Luis Rocha - The Last Pope

Rafael closed the door, locking it again and restoring the security of their refuge. He put out the torch. It was not needed anymore, since the candelabra fixed on the wall provided enough light. Marble tiles covered the floor, lending an air of splendor to the place. Sarah now understood that the coarseness of the network of tunnels meant nothing. The passages needed no display of luxury. That was reserved for the shelters. The enormous door truly separated two worlds.

At the end of the hallway a large balcony spread before them on both sides. Several columns supported the weight of the arches. At the bases were wrought-iron railings for anyone who wanted to admire the salon below, a tremendous space with all the comforts of daily life. Two stairways led down to it, one on each side of the balcony. A big hanging chandelier in the shape of a cupola illuminated the entire area, and the walls were covered with tapestries. There was a grand piano, various sofas with cushions, and a dining table suitable for at least twenty dinner guests. The decor fired Sarah’s imagination, leading her to picture either a palace or a harem. Only the women were missing, and the sultan.

From the balcony, Sarah noticed three doors on each side, probably leading to private chambers.

Raul went toward the left stairway, and as soon as they descended the marble stairs, he invited them to sit on a large sofa.

“Would you like something to eat? To drink? I don’t have much, but surely I can find something you might like.” His voice conveyed how happy he was to see them safe and sound.

“Are you alone here?” his daughter dared to ask, ignoring the offer.

“Yes.”

“And Mom?”

“She’s fine, don’t worry.”

“Why didn’t she come here with you?”

“Because she wouldn’t be able to stand this solitude. There’s no television, no radio, no Internet-nothing.”

“Where is she?” she asked, somewhat resentfully. The relief at seeing him was already gone. Her mind was back in control, recalling all that had happened, the questions, everything that was in play.

“Your mother’s in a safe place. Near Oporto,” her father answered. “I filled her in on everything. Her reaction wasn’t the best, as you can imagine.” Nodding slightly, Sarah signaled her understanding. They both knew this woman. “She wanted to come get you in London, but once she understood the magnitude of the problem, she went along with my plan. She can’t be out there alone. If they caught her, they’d be able to use her as a bargaining chip. They know how to do that. Besides, the CIA agents involved in this are very active.”

”That’s right,” Rafael agreed. “But we are still a few hours ahead.”

“Hours?” Sarah asked, not sure she’d heard right.

“Yes, hours,” her father repeated. “These people are extremely well prepared. They can’t reconstruct our every step, but there’s always some clue left, and they are certainly going to find it.”

Fear again overpowered Sarah, raising her heartbeat and giving her chills.

“Can they find us here?”

“Not here,” Rafael hastened to clarify. “But they can place us in Mafra.”

“How?”

“By checking with the company from which we rented the car.”

“Then they can also find out what hotel we stayed in?”

“Yes, theoretically. If they check the registers of all the hotels in the area. But if they locate the taxi driver who took us from the airport to the hotel, we’re not in danger, because-”

“I know,” Sarah interrupted, remembering that as they left the airport Rafael had asked the taxi driver to take them to the Hotel Le Meridien. At the end of the trip, when Sarah thought she would finally be getting some rest, Rafael started walking away from the hotel. And when she asked him where they were going, he answered that they wouldn’t be staying there. They walked a half mile or so to the Altis Hotel. Now she understood his tactics. “They’d think we stayed at Le Méridien.”

“Exactly.”

“I see,” Sarah said, thinking. A moment later she looked intently at her father. “Obviously we haven’t got any time to waste, so start telling me, from the beginning, everything I don’t know, don’t leave anything out.”

Raul sat across from them, separated by a dark, very ornate table.

“That’s fair. You have the right to know everything. What has Rafael told you?”

“Nothing good. Mostly horrible things, considering that I received a list of offenders that included my father’s name.”

“Let’s be calm, my dear,” the captain asked her in a conciliatory tone.

“Calm? You’re asking me to be calm? Some guys are following me, guys who killed important people, who even liquidated a pope! See if you can be calm.”

“Fine. Now you’re going to be quiet and listen to what I have to say. But first I’m going to serve us all some port, understood?” Finally the military tone appeared in Captain Monteiro’s voice. He got up to keep his word, filled three glasses with a Ferreira Vintage port, and handed one to each of them.

Rafael remained serene, unaffected, sitting next to Sarah. Raul finally returned to his place and took a sip of his drink.

“Every man makes mistakes in the course of his life. And I’m no exception. In 1971 I was admitted into the P2 because I thought that by doing so I would be helping my country. We had a dictatorship in Portugal, and the P2 offered me the chance to try to change that situation. Or at least that’s what I wanted to believe. When I discovered the true objective of its leaders, I separated very quickly from the lodge. Unfortunately, no one gets to leave the P2 of his own free will. I wasn’t the only Portuguese member, as you must have seen from the list. And there were many more who had the good luck not to appear either on that list or on the one published in 1981.”

“I recognize that,” Sarah agreed. “Some of our most famous political figures.”

The captain disregarded his daughter’s remark.

“My relationship with the P2 ended in 1981. Mine and many other people’s. But the organization continues to exist, as you had the chance to witness in the worst possible way. During the eleven years that I belonged to it, I never put anyone’s life in danger, and I didn’t kill anybody.” He uttered this last statement looking straight into his daughter’s eyes, so there wouldn’t be the slightest doubt. “I kept an eye on many people in Portugal, people the organization wanted to keep under constant surveillance. Some were foreigners or transients. But as far as I know, only one of those people ended up dead, but not by my hands. One of them was Sá Carneiro.”

“Oh, my God,” Sarah said, and gasped, bringing her hand to her mouth. “The prime minister. He died in a plane crash.”

“That story put an end to my involvement with the lodge.”

“And when does mine begin?”

“We’re getting to that. First I’ve got to explain what those papers are. We’re talking about thirteen pages.”

“Thirteen? But I only have two. I mean three. I had three but lost one, in a man’s stomach.” She turned to Rafael. “The one with the code.”

“What code?” her father quickly asked. “No, wait, we’ll talk about that afterward. Let me finish. Those thirteen pages include the list you received, four pages with information concerning high officials in the Vatican, and another list with the pontiff’s future appointees, some of whom were going to be put in place the day the pope died. The papers also contain his various annotations concerning papal measures-short, medium, and long term-for a controversial papacy. And there is also the Third Secret of Fátima.”

Sarah was perplexed. “The one that John Paul II revealed in 2000?”