Luis Rocha - Papal decree

Tarcisio looked at the Swiss Guard. ‘Leave us, Colonel.’

Daniel and his men retired without turning their backs.

‘Pope Benedict?’ Schmidt wanted to know.

‘He’s in a secure location. The two of us cannot be in the same place. Security protocol. We are under threat, Hans.’ He was silent a few seconds. ‘Since Albino Luciani, no one has died this way on this soil,’ he shared with Schmidt.

‘Who was the victim?’

Tarcisio hesitated before speaking the name of the person, who was a man of the church yesterday, and at that moment was no more than a story; it was as if saying it would transform the name into a truth Tarcisio didn’t want to confront. ‘Ursino,’ he finally said, closing his eyes to contain his suffering.

Schmidt helped him to the papal chair, where Tarcisio sat down, drained.

‘The murderer?’

Tarcisio shook his head no. ‘Still nothing.’

‘Just tonight I spoke with him,’ Schmidt remembered.

‘How do you deal with such a tragic death?’ Tarcisio asked. He was a man falling in a well of doubts.

‘Like all the others, my friend,’ Schmidt reassured him in a firm voice. ‘Death is a part of life. Celebrate his good moments and don’t consider the process a loss, but a privilege. You were part of Ursino’s life. You illuminated the way, each for the other.’

‘But we’ll never do it again,’ Tarcisio protested.

‘But you did once. Don’t feel sorrow for what cannot be. The future doesn’t belong to us. What’s important is that it happened when it happened and it was good. Life is always changing. Nothing is forever. You’re old enough to know that.’

‘That’s easy to say,’ the secretary argued.

Schmidt continued to console him. ‘I understand, Tarcisio, but remember that mourning is a selfish act. To weep for someone who dies is an offense to the life that he lived and we lived with him.’

The two men concluded what was a strange conversation, at least as far as Tarcisio was concerned. He was confused and didn’t want to explore that philosophy. The church would always prevail in its ancient ways; that’s how it was.

‘Why did you call for me?’ the Austrian iceman finally asked.

‘Because… because I don’t know whom to trust,’ Tarcisio confessed. ‘Someone murdered a priest inside our walls. An important priest, as you know. I’m walking blindly. I need light.’

‘You must be cold, Tarcisio.’

The secretary looked at him, overcome. The situation called for urgent measures. It was a century since the church had been attacked by such an implacable enemy, and, worse, an invisible enemy. Who could be behind such a diabolical scheme? What devil wanted to finish off the church? With a face, a description, one could plan a counter-attack, take a position on the chessboard. It was better than nothing.

‘We’re living in difficult, ungovernable times.’

‘We have to steady our minds and analyze things coolly,’ Schmidt explained. ‘Let’s start with what we know.’

‘We know they killed four of the Five Gentlemen.’

‘We should have put Ursino under security as soon as we knew about what had happened to the others,’ Tarcisio lamented.

‘No, no, no. Nothing you think now will change what happened. Ursino is out. They’ve killed four Gentlemen. The fifth is left, and then there’s Ben Isaac. Do you think we should put them under security?’

‘The fifth is always safe. Ben Isaac takes care of his own.’

‘Okay, what else do we know?’

Tarcisio put his face in his hands. He was exhausted.

‘We don’t know anything else,’ Tarcisio said.

At that moment the doors opened, admitting Cardinal William.

‘We know that the assassin is a Jesuit,’ he informed them with a smile.

‘A what?’ Tarcisio and Schmidt asked at once.

‘I’ve just obtained confirmation. The murderer is a Jesuit. But there’s more… the society should be current with the situation.

Schmidt’s placidity changed to perplexity. ‘The Society of Jesus?’

‘None other,’ William confirmed.

‘But why?’ Tarcisio wanted to know.

‘It doesn’t seem possible to me,’ Schmidt argued.

‘It’s being verified at this very moment,’ William told them. ‘You’re going to be meeting with the superior general of the society this afternoon, right?’

Tarcisio shivered, remembering the scheduled meeting. ‘Yes.’

‘You have to press him. Don’t meet behind closed doors.’

Schmidt smiled. ‘Please, Your Eminence. Do you think the superior general might attempt something against the secretary of state of the Vatican?’

William didn’t reply.

‘Are we to consider the Jesuits our enemy?’ Schmidt asked.

Tarcisio and William shared a conspiratorial look for a few moments.

‘It’s possible,’ William finally said.

Schmidt remained skeptical.

‘What now?’ Tarcisio asked.

‘Now… we wait for a woman to play her part,’ William said, looking at the square below. And a man.

‘The church in the hands of a woman. Ironic,’ Tarcisio observed.

‘Not for the first time,’ William remembered.

The dining room of Ben Isaac’s mansion resembled a command post. Computers, communication equipment, copiers, a commotion of technicians and agents from the Metropolitan Police, who entered and left in a whirl of activity that only they understood. Ben Isaac and Myriam were seated on a leather sofa, feeling upset. What would happen to little Ben? The kidnapper seemed to know everything. This meant the end of their son, everything they had tried to avoid from the beginning.

‘They told you to wait for instructions at home,’ Gavache recalled. ‘And you didn’t try to contact law enforcement?’ he asked angrily, with a reproving shake of his head.

‘It’s my son’s life at stake,’ Ben Isaac argued. ‘He could already be dead because of this whole circus.’

‘Don’t say that, Ben,’ Myriam cried out. ‘Let the officers do their work.’ She didn’t add that it was because they’d always done things his way that they found themselves in the present situation, but she thought it. Blame wouldn’t solve anything.

Garvis hurriedly joined the group. He was in charge of the whole operation. ‘Dr. Ben, everything is ready. Would you come with me, so I can explain the procedure when they call?’ He was there to help, and he knew what the father and mother were going through, more than he wished.

‘If they call,’ Ben grumbled as he got up.

‘They’ll call, Doctor,’ Gavache reassured him. ‘You have something they want very much. They’ve already proved how far they’ll go to get it. They’re not going to give up.’

Ben Isaac went with Garvis to the heart of the machines and connections that, God willing, would track down the kidnappers’ hiding place. Gavache was sitting in an armchair smoking, much to Ben Isaac’s disapproval. Myriam watched him, intimidated.

‘Do you believe what you’re saying?’ Myriam asked. She needed to know if Gavache was just talking.

‘Another one of my faults. I always say what I think,’ Gavache assured her again, blowing a puff of smoke into the air, ‘and I have to smoke to think.’

‘I understand,’ Myriam said, more at ease with Gavache.

‘Where’s that amusing young lady, Jean-Paul?’ Gavache wanted to know.

‘She went into the bathroom ten minutes ago,’ Jean-Paul informed him, appearing behind his boss.

‘Do you think she needs help?’

‘No, Inspector,’ Myriam interjected. ‘She not feeling well. She’s been nauseous lately.’

‘Did you hear that, Jean-Paul?’ Gavache asked.

‘I heard, Inspector.’