Eric Flint - 1635 - The Papal Stakes

“Okay, stop building the suspense, Francisco. What’s the news from sunny Italy?”

“All good, except that the casualties at Molini have been confirmed: the number was not in error. Otherwise, the various parties have arrived in their various destinations safely. Our expanded papal envoy “-you mean, The Traveling Pope Show?” put in Mike.

“-yes, them-are, according to Sharon’s report from Chur, evolving nicely as a team. Tom Stone’s report from Venice is one long paean of praise for how Estuban Miro handled his part of the rescue and protection planning. According to Tom, Miro apparently possesses-among other as-yet-undemonstrated skills-the ability to walk upon water, too.”

“And Miro’s own report?”

Nasi smiled. “As unpretentious and brief a document as I have ever seen. After itemizing the expenses incurred, and summarizing the actions undertaken-in which he indicates that Harry Lefferts was the prime architect of the final attack plan-he concludes with the most terse summary I have ever seen: ‘objectives were achieved; all operations may be considered nominally successful.’”

Stearns looked at Francisco narrowly. “Okay, Francisco, I know that smug look and tone of voice. What’re you holding back?”

“Nothing-except that, as I suspected at the outset, Miro performed admirably. Most admirably.”

“And you were right. So what?”

Ed coughed. “Mike, I really don’t have a chief of intelligence, with Francisco gone. Cory Lang is a good field man, a good observer-but damn it, he’s not cut out to run an intelligence-and counterintelligence-group. You need a chess master for that-and that’s Miro to a tee.”

Mike frowned. “You sound like this is an urgent decision.”

“Mike, I think it is, because if Miro is the guy we ultimately want doing that job, we’re going to have to commit to it now. Even if we don’t tell him.”

Mike’s eyes went briefly to Ed’s bottle as the former principal of Grantville High School produced three shot glasses as well. “Tell me why.”

Francisco sighed. “Politics: what else? First, this council Urban is calling is going to be a powder keg of continental proportions. Anyone who goes to it is effectively drawing a line in the sand in front of Philip. I doubt Philip supports what Borja has done, but his pride and Spain’s are now inextricably entwined with the would-be pope. And certain matters-family matters-are going to come to a head, as a result.”

Mike nodded. “Ferdinand in Austria and Fernando in the Low Countries.”

“Yes. Particularly the latter. Austria is a completely separate state, and its completely separate monarchs can agree to disagree; they have before. However, the Low Countries’ position in relation to Madrid is nebulous, and this is going to the defining moment of Fernando’s autonomy.”

Ed picked up the thread. “So far, both brothers have been careful not to get into a show-down, but this situation could force them into it. And here’s what could make it unavoidable: Fernando is going to send Cardinal Bedmar, Ruy Sanchez’s old boss and a member of the Consistory, to the papal council. It’s a cinch he’s going to affirm Urban’s legitimacy. And he’s going to have to do it in front of the entirety of Europe. And everyone will know that he couldn’t do so without Fernando’s support.”

Nasi shook his head. “Philip can’t afford to have that happen, and does not want to go to war with his own brother. So we must anticipate that Philip will attempt to derail the council, and that he might even try to sabotage it.”

Mike nodded. “And Ruy-although he will be an excellent security chief-should not have to wear the second hat of overseeing and planning the intelligence and counterintelligence activities both before and during the council. I’m sure Ruy is quite good at chess, but-”

Nasi nodded. “But it’s not his game of preference, or his greatest skill. This job is for Miro. But we can’t simply appoint him right away.”

Mike nodded back. “Yeah, I see the problem. Miro’s still pretty much an unknown quantity to our people in Grantville, and is a total stranger to the rest of the USE. So our people will have to get used to him, first.”

Ed opened the whiskey. “It’s a pain in the neck, but yes. And then there’s the appearance-false-of nepotism if we appoint him: he comes to our attention through Francisco and then who replaces that selfsame outgoing spymaster? Why, his very own golden boy. It’s not how it happened, but it’s how it will appear.”

Mike shrugged. “Look, let’s not make a problem where none might exist. Miro’s now got a business to run, right? Just before I left Magdeburg, I think you mentioned something about him and Tom Stone going into business together.”

Ed nodded. “Yup. Building some balloons in both Venice and Grantville. And some related chemical processes, I think.”

“Well,” said Stearns with a shrug, “Let Miro tend the Grantville end of that garden for half a year or so. By handling purchasing and negotiation up in the USE, he’ll naturally have contact with all the regional power-players through legitimate commerce. It will also get rid of any suspicions that his performance in the Mediterranean was solely because he had a huge home court advantage. Meanwhile, Ed, if any of your intel people feel that they just have to spend some time sniffing Estuban’s ass before they let him into their pack, they’ll have ample opportunity to get a nose-full while Miro oversees the case files on who’s coming to the council. He’ll be working up the operational planning on the intelligence at night, running his own business by day. And if he can handle all that, we’ll know he’s good for the long haul as our intel chief, and our people will have adopted him.”

Nasi nodded as vigorously as Ed had ever seen. “It’s a good plan. Simple and effective. If we help groom his contacts properly-make sure he is invited to the right parties, participates in the right negotiations-he could be present at Urban’s upcoming papal council for completely legitimate reasons. It would be the perfect cover.”

Mike Stearns leaned back. “That’s what I’m thinking. And it gives Gustav Adolf absolute plausible deniability if anything goes wrong with Miro’s operations. In fact, with the exception of a few of the folks under Sharon and back in Grantville, no one even needs to know Estuban is handling this for us.”

Ed Piazza plunked his bottle down on the tent’s small field table. “Mike,” he said, “you are starting to sound like the people you always hated most, up-time.”

Mike started. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, think about where terms like ‘plausible deniability’ come from; you hated those institutions and the entirety of the intelligence apparatus.”

Mike shook his head. “No, Ed. I didn’t hate the institutions; I hated what they became.”

“Not to rain-or maybe piss-on your parade, Mike, but isn’t that just a bit facile?” Ed cocked his head. “I seem to recall you asserting-convincingly-that because of what intelligence agencies are tasked to do, and therefore, how they must recruit and structure themselves, that they have innate tendencies to become exactly what you hated. As you said, ‘honestly, can you whelp a tiger and then hope it grows up to be a vegetarian?’ Doesn’t that worry you about what we’re doing now?”

Mike looked at the hard packed earth between his feet. “It worries me every damned hour of every damned day. But do you have any better ideas?”

Piazza shrugged. “Not a one. Other than maybe we should all sit in a flower-power circle, passing around a jug, and singing ‘We shall overcome.’”

“Huh. You’ve heard me massacre a few tunes, Ed, so you’ll be pleased to know that I’m going to take a pass on the singing. But if you happen to have a jug with you…” Stearns eyed the up-time whiskey meaningfully.