Daniel Silva - The Messenger

The Pope rose slowly to his feet and extended a small hand-not with the fisherman’s ring facing upward, the way he did toward most people, but with the palm sideways. The grip was still strong, and the eyes that gazed fondly up at Gabriel were still vibrant and clear. Gabriel had forgotten how diminutive Pietro Lucchesi really was. He thought of the afternoon Lucchesi had emerged from the conclave, an elfin figure, swimming in the hastily prepared cassock and barely visible over the balustrade of the Basilica’s great loggia. A commentator for Italian television had proclaimed him Pietro the Improbable. Cardinal Marco Brindisi, the reactionary secretary of state who had assumed he would be the one to emerge from the conclave dressed in white, had acidly referred to Lucchesi as “Pope Accidental I.”

For Gabriel, though, it was another image of Pietro Lucchesi that he would always think of first, the sight of him standing on the bimah of the Great Synagogue of Rome, speaking words no pope had ever spoken before. “For these sins, and others soon to be revealed, we offer our confession, and we beg your forgiveness. There are no words to describe the depth of our grief. In your hour of greatest need, when the forces of Nazi Germany pulled you from your houses in the very streets surrounding this synagogue, you cried out for help, but your pleas were met by silence. And so today, as I plead for forgiveness, I will do it in the same manner. In silence…”

The Pope retook his seat and looked at the television screen, as if the images of distant mayhem could still be seen there. “I warned him not to do it, but he didn’t listen to me. Now he intends to come to Europe to mend fences with his former allies. I wish him well, but I think his chances for success are slim.”

Gabriel looked to Donati for an explanation.

“The White House informed us last night that the president will be coming here early next year for a tour of European capitals. The president’s men are hoping to project a warmer, less confrontational image and repair some of the damage over the decision to go to war in Iraq.”

“A war I steadfastly opposed,” the Pope said.

“Is he coming to the Vatican?” Gabriel asked.

“He’s coming to Rome -that much we know. The White House hasn’t told us yet whether the president would like an audience with the Holy Father. We fully expect that a request will be arriving soon.”

“He wouldn’t dream of coming to Rome without dropping by the Vatican,” the Pope said. “Conservative Catholics are an important part of his constituency. He’ll want a nice photo opportunity and some kind words from me. He’ll get his photo. As for the kind words…” The Pope’s voice trailed off. “I’m afraid he’ll have to look elsewhere for those.”

Donati motioned for Gabriel to sit, then settled himself in the chair next to him. “The president is a man who appreciates straight talk, as our American friends like to say. He’ll listen to what you have to say, Holiness.”

“He should have listened to me the first time. I made it very clear to him when he came to the Vatican before the war that I believed he was embarking on a disastrous path. I told him that war was not justified because there was no true imminent threat to America and her allies. I told him that he had not exhausted every last avenue to avert conflict and that the United Nations, not the United States, was the proper authority for dealing with this problem. But I reserved most of my passion for my final argument against the war. I told the president that America would win a quick battlefield victory. ‘You are powerful,’ I said, ‘and your enemy is weak.’ But I also predicted that for years after the war America would face a violent insurgency. I warned him that in trying to solve one crisis with violence, he would only create another more dangerous crisis. That war would be seen by the Muslim world as a new Crusade by white Christians. That terrorism could not be defeated by more terrorism but only through social and economic justice.”

The Pope, having finished his homily, looked at his small audience for reaction. His eyes moved back and forth several times before settling on Gabriel’s face. “Something tells me you wish to take issue with something I’ve said.”

“You are a man of great eloquence, Holiness.”

“You are among family, Gabriel. Speak your mind.”

“The forces of radical Islam have declared war on us- America, the West, Christianity, Israel. Under God’s law and the laws of man, we have the right, indeed the moral duty, to resist.”

“Resist the terrorists with justice and opportunity rather than violence and bloodshed. When statesmen resort to violence, it is humanity that suffers.”

“You seem to believe that the problem of terrorism and radical Islam can be swept away if they were more like us-that if poverty, illiteracy, and tyranny weren’t so prevalent in the Muslim world, there would be no young men willing to sacrifice their lives in order to maim and kill others. But they’ve seen the way we live, and they want nothing of it. They’ve seen our democracy, and they reject it. They view democracy as a religion that runs counter to the central tenets of Islam, and therefore they will resist it with a sacred rage. How do we deliver justice and prosperity to these men of Islam who believe only in death?”

“It certainly cannot be imposed on them by the barrel of a white man’s gun.”

“I agree, Holiness. Only when Islam reforms itself will there be social justice and true prosperity within the Arab world. But in the meantime we cannot sit idly by and do nothing while the jihadists plot our destruction. That, Holiness, is immoral, too.”

The Pope rose from his desk and pushed open the large window overlooking St. Peter’s Square. Night had fallen. Rome stirred beneath his feet.

“I was right about the war, Gabriel, and I’m right about the future that awaits us all-Muslim, Christian, and Jew-if we do not choose another path. But who’s going to listen to me? I’m just an old man in a cassock who lives in a gilded cage. Even my own parishioners don’t listen to me anymore. In Europe we are living as if God does not exist. Anti-Americanism is our only religion now.” He turned and looked at Gabriel. “And anti-Semitism.”

Gabriel was silent. The Pope said, “Luigi tells me you’ve uncovered evidence of a plot against my life. Another plot,” he added with a sad smile.

“I’m afraid so, Holiness.”

“Isn’t it ironic? I’m the one who tried to prevent the war in Iraq. I’m the one who has tried to build a bridge between Christians and Muslims, and yet I’m the one they want to kill.” The Pope looked out his window. “Perhaps I was mistaken. Perhaps they don’t want a bridge after all.”

MOST EVENINGS Pope Paul VII and Monsignor Donati dined alone in the private papal apartments with one or two invited guests for company. Donati tended to keep the mood deliberately light and relaxed, and talk of work was generally restricted to the sort of Curial gossip that the Pope secretly loved. On that evening, however, the atmosphere in the papal dining room was decidedly different. The hastily assembled guest list consisted not of old friends but of men responsible for protecting the pontiff’s life: Colonel Karl Brunner, commandant of the Pontifical Swiss Guard, General Carlo Marchese of the Carabinieri, and Martino Bellano, deputy chief of the Italian security service.

Gabriel passed around the photographs and briefed them in his Venetian-accented Italian. His presentation was more sanitized than the one he had given Donati in Jerusalem that morning, and the name Ali Massoudi was not spoken. Still, his tone left little doubt that Israeli intelligence regarded the threat as credible and that steps needed to be taken to safeguard the pontiff and the territory of the Holy See. When he finished speaking, the faces of the security men were somber, but there was no visible sense of panic. They had been through this many times, and together they had put in place automatic procedures for elevating the security around the Vatican and the Holy Father when it was deemed necessary. Gabriel listened while the three men reviewed those procedures now. During a pause in their conversation, he carefully cleared his throat.