Luis Rocha - The Last Pope

“You may not be aware, Cardinal Villot, that the CIA is not the only American investigative agency. And, luckily, not all the American politicians and judges are as ‘godly’ as you would like. For instance, these friends who visited me were not exactly godly concerning you.”

“These are crosses the Lord gives us to bear,” Cardinal Casaroli mused. “We resign ourselves to having to stand up to the devil’s temptations, Holy Father.”

“Yes. I hope you’re able to stand up to them.”

Albino Luciani got up with the folder in his hand and waved it in front of the cardinals. His eyes showed more sadness than anger, but he could not tolerate the contents of this report.

“What have you been doing all this time?”

“Our life is devoted to the benefit of the Church, Holy Father,” Villot answered firmly.

“To the benefit of the Church?” Luciani asked angrily. “What Church needs to have its servants making clandestine plots and holding secret meetings, Cardinal Villot? Since when did the Church require its priests to get involved with the Masons, Cardinal Poletti? What Church needs to be defended by making filthy money in the Bahamas, Archbishop Marcinkus? Since when has it been Rome ’s wish to invest in pornography, Monsignor

De Bonis? And are we being godly, Cardinal Casaroli, when we get into schemes that could put countries on the brink of war?”

“These are most grievous accusations, Holy Father!” Villot replied.

“This is outrageous!” Poletti blurted out.

“Who has been spreading this slander?” Casaroli asked.

Pope John Paul I looked askance at them.

“Somebody who doubtlessly knows you very well.”

Marcinkus dared to step forward and vent his anger.

“If the Holy Father is incapable of recognizing when an action is beneficial to the Church, perhaps he should make a resolution in this regard!”

As the one responsible for Vatican finances, Marcinkus was among those who had been investigating a possible cause for dismissal based on the pontiff’s mental deficiency.

“Certainly Archbishop Marcinkus ought to distinguish between ‘acting for the benefit of the Church’ and ‘acting well in the Church’!” Albino Luciani declared.

De Bonis scooted around the wall of Jean-Marie Villot’s cassock, trying to get closer in order to plead for mercy.

“Holy Father, perhaps we acted badly, but we meant well-”

“Get away from me!” the pontiff shouted. “If you erred maliciously, God will exact his due. If it was out of ignorance, that’s because of my predecessors’ blindness. In either case, you shall not keep your positions.”

Villot glared at the Holy Father.

“You can’t do that!”

“Tomorrow I’ll submit your dismissal papers together with those corresponding to other positions of authority in the Curia, Cardinal Villot,” Luciani announced.

The pope left the office, visibly changed. He leaned against the door after it closed. His enemies were on the other side. He begged God’s forgiveness for unleashing his anger.

HANS, THE CHIEF of security for the Vatican, witnessed the departure of the five most powerful cardinals in the Curia. There was Jean-Marie Villot, violently shaking his black cape edged in red, and spouting curses until he turned to descend the staircase. De Bonis left directly behind Paul Marcinkus, from whom he was humbly seeking an explanation. “Is the Grand Master not planning to act, Cardinal?” “Leave me alone,” God’s banker replied. Casaroli and Poletti left in a hurry, taking short steps and waving their hands. “I already said so, already said that this pope would give us grief.”

Hans had overheard the shouts, but wasn’t able to determine the cause of the upset. He ran his hand through his hair, from his forehead to the back of his neck, and turned abruptly to the two Swiss Guards stationed at the entrance to the office.

“What did you hear?” he asked.

“Nothing, sir,” the senior member of the team replied.

“Very well.”

It’s not about what they want, but what they demand,” Barnes repeated in the interrogation room in the heart of Manhattan.

“Demand?” J.C. exclaimed. “Don’t be ridiculous.” “Demand?” J.C. exclaimed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“They have the list.”

“W-w-what?” the assistant stammered.

“It’s true,” Barnes assured him. “Do you swear it?” he asked, turning to Sarah.

The young woman nodded.

“All right,” the old man said. “What are they demanding?”

“To end this here and now, and they won’t take any action. No more dead, no more wounded. Otherwise they’ll use all available means against us, putting the papers in the hands of public opinion.”

The old man’s breathing was getting more and more labored.

“There’s something here that doesn’t jibe.”

“What do you mean, sir?” the assistant asked.

“If the Vatican has the papers, why are they demanding that everyone be freed? That should be a matter of no importance.”

His reasoning was logical, but as the practical man that he was, he didn’t engage in speculation. The woman had deceived him. He wouldn’t have thought her capable of it. The Master decided to follow Sarah’s game, to see where it would lead. Perhaps this would prove more effective than torture.

“And if we go along?” the old man asked unenthusiastically.

“Everything will stay as it is. Nobody will lose anything. But they are insisting that the woman confirm to a Vatican messenger that they have been freed.”

“We shouldn’t accept, sir,” the assistant declared. “We can still recover the other papers.”

Sarah could see that they were undecided, and thought she had to do something to squash their doubts.

“The other papers are also on their way to the Vatican,” she lied.

“What did you say?” The Master’s frown grew even more intense, his suspicions more acute.

“I also sent the other papers to the Vatican,” Sarah repeated.

“But you said you couldn’t answer for them.”

The wretched old man’s got a good memory, Sarah thought.

“Of course. They’re not in my hands, nor have they gotten to the Vatican yet. Someone totally reliable was charged with taking them.”

“She’s lying,” the assistant said.

“We can’t take the risk,” Barnes warned.

“We run a much greater risk by not having the papers in our hands,” the assistant pointed out.

“The Vatican ’s position is clear. If this ends here, the papers will remain stored in a safe place. Nobody will learn of their existence and, even more important, there will be no unfortunate consequences for any of the participants in this ill-fated operation.”

“Sir, give me two more hours and I’ll force the truth out of the older man,” the assistant said.

“Unfortunately we don’t have two hours,” Barnes retorted. “The woman has to meet the Vatican messenger at the Waldorf-Astoria in less than an hour.”

J.C. listened to all this without interrupting. It seemed that the best cards were in the opponent’s hand. There was only one thing left to do.

“May I have a few words with you in private?” Barnes asked the Master, interrupting his reflections.

“What did you say?” The Master was disconcerted. “Yes,” he finally answered, getting up with the help of his cane. “Let’s go out in the hall.”

Barnes followed the old man, who was still deep in thought.

“Did you confirm the source of the call?” he asked suddenly.

“I ordered it but don’t have an answer yet,” Barnes replied.

“Do you think it was credible?” A CIA man’s opinion counted, especially coming from a veteran like Barnes.