William Kienzle - Shadow of Death

In a basement flat in one of the buildings, a mournful and angry rite was taking place.

The windows of the flat had been boarded up and no sound escaped the room. Like everything else in Rome of any age whatsoever, the room seemed ancient. Here and there, niches that had once held small statues, busts, or urns were now empty. The room, bare except for a couple of long benches against the walls, was devoid of any decoration or appointment save for a large framed color portrait of a bushy-haired man in uniform with many medaled decorations on his chest: Haile Selassie I, late emperor of Ethiopia, Lion of Judah, and oblivious patron of the Rastafarians.

The small room was nearly filled with men, all of them black, most of them with dreadlocks, all of them smoking marijuana in one form or another—standard-sized cigarettes, gigantic spliffs, or chillum pipes.

One man was mournfully beating a single bongo-size drum at a funereal tempo.

“Hellfire and damnation!” shouted one man.

The drum continued to sound. Some of the men shuffled back and forth across the floor. Others slumped on the benches against the walls.

“We and we has failed Selassie I,” another man bellowed.

“Shame on our house!” called out another.

“Bredren!” commanded one man, evidently the leader. “Jah not be happy with us and us. He put into our hands dem condemned tings. We and we failed to make da sacrifice. Jah not pleased!”

“Dread Rasta!”

“But der be peace!” the leader called out. “Selassie I bring peace to his Rastas!”

“Praises due Selassie I!”

“Our and our condemned ting goes now to Babylon England place where other condemned ting be! Our Rasta bredren make da sacrifice. Make a sacrifice of both condemned tings!”

“Dread Rasta! Praises due Selassie I!”

“Now, bredren,” the leader continued, “it be time for our unityfication with da Rasta men in all of Babylon. First off, we and we make our sacrifice, we and we make da longing prayer to Addis Ababa and den we and we go way for tree days of grounation.”

“Praises due Selassie I!”

Each of the men unsheathed his knife. One left the room to return with a small goat that had been tethered to an iron fence outside the basement landing. He led the goat to the room’s northwest corner, the general direction in which lay England.

With a single stroke of his long knife, the leader slaughtered the goat.

The others approached the dead animal. One by one, each bathed his knife in the blood.

“Dread Rasta!” the shouts rose, “praises due Selassie I!”

9.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain Kamego speaking. Welcome aboard our Trans World Airlines charter flight to London. The weather is clear all the way and we anticipate no turbulence. We will be cruising at an altitude of 25,000 feet. Our flying time is approximately two and a quarter hours. So we should be touching down at about 10:30 a.m. London time. Have a good flight.”

The flight attendants began serving a brunch, with a beer, wine, and liquor lagniappe. However, few aboard desired any alcoholic beverage.

Cardinal Boyle turned in his seat to face Inspector Koznicki. “I’m sorry your wife was unable to continue this trip with us.”

“It is all right; she understood,” said Koznicki. “This is not the first time we have had to cancel or cut short a vacation.”

“But my dear Inspector, you did not have to deprive yourselves of a well-deserved vacation on my account.”

“With all due respect, your Eminence, we did. There is an unavoidable element of danger now until we can clear this matter up. And I think it is of vital importance for you to be aware of this danger. That is why I asked to be seated with you on this flight, so we could discuss this very matter.”

“Oh, I’m afraid you may be mistaken, Inspector.”

“Oh, I am afraid not, your Eminence. Would you mind taking a look at this list.”

Koznicki handed the Cardinal a small piece of paper on which were written nine names.

Koznicki noted that while others on the plane had doffed jackets and coats to make themselves more comfortable, Boyle had retained his lightweight black suit coat and starched white linen roman collar. He never wore the voguish black shirt with the white plastic insert at the neck. Across his chest was stretched the gold chain that held his pectoral cross, now tucked into the inside pocket of his suit coat.

“Yes?” Boyle looked up, blue eyes inquisitive.

“That is the list the Reverend Toussaint acquired from his contacts in Rome. These are alleged to be the names of those who are intended victims of an extremist element of the Rastafarians.”

Koznicki correctly anticipated that Boyle would be familiar with the Rastafarian movement. But the Inspector went on to explain what was now understood to be the intent and motive of this violent segment of the group.

“And so, your Eminence,” Koznicki concluded, “I would be very much interested in your evaluation of these Cardinals.”

“Well, of course, this list includes the names of Cardinals Claret and Gattari, both unfortunately slain.”

“But the rest, your Eminence—would you not agree that they are—how is it you say it . . . papabili ?”

Boyle smiled and waved a hand in dismissal of the idea. “Oh, no, my dear Inspector. That is an oversimplification that has been going on for centuries and, recently, has been taken over and amplified by the media.

“There is no such person as a papabile. Although, of course, I have not yet participated in one, I am sure the Cardinals enter a conclave as equals. Of course, since they bring with them different backgrounds, talents, ages, and philosophies, there is no way of predicting who will be elected Pope. That depends as much on the workings of the Cardinals as it does on the workings of the Holy Spirit.”

“I understand what you are saying, your Eminence. But even if this is no more than a game people play, you must admit there are those who believe in it. There is speculation about who might become the next Pope. Books are written about it. In all due reverence, your Eminence, there are even people who bet on it. To some people, the probability is a reality. And, you must admit, if there is such a group as the Rastafarians who, since they feel they cannot reach the Pope himself, intend to eliminate those who are next in line, it would be necessary for them to have a list of all who are in the running for the Papacy.”

“But why would they attempt such an undertaking? As long as there is one Catholic left in the world, there can be a Pope, I suppose—though I have never thought about it. In any case, with many more than a hundred Cardinals, and with the Pope’s power to name as many more Cardinals as he wishes, eliminating all possible candidates to the Papacy is a veritable impossibility.”

“I cannot presume to interpret their drug-numbed minds, your Eminence. But I would guess they feel that if they can do away with everyone on that list, there would be no appropriate candidate left.

“Or, perhaps, more probably they feel that as they eliminate one after another of the most prominent Cardinals, the others will become so frightened of becoming victims, they will abolish the office of the Papacy. Thus, having accomplished the destruction of the Papacy, the Rastafarians could then in an indirect way feel they had achieved their aim of ‘death to the Pope.’”

Boyle toyed with the ring on the third finger of his right hand, as was his habit. “I suppose there is something in what you say,” he admitted.

“Well, then, your Eminence, I would ask you once again to reflect upon the list I have given you.”