Berry, Steve - the Third Secret

Jakob:

Cardinal Eminence. A title you so deserve. God bless John Paul for finally elevating you. Thank you again for letting me attend the consistory. Surely no one knew who I was. I sat off to the side and kept my thoughts to myself. Your Colin Michener was there and seemed so proud. He is as you described, a handsome young man. Make him the son we always wanted. Vest in him, as your father vested in you. Leave a legacy, Jakob, through him. There is nothing wrong with that, nothing in your vows to your church or your God forbids that. I still find my eyes watering at the memory of the pope crowning you with a scarlet hat. It was the proudest moment of my life. I love you, Jakob, and only hope that our bond is a source of strength. Take care, my darling, and do write soon.

Jakob:

Karl Haigl died a few days back. At the funeral I was remembering when the three of us were children, playing in the river on a warm summer day. He was such a gentle man and if not for you I may well have loved him. I suspect you know that, though. His wife passed several years ago and he lived alone. His children are an ungrateful and selfish lot. What has happened to our youth? Do they not appreciate from where they came? Many times I would take supper to him and we would sit and talk. He admired you so. Little scrawny Jakob, risen to a cardinal in the Catholic Church. Now it’s secretary of state. One step from the papacy. He would have liked to see you again and it’s a shame that wasn’t possible. Bamberg has not forgotten its bishop and I know its bishop has not forgotten the place of his youth. I have prayed diligently the past few days for you, Jakob. The pope is not well. Soon a new pope will be chosen. I have asked the Lord to watch over you. Maybe he will heed the plea of an old woman who loves both her God and her cardinal deeply. Take care.

Jakob:

I watched on television as you appeared on the balcony of St. Peter’s. The pride and love that swelled inside me was too much to describe. My Jakob is now Clement. Such a wise choice in names. At the mention, I recalled the times you and I went to the cathedral and visited the tomb. I remembered how you imagined Clement II. A German risen to pope. Even then there was vision in your eyes. Somehow he was a part of you. Now, as Clement XV, you are pope. Be wise dear Jakob, but be brave. The church is yours to mold or break. Let them remember Clement XV with pride. A pilgrimage back to Bamberg would be so wonderful. Try and arrange that one day. I have not seen you for so long. Just a few moments, even in public, would suffice. In the meantime let what we have warm your heart and mellow your soul. Shepherd the flock with strength and dignity and always know that my heart is with you.

FIFTY-NINE

9:00 P.M.

Katerina approached the building where Michener lived. The darkened street was devoid of people and lined with empty cars. From open windows she heard idle conversation, the squeals of children, and a snatch of music. Traffic rumbled from a boulevard fifty yards behind her.

A light burned in Michener’s apartment, and she took refuge in a doorway across the street, safe within the shadows, and stared up three floors.

They needed to talk. He had to understand. She hadn’t betrayed him. She’d told Valendrea nothing. Still, she’d violated his confidence. He hadn’t been as angry as she expected, more hurt, and that made her feel worse. When would she ever learn? Why did she keep making the same mistakes? Could she not for once do the right thing, for the right reason? She was capable of better, but something seemed perpetually to restrain her.

She stood in the darkness, comforted by her solitude, resolute in knowing what needed to be done. There was no sign of movement in the third-floor window and she wondered if Michener was even there.

She was mustering the courage to cross the street when a car slowly turned off the boulevard and inched its way toward the building. Headlights swept a path ahead and she hugged the wall, sinking into darkness.

The headlights extinguished and the vehicle stopped.

A dark Mercedes coupe.

The rear door opened and a man stepped out. In the glow from the car’s cabin light she saw that he was tall, with a thin face split by a long, sharp nose. He wore a loose-fitting gray suit, and she did not like the gleam in his dark eyes. Men like this she’d seen before. Two other men sat in the car, one driving, another in the backseat. Her brain screamed trouble. Ambrosi had surely dispatched them.

The tall man entered Michener’s building.

The Mercedes rumbled ahead, farther down the street. The light in Michener’s apartment was still on.

No time to call the police.

She emerged from the doorway and hurried across the street.

Michener finished the last letter and stared at the envelopes scattered around him. Over the past two hours he’d read every word Irma Rahn had written. Certainly the chest did not contain a lifetime of their correspondence. Perhaps Volkner saved only the letters that meant something. The most recent one was dated two months earlier—another touching composition wherein Irma lamented about Clement’s health, concerned about what she was seeing on television, urging him to take care of himself.

He thought back through the years and now understood some of the comments Volkner had made, especially when they discussed Katerina.

You think you’re the only priest to succumb? And was it that wrong, anyway? Did it feel wrong, Colin? Did your heart say it was wrong?

And just before he died. The curious statement when Clement inquired about Katerina and the tribunal. It’s all right to care, Colin. She’s a part of your past. A part you should not forget.

He’d thought his friend was only offering comfort. Now he realized there was more.

But that doesn’t mean you can’t be friends. Share your lives in words and feelings. Experience the closeness that someone who genuinely cares can provide. Surely the Church doesn’t forbid us that pleasure.

He recalled the questions Clement had posed at Castle Gandolfo, only hours before he died. Why must priests not marry? Why must they remain chaste? If that’s acceptable for others, why not the clergy?

He couldn’t help wondering how far the relationship had progressed. Had the pope violated his own vow of celibacy? Had he done the same thing Thomas Kealy was accused of doing? Nothing from the letters indicated that, which in and of itself meant nothing. After all, who would write such a thing down?

He propped back against the sofa and rubbed his eyes.

Father Tibor’s translation was nowhere in the chest. He’d searched every envelope, read every letter, on the chance Clement had secreted the paper inside one of them. In fact, there was no mention of anything even remotely related to Fatima. His effort seemed another dead end. He was right back where he started, except he now knew about Irma Rahn.

Don’t forget Bamberg.

That’s what Jasna had said to him. And what had Clement written to him in his final message? I would prefer the sanctity of Bamberg, that lovely city by the river, and the cathedral I so loved. My only regret is that I did not see its beauty one last time. Perhaps, though, my legacy could still be there.