“In that case, there’s no need to test it. The Holy Father wouldn’t have tried to give it to you if it wasn’t genuine.”
“I’d feel better if I knew when it was written and where the paper and ink came from.”
The general raised it to the light of an overhead chandelier. “You’re right, it’s definitely paper.”
“How old could it be?”
“The first mills in Italy were established in Fabriano in the late thirteenth century, and during the fifteenth century paper gradually replaced vellum in bookbinding. There were mills in Florence, Treviso, Milan, Bologna, Parma, and your beloved Venice. We should be able to determine if this was produced in one of them. But it’s not something that can be done quickly.”
“How long will it take?”
“To do the job right... several weeks.”
“I’m going to need the results a bit sooner than that.”
The general sighed.
“If it wasn’t for you,” said Gabriel, “I’d still be in Venice with my family.”
“Me?” The general shook his head. “I was only the messenger. It was Pietro Lucchesi who summoned you.” He glanced at the manila folder. “Those photos are yours to keep. A smallsouvenir of your brief visit to our country. Don’t worry about the Polizia. I’ll think of something to say to them. I always do.”
With that, the general departed. Gabriel checked his phone and saw that he had received a text message from Christoph Bittel, his friend from the Swiss security service.
Call me as quickly as you can. It’s important.
Gabriel dialed.
Bittel answered instantly. “For God’s sake, what the hell took you so long?”
“Please tell me she’s all right.”
“Stefani Hoffmann? She’s fine. I’m calling about the man in that sketch of yours.”
“What about him?”
“It’s not something we should discuss on the phone. How quickly can you get to Zurich?”
34
Sistine Chapel
From inside the Sistine Chapelcame the unholy clamor of hammering. Cardinal Domenico Albanese climbed the two shallow steps and entered. A newly installed wooden ramp sloped toward the opening in thetransenna, the marble screen that divided the chapel in two. Beyond it stretched a temporary wooden floor covered in pale tan carpeting. Twelve long tables stood along the edges of the chapel, two rows of three on each side, covered in tan baize, with pleated skirts of magenta.
In the center of the space stood a small ornate table with thin curved legs. For now, the table was empty. But on Friday afternoon, when the cardinal-electors processed into the chapel to begin the conclave, there would be a Bible open to the first page of the Gospel of Matthew. Each cardinal, including Albanese, would lay his hand on the Gospel and swear an oath of secrecy.He would also swear not to conspire with “any group of people or individuals” who might wish to intervene in the election of the next Roman pontiff. To break such a sacred vow would be a grievous sin. A cardinal sin, thought Albanese.
The sound of hammering intruded on his reverie. The workmen were constructing a camera platform near the stoves. The first hour of the conclave—the opening procession, the singing of “Veni Creator Spiritus,” the swearing of the oath—would be televised. After that, the master of pontifical liturgical celebrations would announce “Extra omnes,” and the doors would be closed and locked from the outside.
Inside, a first ballot would be taken, if only to get a sense of the room. The Scrutineers and Revisers would perform their due diligence, checking and rechecking the count. If the pre-conclave hype was to be believed, Cardinal José Maria Navarro would emerge as the early front runner. The ballots would then be burned in the older of the two stoves. The second stove would simultaneously release a chemically enhanced plume of black smoke. And thus the faithful gathered in St. Peter’s Square—and the unfaithful poised over their laptops in the press center—would learn that the Church of Rome was still without a pontiff.
Cardinal Navarro’s lead would shrink on the second ballot. And on the third, a new name would emerge: Cardinal Franz von Emmerich, the archbishop of Vienna and a secret member of the Order of St. Helena. By the fifth ballot, Emmerich would be unstoppable. By the sixth, the papacy would be his. No, thought Albanese suddenly. The papacy would be the Order’s.
They planned to waste little time in undoing the modest reforms put in place by Lucchesi and Donati. All power would be centralized in the Apostolic Palace. All dissent would beruthlessly repressed. There would be no more talk of women in the priesthood or allowing priests to marry. Nor would there be any heartfelt encyclicals about climate change, the poor, the rights of workers and immigrants, and the dangers posed by the rise of the far right in Western Europe. Indeed, the new secretary of state would forge close ties between the Holy See and the authoritarian leaders of Italy, Germany, Austria, and France—all doctrinaire Catholics who would serve as a bulwark against secularism, democratic socialism, and, of course, Islam.
Albanese moved toward the altar. Behind it was Michelangelo’sLast Judgment, with its swirling cyclone of souls rising toward heaven or falling into the depths of hell. It never failed to stir Albanese. It was the reason he had become a priest, the fear that he would suffer for all eternity in the emptiness of the underworld.
That fear, after lying dormant within Albanese for many years, had risen again. It was true that Bishop Richter had granted him absolution for his role in the murder of Pietro Lucchesi. But in his heart Albanese did not believe such a mortal sin could truly be forgiven. Granted, it was Father Graf who had done the deed. But Albanese had been an accessory before and after the fact. He had played his role flawlessly, with one exception. He had failed to find the letter—the letter Lucchesi was writing to Gabriel Allon about the book he had found in the Secret Archives. The only explanation was that the Janson boy had taken it. Father Graf had killed him as well. Two murders. Two black marks on Albanese’s soul.
All the more reason why the conclave had to go precisely as planned. It was Albanese’s job to make certain the cardinal-electors who had accepted the Order’s money cast their ballots for Emmerich at the appropriate time. A sudden and decisivemove toward the Austrian would raise suspicion of tampering. His support had to build gradually, ballot by ballot, so that nothing looked amiss. Once Emmerich was clad in white, the Order would face no threat of exposure. The Vatican was one of the world’s last absolute monarchies, a divine dictatorship. There would be no investigation, no exhumation of the dead pontiff’s body. It would almost be as though it had never happened.
