The Secret Cardinal

47

The Mercedes S500 Guard glided up to the curb at the Piazza di San Giovanni in Laterano. It was late in the afternoon, and the Lateran Obelisk that once stood at the Temple of Ammon in Thebes cast a long, slender shadow east toward the Scala Sancta. Two bodyguards stepped from the car and surveyed the area before permitting their charge to exit the armored sedan. Enzo Bruni appeared small in the company of the men sworn to protect him, though he stood five-eight and added a couple inches more with a thick head of wavy black hair. A stylish man, Bruni wore a perfectly tailored suit and expensive leather shoes. He took pride in his appearance, just as he took pride in his standing in the leadership of the Neopolitan Camorra — one of the four primary criminal organizations operating in Italy.

The bodyguards led the Camorra don to the side entrance of the basilica. A devout man despite his profession, Bruni sought the sacrament of reconciliation each week. He did so at a randomly different church, which pleased his chief of security because it avoided predictability.

The Basilica di San Giovanni in Laterano was the true basilica of Rome and the diocese administered by the Pope as Bishop of Rome. Throughout the Middle Ages, the basilica and its adjacent palace were the seat of papal power, eclipsed only by the Vatican in the late fourteenth century. Bruni entered through the medieval portico, passing a statue of Henry IV of France, the protector of the basilica.

Bruni crossed himself as he passed the tomb of Pope Innocent III and continued toward the narthex. His footsteps echoed on the Cosmatesque floor — a work of art fashioned in swirling patterns of marble. From modest beginnings in the fourth century, the interior of the basilica was continually modified over time. An ornate wooden ceiling floated high above the floor, lit from beneath by clerestory windows and supported by arches and pillars designed by Boromini. The basilica’s history matched that of the Church itself, for it had been the scene of both glory and tragedy, all the while growing bit by bit through the ages.

As in Saint Peter’s, the narthex of San Giovanni contained a confessio and a papal altar covered by an ornate ciborium. Rendered in the Gothic style, the structure featured twelve frescoed panels by Barna de Siena and a reliquary chamber containing the heads of Saints Peter and Paul. Bruni genuflected before the altar, then continued down through the center of the church to the confessional.

Bruni examined his conscience as he waited his turn, reviewing any actions through which he spiritually turned his back on God. Only one weighed on his mind today, but Bruni feared it would be the one that damned him to hell for all eternity.

An elderly woman stepped out of the confessional and shared a meek smile with him. Nearly everyone who sought regular confession was Bruni’s age or older, people raised in the Church before Vatican II. Ironically, while the woman confessed her angry thoughts at an inconsiderate neighbor or some other minor transgression, many of those in greatest need of reconciliation rarely availed themselves of the sacrament.

Bruni stepped into the confessional and was greeted by a young priest barely a few years out of the seminary. The priest had the kind of face that made a person feel welcome in this most awkward and revealing of church rituals. Gone were the screens and kneelers in the confessionals of the old Church, visual barriers between supplicant and confessor. Bruni sat down and bowed his head.

‘In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,’ the priest began, Bruni crossing himself in time.

The priest read a brief passage from scripture that emphasized the love in which God held all people, then invited Bruni to talk. In the modern Church, the sacrament evolved from rote formula into a more substantive conversation.

‘Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been one week since my last confession,’ Bruni began. ‘Father, while I am seeking absolution from my sins, I voluntarily omit some of what I am about to tell you from the seal of confession. What you decide to do with this information I leave to your conscience, but for the sake of my own soul I feel I must give you that opportunity. The matter I wish to discuss is a serious one.’

‘I understand,’ the priest said calmly, his voice belying the concern he felt.

‘I am a leader of the Camorra. I and other men of my profession are seeking to influence the selection of the next Pope. The cardinal we support is a good man and will serve the Church faithfully, but we also believe his selection will serve our interests as well. Two nights ago, we received information that Pope Leo, God rest his soul, sent some men into China to break a Bishop out of jail and get him out of that country.’

The priest’s eyes narrowed. What remained of his warm smile melted into a thin straight line.

‘Your face says you don’t believe me.’

‘I’m sorry,’ the priest stammered, trying to regain a sense of neutrality.

Bruni smiled. ‘Not necessary. I had the same look on my face two nights ago. This Bishop has been in jail a very long time — the Chinese do not approve of the Church — and the Pope wanted him out. The Camerlengo, Cardinal Donoher, is in charge of this mission. My associates and I had no problem with this until we learned that Pope Leo secretly named this Bishop a cardinal and has asked the conclave to consider him for the papacy. After the first vote, this Chinese Bishop has emerged as a viable candidate.’

‘How did you acquire this information?’ the priest asked, shocked by the detailed revelation.

‘We have a source.’

‘Inside the conclave?’

Bruni shrugged. ‘The introduction of this Chinese Bishop to the conclave was viewed by my associates as a potential threat to our plans. We do a great deal of business with the Chinese, so we informed them of our concerns and asked them to take care of the problem.’

‘What do you want me to do about this?’

‘I do not like the idea of killing a priest. Get word to Cardinal Donoher. Warn him that the Chinese know what he’s up to. The rest is up to him.’