The Secret Cardinal

9

The news had spread worldwide by the following morning. Kilkenny and Grin learned of the Pope’s death the previous evening while dining out late. The matriarch of the family that ran the tiny ristorante had burst loudly into tears when the cardinal vicar appeared on the small television she watched at her corner table. The woman had been inconsolable, and like millions of Catholics, she deeply felt the loss of the charismatic man who had led the Church for so long. The pall cast by the Pope’s death blanketed Rome like fog, subduing the normally vibrant Eternal City.

Kilkenny sat hunched forward against the imaging table, his arms folded along the edge as a support for his chin. He stared at a hologram of the corridor of rooms in the solitary wing where Yin was imprisoned. Through the nearly transparent holographic walls, he could follow the layout of pipes and ducts that serviced the cells, but his ability to focus on the details eluded him. Hwong’s murder and the deaths of the Chinese Roman Catholics still angered him, and the untimely deaths of his wife and son never strayed far from his conscious thoughts. And now, a man whom he had prayed for every Sunday as far back as he could remember, someone he’d met only twice but whose strength of spirit had affected him profoundly, was dead.

To reach the Petriano Entrance that morning, Kilkenny and Grin had to wend their way slowly through the throng that had spilled beyond the confines of Saint Peter’s Square and into the streets around the Vatican. It didn’t matter that there was nothing to see — just being there at this moment seemed important to people.

The somber mood of the crowd reminded Kilkenny of a few bitter losses at Michigan Stadium, when tens of thousands of emotionally drained football fans straggled away from the wreckage of a season derailed. He knew the analogy was weak, but the assassinations of President Kennedy and Martin Luther King Jr. predated him, and he simply had no better frame of reference for grief on such a massive scale. Even in the deep seclusion of the catacombs, the aura of mourning was inescapable.

The magnetic lock buzzed as it released the door. Both Kilkenny and Grin turned, then stood as Donoher entered the room. He looked as if he had been up all night and didn’t expect to sleep anytime soon.

‘Here,’ Kilkenny said, offering his chair. ‘I can’t imagine what your night must have been like.’

Donoher nodded his thanks and sat down with a sigh. ‘I have been the head of the Roman Catholic Church for mere hours, and already I’m planning to announce in my opening remarks at the conclave that I have no desire to be Pope, and to promise the most serious consequences to any cardinal who dares vote for me.’

‘That bad?’ Kilkenny asked.

‘I won’t trouble you with the details, but never have I borne such a heavy cross. And despite everything that I am now required to do, the two of you have never been far from my thoughts. How soon do you think you can implement your plan?’

‘Training is the biggest issue — the people who do this will have to work very well together,’ Kilkenny said as he considered the question. ‘Six weeks, maybe a month if we really push it.’

‘I’m afraid we don’t have that kind of time,’ Donoher said flatly. ‘The Pope’s death has set a clock in motion.’

‘What kind of clock?’ Grin asked.

‘In fifteen days,’ Donoher explained, ‘the eligible cardinals will gather in conclave to elect the next Pope.’

‘How does that affect us?’ Grin asked, unclear of the connection.

‘Pope Leo directed me to pursue this course of action,’ Donoher explained, ‘and as long as he was alive, we had his blessing. With his death, responsibility for all of the Church’s temporal matters devolved to me as Camerlengo. As I am of the same mind as the late Pope regarding Bishop Yin, we can still proceed.’

Kilkenny immediately grasped Donoher’s dilemma. ‘But you’re only in charge until the new Pope is elected.’

‘Which could be as soon as fifteen days from now,’ Donoher said. ‘And if the new Pope doesn’t find this idea brilliant, the project is dead.’

‘And Yin with it,’ Grin added.

Kilkenny stared at the model of Yin’s prison, imagining the dark, lonely cell where decades of the Bishop’s life had been stolen in a dry martyrdom. The injustice of that windowless hellhole infuriated Kilkenny and fueled his desire to find a way to free the Bishop. Unlike the cancer that took his wife and child, Kilkenny knew how to attack the walls of Chifeng Prison. With a viable plan in hand, Kilkenny could not accept that the Pope’s untimely death might condemn Yin to die inside that concrete box.

‘Fifteen days,’ Kilkenny fumed through gritted teeth, his mind weighing each step of the plan against an impossible deadline.

‘Fifteen days is the minimum,’ Donoher clarified. ‘It could be a bit longer if the conclave deadlocks.’

‘How much longer?’ Grin asked.

‘Thirty ballots, about two additional weeks. After that, a trigger in the Apostolic Constitution kicks in that permits a change in the rules of the election. Instead of requiring a two-thirds majority, the electors can opt for an absolute majority or a runoff between the top two candidates on the previous ballot. These rule changes make it easier for a compromise candidate to garner enough votes to break the deadlock and win election.’

‘But we can’t count on a deadlock,’ Kilkenny said. ‘We have to get Yin out of China in fifteen days.’

‘But just a moment ago you said you needed at least a month to prepare,’ Donoher said. ‘How is it you now think you can accomplish this in half that time?’

‘By using people already trained for this kind of work.’ Kilkenny replied.

‘Mercenaries?’ The cardinal was incredulous.

‘Volunteers,’ Kilkenny replied. ‘Special Forces and CIA, but we’ll need permission to use them. I need the kind of people I can trust with my life.’

Kilkenny’s eyes remained on the hologram of Chifeng Prison as he spoke, his face eerily illuminated by the computer-generated mirage. But the look of deep concentration that tightened his features waned, leaving behind determined calm.

‘You’re not intending to go into China yourself, are you?’ Donoher asked.

Kilkenny nodded. ‘It’s the only way to get the job done in time. Grin can handle the tech side of things without me.’

‘This isn’t what I brought you here for,’ Donoher protested. ‘Your father will never forgive me.’

‘I couldn’t forgive myself if I let Yin continue to rot in that hellhole knowing that I could have gotten him out. I appreciate your concern for my father’s feelings, but this isn’t any different from my time in the Navy, and he should understand that.’

‘There’s still a chance the new Pope will approve of your plan,’ Donoher said, almost pleading.

‘Are you willing to bet Yin’s life on that?’ Kilkenny asked.

Donoher considered the papabili, those cardinals considered favorites for the papacy. All were good, deeply religious men, but none possessed the fiery determination of the late Pope. Most, if not all, would find the plan to free Yin provocative and far too risky.

‘No,’ Donoher conceded.

‘Kilkenny stood and turned toward Donoher. Our choice really is now or never.’

‘Then I can think of no greater honor to the memory of Pope Leo,’ Donoher declared, ‘than to fulfill his last request.’