the Third Secret (2005) (5 page)

SEVEN

8:30 P.M.

Michener stood before the high altar in St. Peter’s Basilica. The church was closed for the day, the silence disturbed only by maintenance crews polishing the acres of mosaic floor. He leaned against a thick balustrade and watched while workmen ran mops up and down marble stairs, whisking away the day’s debris. The theological and artistic focal point of all Christendom lay just beneath him in St. Peter’s grave. He turned and cocked his head upward toward Bernini’s curlicued
baldacchino,
then stared skyward into Michelangelo’s dome, which sheltered the altar, as one observer had noted,
like the cupped hands of God.

He thought of the Vatican II council, imagining the nave surrounding him lined with tiered benches holding three thousand cardinals, priests, bishops, and theologians from nearly every religious denomination. In 1962 he was between his first Holy Communion and confirmation, a young boy attending Catholic school on the banks of the Savannah River in southeast Georgia. What was happening three thousand miles away in Rome meant nothing to him. Over the years he’d watched films of the council’s opening session as John XXIII, hunched in the papal throne, pleaded with traditionalists and progressives to work in unison so
the earthly city may be brought to the resemblance of that heavenly city where truth reigns.
It had been an unprecedented move. A absolute monarch calling together subordinates to recommend how to change everything. For three years the delegates debated religious liberty, Judaism, the laity, marriage, culture, and the priesthood. In the end the Church was fundamentally altered. Some argued not enough, others thought too much.

A lot like his own life.

Though born in Ireland, he was raised in Georgia. His education started in America and finished in Europe. Despite his bicontinental upbringing, he was considered an American by the Italian-dominated Curia. Luckily, he fully understood the volatile atmosphere surrounding him. Within thirty days of arriving in the papal palace, he’d mastered the four basic rules of Vatican survival.
Rule one—never contemplate an original thought. Rule two—if for some reason an idea occurs, don’t voice it. Rule three—absolutely never set a thought to paper. And rule four—under no circumstance sign anything you foolishly decided to write.

He stared back out into the church, marveling at harmonious proportions that declared a near-perfect architectural balance. A hundred and thirty popes lay buried around him, and he’d hoped tonight to find some serenity among their tombs.

Yet his concerns about Clement continued to trouble him.

He reached into his cassock and removed two folded sheets of paper. All of his research on Fatima had centered on the Virgin’s three messages, and those words seemed central to whatever was upsetting the pope. He unfolded and read Sister Lucia’s account of the first secret:

Our Lady showed us a great sea of fire which seemed to be under the earth. Plunged into this fire were demons and souls in human form, like transparent burning embers, all blackened or burnished bronze. This vision lasted but an instant.

The second secret was a direct result of the first:

You see Hell, where the souls of poor sinners go the Lady told us. To save them, God wishes to establish in the world the devotion to my Immaculate Heart. If they do what I will tell you, many souls will be saved, and there will be peace. The war is going to end. But if they do not stop offending God, another and worse one will begin in the reign of Pius XI. I come to ask for the consecration of Russia to my Immaculate Heart and the Communion of reparations on the First Saturdays. If my requests are heeded Russia will be converted and there will be peace, if not she will spread her errors throughout the world causing wars and persecutions of the Church. The good will be martyred, the Holy Father will have much to suffer, various nations will be annihilated. In the end my Immaculate Heart will triumph. The Holy Father will consecrate Russia to me and she shall be converted and a period of peace will be granted the world.

The third message was the most cryptic of all:

After the two parts which I have already explained, at the left of Our Lady and a little above, we saw an Angel with a flaming sword in his left hand, flashing. It gave out flames that looked as though they would set the world on fire, but they died out in contact with the splendor that Our Lady radiated towards him from her right hand. Pointing to the earth with his right hand, the Angel cried out in a loud voice: ‘Penance, Penance, Penance!,’ and we saw in an immense light that is God. Something similar to how people appear in a mirror when they pass in front of it. A bishop dressed in white, ‘we had the impression that it was the Holy Father,’ other bishops, priests, men and women Religious going up a steep mountain, at the top of which there was a big Cross of rough-hewn trunks as of a cork-tree with the bark. Before reaching there the Holy Father passed through a big city half in ruins and half trembling with halting step, afflicted with pain and sorrow. He prayed for the souls of the corpses he met on his way. Having reached the top of the mountain, on his knees at the foot of the big Cross he was killed by a group of soldiers who fired bullets and arrows at him, and in the same way there died one after another the other bishops, priests, men and women religious, and various lay people of different ranks and positions. Beneath the two arms of the Cross there were two Angels each with a crystal aspersorium in his hand, in which they gathered up the blood of the Martyrs and with it sprinkled the souls that were making their way to God.

The sentences bore the cryptic mystery of a poem, the meanings subtle and open to interpretation. Theologians, historians, and conspiratorialists had for decades postulated their own varied analyses. So who knew anything for sure? Yet something was deeply troubling Clement XV.

“Father Michener.”

He turned.

One of the nuns who’d prepared his dinner was hustling toward him. “Forgive me, but the Holy Father would like to see you.”

Usually Michener dined with Clement, but tonight the pope had eaten with a group of visiting Mexican bishops at the North American College. He glanced at his watch. Clement was back early. “Thank you, Sister. I’ll head to the apartment.”

“The pope is not there.”

That was strange.

“He’s in the L’ Archivio Segreto Vaticano. The Riserva. He asked that you join him there.”

He concealed his surprise as he said, “All right. I’ll head there now.”

He walked the empty corridors toward the archives. Clement’s presence again in the Riserva was a problem. He knew exactly what the pope was doing. What he couldn’t figure out was why. So he allowed his mind to wander, reviewing once more the phenomenon of Fatima.

In 1917 the Virgin Mary revealed herself to three peasant children in a great hollow basin known as Cova da Iria, near the Portuguese village of Fatima. Jacinta and Francisco Marto were brother and sister. She was seven and he was nine. Lucia dos Santos, their first cousin, was ten. The mother of God appeared six times from May to October, always on the thirteenth of the month, at the same place, at the same time. By the final apparition, thousands were present to witness the sun dancing across the sky, a sign from heaven that the visions were real.

It was more than a decade later that the Church sanctioned the apparitions as
worthy of assent.
But two of the young seers never lived to see that recognition. Jacinta and Francisco both died of influenza within thirty months of the Virgin’s final appearance. Lucia, though, lived to be an old woman, having died only recently, after devoting her life to God as a cloistered nun. The Virgin even foretold those occurrences when She said,
I will take Jacinta and Francisco soon, but you, Lucia, shall remain here for a certain time. Jesus wishes to use you to make Me known and loved.

It was during Her July visit that the Virgin told three secrets to the young seers. Lucia herself revealed the first two secrets in the years after the apparitions, even including them in her memoirs, published in the early 1940s. Only Jacinta and Lucia actually heard the Virgin convey the third secret. For some reason Francisco was excluded from a direct rendition, but Lucia was given permission to tell him. Though pressed hard by the local bishop to reveal the third secret, all of the children refused. Jacinta and Francisco took the information with them to their graves, though Francisco told an interviewer in October 1917 that the third secret “was for the good of souls and that many would be sad if they knew.”

It remained for Lucia to be the keeper of the final message.

Though she was blessed with good health, in 1943 a recurring pleurisy seemed to spell the end. Her local bishop, a man named da Silva, asked her to write the third secret down and seal it in an envelope. She initially resisted, but in January 1944 the Virgin appeared to her at the convent in Tuy and told her that it was God’s will that she now memorialize the final message.

Lucia wrote the secret and sealed it in an envelope. On being asked when the communication should be publicly divulged, she would only say,
in 1960.
The envelope was delivered to Bishop da Silva and placed inside a larger envelope, sealed with wax, and deposited in the diocese safe, where it remained for thirteen years.

In 1957 the Vatican requested all of Sister Lucia’s writings be sent to Rome, including the third secret. On its arrival, Pope Pius XII placed the envelope containing the third secret inside a wooden box bearing the inscription
SECRETUM SANCTI OFFICIO
, Secret of the Holy Office. The box stayed on the pope’s desk for two years and Pius XII never read its contents.

In August 1959 the box was finally opened and the double envelope, still sealed with wax, was delivered to Pope John XXIII. In February 1960 the Vatican issued a curt statement pronouncing that the third secret of Fatima would remain under seal. No other explanation was offered. By papal order, Sister Lucia’s handwritten text was replaced in the wooden box and deposited in the Riserva. Each pope since John XXIII had ventured into the archives and opened the box, yet no pontiff ever publicly divulged the information.

Until John Paul II.

When an assassin’s bullet nearly killed him in 1981, he concluded that a motherly hand had guided the bullet’s path. Nineteen years later, in gratitude to the Virgin, he ordered the third secret revealed. To quell any debate, a forty-page dissertation accompanying the release interpreted the Virgin’s complex metaphors. Also, photographs of Sister Lucia’s actual writing were published. The press was fascinated for a while, then the matter faded.

Speculation ended.

Few even mentioned the subject any longer.

Only Clement XV remained obsessed.

Michener entered the archives and passed the night prefect, who gave him only a cursory nod. The cavernous reading room beyond was cast in shadows. A yellowish glow shone from the far side, where the Riserva’s iron grille was swung open.

Maurice Cardinal Ngovi stood outside, his arms crossed beneath a scarlet cassock. He was a slim-hipped man with a face that carried the weather-beaten patina of a hard-fought life. His wiry hair was sparse and gray, and a pair of wire-framed glasses outlined eyes that offered a perpetual look of intense concern. Though only sixty-two, he was the archbishop of Nairobi, senior of the African cardinals. He was not a titular bishop, bestowed with an honorary diocese, but a working prelate who’d actively managed the largest Catholic population in the sub-Sahara region.

His day-to-day involvement with that diocese changed when Clement XV summoned him to Rome to oversee the Congregation for Catholic Education. Ngovi then became involved with every aspect of Catholic education, thrust to the forefront with bishops and priests, working closely to ensure that Catholic schools, universities, and seminaries conformed to the Holy See. In decades past his had been a confrontational post, one resented outside Italy, but Vatican II’s spirit of renewal altered that hostility—as had men like Maurice Ngovi, who managed to soothe tension while ensuring conformity.

A spirited work ethic and an accommodating personality were two reasons Clement had appointed Ngovi. Another was a desire for more people to come to know this brilliant cardinal. Six months back, Clement had added another title—camerlengo. This meant Ngovi would administer the Holy See after Clement’s death, during the two weeks until a canonical election. It was a caretaker function, mainly ceremonial, but nonetheless important since it assured Ngovi would be a key player in the next conclave.

Michener and Clement had several times discussed the next pope. The ideal man, if history was any teacher, would be a noncontroversial figure, multilingual, with curial experience—preferably the archbishop of a nation that was not a world power. After three fruitful years in Rome, Maurice Ngovi now possessed all of those traits, and the same question was being posed over and over by Third World cardinals.
Was it time for a pope of color?

Michener approached the entrance of the Riserva. Inside, Clement XV stood before an ancient safe that once bore witness to Napoleon’s plunder. Its double iron doors were swung back, exposing bronze drawers and shelves. Clement had opened one of the drawers. A wooden box was visible. The pope clutched a piece of paper in his trembling hands. Michener knew Sister Lucia’s original Fatima writing was still stored in that wooden box, but he also knew there was another sheet of paper there, too. An Italian translation of the original Portuguese message, created when John XXIII had first read the words in 1959. The priest who’d performed that task was a young recruit in the Secretariat of State.

Father Andrej Tibor.

Michener had read diaries from curial officials, on file in the archives, which revealed how Father Tibor had personally handed his translation to Pope John XXIII, who read the message, then ordered the wooden box sealed, along with the translation.

Now Clement XV wanted to find Father Andrej Tibor.