In The Name of The Father (12 page)

Immediately Mennini interjected.

‘Of course not, Father. I meant no such inference. It’s just that I was shocked by the amount. Of course I know such things cost money . . .’ Another thought struck him and he turned in concern to Versano. ‘But how can we account for such an amount . . . this is supposed to be a secret?’

The genial Archbishop took charge. Van Burgh might be the expert on subterfuge but now they were on his territory.

‘Please don’t let that concern you, Your Eminence. That money will show in no accounts of the Vatican, or indeed the Church anywhere.’ He smiled. ‘In fact I assure you that the money will not even come from the Church.’

Puzzled, Mennini asked, ‘Then from where?’

The American Archbishop made a very Italian gesture with his hands. A gesture which indicated that all things were possible. He said simply, ‘From friends.’

There was a silence while the other two digested that. The Bacon Priest, who knew more of such things than the Cardinal, guessed that the ‘friends’ would be either certain shadowy bankers, business tycoons who could always use a future favour from ‘God’s Financier’, or the Mafia. Or a combination of all three.

From inside his robes Versano had taken out a little black leather notebook and a thin gold pencil. He asked Van Burgh, ‘Where do you want it and how?’

Mennini felt out of it now as they settled the details. The Bacon Priest wanted two-thirds of it in dollars paid into a numbered bank account in Strasbourg, and one-third in gold. If possible in ‘Vietnam’ style sheets. The Cardinal was mystified by this, but Versano nodded in understanding. The Vietnamese boat people, the lucky ones who got through, brought gold with them. Tons of it. So much that in the early stages gold dealers were allowed to set up shop in some of the refugee camps. Such gold was fashioned into small, paper-thin strips, easy to bend and mould into places of concealment. Versano assumed that if bribery was necessary the gold would be the medium. Van Burgh wanted it delivered to a priest in Amsterdam. Versano jotted down the name and address, then tucked away the notebook and pencil.

‘How soon?’ the priest asked.

Versano reached forward, picked up a plump orange and started to peel it, his squat boxer’s fingers surprising adept. He said, ‘The dollars will be in Strasbourg within seventy-two hours . . . The gold in Amsterdam within a week.’

‘Good, and I account for it direct to you?’

Versano laughed. ‘No.’ He glanced at Mennini. ‘I suggest that no accounting is done - ever. That’s always how people get found out. That’s how Al Capone got caught by the tax people.’ With another glance at the Cardinal he said quietly, ‘Pieter, use the money for our purpose. If there’s a surplus divert it to your relief fund . . . If you need more, let me know. If you do so by phone use this code: a dollar will be a single tulip. If you tell me, for example, that you saw a field filled with tulips - “there must have been fifty thousand” - then I’ll send fifty thousand dollars to Strasbourg. An ounce of gold will be an Edam cheese. Tell me that a monastery in Zeeland makes a hundred Edams a day and I’ll send a hundred ounces of gold to your priest in Amsterdam . . . but no more mention of accounts.’

Van Burgh was looking at Mennini expecting some dissension from this fastidious man who liked everything to be recorded and in its proper place. But the Cardinal nodded.

‘I agree, and after it’s over
Nostra Trinita
disappears and never was.’ He cut himself a small piece of Fontina, broke some bread and nodded again before eating. The Bacon Priest could see that both the Cardinal and the Archbishop were getting a vicarious enjoyment from the brotherhood of conspiracy. Versano had finished peeling the orange. He dissected it into segments, popped a piece into his mouth and asked, ‘What about your game plan? Is it worked out yet?’ He liked to talk in sporting metaphors.

Van Burgh decided he might as well massage their pleasure in clandestine activities.

‘Nothing is finite in this business. The most important word we use is “contingency”. We assume that things will go wrong - and we plan for that. Now this operation is in five phases.’ He held up his hand, spread his fingers and tapped one of them. ‘Phase one is the preparation. That will soon be complete. Phase two is the journey. The “
Papa
’s envoy” will journey from Vienna through Czechoslovakia to Poland, then across Poland via Cracow and Warsaw to the Russian border. Then on to Moscow.’ He tapped the next finger. ‘Phase three is entry into Moscow, establishing a secure base and making the necessary dispositions for,’ he tapped the next finger, ‘phase four — the assassination of Andropov. Phase five, of course, is the escape of the envoy.’

Versano leaned forward to ask a question but Van Burgh held up a hand.

‘Currently all plans for phase two have been worked out and our people are moving into position. The pipeline will be ready by the time the envoy has finished his training in two weeks. There will be a back-up pipeline in case of problems.’ He glanced at Mennini as if to emphasise that ‘back-ups’ were costly things. The Cardinal was now eating grapes and listening intently. ‘Planning for phase three is also complete. I already have two people in Moscow and three more will be there within a week. A “safe house” and transport is arranged. Also the method for bringing Ania - Sister Anna — safely out at that stage.’

Versano was determined to ask a question.

‘Back down the same route?’

Van Burgh shook his head. ‘No. That’s bad strategy. That pipeline is temporary and the longer it’s in place the more chance of detection. We’ll bring her out through Helsinki. We have a tried and tested method. As to phase four . . .’ he shrugged non-committally. ‘Planning is still under way. We have identified three possibilities. They are all promising. But so far only one seems to offer a real chance for the envoy to escape.’

Versano was intrigued. Eagerly he asked, ‘And that is?’

Van Burgh shook his head. ‘That’s premature. Besides,’ he looked around the opulent room, ‘I prefer not to talk about that here. I know you’ve taken every precaution, Mario, but that phase is too delicate to discuss in any room. Even in the Vatican itself.’

They both nodded in understanding. The Bacon Priest sighed and said, ‘That brings me on to some unpleasant news.’ He looked sadly at the Cardinal. ‘As you know, we always have defections behind the Iron Curtain. It’s inevitable, no matter what precautions we take. Some of our people are weaker than others. You could say more human. Sometimes they cannot take the terrible pressure. I cannot find it in my heart to blame them.’ His listeners were watching him intently. With another sigh he said, ‘Mirek Scibor was in a unique position to know of these defectors. He gave me a list of over one hundred names.’

Versano drew in breath sharply. ‘Oh God! That’s terrible.’

‘No, Mario, that’s to be expected. We have thousands. It’s a tiny percentage. Most of them are unimportant. We are now quietly isolating them.’ He turned sadly to Mennini. ‘Your Eminence, it pains me greatly to have to tell you that two members of your own Order were on the list. Fortunately one was never used and the other not for a long time.’

Gloomily Mennini asked, ‘Who are they?’

Van Burgh chose the easy one first. ‘Father Jurek Choszozno of Poznan.’ He could see that the name meant nothing to Mennini, who was sipping at the remains of his wine. With over one hundred thousand priests within his Order that was not surprising. But Van Burgh guessed that the second name would get a reaction. ‘And, Your Eminence . . . this so pains me . . . Father Jan Panrowski of Olsztyn . . .’

Mennini’s reaction was far greater than he could ever have expected. The Cardinal’s head jerked back. There was a sharp tinkle as the stem of his wine glass snapped and then the white tablecloth was stained red. Both Versano and Van Burgh started to rise. The Cardinal was looking at the priest as though he were a sudden and ghastly apparition. His mouth twisted as he tried to speak.

‘Jan Pan . . . No . . . God, no!’

Then his lips pulled back from his teeth in agony and he was clutching at his chest and moaning and falling sideways.

Versano caught him. Shouting at Van Burgh, ‘Quick! Get someone! A doctor!’

The priest ran for the door, cursing himself. He knew that Panrowski must have been revered by his leader. He should have broken the news more gently.

Thankfully Sister Maria was standing near a table close by. She saw the priest’s face and moved quickly towards him.

‘It’s the Cardinal,’ he whispered urgently. ‘Taken ill. I think it’s serious. Maybe a heart attack.’

She was instantly in command of the situation. Most of her clientèle were senior, elderly clerics and such things had happened before. She swung into action. First her gaze swept the room; occasionally a doctor or two dined in the restaurant but not tonight. Quietly and firmly she said to Van Burgh, ‘Go back inside. An ambulance will be here within minutes with a doctor and special equipment. Then I’ll phone the Cardinal’s own doctor. Loosen his clothes.’

She moved away quickly but not in a way to excite curiosity. He turned and went back into the private room.

The Cardinal was on the floor. Versano was cradling his head with one hand and with the other holding a glass of water to his lips. Van Burgh quickly knelt on the other side and started loosening the clothes. He pulled at the tight sash and got it free and then reached behind Mennini’s neck and loosened his collar. A glance at his face made him sure that this was a heart attack. The Cardinal was gasping for air and his skin was ashen and clammy. He clutched at Van Burgh’s arm trying to say something.

Just then one of the older serving girls came running in. She had two pillows and a blanket.

‘The doctor and ambulance are coming,’ she said and then quickly put the pillows under the Cardinal’s head and they lowered him down. He was still clutching at Van Burgh, who tried to comfort him.

Versano stood up, saying gravely, ‘I must phone the Vatican. His Holiness must be informed immediately.’

He backed away and walked quickly through the door into the restaurant. By now the patrons knew that something was amiss in the back room. He saw several familiar faces and saw their surprise as they recognised him. He ignored them. Sister Maria was in the foyer talking into a phone. She hung up at his approach and said calmly, ‘An ambulance will be here shortly from Policlinico Gemilli. The Cardinal’s own doctor is also on his way.’

She hurried to the back room and Versano picked up the phone. He quickly dialled a number. It rang three times and then he heard the voice of the Pope’s secretary.

‘Dziwisz here.’

Succinctly Versano told him the news. He heard Dziwisz sigh over the phone and then there was a silence while the Pole considered the implication. Versano could imagine what was going through his mind. The Cardinal’s Order was arguably the most radical section of the Church and one of the most powerful. It had often been a thorn in the side of past Popes. There had been a general sigh of relief in the Vatican when Mennini had been elected its leader. This time the man filling this most influential position had been on the same wavelength as the Pope and the Curia Cardinals. If he should die, a new leader, perhaps a radical, would be elected. Dziwisz asked which hospital the Cardinal was being sent to. Versano told him the Policlinico Gemilli. Another silence, then Dziwisz made up his mind.

‘I shall inform His Holiness now. Even if he’s asleep. I’ll phone you back. What is your number there?’

Versano gave him the number and hung up. As he walked back through the restaurant he heard the distant wailing of a siren.

In the back room Father Van Burgh was kneeling beside the Cardinal. His head was lowered close to Mennini’s mouth. The lips were moving painfully and sporadically, then the head jerked back and the body arched. Van Burgh put one hand on his chest and the other under his neck. Versano heard him mutter something like, ‘Did you tell . . . ?’

Then Sister Maria was pushing forward. She carried a tray. On it was a tiny vial of water. She really is prepared, Versano thought. She put the tray on the carpet next to the Cardinal, then turned to look at Versano, her eyebrows raised in a query. Van Burgh straightened. His face was a mask of shock.

Sister Maria said firmly, ‘Archbishop, I think you must give him Absolution.’

Versano nodded numbly and started to move forward. Then he stopped with a frown. It had been so long since he had been a pastoral priest that the Latin words were lost to him.

He gave an appealing look to Van Burgh, who seemed to understand. He was still kneeling. He leaned across the recumbent figure, picked up the vial of holy water and uncorked it. The wailing of the siren was much louder, homing in. As Van Burgh spoke the words, memory came back to Versano and his lips moved silently as he repeated them to himself.

‘Se sapax, ego te absolvo a peccatis tuis, in nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritu Sancti. Amen .’

‘If it is possible I absolve you from your sins, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.’

Van Burgh made the sign of the cross on Mennini’s forehead, then moved his thumb, touching Mennini at all points of the cross.

There was movement at the door but the priest ignored it. He sprinkled the holy water.

‘Per istam sanctum Unctionem . . .’

‘Through this holy Anointing. . .’

Then the doctor was literally elbowing him aside. The priest pushed himself to his feet, still muttering the Absolution. Two attendants laid a stretcher and various bags and boxes alongside the Cardinal. They and the young doctor worked with practised skill. The top half of the Cardinal’s robes were scissored away. Versano leaned forward and was astonished to see beneath them a coarse hair shirt. This too was cut away. The bony chest beneath had been rubbed red by the hair shirt. It must have been agony. Versano felt a new and uncomfortable respect for Mennini. The doctor was asking short, sharp questions. Versano answered them equally shortly. The doctor listened to the chest and then issued a series of orders to the attendants. Wires snaked out from one of the boxes. Pads were pressed on to the Cardinal’s chest. A nod from the doctor, a flick of a switch. Then Mennini’s body arched as the electricity went through him. Versano had seen such things on American television. Three times the doctor tried, listening after each attempt. Then wordlessly he pointed at the stretcher. The attendants lifted the Cardinal, placed him on it and covered him with a blanket.