T he Cardinal Secretary of State, Eugenio Pacelli, his soutane immaculate and edged in crimson, was deep in thought. He stood at the window of his office on the third floor of the Apostolic Palace and stared unseeingly towards the Tiber and the ancient City of Rome. The second-most powerful man in the Catholic Church was tall and spindly. His long oval face was lean, his cheeks hollow, his nose hooked and aristocratic. Among the myriad challenges confronting the Vatican’s principal foreign diplomat, some took priority. Above him, on the top floor of the palace, the papal physician was attending Pius XI; Pacelli was now the favoured candidate to take the Keys of Peter. The rise to power of Adolf Hitler and the Nazis was equally grave.
The Cardinal lowered his gaze towards Piazza San Pietro. The dark cobblestones shone in the soft glow of the Vatican lights. They seemed to hold a message of dark foreboding. Pacelli moved away from the window and returned to his desk, turning his mind towards the other grave matters of concern: the Vatican’s finances and a Nazi archaeological expedition being carried out in the distant jungles of Guatemala. On the wall behind him a two-metre-high black-and-silver crucifix hung in silent observation. Had the solid silver Christ been able to speak, He too might have uttered a warning. Pacelli’s thoughts were interrupted by his private secretary knocking on the double doors.
‘ Avanti.’
‘Il Signor Felici is here, Eminence.’
‘Show him in.’
Signor Alberto Felici, Gentleman of His Holiness and Papal Knight Commander of the Order of Sylvester, bowed deferentially as he entered.
‘ Benvenuto, Alberto.’ Pacelli kissed the ambitious diplomat on both cheeks. ‘Have a seat,’ he said, indicating one of three comfortable lounge chairs. ‘ Desideri acqua minerale, caffe, te? ’
‘No, grazie, Eminence, I’ve not long eaten.’ Alberto patted an ample stomach that was testament to his fondness for food and fine wine.
‘Thank you for coming at such a late hour,’ Pacelli began, after his secretary had closed the doors, ‘Before we get on to your reports, I hear that congratulations are in order.’
‘ Grazie, Eminence, you are most kind.’ Alberto had finally married in his late forties and now his wife had given birth to their first child.
‘Have you settled on a name yet?’
‘Salvatore Giovanni Felici, Eminence, and if your busy schedule allows, Maria and I would be honoured by your presence at Salvatore’s baptism.’
‘We can do it here in San Pietro if you wish. Who knows, the young Salvatore Felici may grow up to become one of us. The priesthood is always looking for good candidates, non e vero?’ Pacelli smiled.
‘Maria would be very pleased, on both counts, Eminence.’
‘Good. Now, what have you discovered about our friend Nogara?’ Pacelli had become increasingly suspicious of Signor Bernardino Nogara, the financial advisor to Pius XI. In 1929 the Italian Prime Minister Benito Mussolini had signed the Lateran Treaty, finally recognising the sovereignty of the Holy See as a separate state. As reparation for lost papal territories, the Italian government had paid an enormous sum to the Vatican, but now rumours of failed businesses, Nogara’s links to an ultra-secret Masonic Lodge and his luxurious lifestyle had been swirling around the Vatican’s corridors.
‘When I worked alongside Signor Nogara during the negotiations on the Lateran Treaty, he kept very much to himself, so I was prepared for anything, Eminence. Even so, I’ve been surprised by what I’ve found, and I can assure you the investigation has been very, very thorough.’
Pacelli braced himself for the worst.
‘Signor Nogara lives very simply, Eminence. In the time he’s been involved with the Vatican’s finances, he’s drawn a modest salary and his bank account contains less than US$200. As far as I can determine, he gives generously to charities, all of them Catholic. He attends Mass every day and his entertainment appears to be limited to a weekly visit to the movies.’
Pacelli looked puzzled. ‘And women?’
‘There are no women in his life, Eminence, and there is no evidence of… how shall I put this… soliciting sex. He has no connections with the Masons, or any anti-Catholic organisations, and he confines his reading to the financial journals.’
‘The accounts?’
‘The Special Administration of the Holy See is in excellent order, Eminence, and Signor Nogara is well on his way to turning a hundred million dollars into the Vatican’s first billion.’
Pacelli’s eyes widened.
‘Signor Nogara is very much a man after your own heart, Eminence. He is devoted to the Holy Church.’
‘I have done him an injustice,’ the Cardinal Secretary of State observed quietly.
‘In matters of finance, Eminence, it’s always better to be sure. I suspect the rumours originated from those who are jealous of Nogara’s access to you and the Holy Father, and, of course, your concordat with Reichskanzler Hitler has realised far greater revenue than we anticipated.’
Pacelli nodded. The agreement he had signed with Hitler had been a masterstroke. Not only were German Catholics now subject to Canon Law, but criticism of Catholic doctrine was prohibited by German law. In return for the Vatican’s support of his regime Hitler had agreed to a Kirchensteuer or ‘church tax’. This meant that in addition to ‘Peter’s Pence’, which flowed into the Vatican from dioceses all over the world, practising Catholics in Germany now had their pay cheques docked at a rate of nine per cent of income tax.
‘It will be important to ensure the agreement on the Kirchensteuer stays in place, but I understand the Holy Father is preparing to issue an encyclical.’ Felici’s Vatican connections were impeccable, and he’d already heard that the dying Pius XI was about to release his long-awaited treatise Humani Generis Unitas – On the Unity of the Human Race. ‘If such an encyclical were to criticise Hitler’s treatment of the Jews, Eminence, it might endanger the concordat itself,’ Felici warned. ‘Ambassador von Bergen is quite worried.’
Pacelli nodded, only too well aware that all his hard work might be unravelled by a single stroke of the ailing Pontiff’s pen. ‘I’ve assured the German ambassador of the Vatican’s continuing support, especially in the fight against the Bolshevik Communists. In my view they’re a far greater threat than Hitler and the Third Reich. As for the Jews… they’re not our concern.’
‘That’s good news, Eminence, because Nogara will shortly suggest a change in the Vatican’s financial arrangements.’
‘Why, if we’re doing so well?’
‘The Special Administration has served its purpose admirably, Eminence, but with so much money flowing in, the Vatican will shortly need its own bank. A separate entity that can operate as a normal bank on the international financial stage.’ Felici knew well that the Vatican Bank would be anything but normal. Immune from any scrutiny by Italian or international authorities, and even from the Curial Cardinals, the Vatican Bank, or the Istituto per le Opere di Religione, would be exempt from any Italian government tax. In time the bank would provide a mechanism for the Mafia and prominent Italian businessmen to launder billions of lire into secret Swiss bank accounts. In the nearer future, the Vatican Bank would become a conduit for Nazi gold and treasures confiscated from millions of murdered Jews.
‘A bank might contradict the Church’s teaching on usury,’ Pacelli observed thoughtfully, reflecting on one of the most grievous sins in Catholic dogma. St Ambrose and the councils of Nicaea, Carthage and Clichy had all condemned the practice of earning interest from loans, as had Pope Benedict IX.
‘There are ways around these things, Eminence – especially when it is for the good of the Holy Church.’
Pacelli nodded. ‘Would you be prepared to serve as a delegato on the board, Alberto?’
‘Of course, Eminence. Of course.’ Felici maintained a neutral expression, but he felt a surge of satisfaction that his plans were falling neatly into place.
‘Good. Then I will give Nogara’s proposal careful consideration.’ Pacelli closed the file on Nogara and reached for the one marked Maya .