Berry, Steve - the Third Secret

When the ceremony ended, twelve pallbearers bore the coffin through the Door of Death and down into the grotto. The sarcophagus, hastily readied by stonemasons, bore an image of Clement II, the eleventh-century German pope Jakob Volkner had so admired, along with Clement XV’s papal emblem. The grave site was near John XXIII’s, something else Clement would have liked. There he was entombed with 148 of his brethren.

“Colin.”

His name being called out caught his attention and he stopped. Katerina was making her way across the piazza. He’d not seen her since Bucharest, nearly three weeks ago.

“You’re back in Rome?” he asked.

She was dressed in a different style. Chinos, chocolate-brown lamb-suede shirt, and houndstooth jacket. A bit more trendy than he recalled her tastes, but attractive.

“I never left.”

“You came here from Bucharest?”

She nodded. Her ebony hair was worked by the wind and she brushed the strands from her face. “I was on my way to leave when I learned about Clement. So I stayed on.”

“What have you been doing?”

“Grabbed a couple of freelance jobs to cover the funeral.”

“I saw Kealy on CNN.” The priest had been a regular the past week, offering slanted insights into the coming conclave.

“I did, too. But I haven’t seen Tom since the day after Clement died. You were right. I can do better.”

“You did the right thing. I’ve been listening to that fool on television. He’s got an opinion on everything, and most of them are wrong.”

“Maybe CNN should have hired you?”

He chuckled. “Just what I need.”

“What are you going to do, Colin?”

“I’m here to tell Cardinal Ngovi that I’m headed back to Romania.”

“To see Father Tibor again?”

“You don’t know?”

A puzzled look came to her face. He told her about Tibor’s murder.

“That poor man. He didn’t deserve that. And those children. He was all they had.”

“Exactly why I’m going. You were right. It’s time I do something.”

“You seem happy about the decision.”

He glanced around the square at a place he’d once strolled with the impunity of the papal secretary. Now he felt like a stranger. “It’s time to move on.”

“No more ivory towers?”

“Not in my future. That orphanage in Zlatna is going to be home for a while.”

She shifted on her feet. “We’ve come a long way. No arguments. No anger. Finally, friends.”

“Just don’t make the same mistakes twice. That’s all any of us can hope for.” And he saw that she agreed. He was glad they’d run into each other again. But Ngovi was waiting. “Take care, Kate.”

“You, too, Colin.”

And he walked away, fighting hard the urge to glance back one last time.

He found Ngovi in his office at the Congregation for Catholic Education. The outer warren of rooms bustled with activity. With the conclave starting tomorrow, there seemed a push to get everything finished.

“I actually believe we’re ready,” Ngovi told him.

The door was closed and the staff had been instructed not to disturb them. Michener was expecting another job pitch, since Ngovi was the one who’d called for the meeting.

“I waited until now to speak with you, Colin. Tomorrow I’ll be locked away in the Sistine.” Ngovi straightened in the chair. “I want you to go to Bosnia.”

The request surprised him. “For what? You and I both agreed the whole thing was ridiculous.”

“The matter disturbs me. Clement was intent on something, and I want to carry out his wishes. That’s the duty of any camerlengo. He wanted to learn the tenth secret. So do I.”

He hadn’t mentioned to Ngovi Clement’s final e-mail message. So he reached into his pocket and found the copy. “You need to read this.”

The cardinal slipped on a pair of spectacles and studied the message.

“He sent that just before midnight on that Sunday. Maurice, he was delusional. If I go traipsing around Bosnia, we’re going to do nothing but draw attention. Why don’t we let it lie?”

Ngovi removed his glasses. “I want you to go now more than ever.”

“You sound like Jakob. What’s gotten into you?”

“I don’t know. I just know that this was important to him, and we should finish what he wanted. This new information about Valendrea removing part of the third secret makes it vital that we investigate.”

He remained unconvinced. “So far, Maurice, there’s been no issue raised over Clement’s death. You want to take that chance?”

“I’ve considered that. But I doubt the press will be interested in what you’re doing. The conclave will consume their attention. So I want you to go. You still have his letter to the seer?”

He nodded.

“I’ll give you one with my signature. That should be enough.”

He told Ngovi what he intended to do in Romania. “Can’t somebody else handle this?”

Ngovi shook his head. “You know the answer to that.”

He could tell that Ngovi was more apprehensive than usual.

“There’s something else you need to know, Colin.” Ngovi motioned to the e-mail. “It bears on this. You told me that Valendrea went into the Riserva with the pope. I checked. The records confirm their visit on the Friday night before Clement died. What you don’t know is that Valendrea left the Vatican Saturday evening. The trip was unscheduled. In fact, he canceled all appointments to make the time. He was gone till early Sunday morning.”

He was impressed with Ngovi’s information network. “I didn’t know you watched so closely.”

“The Tuscan is not the only one with spies.”

“Any idea where he went?”

“Only that he left the Rome airport in a private jet before dark and returned on the same aircraft early the next morning.”

He recalled the uncomfortable feeling in the café while he and Katerina had talked with Tibor. Did Valendrea know about Father Tibor? Had he been followed? “Tibor died Saturday night. What are you saying, Maurice?”

Ngovi held up his hands in a halting gesture. “I’m only reporting facts. In the Riserva, on Friday, Clement showed Valendrea whatever Father Tibor had sent him. Then the priest was killed the next night. Whether Valendrea’s sudden trip on Saturday was related to Father Tibor’s murder, I do not know. But the priest left this world at quite an odd time, wouldn’t you say?”

“And you think there’s an answer to all this in Bosnia?”

“Clement believed so.”

He now appreciated Ngovi’s true motives. But he wanted to know, “What about the cardinals? Would they not have to be informed what I’m doing?”

“You’re not on an official mission. This is between you and me. A gesture to our departed friend. Besides, we’ll be in conclave by morning. Locked away. Nobody could be informed.”

He understood now why Ngovi had waited to speak with him. But he also recalled Clement’s warning about Alberto Valendrea and the lack of privacy. He glanced around at walls that had been erected when the American Revolution was being fought. Could someone be listening? He decided it really didn’t matter. “All right, Maurice. I’ll do it. But only because you asked and Jakob wanted it. After that, I’m out.”

And he hoped Valendrea heard.

THIRTY-FIVE

4:30 P.M.

Valendrea was overwhelmed by the volume of information the listening devices were uncovering. Ambrosi had worked every night over the past two weeks, sorting through the tapes, weeding out the trivia, preserving the nuggets. The abbreviated versions, provided to him on microcassette, had revealed much about the cardinals’ attitudes, and he was pleased to discover that he was becoming quite papabile in the eyes of many, even some he’d yet to fully confirm as supporters.