, they prayed together and gave thanks to the Lord.

On June 29, a Bombardier jet coming from Belize landed at Guidonia Air Force Base briefly, before resuming its flight to Paris. During the brief interval, a man with a heavily bandaged face was taken off the plane in a wheelchair, into a van carrying him to the Agostino Gemelli Clinic. He was admitted there under the name of David Silverman, an Israeli whose occupation was listed as actor, suffering from a stroke. Three days after being admitted, the hospital records show that said David Silverman died of a second stroke. No relatives could be found to claim the body, so according to Jewish law, it was cremated two days after his death.