Luis Rocha - The Last Pope

“How nice!” Rafael exclaimed ironically, at once following the new route marked by the police vehicles. “Now, tell me, did the Vatican also send us this escort?”

“Supposing that you’re right,” Sarah said, “why stage this farce if we were already in their power? They’re giving us a chance to escape. What are they gaining?”

“No matter how hard we tried, we couldn’t throw them off our track. Surely there are several satellites watching us. Besides, the van is theirs. It’s equipped with all the detection devices you ever dreamed of,” Rafael pointed out. “As for the dramatics, I think the old man, deep down, knows exactly what he’s doing. In spite of everything, our situation hasn’t improved.”

“Yeah, we were better off chained up in that room,” Sarah agreed sarcastically.

“You don’t have… don’t have all the pieces to… to put the puzzle together, Sarah,” her father said.

The young woman turned to Rafael.

“All right, then, mister puzzle man, tell me what we’re going to do.”

“Nothing.”

“What do you mean, nothing?” Sarah and Marius Ferris asked in unison.

Rafael disregarded the priest and looked directly at Sarah. “I do sincerely appreciate your having granted me another half hour of life.”

“Hail Mary, Mother of God…” Marius Ferris prayed, crossing himself, in an effort to overcome his fear.

“Does this mean that they don’t believe the papers are in the Vatican?”

“Exactly. They know they’re not there. You aren’t the only one with contacts in the Holy See,” Rafael answered.

“But they seem to have believed it. It’s all very confusing. Who do you think called to give them the ultimatum?”

“Nobody,” Rafael answered decisively. He quickly changed his authoritative voice to a softer, more reflective tone, to avoid hurting Sarah’s feelings. “Even assuming there really was an ultimatum, they would disregard it.

And I can’t imagine the Vatican worrying about us. Think-why are we getting this escort?”

“That’s something I can’t explain,” Sarah said to herself. But she was still annoyed. Of course there was an ultimatum. “I’m sorry to inform you that the ultimatum is no figment of my imagination.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Do you have all the pieces of the puzzle?” she asked defiantly. “Are you sure we’re not going to meet a messenger?”

“The messenger will be there.”

“Well, I played my cards, I did what I could,” Sarah said. “Whatever will be will be.”

They exchanged looks for a few seconds. Each could see the other’s worries, for themselves and for the others.

Minutes later they turned onto Park Avenue, with all the pomp conferred by their escort. They stopped in front of 301, the celebrated Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, the lodging place of innumerable celebrities for more than a century.

After a struggle, Raul managed to sit up on the seat. Marius Ferris was the first to open the door, but before he could step out, someone slammed the door shut from the outside. It was a man dressed in black whom he’d never seen before.

“My apologies. His Excellency prefers not to meet with the whole group. Only with the young lady,” the man said, peeking into the window by Marius Ferris’s seat.

Rafael took the opportunity to glance at Sarah, silently asking her whether her pieces of the puzzle now fit together. Sarah didn’t understand the glance at first, so Rafael signaled her to come closer, and whispered his question. Sarah said nothing, but she didn’t hide her uncertainty and anxiety.

“Only the woman can come with me,” the man in black insisted.

The daughter tenderly grasped her father’s hand.

“Everything will be fine. Don’t worry.”

The man in black opened the door and Sarah stepped out of the van. He escorted her inside the hotel. Rafael also got out of the vehicle but was immediately intercepted by another thug.

“Didn’t you hear my partner?” he asked menacingly.

“Yes, I heard him.”

“Then you’d better get back in.”

“Unfortunately that’s not possible. I must go with the woman,” he insisted impassively.

“Get back in the van right now,” the guy ordered. “I won’t ask you again.”

“I can’t. Do you know why?”

“Do I look like I’ve got any interest in knowing?”

“If you don’t, you ought to.” He paused for a moment to let the words sink in. “I’m the only one who knows where the papers are.” Another brief silence before the crowning touch. “The woman doesn’t know anything.”

Are you going to tell me or not?”

“Tell you what?”

“What you left out.”

“What I left out?”

“Do you want me to be more direct? What else did you do behind my back?”

“Why do you think I’m hiding something?”

“The piece of the puzzle, remember?”

“If you tell me what piece is missing from your puzzle, maybe I can tell you which one I’ve got, assuming it exists.”

“I’m not missing anything.”

“You aren’t?” She thought for a moment. “Then I’m not, either.”

Sarah Monteiro and Rafael were sitting in a black Range Rover en route to the supposed hiding place for the papers.

The thug had reported Rafael’s words to his superiors, and received the order to bring him before His Excellency, who awaited him in the lobby of the hotel. Rafael was suddenly next to the bishop, who seemed authentic.

His name was Francesco Cossega. As strange as it might seem, Rafael instinctively made the gesture to kiss his hand.

“God bless you, my son,” the prelate said, the way real bishops respond.

“Is Your Excellency the messenger from His Holiness?”

The beating must have really gotten to him, Sarah thought. Or else he’s up to something.

“You’re safe with me, my children,” he said, then looking directly at Rafael. “Are you going to take me to where the documents are?”

“Of course, Your Excellency,” Rafael responded rapidly. “I’d like to ask you to release the two men outside in the van. One of them needs medical attention.”

“And I need emergency psychological attention,” Sarah said to herself, stunned. She was consumed with anguish, not knowing how her father was going to be after that terrible torture. All she wanted was to be done with this farce and to rush to his side.

“Of course.” The prelate signaled by hand to one of his assistants, who immediately went outside.

That explained how the two of them came to be sitting in the backseat of the Range Rover, with a driver whose inevitable black suit would not clash with those of the other agents. The bishop followed them in a late-model Mercedes, armor-plated and with tinted glass.

The caravan’s destination was 460 Madison Avenue. That was the address Rafael had given Cossega in the lobby of the Waldorf. Upon leaving, they didn’t see the van where the captain and Ferris were sitting.

“How do you know the papers are at that address?” Sarah asked in a low voice. She didn’t want the thugs to hear her.

“You’ll soon see.”

“Do you know this bishop? You seemed very devout in his presence.”

Rafael delayed in answering.

“I’ve never seen him. But a bishop is a bishop. We have to show respect.”

“Do you think he’s actually under J.C.’s orders?”

“I think Cossega organized all of this.”

“How?”

“I still don’t know. I’m guessing.”

They kept quiet for a short while, until they were a few blocks from their destination.

“Listen,” Rafael said in a low voice after gently touching her arm to get her attention. “I need you to stay calm until I tell you. If you don’t do that, I won’t be able to protect you.”