The Second Messiah (24 page)

CASSINI FOLLOWED THE
path though the Vatican Gardens, past the lawns and flower beds. Situated within walls first extended in the sixteenth century to defend the sacred city, the gardens had become disorderly with the years, a mishmash of orange groves, conifer trees, and shrubbery cluttered with religious statues and gurgling fountains. Cassini halted at the Fountain of the Rock, with its figures of dragons and tritons.

John Becket sat beside the stone fountain. He was very still, the only movement a wisp of his hair ruffled by a stray breath of wind. He stared at the splashing waters, his face a solemn mask of concern.

Cassini noticed that since his election, the pontiff had chosen not to wear papal garments. Instead he wore a simple wooden cross around his neck and a plain white cassock, but without the zucchetto, the small white skullcap the pope usually wore. Cassini moved closer and realized the pope wasn’t staring but praying as if transfixed, the set of rosary beads in his hands passing silently through his long, slim fingers.

Cassini waited, expecting to be noticed, but when he wasn’t he coughed quietly. “Pardon, Holy Father.”

John Becket turned to face him. The solemn look vanished, a smile came instantly to his lips, and the gentle blue eyes regarded Cassini warmly. “Umberto. It is good to see you.”

Cassini bent his knee and kissed the pope’s right hand. “Your Holiness.”

“Sit. Join me.”

Cassini sat by the fountain. “I hope I did not disturb your prayers.”

“My prayers are completed.”

“I went to the archives, believing I might find you there. But Father Rossi suggested you came here, to the gardens, to have some time alone. My apologies if I have invaded your privacy, Holy Father.”

“No matter, Umberto. I am glad of your company.” John Becket’s smile widened at the mention of Rossi. “Father Rossi seems a remarkable man. I never told him I was going, yet he appears to know everything, not just the archive secrets he is a guardian of. I hope he is not upset that we have invaded his territory.”

Cassini nodded. “Your examiners are certainly keeping him busy, but nobody seems to complain. By all accounts, everyone has only good words for you. They speak of you reverently, with the deepest of respect, Holy Father.”

“They are far too kind, Umberto. And such hard workers.”

“May I ask of your progress?”

“These are early days yet. But for now, the records and files my examiners are most interested in relate to matters about which I consider our flock has an immediate right to know. Papers that have to do with the Vatican’s more recent past. Subjects of historical importance that have been shrouded in secrecy until now, yet endlessly speculated upon.”

Cassini looked faintly anxious. “Could the Holy Father be more specific?”

“Religious revelations and prophecies, for one. Also, the Vatican’s financial affairs and its investments. These are subjects that have caused more speculation and scandal than most. My examiners will report to me when their work has been completed. We shall proceed from there.” Becket paused. “Is that why you came to see me, Umberto, to inquire about their progress?”

“No, Holy Father. If I may I be honest, I have two concerns.”

“Tell me your concerns.”

“One has to do with your personal safety. The other to do with your pledge to open the archives to public scrutiny. I simply wonder if you still think it wise to abide by this pledge, Holy Father.”

“And why should I not, Umberto?”

Cassini sighed, then said as delicately as he could, “I have heard of anxious whispers among Curia members who seem to think that it will destroy the church, and be the end of our religion as we know it. That your desire to embrace other Christian churches in your mission of truth is a step too far. They say your new beginning could really be an ending. I hate to even say this, but some have wondered aloud if this could be your true intention. The question I heard was, ‘What if he’s a devil in lamb’s clothing?’”

“Are you among them, Umberto?”

The unexpected question caught Cassini off guard. He flushed, the first time he had done so in many decades. Fifteen years of curial office had taught him to readily answer any question, never act surprised, but the directness of the query unsettled him. “I—I am merely voicing concerns that I have heard. We both know there are secrets within the archive vaults that could shake the church to its core. Many among the Curia believe those secrets would be best forgotten. Some of my colleagues have voiced certain questions.”

“What questions?”

“Do we really want to ignite the flames of controversy? To heap trouble upon ourselves? To unsettle the world by our supreme honesty?”

“I seem to recall our Savior did exactly that. In regard to other Christians not of our church, belief in Jesus’ words are truly what matter, and is the glue that unites us. Christ believed in unity, but for too long, through our own pride and arrogance, I fear so many churches have ignored that belief. Perhaps we can begin by forsaking our own pride and reach out to them, Umberto. The simple truth is that deep in our hearts, all believers are more alike than unalike. We believe in the same creator.”

Cassini flushed again. “Of course, but we are shepherds of the flock, responsible for the people and the church’s continuation. The foundations of the faith may be at risk.”

“Do you really believe this, Umberto?”

“I believe such concerns are genuine,” Cassini answered diplomatically.

John Becket paused, closed his eyes. For a moment his fingers toyed with the rosary beads in his hands, and then he opened his eyes again. “Do you know why I chose the name Celestine, Umberto?”

“No.”

“Celestine was a very simple man. But he had an honest wisdom we can all learn from.”

“Holy Father?”

“He knew that while many popes have called themselves servants of God, few of them behaved with the humility of servants. Sadly, when the Curia conspired against him, Celestine resigned and soon after he was killed.”

The pope paused and fixed his visitor with a gentle stare. “Know that I intend to be an honest servant, Umberto. The church is built on love and truth. They are the real foundations of our faith and are among our most important obligations as priests. Out of love for my flock I intend honoring my obligation to truth, come what may.”

“But—”

“No buts, Umberto. For years our flock has called for a new papal leadership, one that functions less as a monarch, more as a friend, a pastor. On the night I was chosen I promised that I would be an instrument of that change. I see no reason to alter that promise.”

“And your personal safety, Holy Father, is that of no concern?” A trace of argument crept into Cassini’s tone. “The forces of darkness may wish to destroy you, as they have tried to destroy other popes. The church has many secretive groups who may even plot your downfall because of your intentions. There has been hate mail containing veiled threats. Monsignor Ryan has voiced to me his fears.”

“Christ was threatened also, but did not succumb. We must follow his example, Umberto.”

Cassini persisted. “Then will you at least change your mind about Sean Ryan’s recommendations? A bulletproof vest. Extra personal security?”

Becket stood, his tall figure towering. “I place my safety in God’s hands. I know He will not fail me, Umberto.”

There was unshakable strength in the reply, a power to its belief that made Cassini feel humbled. At that moment, the blue eyes that stared back at him were piercing, and Cassini felt himself almost wither under the unyielding intensity of Becket’s gaze.

He knew why the Curia had ultimately picked this man, aside from the fact that he had all the qualifications desired of a pope: a long career within the church, ten years spent in Rome, almost twenty as a devout missionary in Africa and the Middle East, where he was as much admired for his pastoral work as his diplomacy, an ideal attribute for any pontiff—from the Latin, the word meant “bridge-builder.”

But Cassini knew that John Becket was more than the sum of his parts. There was a powerful solidness to him, an incredible mystical integrity that made you feel you were in the presence of a truly extraordinary human being.

Cassini said quietly, “The last Pope Celestine was killed at the hands of assassins. He, too, placed himself in God’s hands. Yet God failed him.”

“He does not always do as we ask of Him. As a priest, you know that. But I am resigned to whatever fate He chooses for me. And now, please excuse me. I have important business to take care of, Umberto.”

Cassini nodded silently. He knew his audience was over. He knelt, kissed the ring.

John Becket turned to go, but hesitated. “There is something perhaps you should know. A worrying discovery made by one of the examiners.”

“Holy Father?”

“Some of the archives’ documents are missing.”

Cassini looked stunned. “I don’t understand. How is that possible?”

“A question I asked myself. It appears several files are unaccounted for. Some relate to the church’s financial dealings. Others to the findings in the Dead Sea scrolls. Either they have been deliberately removed, or they are mislaid. Which, is not yet clear.”

“This is a serious business.”

Becket nodded. “Father Rossi seems at a loss to explain. However, my examiners assure me they intend to get to the bottom of it.”

“Of course, Holy Father. I’m sure they will.”

“Bless you, Umberto.” The pontiff left, his white cassock flapping about his legs.

Cassini watched him retreat and felt a tremor of concern. He was bitterly reminded of a saying among the cardinals—elect a man as pope on one set of assumptions, and you will find he does something completely different. In this case he realized with certainty that at least one assumption of the cardinals had been misguided: John Becket may have been a compromise candidate, but he was not a compromising man.

Cassini knew that argument had failed him. He would have to rely on other means to change the pontiff’s mind.

EXACTLY THIRTY MINUTES
later, seated in his Vatican office, Cardinal Umberto Cassini was sipping a cup of espresso and attending to a pile of letters, slicing them open with his bone-handled letter opener, when his Nokia cell phone buzzed. He checked the number that appeared on his cell. It was Ryan. Cassini answered his phone. “Sean, any news?”

“I’ve been busy watching our uncle, as agreed.”

Cassini was unused to hearing the pope referred to as “uncle.” Ryan had suggested using that term when discussing the Holy Father over the phone, in case anyone eavesdropped on their conversation. Cassini said, “I just left him an hour ago.”

“I know. But he’s on the move. He exited through the Vatican’s east gate.”

Cassini put down the letter opener and sat up as he heard a clatter of street noise in the background of Ryan’s call. “Did you follow him, Sean?”

“I’m on his tail as we speak. He’s walking fast, as if he’s in a hurry. You’ll never guess what: he’s dressed in civilian clothes and wearing a hat to mask his face.”

“Where are you?”

“About fifty yards behind him. I don’t think he’s seen me tailing him yet. I’m wearing civilian clothes myself.”

Cassini rose excitedly from behind his desk. “Whatever you do, stay on him. Which direction is our uncle walking?”

Ryan said, “Toward the red-light district.”

“
What?
” A shocked Cassini stabbed the tip of the letter opener into his desk.

“That’s why I called. He’s just this minute heading near the railway station, where the brothels are.”