The Omega Scroll (39 page)

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

Roma

‘
G
ood luck, Eminence,’ Vittorio said as he handed Giovanni the small suitcase from the back of the old Fiat.

Giovanni smiled. ‘There is an old saying, my friend: “he who goes in a pope, comes out a cardinal”. Besides, there are many far better qualified than I and it is not a job I seek. We will let the Holy Spirit decide,
non è vero
?’

Giovanni unlocked his suite in the new priests’ accommodation that John Paul II had ordered built in the Santa Marta Hospice in the Vatican grounds and deposited his suitcase. He sat at his small desk to read his breviary and then took a stroll in the quiet of the evening. Soon enough there would be no such freedom. The cardinals would all be locked up from the outside world until a new Pontiff had been elected. As Giovanni walked in the centuries-old gardens, he fell into conversation with the Holy Spirit, asking for guidance – that he and his fellow cardinals might elect a Pope of the Spirit’s choosing, perhaps someone like John XXIII, a man of the people, a man who could turn around the misfortunes and misconceptions of a Church Giovanni loved so dearly. Change would not come easily to a Church that for centuries had been rooted in dogma by those who put their own politics and power above the truth and the real message of Christ. Once released, the truth would be a beacon that civilisation so desperately needed. When all this was over, he thought, the revelations in the Omega Scroll might possibly achieve what John XXIII had not been able to.

As soon as the Vatican announced the death of Pope John Paul II, Tom applied to cover the proceedings from Rome. The day after the biggest funeral the world had ever witnessed, a weary Tom Schweiker prepared once again for another live cross.

‘We cross live to Rome and to Tom Schweiker for his thoughts on the Papal conclave to elect a successor to the third longest reigning Pontiff in the history of the Papacy.’

‘Good evening, Geraldine. It has been a long reign, although not without controversy. The media coverage of the Pope’s death has been full of praise for this Pope and until now, very few journalists have been prepared to air any grievances.’

‘A dark side, Tom?’

Tom nodded. ‘I think so. During the nine days of mourning for this Pope, sixty thousand Africans will die of AIDS under a Papacy that has been promoting the absurd notion that condoms cause the disease. That’s over six and a half thousand people dying every day, so you can imagine what some of the medical teams struggling with the disease think of that piece of dogma.’

‘And celibacy has been another issue?’

‘Very much so. Particularly when for the first thousand years of this Church, Catholic priests were happily married. And of course,’ Tom added, struggling to keep the bitterness from his voice, ‘this Pope did very little to strike at the cancer of paedophilia in the ranks of the priesthood. It was only when the media coverage of the abuse of children in Boston reached a crescendo that anything was done. Even then, the cardinal who was forced to step down was given a senior appointment and a spacious apartment here in Rome, and was a celebrant at one of the Masses for the dead Pope, so it’s hard to believe that the Vatican is very much bothered by paedophilia.’

‘Is that likely to change with the next Pope, Tom?’

‘Given that this Pope has appointed far more cardinals than any of his predecessors, there are many who are suggesting that the next Pope will be a cardinal in his likeness, perhaps even more conservative.’

‘An Italian?’

‘That’s hard to predict, although certainly one of the frontrunners is the present Cardinal Secretary of State, Lorenzo Petroni. A hard-line conservative and no great fan of Vatican II.’

‘Does he have the numbers, Tom?’

‘The doctrine maintains that it is the Holy Spirit rather than the College of Cardinals that makes the selection. There are 194 cardinals, of whom only 117 are under eighty and therefore eligible to vote. Of the 117 there are only twenty-three Italian cardinals. For an Italian to be elected he would have to carry a sizeable number of those and the rest of the European bloc, as well as two other blocs, such as Africa or Central or South America. During a conclave no cardinal is allowed to leave or have any communication with the outside world, and all telephones are disconnected except for one in the Camerlengo’s room that can be used for emergencies. Even the windows are sealed.’

‘Any “dark horses” in the field, Tom?’

‘There are those who are saying it is time we had a Pope from one of the Third World countries and there are one or two outstanding candidates, although they will probably be blocked by the conservatives. There is another Italian whose name might surface, Giovanni Donelli, the present Patriarch of Venice. He is very progressive and would appeal to the liberals but the conservatives are likely to oppose him strongly.’

‘And if they can’t agree?’

‘That’s happened before, but before he died, Pope John Paul II introduced a new rule. If no candidate can achieve two-thirds of the votes, and if they can hold out until the thirtieth vote, then a candidate can be elected on a simple majority.’

‘That was Tom Schweiker reporting on the Papal conclave in Rome. Now to the news at home …’

Lorenzo Petroni was hosting a lavish reception for the Italian and African blocs in his sumptuous apartment across the Tiber, the third such reception in as many nights. His plans were going well. With the final copy of the Omega Scroll locked safely in a special compartment of the Secret Archives, or so he thought, and Felici still confident that eventually both the woman and the journalist could be eliminated, Petroni was basking in the glow of his impending power. Even though Donelli had survived the bomb blast in Jerusalem, Petroni was confident that with the help of the Knight of Malta in New York, the Keys to Peter were his; and once he had them in his pocket, that would put an end to any investigation into the Vatican Bank. It would be the old cardinals’ turn tomorrow night. Petroni would use the gathering to recognise the octogenarians’ unique contribution to the Holy Church. Flattery was always so useful.

‘Of course the Pope’s new rules on voting give rise to some interesting possibilities, Agostino,’ Petroni offered smoothly, addressing his remarks to Cardinal da Silva of Luanda.

‘Do you have a candidate in mind, Lorenzo?’

‘Someone strong, Agostino, and although there are many good African candidates, the time for that is probably next time around. But we do need a candidate who can promote the cause of the Church in Africa and he will need a good Secretary of State. Someone like you, Agostino. Champagne?’ Lorenzo Petroni squeezed Cardinal da Silva’s hand and moved on to his next guest, Cardinal Fiorelli from the Italian bloc.

‘Vittorio, how good to see you again.
Come stai
?’

‘
Molto bene, grazie
. Who do you favour, Lorenzo?’ Vittorio asked, more comfortable with the politics of a conclave.

‘We shouldn’t speculate, and Il Papa has done a wonderful job, but it would be good to see another Italian looking after the Church. Someone who can reinforce the tried and tested values.’

Cardinal Fiorelli smiled. ‘Who did you have in mind, Lorenzo?’

‘No one in particular, but whoever is chosen should have someone like you as his Secretary of State, Vittorio. It is a difficult appointment and there are not many who have your skills. Champagne?’

As the sun set over the Tiber, and Giovanni strolled in the Vatican gardens, conversing with the Holy Spirit, Cardinal Petroni moved on to his next guest, the Cardinal Archbishop of Paris. ‘Of course the Pope’s new rules Jean-Pierre …’

New York

‘One minute, Geraldine.’

The CCN anchor adjusted her posture and took a sip of water. To her surprise she looked up to find Daniel Kirkpatrick striding towards the news desk. The brief was headed ‘Breaking news from Rome’.

‘We can’t run that, Daniel!’ Geraldine hissed. ‘The day before the conclave!’

‘Twenty seconds, Geraldine.’

‘We can, and we will,’ Daniel Kirkpatrick said frostily. ‘Those decisions are not yours to make, unless you would like me to find a replacement to read the next bulletin. And every subsequent bulletin after that?’

‘Ten seconds … and live …’

At the end of the bulletin Geraldine turned to Camera Three and summoned every bit of professionalism she could muster.

‘The Vatican has announced an investigation into the Patriarch of Venice, Cardinal Giovanni Donelli, over his remarks at the aborted peace ceremony in Jerusalem and an address he gave on religion and science in which he questioned the Catholic doctrine on creation. Cardinal Donelli has been seen by some as a possible contender for the Papacy, at this week’s conclave in Rome. A spokesman for the Vatican said it would be inappropriate to comment on the investigation in any detail until after it has been completed. Cardinal Donelli’s assertions that the promises given by Abraham might have been fulfilled by Muhammad as well as Christ were described by the Vatican spokesman as “unhelpful”. It is understood that Donelli has also been widely criticised within the Church over his challenge to the Bible with the notion that life began as bacteria beneath the sea. There will be another news update in an hour.’ Geraldine smiled, but only until the red light on Camera Three had gone off.

Jerusalem

‘David! That’s outrageous. It’s got that arsehole Petroni written all over it!’

It was a side of Allegra that David did not see very often. She had even picked up some of David’s more colourful expressions.

‘Announcing that just before they go into the conclave is deliberate.’

‘I think you’re right,’ David agreed, ‘but I’m not sure there’s much we can do about it.’

Allegra shook her head defiantly. Her eyes flashing angrily, she picked up the phone and dialled Patrick O’Hara’s number. It was Sister Katherine who answered the phone.

‘Thank you, Sister Katherine, I’ll be there at half past eight,’ she said, a look of frustration on her face.

‘Patrick’s in Bethlehem for the night, but I’ll go round in the morning. It will be too late though,’ she said resignedly. ‘The conclave starts tomorrow. That bastard Petroni has timed this to the minute.’

Tom Schweiker roused himself from a deep sleep and reached for his mobile but it rang out before he had a chance to answer. It rang again. Whoever that is wants to speak to me now, he thought with a touch of irritation. Daniel Kirkpatrick probably. Tom had decided long ago that even if Ferret Face could have absorbed the detail he had more than likely been absent from the geography lesson that dealt with time zones.

‘Schweiker,’ he answered, without looking at the number on the screen.

‘Sorry to bother you, Mr Schweiker, but I thought you should hear this as soon as possible.’

Tom sat up, trying to place the voice. ‘Who is this?’

‘My name is Hank Petersen, Mr Schweiker. Before he was killed my friend Mike McKinnon sent me an unusual parcel. The prints on the whisky glass were excellent, and I thought you might like to know they match those of a Father Rory Courtney. He did time in Montana for assault back in the late 1950s. His file is also flagged with a number of suspected paedophilia offences. No charges were ever laid, although the Catholic Church carried out an internal investigation that was handled by a Bishop Petroni in the Vatican. Courtney disappeared shortly afterwards. I’m not sure if that’s any help, but if you were a friend of Mike’s, it’s the least I could do. If you’re ever in Washington, look me up.’

‘I’m much obliged, and I’ll certainly do that.’

‘Bastards!’ Tom Schweiker swore angrily after he’d switched off his phone, his suspicions about the scar confirmed. Bishop Petroni was now Cardinal Petroni and Secretary of State, he thought bitterly. He looked at his watch – 2 a.m. Patrick O’Hara was probably the only person he could trust. He decided to ring him the next morning.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

Roma

A
t the end of the Mass the lilting sopranos rose over the baritones in the choir as the haunting strains of Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina’s ‘Tu es Petrus – Thou art Peter’ echoed around the vast Basilica of St Peter’s and the 115 cardinals who had made it to Rome to elect the successor to John Paul II filed two by two into the Sistine Chapel that would soon be sealed off from the outside world. The special chimney was in place, as was the antiquated stove where the ballots would be burned, together with the chemical candles to colour the smoke. Black would indicate that no candidate had received the two-thirds plus one majority that was required for election. White would indicate that a candidate had reached the critical figure of seventy-eight votes.

Under Michelangelo’s fresco of creation, six rows of desks and chairs stood in three rows on either side of the chapel. At one end near the altar, desks had been placed for the scrutineers and vote counters.

‘
Extra omnes
,’ the Camerlengo ordered in Latin. It was the order for all those who were assigned duties as assistants, including the two medical practitioners, to vacate the Sistine Chapel, although they would not be allowed to go any further than the Santa Marta Hospice. In accordance with protocol the Heads of Vatican departments, including Petroni, had all been suspended from their duties, except for five men: the Camerlengo, the Cardinal Vicar of Rome, the Major Penitentiary, the Cardinal Arch-priest of St Peter’s and the Vicar General for the Vatican City State.

Giovanni took his seat in the second row on the right. He had been intrigued to find he was under investigation but not really surprised. It would not be the first time the Holy Church had reacted fiercely against anyone who questioned the fallibility of the doctrine. On each desk there was a copy of
Universi Dominici Gregis – The Whole Flock of the Lord
, Pope John Paul’s revised rules for the election of his successor.

Giovanni looked around. Cardinal Thuku from Kenya flashed him a broad smile, as did Giovanni’s preferred candidate, Cardinal Médici of Ecuador. Giovanni hoped for the sake of the Church that the election would be a short one, but if it went for two or three days, it would at least give him a chance to catch up with so many of his friends.

The Camerlengo, Cardinal Monetti, a short, bald, slightly built man, held up his hand for silence. ‘Let us pray,’ Cardinal Monetti began:

Almighty God, we your servants ask for your guidance as we gather together in your name. Grant us wisdom as we deliberate on whom amongst us is to assume the awesome responsibilities as the successor to Peter, on whose rock your Holy Church has been founded, through Christ our Lord, Amen.

‘Amen,’ Giovanni joined the chorus of his colleagues.

‘I will remind you again, Eminences,’ the Camerlengo intoned, ‘of the oath you have sworn to follow the rules of this election, to observe with the greatest fidelity the secrecy regarding everything that relates to the election of the Roman Pontiff and what occurs in this place of election, and if you are elected, to defend the rights of the Holy See.’

Six cardinals had been elected to assist the Camerlengo in the conduct of the election – three cardinal ‘scrutineers’ and three cardinal ‘revisers’ tasked with scrutineering the scrutineers – and the Camerlengo nodded to them as a sign for the ballot papers to be distributed.

Giovanni smiled his thanks as he took the small rectangular slip of paper inscribed with the Latin words, ‘
Eligo in summum pontificem
’ – ‘I elect as Supreme Pontiff’. Obeying the quaint instruction to disguise his handwriting, he inscribed his ballot with the name of Cardinal Rodriguez Médici and folded it. He took his turn to file up to the altar holding the ballot above his head.

Giovanni placed his ballot on the paten covering the chalice and knelt at the altar, praying silently for the Holy Spirit’s presence, and as he rose he said, ‘I call to witness Christ the Lord who will be my judge, that my vote is given to the one before God I consider should be elected,’ and then using the paten he dropped his ballot into the chalice.

When all the votes had been cast the first scrutineer covered the chalice with the paten and shook it to mix the ballots, and when the scrutineers, checked by the revisers, had satisfied themselves that there were only 115 ballots in the chalice, the vote counting began.

The first cardinal scrutineer noted the name on the first ballot and passed it to the second scrutineer who did the same. The third cardinal scrutineer read the name out loud for the whole college to note.

‘Cardinal Lorenzo Petroni,’ the third cardinal scrutineer intoned, and he pierced the card through the word ‘
Eligo
’ and placed it on a thread that would join the votes together to be burned or, if a Pope was elected, kept for his retention.

‘Cardinal Giovanni Donelli.’

Giovanni shook his head but smiled. It didn’t hurt to get one or two votes he supposed.

‘Cardinal Rodriguez Médici.’

‘Cardinal Lorenzo Petroni.’

‘Cardinal Daniel Thuku.’

‘Cardinal Giovanni Donelli.’

At the end of the first vote the Camerlengo read out the results: ‘Cardinal Lorenzo Petroni, forty-two votes.’

Cardinal Petroni nodded imperceptibly.

‘Cardinal Giovanni Donelli, thirty-two votes.’

Cardinal Petroni’s eyes hardened. Donelli. Obviously the announcement of the investigation had had some effect but not enough and Petroni wondered who might be voting for him. Petroni decided to reinforce the dangers of heresy and of a long Papacy during the lunch break.

‘Cardinal Daniel Thuku, twenty-four votes.’

Cardinal Petroni nodded to the Kenyan. It was around the number he had calculated. Again the counter to the Third World of ‘not yet’ would have to be reiterated, and he thought about how he might swing Thuku and his bloc of African votes over to his side. A twenty-four vote bloc, together with one or two more coming over, would give him at least seventy and put him comfortably in striking distance of the magical figure of seventy-eight. Once a candidate got close, Petroni knew that the next vote usually clinched it as the other cardinals all rushed to be on the winning team.

‘Cardinal Rodriguez Médici, twenty-two votes.’

Again Cardinal Petroni nodded in acknowledgement. The Latin American bloc of Liberation cardinals would be harder to swing, but he had already listed those who might be vulnerable. The other votes were scattered in twos and threes and the Camerlengo gave orders for the ballots to be burned with a candle so that black smoke issued from the chimney.

Jerusalem

‘There must be something we can do, Patrick,’ Allegra said, her anger still flaming as Patrick O’Hara showed her in to his lounge room.

‘I have to agree with you, Allegra, it’s got Petroni’s trademark all over it but the trouble is, once a conclave starts, the cardinals are sealed off from the outside world.’

‘No doubt something Petroni was banking on with his timing,’ Allegra said bitterly. ‘Sow the seeds of doubt in the minds of those who are wavering on their candidate to ensure Petroni gets himself across the line, then he can claim it was all a misunderstanding.’

‘Sorry to interrupt, Bishop O’Hara,’ Sister Katherine said from the doorway. ‘Tom Schweiker is calling from Rome, shall I ask him to call back?’

‘No, no, we’re in between a rock and a hard place here anyway, Sister Katherine. I’ll take it in the study but you can serve the tea in here.’

It was nearly fifteen minutes before Patrick returned but he had a bounce in his step and his eyes were dancing with a mischievous anger.

‘Tom phoned me on a personal matter, but I took the trouble to raise last night’s broadcast with him and he is just as irate as we are,’ Patrick said. ‘He’s got reason to believe that when Petroni was a bishop in the Vatican he was involved in covering up the Church’s involvement in paedophilia.’

Patrick kept the allegations general. Tom Schweiker hadn’t said as much, but Patrick had been around long enough to sense there was a deeper personal issue for the journalist, and he had told Tom his door was always open. There had been a sense of gratitude in Tom’s response that heightened Patrick’s suspicions.

‘Tom tells me there was a heated argument in New York just before the item was aired. With only seconds to go before the bulletin opened, the CCN anchor was handed a brief headed “Breaking news from Rome”. When she had a closer look at the date, she could see the information had come through from Petroni’s office nearly a week before.’

‘Then there’s a link between Petroni and the CCN News Director,’ Allegra said.

‘Tom’s certain there is.’

‘So that would rule out any chance of Tom getting a story up that suggested the timing of the allegations is political.’ Allegra was getting angrier.

‘It doesn’t stop
us
airing the allegations against Petroni,’ Patrick said. ‘I made a call to the one person in the conclave who is connected to the outside world, the Camerlengo. It’s a long shot, but Tom’s agreed to back us. The Camerlengo’s absolutely furious, but I told him the media already had the story and it would not look good if it subsequently emerged that he refused to see us. To give us credibility I gave him Tom’s number if he wanted to check. It took a fair bit of arm-twisting, but he’s very reluctantly agreed to listen to us.’

The Italian in Allegra came to the fore. She put her cup down, leaned over and gave an astonished Patrick a hug.

‘Patrick, you’re a marvel!’

‘Don’t get your hopes up too much, Allegra,’ Patrick cautioned. ‘He’s only agreed to see us. The Curia can be very stubborn. Will David come?’

‘I don’t see why not,’ Allegra said firmly. ‘The election’s not due for another six weeks. Surely he can slip out of the country on personal business without the whole place falling apart. If Petroni gets elected Pope, it won’t be just a backward step for the Catholic Church,’ she said, her dark eyes smouldering. ‘Given what’s in the Omega Scroll it could mean the countdown for destruction will be accelerated.’

Roma

As they filed out of the Sistine Chapel for lunch, Cardinal Petroni managed to hide his irritation, but as lunch wore on his irritation increased. Petroni needed to speak separately with Cardinal Rodriguez Médici and Cardinal Daniel Thuku but both had been deep in conversation with each other for over twenty minutes. The lunch break was drawing to a close and Petroni waited for an opportunity, frustrated at being caught up in small talk with cardinals he didn’t need to speak to.

If Petroni had known what Médici and Thuku were talking about his over-confidence would have been shaken by desperation and a sense that power was slowly slipping through his elegant fingers.

‘I’m flattered by the support I’ve received, Daniel,’ Rodriguez Médici said, ‘but I’m going to have a word with one or two of my supporters to see if we can get behind the one candidate. One thing is very clear to me, it would be an unmitigated disaster if Petroni is elected. He has campaigned shamelessly this last week and as Pope he would set the Church back a hundred years. You might think getting the Curia to change their minds on condoms is a hard ask now. Under Petroni you’d be excommunicated for thinking about it.’

Daniel Thuku smiled grimly. ‘Yes, and I think the chances of a third Vatican Council would be about zilch. What about this investigation into Giovanni?’

‘That’s got Petroni’s mark all over it, Daniel, surely you can see that?’

‘Yes, but can the others?’

Back in the chapel the Camerlengo read out the results of the voting for the second ballot.

‘Cardinal Lorenzo Petroni, forty-eight votes.’

Cardinal Petroni disguised his cold fury. A paltry six vote gain on the second ballot. His vote had stalled. Something was not adding up.

‘Cardinal Giovanni Donelli, forty-two votes.’ Giovanni shook his head. Those around him heard him say softly, ‘Please God. No. Please, no.’

Cardinal Salvatore Bruno, who was seated directly opposite, just smiled and nodded encouragement in Giovanni’s direction. While Cardinal Petroni had been dispensing champagne and caviar, Giovanni’s old mentor had not been idle in the lead up to the conclave either, quietly building Giovanni’s candidature amongst others who also held the brilliant young cardinal in high esteem. Votes for both Cardinal Thuku and Cardinal Médici had fallen, largely at their own instigation, and both exchanged conspiratorial glances. Both were wondering if it was the kiss of death for Petroni, or if he might hold his position for another twenty-eight ballots to force a run-off on a simple majority. Cardinal Petroni’s thoughts were running on similar lines.

Once more a cloud of black smoke issued from the Sistine Chapel chimney as Flight 401 from Tel-Aviv touched down at Rome’s Leonardo da Vinci International Airport.

‘I think I’m in the wrong business,’ Patrick O’Hara whispered to Allegra as they followed David and the Shin Bet agents through a private doorway and the Italian customs agent waved them straight through.

‘
Buongiorno, Signor, Signora. Benvenuti a Roma
.’

‘It has its compensations,’ Allegra agreed. ‘Mind you, it would want to!’

There were two cars and despite David indicating that it was a private visit and a request for things to be done on a low key, they came with the inevitable
carabinieri
escort.

‘At least the media aren’t anywhere in sight,’ David said to Allegra as they followed the police escort in the first car with Patrick following in the second.

‘Give them time,’ Allegra said cynically.

‘Be fair,’ David said. ‘They haven’t had someone quite so photogenic as you in public life in years. Golda Meir might have been a great stateswoman, but she was no oil painting.’

‘David!’ Allegra whispered, tilting her head towards the Shin Bet driver and agent in the front seat. She needn’t have worried, the agents from the Personal Protection Unit had smiles wider than David’s.