Roma
A t the end of the Mass the lilting sopranos rose over the baritones in the choir as the haunting strains of Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina’s ‘Tu es Petrus – Thou art Peter’ echoed around the vast Basilica of St Peter’s and the 115 cardinals who had made it to Rome to elect the successor to John Paul II filed two by two into the Sistine Chapel that would soon be sealed off from the outside world. The special chimney was in place, as was the antiquated stove where the ballots would be burned, together with the chemical candles to colour the smoke. Black would indicate that no candidate had received the two-thirds plus one majority that was required for election. White would indicate that a candidate had reached the critical figure of seventy-eight votes.
Under Michelangelo’s fresco of creation, six rows of desks and chairs stood in three rows on either side of the chapel. At one end near the altar, desks had been placed for the scrutineers and vote counters.
‘ Extra omnes,’ the Camerlengo ordered in Latin. It was the order for all those who were assigned duties as assistants, including the two medical practitioners, to vacate the Sistine Chapel, although they would not be allowed to go any further than the Santa Marta Hospice. In accordance with protocol the Heads of Vatican departments, including Petroni, had all been suspended from their duties, except for five men: the Camerlengo, the Cardinal Vicar of Rome, the Major Penitentiary, the Cardinal Arch-priest of St Peter’s and the Vicar General for the Vatican City State.
Giovanni took his seat in the second row on the right. He had been intrigued to find he was under investigation but not really surprised. It would not be the first time the Holy Church had reacted fiercely against anyone who questioned the fallibility of the doctrine. On each desk there was a copy of Universi Dominici Gregis – The Whole Flock of the Lord, Pope John Paul’s revised rules for the election of his successor.
Giovanni looked around. Cardinal Thuku from Kenya flashed him a broad smile, as did Giovanni’s preferred candidate, Cardinal Medici of Ecuador. Giovanni hoped for the sake of the Church that the election would be a short one, but if it went for two or three days, it would at least give him a chance to catch up with so many of his friends.
The Camerlengo, Cardinal Monetti, a short, bald, slightly built man, held up his hand for silence. ‘Let us pray,’ Cardinal Monetti began: Almighty God, we your servants ask for your guidance as we gather together in your name. Grant us wisdom as we deliberate on whom amongst us is to assume the awesome responsibilities as the successor to Peter, on whose rock your Holy Church has been founded, through Christ our Lord, Amen.
‘Amen,’ Giovanni joined the chorus of his colleagues.
‘I will remind you again, Eminences,’ the Camerlengo intoned, ‘of the oath you have sworn to follow the rules of this election, to observe with the greatest fidelity the secrecy regarding everything that relates to the election of the Roman Pontiff and what occurs in this place of election, and if you are elected, to defend the rights of the Holy See.’
Six cardinals had been elected to assist the Camerlengo in the conduct of the election – three cardinal ‘scrutineers’ and three cardinal ‘revisers’ tasked with scrutineering the scrutineers – and the Camerlengo nodded to them as a sign for the ballot papers to be distributed.
Giovanni smiled his thanks as he took the small rectangular slip of paper inscribed with the Latin words, ‘ Eligo in summum pontificem ’ – ‘I elect as Supreme Pontiff’. Obeying the quaint instruction to disguise his handwriting, he inscribed his ballot with the name of Cardinal Rodriguez Medici and folded it. He took his turn to file up to the altar holding the ballot above his head.
Giovanni placed his ballot on the paten covering the chalice and knelt at the altar, praying silently for the Holy Spirit’s presence, and as he rose he said, ‘I call to witness Christ the Lord who will be my judge, that my vote is given to the one before God I consider should be elected,’ and then using the paten he dropped his ballot into the chalice.
When all the votes had been cast the first scrutineer covered the chalice with the paten and shook it to mix the ballots, and when the scrutineers, checked by the revisers, had satisfied themselves that there were only 115 ballots in the chalice, the vote counting began.
The first cardinal scrutineer noted the name on the first ballot and passed it to the second scrutineer who did the same. The third cardinal scrutineer read the name out loud for the whole college to note.
‘Cardinal Lorenzo Petroni,’ the third cardinal scrutineer intoned, and he pierced the card through the word ‘ Eligo ’ and placed it on a thread that would join the votes together to be burned or, if a Pope was elected, kept for his retention.
‘Cardinal Giovanni Donelli.’
Giovanni shook his head but smiled. It didn’t hurt to get one or two votes he supposed.
‘Cardinal Rodriguez Medici.’
‘Cardinal Lorenzo Petroni.’
‘Cardinal Daniel Thuku.’
‘Cardinal Giovanni Donelli.’
At the end of the first vote the Camerlengo read out the results: ‘Cardinal Lorenzo Petroni, forty-two votes.’
Cardinal Petroni nodded imperceptibly.
‘Cardinal Giovanni Donelli, thirty-two votes.’
Cardinal Petroni’s eyes hardened. Donelli. Obviously the announcement of the investigation had had some effect but not enough and Petroni wondered who might be voting for him. Petroni decided to reinforce the dangers of heresy and of a long Papacy during the lunch break.
‘Cardinal Daniel Thuku, twenty-four votes.’
Cardinal Petroni nodded to the Kenyan. It was around the number he had calculated. Again the counter to the Third World of ‘not yet’ would have to be reiterated, and he thought about how he might swing Thuku and his bloc of African votes over to his side. A twenty-four vote bloc, together with one or two more coming over, would give him at least seventy and put him comfortably in striking distance of the magical figure of seventy-eight. Once a candidate got close, Petroni knew that the next vote usually clinched it as the other cardinals all rushed to be on the winning team.
‘Cardinal Rodriguez Medici, twenty-two votes.’
Again Cardinal Petroni nodded in acknowledgement. The Latin American bloc of Liberation cardinals would be harder to swing, but he had already listed those who might be vulnerable. The other votes were scattered in twos and threes and the Camerlengo gave orders for the ballots to be burned with a candle so that black smoke issued from the chimney.
Jerusalem
‘There must be something we can do, Patrick,’ Allegra said, her anger still flaming as Patrick O’Hara showed her in to his lounge room.
‘I have to agree with you, Allegra, it’s got Petroni’s trademark all over it but the trouble is, once a conclave starts, the cardinals are sealed off from the outside world.’
‘No doubt something Petroni was banking on with his timing,’ Allegra said bitterly. ‘Sow the seeds of doubt in the minds of those who are wavering on their candidate to ensure Petroni gets himself across the line, then he can claim it was all a misunderstanding.’
‘Sorry to interrupt, Bishop O’Hara,’ Sister Katherine said from the doorway. ‘Tom Schweiker is calling from Rome, shall I ask him to call back?’
‘No, no, we’re in between a rock and a hard place here anyway, Sister Katherine. I’ll take it in the study but you can serve the tea in here.’
It was nearly fifteen minutes before Patrick returned but he had a bounce in his step and his eyes were dancing with a mischievous anger.
‘Tom phoned me on a personal matter, but I took the trouble to raise last night’s broadcast with him and he is just as irate as we are,’ Patrick said. ‘He’s got reason to believe that when Petroni was a bishop in the Vatican he was involved in covering up the Church’s involvement in paedophilia.’
Patrick kept the allegations general. Tom Schweiker hadn’t said as much, but Patrick had been around long enough to sense there was a deeper personal issue for the journalist, and he had told Tom his door was always open. There had been a sense of gratitude in Tom’s response that heightened Patrick’s suspicions.
‘Tom tells me there was a heated argument in New York just before the item was aired. With only seconds to go before the bulletin opened, the CCN anchor was handed a brief headed “Breaking news from Rome”. When she had a closer look at the date, she could see the information had come through from Petroni’s office nearly a week before.’
‘Then there’s a link between Petroni and the CCN News Director,’ Allegra said.
‘Tom’s certain there is.’
‘So that would rule out any chance of Tom getting a story up that suggested the timing of the allegations is political.’ Allegra was getting angrier.
‘It doesn’t stop us airing the allegations against Petroni,’ Patrick said. ‘I made a call to the one person in the conclave who is connected to the outside world, the Camerlengo. It’s a long shot, but Tom’s agreed to back us. The Camerlengo’s absolutely furious, but I told him the media already had the story and it would not look good if it subsequently emerged that he refused to see us. To give us credibility I gave him Tom’s number if he wanted to check. It took a fair bit of arm-twisting, but he’s very reluctantly agreed to listen to us.’
The Italian in Allegra came to the fore. She put her cup down, leaned over and gave an astonished Patrick a hug.
‘Patrick, you’re a marvel!’
‘Don’t get your hopes up too much, Allegra,’ Patrick cautioned. ‘He’s only agreed to see us. The Curia can be very stubborn. Will David come?’
‘I don’t see why not,’ Allegra said firmly. ‘The election’s not due for another six weeks. Surely he can slip out of the country on personal business without the whole place falling apart. If Petroni gets elected Pope, it won’t be just a backward step for the Catholic Church,’ she said, her dark eyes smouldering. ‘Given what’s in the Omega Scroll it could mean the countdown for destruction will be accelerated.’
Roma
As they filed out of the Sistine Chapel for lunch, Cardinal Petroni managed to hide his irritation, but as lunch wore on his irritation increased. Petroni needed to speak separately with Cardinal Rodriguez Medici and Cardinal Daniel Thuku but both had been deep in conversation with each other for over twenty minutes. The lunch break was drawing to a close and Petroni waited for an opportunity, frustrated at being caught up in small talk with cardinals he didn’t need to speak to.
If Petroni had known what Medici and Thuku were talking about his over-confidence would have been shaken by desperation and a sense that power was slowly slipping through his elegant fingers.
‘I’m flattered by the support I’ve received, Daniel,’ Rodriguez Medici said, ‘but I’m going to have a word with one or two of my supporters to see if we can get behind the one candidate. One thing is very clear to me, it would be an unmitigated disaster if Petroni is elected. He has campaigned shamelessly this last week and as Pope he would set the Church back a hundred years. You might think getting the Curia to change their minds on condoms is a hard ask now. Under Petroni you’d be excommunicated for thinking about it.’
Daniel Thuku smiled grimly. ‘Yes, and I think the chances of a third Vatican Council would be about zilch. What about this investigation into Giovanni?’
‘That’s got Petroni’s mark all over it, Daniel, surely you can see that?’
‘Yes, but can the others?’
Back in the chapel the Camerlengo read out the results of the voting for the second ballot.
‘Cardinal Lorenzo Petroni, forty-eight votes.’
Cardinal Petroni disguised his cold fury. A paltry six vote gain on the second ballot. His vote had stalled. Something was not adding up.
‘Cardinal Giovanni Donelli, forty-two votes.’ Giovanni shook his head. Those around him heard him say softly, ‘Please God. No. Please, no.’
Cardinal Salvatore Bruno, who was seated directly opposite, just smiled and nodded encouragement in Giovanni’s direction. While Cardinal Petroni had been dispensing champagne and caviar, Giovanni’s old mentor had not been idle in the lead up to the conclave either, quietly building Giovanni’s candidature amongst others who also held the brilliant young cardinal in high esteem. Votes for both Cardinal Thuku and Cardinal Medici had fallen, largely at their own instigation, and both exchanged conspiratorial glances. Both were wondering if it was the kiss of death for Petroni, or if he might hold his position for another twenty-eight ballots to force a run-off on a simple majority. Cardinal Petroni’s thoughts were running on similar lines.
Once more a cloud of black smoke issued from the Sistine Chapel chimney as Flight 401 from Tel-Aviv touched down at Rome’s Leonardo da Vinci International Airport.
‘I think I’m in the wrong business,’ Patrick O’Hara whispered to Allegra as they followed David and the Shin Bet agents through a private doorway and the Italian customs agent waved them straight through.
‘ Buongiorno, Signor, Signora. Benvenuti a Roma.’
‘It has its compensations,’ Allegra agreed. ‘Mind you, it would want to!’
There were two cars and despite David indicating that it was a private visit and a request for things to be done on a low key, they came with the inevitable carabinieri escort.
‘At least the media aren’t anywhere in sight,’ David said to Allegra as they followed the police escort in the first car with Patrick following in the second.
‘Give them time,’ Allegra said cynically.
‘Be fair,’ David said. ‘They haven’t had someone quite so photogenic as you in public life in years. Golda Meir might have been a great stateswoman, but she was no oil painting.’
‘David!’ Allegra whispered, tilting her head towards the Shin Bet driver and agent in the front seat. She needn’t have worried, the agents from the Personal Protection Unit had smiles wider than David’s.
‘Do you think the media in Jerusalem will get wind of you being away?’
‘The most feared investigative journalist in Jerusalem is about to join us at the Vatican. For the rest of them they’ll be told it’s urgent family business.’
‘I guess that much is true, Giovanni is certainly part of the family. When do we raise the other issue?’ she asked, raising her eyebrows in the direction of the diplomatic briefcase that David had not let out of his hands since they’d left Israel. Inside it was the priceless Omega Scroll.
‘After the conclave, if they can make up their minds quickly. If not, you will have to stay on.’
‘Let’s hope they can decide,’ Allegra said putting her hand on David’s knee and leaning over to kiss him. ‘Thank you so much for this.’
‘There will be a price,’ David said instantly.
‘You are dreadful!’
Half an hour later the Swiss Guard on St Anne’s Gate snapped to attention.
Father Thomas showed them in to the Secretary of State’s opulent waiting room. ‘The Camerlengo sends his apologies,’ he said smoothly, ‘but he has been delayed for a few minutes, can I get you some coffee? Tea?’
‘He might have agreed to see us,’ Patrick warned when Father Thomas had withdrawn, ‘but he’s no doubt furious at the thought of interrupting the conclave. We’ll just have to play it by ear.’
A short while later Patrick O’Hara’s fears were realised.
‘Absolutely out of the question, Bishop O’Hara!’
Cardinal Monetti’s eyes blazed and his face suddenly matched the colour of the scarlet zucchetto that partly covered his bald head.
‘Even if those allegations against Cardinal Petroni were true, which I very much doubt, the Holy Spirit decides this election and I will certainly not be an agent provocateur on yours or anyone else’s behalf.’ Cardinal Monetti turned to David. He reminded Allegra of a ferocious terrier.
‘I regret that I cannot be of greater assistance, Dr Kaufmann, although I must confess to being somewhat confused as to why a possible future Prime Minister of Israel would allow himself to become so closely involved with such a tawdry allegation. If any word of this ever got out,’ he said pointedly, ‘it could cost you your election.’
‘My decision to come over here today is guided by one thing and one thing only,’ David replied evenly. ‘The truth. To be blunt, Eminence, the Catholic Church has covered this sort of thing up for far too long and in many cases the truth has run a bad second to Church image and politics. That said, I respect your decision. I would ask that you respect mine.’
‘Father Thomas will show you out,’ Cardinal Monetti replied coolly. ‘If you will excuse me, I have a conclave to attend to.’
‘Where did they find him?’ Tom asked as, to the consternation of their bodyguards, they decided to join the crowd that had gathered in St Peter’s Square in the hope of seeing white smoke issue from the Sistine Chapel chimney.
Giovanni left the Sistine Chapel and retired to his room for a session of prayer in the break between votes. Initially he had been somewhat bemused, but as his name was read out an astonishing forty-two times he had become at first concerned, and then alarmed. He sank to his knees, his mind racing. What if they elected him? It was unthinkable. He consoled himself with the thought that Petroni had done as well as he was going to and the next ballot would see either of his friends Rodriguez Medici or Daniel Thuku come through. Either, he knew, would make an outstanding Pope.
Cardinal Thuku was chatting quietly with some of the cardinals from the African bloc. ‘I know him well, my friend, he has a brilliant mind and a gentle heart. As to the other question, how much notice should we take of media releases that are timed to be issued the day before the conclave?’
On the other side of the room Rodriguez Medici was also in quiet conversation with some of his Asian colleagues. Some of the Italian bloc were listening quietly to Salvatore Bruno.
A short while later the crowd in St Peter’s Square erupted as great clouds of white smoke poured out of the Sistine Chapel chimney.
‘My God, David,’ Allegra exclaimed, grabbing David’s arm. ‘They’ve reached a decision! Please God, don’t let it be Petroni!’ It was an entreaty to a God she had not spoken with for a long time.
Inside the Sistine Chapel the Camerlengo had announced the results of the third ballot.
‘Cardinal Rodriguez Medici, one vote.’
Giovanni had stuck to his man to the last.
‘Cardinal Lorenzo Petroni, twelve votes.’
‘Cardinal Giovanni Donelli, one hundred and two votes.’
Giovanni felt utterly bewildered. Cardinal Salvatore Bruno was beaming at him from the other side of the chapel. As the Dean of the College of Cardinals approached down the centre aisle in the chapel, the words of Giovanni’s old mentor flooded back to him: ‘If they offer you the Keys to St Peter, accept. It will be for a reason.’
‘Do you accept your canonical election as supreme Pontiff?’ Giovanni heard the words in the distance and his reply caught in his throat.
‘Yes, I do,’ he said.
‘And by what name do you wish to be known?’
Without hesitation Giovanni replied, ‘John XXIV.’
The Master of Ceremonies joyfully threw in no fewer than six candles with the ballots and Rome’s Il Capo di Fuoco Vigiliare could have been forgiven for thinking Michelangelo’s priceless fresco was under threat as more white smoke belched out over the Piazza San Pietro. As the Cardinal Deacon came out onto the main balcony of St Peter’s and intoned the words Habemus papam, the packed square of St Peter’s erupted again.
‘We have a Pope! Pope John XXIV!’ At the mention of a successor to the much loved John XXIII of ‘ sono fa brutto ’ fame, the roar of the crowd reached a crescendo. When Allegra saw Giovanni step onto the balcony of St Peter’s her eyes filled with tears. Giovanni’s secretary Vittorio also wiped away a tear. His beloved Church, he knew, was in good hands as the warmth of Giovanni’s smile seemed to fill the square.