The Secret of Fatima (23 page)

“Well, then, do you know where the secret is located?”

MC shook her head. “Kevin, I'm tired …”

Kevin touched her hand. “You've been through a lot.”

“Can I tell you something?” she continued. “I always felt that I had a special role in the Church. That I was called to it for a reason, even if I don't know what the reason is.”

Kevin nodded. “I understand.”

“But what I feel around you is something similar.”

“What do you mean?”

“I feel you have that same calling. Right in here.” She pointed to her heart. “It's a special mission we're both destined to accomplish. But we don't know what it is. Maybe that's why I tried … to … a … you know …”

“Seduce me?”

“Yeah … that.”

“Let's forget about that, OK?”

She nodded with an abashed smile.

Her comment about his mission was the very question he frequently asked himself. He knew he shouldn't make too much of it. But the question remained:
Who was this young woman? How did she fit in his life?

“May I confess to you now, Father Thrall?”

“Of course.” Kevin began his blessing. “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit …”

Chapter Thirty

The Conclave

In a time-honored ritual, the princes of the Church and their entourages began arriving by air and train, joining the throngs of tourists and pilgrims flocking to Rome for the papal election. The cardinals who made their way to Rome for the conclave, all 112 of them, stayed in
Domus Sanctae Marthae
, the Vatican guesthouse designed and built precisely for this occasion.

At St. Marta's, the princes of the Church would be billeted in simple accommodations, with a bed in a small room, a kneeler for prayer, and a small bathroom. The cardinals were forbidden to talk to anyone outside the conclave, and especially not to the press. They dined together in their refectory on good Italian food and vintage Italian wine.

While a student in Rome years earlier, Kevin had studied the papal election rules. Following the death of the incumbent, under the rules for electing a new pope, the cardinals were summoned to the Vatican for the conclave to elect the deceased pope's successor.

According to the protocol, the candidate must receive a two-thirds majority to be elected. Most conclaves reached a decision in a matter of days, but just in case, a rule change made by John Paul II in 1996,
Universi Dominici Gregis
, stipulated that should the conclave remain deadlocked for over twelve days, the cardinals can change the rules, to elect by a simple majority. Thus far, Kevin was aware that the new rule had never been invoked. In theory, any baptized male was eligible to become pope, although in the unlikely event a layman were chosen, he'd have to be ordained as a priest, then as a bishop before assuming the mantle of Bishop of Rome, the official title of the pope.

No doubt, the most familiar part of the papal election process was the announcement of the results of the cardinals' ballots. If they didn't reach a two-thirds consensus on a candidate after a vote, straw was to be burned in a stove, producing black smoke wafting through pipes over the Sistine Chapel, indicating no new pope. This was a Catholic Church tradition known to all.

When consensus was reached, a chemical was added to the fire to make the smoke white, signaling to the world that a new pope had been chosen.

Kevin peered out his window at the procession of church elders in full regalia. The cardinals wore black cassocks with scarlet red sashes around their waists. They were capped by the skullcaps only cardinals could wear.

Today was the opening day of the conclave. This morning, the cardinals would gather for a solemn Mass of the Holy Spirit at the magnificent Pauline Chapel, whose walls were adorned by two of Michelangelo's masterpieces,
The Conversion of Saul
and
The Crucifixion of St. Peter
. After Mass, they'd form a procession, proceeding to the Sistine Chapel for their deliberations.

Kevin opened his apartment door for Max Drotti. Max carried two brown bags and rushed inside to put them on the table. The beer and sodas would go into the fridge.

“I got lots of stuff for our little party,” he said. He was emptying the bags. “We've got three different kinds of cheese, potato chips, Chianti, beer, some sausages. Let's see … what else?”

Despite their elevated clerical status and a few important Vatican connections, the two had decided to observe the proceedings the way a billion other people would, by watching it on TV.

“Thanks, Max. We've got our own little feast here.”

Max smiled, pleased with himself.

Kevin brought some plates and glasses from the kitchenette and the two men settled on the sofa and started eating.

The screen image showed the procession leaving the Pauline Chapel and heading into the
Sala Regia
, the great audience hall directly connected to the Sistine Chapel. The cardinals were dressed in their formal attire—a long, front-buttoned scarlet red cassock, and over it, a rochet, a white-laced robe. Topping it all, they wore a long bright red cape and the biretta, a scarlet headpiece.

Arriving at the
Sala Regia
, the
Camerlengo
, the chamberlain who served as acting pope, lectured the assembled cardinals as to how the new pope had already been chosen by God; and how their job was to pray and receive the grace to learn who, among them, He'd chosen.

Max glanced at the large bandage on Kevin's right hand. “Let me guess: You fell off a ladder?”

“You know better,” Kevin replied with a smile.

“Yes, I heard about the melee at the hospital. And how's Sister Mary Catherine?” he asked.

“She'll be fine. And there's a small army guarding her now. I doubt they'll try again.”

“Maybe one of the beers I brought will help the pain,” Max said as he made his way to the refrigerator. “Want one?”

Kevin shook his head. “Too early for me.”

The phone buzzed. The return call from Katie. Kevin was relieved.

“Your message sounded strange, Kevin,” Katie said. “Sorry I didn't get back to you right away. I replaced my old phone.”

“Look, Katie. This guy Maggio has a past. We're looking into it, but I'd stay away in the meantime.”

“Kevin, you're talking about my largest and most profitable client!”

And frequent dinner companion
, Kevin thought, but decided wisely to keep his mouth shut.

“Trust me on this, Katie. Make some excuse if you need to but do not under any circumstances travel with him. I'm still looking into it. Now, promise me. OK?”

Exasperated, Katie agreed. Kevin promised he'd get back to her soon. He rang off and turned his attention back to the action on the screen.

The television scene skipped to a shot of the doors of the Sistine Chapel. The last of the cardinals entered, and each took his place behind two long facing tables covered with gold cloth. The marshal at the door then shouted ceremoniously, “
Extra Omnes!
” which meant “Everyone out!”

When it was verified that no one but scarlet-robed cardinals were in the chapel, the doors were clanged shut and locked by three clerics.

“Now the fun begins,” Max said.

“What happens next?”

“Well, there's not supposed to be any lobbying or politicking for the job, but inevitably it occurs. Cliques are formed, speeches made. Then they vote. As you've no doubt heard, the three favorites are Cardinal Marini of Genoa, the deputy secretary of state, Cardinal Serrano of Venice, and Cardinal Silvano, who's old even by papal standards.”

“I remember meeting Marini and Serrano in the pope's office.”

“Yes, both are powerful,” Max said. “What're you thinking, Kevin?”

“I was just thinking about MC, Sister Mary Catherine. You know, Max, she's a fascinating young lady.”

“Yes … so? Where are you going with this?” Max asked, his brow furrowed.

“Relax,” Kevin said. “I mean she reminds me of a gorgeous college prom queen in search of world peace. But she got off on the wrong track.”

“Yeah, with an insidious group that wants to take over the Church. She doesn't get much sympathy from me.”

“I'm concerned about some of the things she told me.”

“And you trust her?”

“I do. I heard her confession and gave her absolution. Afterward, she implied Opus Mundi killed the pope because they want to take over the Church.”

“That's not hard to believe. I wonder if they've endorsed a candidate in the College of Cardinals?”

“That's what I was getting at.”

Kevin and Max went into the kitchen and made some sandwiches on fresh baguettes. They listened to various experts prattling on the TV about the likely successors to the departed Pope Quintus II. Suddenly, the picture flipped to the roof of the Sistine Chapel and the small chimney, where the papal smoke would discharge. The cameras turned to a crowded St. Peter's Square, where voices rose in a clamor of anticipation. Then the scene switched back to the roof and the chimney.

Finally, smoke puffed out of the chimney into the cloudless sky.

Black smoke.

The conclave hadn't agreed on a candidate for pope.

The crowd exhaled and the sounds and murmurs of heavy disappointment swept over the Square. The pundits did their usual analysis, nothing more enlightening than that a new pope hadn't been elected.

Max and Kevin ate their sandwiches quietly, watching television. The coverage switched to “Breaking News” from the Middle East. CNN's Anderson Cooper was on-screen, in front of a colorful map in the background. Cooper announced that Iran had retaliated against Israel by launching a barrage of missiles at Tel Aviv. The experts' best guess: these were non-nuclear weapons.

Simultaneously, Hezbollah launched several hundred missiles across the southern border of Lebanon at Israel. Anderson Cooper opined that a new, and far more dangerous, Middle East war was imminent.

Kevin thought about how this conflict could become nuclear in an instant and turn into a Biblical apocalypse.
Was that what Opus Mundi wanted?

Kevin put the sandwich down. “MC reminded me that a Middle East war was one of Opus Mundi's important agenda items.”

“Did she say why?”

“No. She's too junior to know much.”

A new image flashed on the TV screen. The smokestack on top of the Sistine Chapel was again in full display. The cameras panned the crowd in the Square. All eyes were looking up.

Finally, a stream of smoke.

Once again, black.

Chapter Thirty-One

Rome, Italy

With little difficulty, Kevin managed to resume his routine of saying Mass each morning. As he was easing back into his spiritual habits, it was giving him comfort and strength. He was spending the better part of his days talking to Max in person, and on the phone to Toby, his CIA buddy. He also checked in on Sister Mary Catherine, keeping his eye on CNN for the latest Middle East developments.

Over the following week, international political developments overshadowed the deliberations in the Vatican. Kevin monitored them closely. The Middle East conflict continued to escalate and rage. Missiles were flying between Lebanon and Israel, and occasionally between Iran and Israel. On their northern border, Israel invaded Lebanon.

The Hezbollah forces were waiting for them. Scurrying from house to house, the ragtag army set up mortars and anti-tank bazookas, fired shots, and disappeared. The Israelis countered with a barrage of fire, leveling buildings, homes, and anything that stood in the way. If Hezbollah wanted to play that way, the Israelis would stop at nothing to level their homes and kill their families. War was ugly. It was an ugly war.

The American president implored all parties to restrain their hostilities and to begin talking. It was no use. Casualties mounted—mostly in Lebanon—and the entire Middle East was in an uproar.
What country would enter the war next?
The entire world was watching and waiting.

Kevin, of course, was keeping a keen vigil on news at the Vatican. Two long weeks had passed since the conclave to elect a new pope had first convened. The eager crowds had seen nothing but black smoke.

At noon on the fifteenth day, the cardinal acting as
Camerlengo
announced a change: the 1996 rule instituted by John Paul II would now be invoked. The new pope would be elected by a simple majority of the conclave's votes, rather than the traditional two-thirds majority. When this news was announced, once again the crowd filled St. Peter's Square, knowing, with this voting rule change, that the announcement of a new pope certainly would come soon.

Kevin was spending time reviewing info he'd acquired about Opus Mundi and the secret of Fatima. In his eyes, it seemed certain Opus Mundi had in its possession the missing secret. They alone knew the message of the last two pages.
What could they have found in those pages that'd invoke such desperate and extreme acts, including the assassination of a pope? What could there be in this document written by a young girl in 1917?
The message had to be both frightening and credible. Scary indeed.

Returning to his daily Mass schedule was giving Kevin serenity and a renewed sense of duty to his Church. It felt good to meditate. He was feeling closer to God.

After Mass, Kevin knelt before the statue of the Virgin Mary and prayed for long spells. He developed a special relationship with Mary. His conversations with her were comforting. She spoke to him—not in words, of course—but in the way she directed his feelings, or chastised him for his wrongdoings. Whatever her message, Kevin heard it clearly. She was there for him, as he was for her.

It'd now been nearly three weeks since the conclave had first convened, and around St. Peter's there was massive discontent and frustration.