The Chimera Sanction (4 page)

In the taxi back to the hotel, neither Dulac nor Harris spoke. Dulac felt himself occasionally nodding off, his head heavy with stress and sleep deprivation. Harris finally broke the silence.

‘I’m off to Lyon tomorrow morning. For the moment, there’s nothing more I can do here. Besides, all hell is going to break loose at head office when the news gets out. We’ll be more efficient if I coordinate from there.’

Dulac entered the room and his attention was immediately caught by the huge video monitor at the far side of the room. Next to it, a technician looked up for a moment, glanced inquisitively at Dulac, who gave him a knowing nod of authority, and the technician resumed switching the video from one channel to the other, seemingly testing the audio and video functions of the monitor.

‘Sì, sì, no, a little sharper. Yes, OK, there,’ said the technician to his counterpart on the video screen. ‘I’ll get back to you.’

While the technician continued his tests, Dulac wandered about the room, admiring and absorbing Raphael’s precocious genius on the walls of the Segnatura, the most intimate of the Stanze rooms. Remembering his art classes at Montpelier University, Dulac recalled his
professor
’s passionate words: the Segnatura is ineffable. It contains Raphael’s most beautiful early frescoes. They mark the beginning of the High
Renaissance in Italy.

Dulac paused and looked up at the ceiling. Eternal Good, Truth and Beauty, represented by the frescoes of three young men, looked back down at him with expressions of naiveté mixed with unalienable faith. Dulac wondered how the worldly Raphael had achieved such exquisite balance between his religious and artistic ideals.

The sound of conversation behind him close to the room’s entrance jolted Dulac from his divine reverie. Guadagni and Romer entered, bringing Dulac down to earthly realities. Moments later, Legnano walked in, followed by the other cardinals. Legnano motioned them to the seats around the large oak table.

Guadagni eyed the technician, sitting next to the video monitor, and said. ‘Everything ready?’

‘Sì, Inspector.’

‘Your Eminences, gentlemen,’ said Guadagni, ‘we are in contact with the Ministry of Defense, the Coast Guard, Interpol Central, the Italian President’s office and all airports within a 400 km radius. We will be immediately advised of any developments.’

‘I must put one caveat on this,’ said Legnano, his tone imperious. ‘We in the Vatican will consult everyone. But we alone will make any decisions concerning the Pope. Is that clear?’

‘Of course, your Eminence,’ said Guadagni.

Dulac held back, but the opportunity presenting itself in the form of silence couldn’t be passed up. He said: ‘While we await news, I suggest we discuss what is on everybody’s mind: disclosure.’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Legnano, hands on the table while he nervously
fidgeted
with his rosary. ‘Mr Guadagni, what do you say?’

‘Your Eminences, so far, you’ve already decided not to disclose. I think that’s a mistake. The longer we wait, the less chance we have of the people helping us find the best known man on the planet.’

‘I disagree,’ said Dulac, looking at Legnano, then the other prelates, while trying to avoid Guadagni’s hostile stare. ‘If we reveal now to the world at large, we’ll be swamped with calls. Well-wishers, people who want to see him, think they saw him, pranksters, even the kidnappers. We’ll be chasing our tails. They’ll paralyze our forces. Not to mention the worldwide impact on a billion Catholics. Besides, if the kidnappers want to start a holy war, this is playing right into their hand. You’ll have
riots in the streets. Think of Belfast. Think of Beirut. My advice is to keep this information contained to the police forces directly involved for as long as we can.’

‘But Mr Dulac,’ said Legnano, ‘the Pope is due to appear tomorrow evening from the balcony for his weekly Angelus blessing.’

‘I see,’ said Dulac. ‘Surely he’s missed some of his appearances before. Surely you can prepare a communiqué to the effect that – I don’t know – the Pope is overworked and resting in Castel Gandolfo?’

‘I suppose,’ said Legnano, sounding unconvinced.

‘Cancel his appointments,’ continued Dulac. ‘Advise the minimum number of people and swear them to secrecy. By the way, did someone contact the staff at the hospital? They must also be sworn.’

‘Everybody on the tenth floor signs a confidentiality agreement upon hiring,’ said Legnano.

‘Let’s hope it buys us time,’ said Dulac. ‘Every hour without
disclosure
is worth gold.’

Legnano, still fidgeting with his rosary, turned to the cardinals, ‘Any comments, Monsignori?’

The cardinals looked at each other in utter silence. ‘I will take that as agreement,’ said Legnano.

The middle-aged spinster Paola Bragante had been instructed by her brother-in-law Piero Vespoli, to attend to the pontiff. She was to serve him meals, which he was to take in his room. She rapped twice on the door and entered the pontiff’s room.

‘I’ve come with your breakfast,’ she said. Bragante entered the
windowless
, sparsely lit room carrying a tray of fruits, yogurt and coffee. The Pope, dressed in an oversized burgundy nightgown, sat on the edge of the bed, his shoulders slumped. She deposited the tray on the small night table beside the bed.

‘Thank you,’ said the Pope. ‘And your name is?’

‘Paola. Paola Bragante.’

‘Thank you, Paola.’

An atheist, Paola felt strange at meeting this man whose faith she had
long ago rejected. Yet she sensed the immense attraction and power of the persona, radiating through his air of sadness and resignation. On the other side of the bed, the white cassock she’d laid out the previous day had remained untouched.

The Pope cleared his throat. ‘Tell me Paola, is it a nice day outside?’

‘Cloudy.’

‘And where are we exactly, Paola?’ he said. She remained silent and started to turn away.

‘And where are you from, Paola?’

‘Prizzi,’ she said proudly.

‘Near Palermo?’

‘Sì.’

‘So we are in Sicily.’

His smile looked so kind, so inviting. She thought of Vespoli and suddenly got a grip on herself. ‘I, I have to go.’ She knew she’d talked too much already. Vespoli’s instructions were clear: Do not engage in any conversation with him, he’d said, his cold eyes menacing under the small brow and short cropped hair. She wiped her hands on her apron and started backwards towards the door.

‘Yes, of course,’ said the pontiff.

She turned to leave, and heard the voice behind her say, ‘God bless you, signora.’

The pontiff took a few spoonfuls of yogurt and, as he finished his coffee, he heard a short, aggressive knock on the door. Before he could rise to answer, a stocky man dressed in brown fatigues, his brownish hair cropped close, entered the room.

‘Come with me.’ The man grabbed the prelate by the arm and ushered him into the corridor. ‘You’ll meet your host,’ he announced gruffly, as he led the Pope to the small elevator.

They went down one floor along a corridor and Vespoli opened the door to a small, crescent shaped room with a stage. A television monitor had been set on a table at the center of the stage.

‘Sit here,’ the man ordered, showing the Pope to the first row seat.

The Pope sat down and waited, as the man turned and left the room. Clement XXI stared at the garish drapes, thinking they gave the room the look of a cheap funeral parlor, when suddenly the monitor
flickered
to life. Only the shadowed outline of a man’s head and shoulders
appeared. The Pope waited anxiously for the man to speak. Nothing.

Finally deciding to break the oppressive silence, the pontiff asked, ‘Why am I here?’ The shadow didn’t answer, but a woman came into view and placed a small, shiny microphone in front of him. He tapped the microphone to test the audio and the woman nodded. ‘For many reasons,’ said the electronically altered voice.

‘What do you want from me?’ said the pontiff, trying to stay calm, yet resolute.

‘What we want, I doubt you can give us.’

‘I presume this is about money?’

‘You should presume nothing.’

The pontiff shifted in his seat, grasping the armrest. ‘What do you intend doing with me?’ he asked, and tried to detect movement from the shape.

‘That depends on you and your cardinals.’ The voice sounded
automatic
, almost preregistered.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Life, to continue, must change. All of us must choose.’

The Pope felt his pulse quicken, ‘Between?’

‘Simply put, between stagnation and progress.’

‘I don’t follow,’ said the pontiff.

The voice hesitated, as if the man wanted to say more, but said simply, ‘I know.’

‘How, how long do you intend keeping me here?’

Silence. The Pope felt sweat form under his armpits and he leaned forward, clasping his hands nervously. He summoned his courage and asked, ‘Do you intend to … to?’ his voice trailing off to a whisper. Before he could finish, the screen went blank.

It had been agreed between the cardinals and the policemen that until further news as to the Pope’s whereabouts or contact from the
kidnappers
, Guadagni and two of his men would stay in the Segnatura room to coordinate incoming developments and keep everyone advised, and the cardinals would resume their functions as if nothing happened. If it
bought them an hour or even half a day more of non-interference by the media, so much the better.

Meanwhile Dulac had his own agenda: the delicate business of
investigating
and questioning some of the most powerful and secretive men in the world, members of the Vatican Curia. It was said they practiced omertà more effectively than the Mafia.

As the cardinals, Dulac and Romer left the Segnatura room, Romer in the lead, Dulac shot a side-glance at Legnano, whose quick pace he was barely keeping up with.

‘Monsignor Legnano,’ Dulac said. ‘I’ll need a small, quiet room to carry on my investigation.’

‘Let’s see. You can use the papal library,’ said Legnano.

‘Fine. In the meantime, can we go to your office, your Eminence? I have some matters to discuss with you.’

‘Yes, of course, but—’

‘I’d like Colonel Romer to join us,’ Dulac said, loud enough so Romer, walking a few steps ahead of them, could hear.

Romer looked back, glaring at Dulac. ‘Colonel, if you please,’ said Legnano.

Romer gave a quick hunch of his shoulders in a mix of disdain and reluctant acceptance. They entered Legnano’s vast, Venetian-style office.

‘Gentlemen,’ said Legnano, offering the police officers the large sofa in the center of the room.

Dulac waited for Romer to sit. ‘Colonel,’ said Dulac, towering above Romer, ‘can you explain how those two potent drugs, any drug for that matter, got past your security and into the Pope’s water?’

Romer fidgeted with one of the buttons of his suit. ‘We check all food and drink before they enter the main kitchen. Sister Vincenza is responsible for the Pope’s medication.’

‘Presumably you check the water?’

‘It’s filtered twice before reaching the main intake.’

‘I’m talking after it enters the Apostolic Palace,’ Dulac said, walking across the room to the full-length window.

‘No.’

He turned to face Romer. ‘So the drugs could have been put in the water after it reached the kitchen and before Sister Vincenza gave him the glass?’

‘Possibly. In any case, the Pope always drinks bottled water.’

‘Always? You know that for a fact, Colonel?’

‘Well, I mean he usually does.’ Romer leaned back and crossed his arms.

‘I also drink bottled water, Colonel, but I have been known to
supplement
it with tap water when I run out of the bottled stuff.’

‘I guess that’s possible.’

‘In any case, as you seem to suggest, a drugged bottle could have been planted, yes?’ Dulac said, irritated at the smugness of Romer’s replies.

‘We can’t take a sample of every bottle entering the Vatican.’

Dulac walked towards the sofa, eyeing Legnano briefly as he approached Romer. ‘Tell me, Colonel, have you started a sequence-of-events investigation from, say, twenty-four hours before the Pope’s kidnapping until the time of the abduction?’

‘We have.’

‘People stream, food analysis, the water bottles’ seal check, their date of bottling and—’

‘Mr Dulac, we don’t have the resources of Interpol. I already have three men preparing a security critical path analysis. We can’t be
everywhere
at once. These issues will be dealt with in due course.’ Romer rose and turned away from Dulac’s stare.

‘What’s the hurry, Colonel?’ Dulac said.

‘Inspector, I’m not under investigation here. Your Eminence.’ Romer gave a quick bow to Legnano, turned and started towards the door.

After Romer left the room, Legnano said, ‘You were a bit harsh.’

‘Really? I thought I was restraining myself. By the way, I’m ordering a full security crosscheck on everyone who saw or came near the Pope within the last forty-eight hours.’

‘But Colonel Romer—’

‘Crosschecked by Guadagni.’

‘Surely you don’t include Sister Vincenza or … or Cardinal Signorelli?’

‘Everyone.’

‘That would include me.’

Dulac smiled at the cardinal.

Dulac entered the simply decorated papal library, its white and gold wall-papered walls adorned with the papal crest. He walked to the oak desk below Perugino’s painting of the Resurrection and sat in the uncomfortable, high backed chair, usually reserved for the Pope.

Moments later a diminutive nun dressed in a gray frock appeared in the doorway. ‘I am Sister Vincenza. You wish to see me?’

‘Yes, yes, good morning, Sister. Please be seated,’ he said, offering the gray-haired nun a chair across the desk.

She issued a faint smile of acknowledgment and sat down hesitantly.

She’s insecure. Make her feel comfortable. Establish a bond quickly.

‘Sister Vincenza, thank you so much for coming. I know this tragedy must be hard on you. I assure you that—’

‘Mr Dulac. I am here to help. What is it you wish to know?’ she said in a gentle yet no-nonsense voice.

‘Very well, Sister. I’m glad of it. Let’s get to the heart of the matter,’ said Dulac, slightly off guard. ‘What is the Pope’s routine before he retires for the evening?’