The Vatican Knights

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

The crowd along the fenced tarmac at Boston’s Logan Airport was far greater than when the pope arrived in Dulles many days before. The support was immense. But certainly far less than the Biblical proportions the pope joked about as Cardinal Medeiros wheeled him across the tarmac toward Shepherd One.

Shari walked alongside them, the pope holding her hand lightly in his as they moved along the stretch of pavement. “I’m so glad you made it, my dear. But as much as I want to thank you, I once again need to speak to you about the Vatican Knights.”

“I have already given my word, Your Holiness. I’ll keep their secret safe.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” he told her. “But you must understand that the Vatican Knights are not even a myth since their secret is that closely guarded.”

“I understand.”

“And for that, my dear, I truly thank you. And I certainly thank you for saving my life and the lives of my bishops. If you should ever want to come to Vatican City, please let the good cardinal here know when you want to visit, and I shall roll out the red carpet for the one who saved my life.”

“I truly appreciate that, Your Holiness. But there’s something I would like to ask you.”

“Of course, my dear.”

“I’d like to say goodbye to Kimball.”

The pope’s face changed to sad imposition. “As much as I would like you to, I’m afraid I cannot let that happen. The Vatican Knights are mourning the losses of those whom I consider my children. Please understand that.”

She looked up at the immense Boeing. “Is he in there?”

“Yes,” he said. And then in more sorrowful measure, “He’s in there with the others holding ceremony. In a moment I shall lead them in prayer.”

“Then I’ll respect that,” she returned, and continued to hold the pope’s hand as they moved closer to the jet. “May I ask you something else?”

“Of course.”

“The Knights,” she began. “Why Kimball? How are they chosen?”

“The Knights, Ms. Cohen, are incredibly special people who come from squalor — mostly hard-luck cases who were either orphaned or abandoned and possess no future other than what the Vatican can give them. Serving me in the capacity that they do is ultimately their decision in the end, knowing the full consequences of their choices and dangers involved.”

“And Kimball?”

The pope smiled as if reminiscing over a fond memory. “Kimball is an animal of a different breed,” he said. “He’s unlike the rest because he’s in his own personal torment and seeks redemption through his service to God. He believes his road is a difficult journey in which salvation lies at its end, but impossible to achieve in his eyes. What he fails to realize is his journey is lifelong and paved with mistakes, as well as goodness.”

“Kimball is a good man.”

“Of course he is. Although we see this, he does not. It’s up to Kimball to find his own way. We can only provide direction, but it’s Kimball who must have the faith to see it through.”

“Is there anything you can do to help him?”

The pope smiled. “I can only provide the direction, my dear. Kimball has to do the rest. You see… Kimball needs evil in his life in order to recognize the good, which is something I learned from the man who held me captive. I saw the side of man that I’ve been sheltered from for so long. And because of it I now understand Kimball more than ever.”

“I don’t understand.”

The pope held a hand up to the cardinal who slowed the wheelchair as they neared the Boeing. “Kimball knows one thing,” he said. “He knows the dark side of man perhaps better than anybody else, and he knows what’s needed in order to combat it. I on the other hand have lived in ignorance believing the light inside all men can be reached. Kimball knows different. He knows the darkness, has lived in its depths, and is working his way toward the light. There has to be a balance in life, my dear. But right now I believe Kimball does not feel that balance in his soul. Perhaps when he finds the balance between the two, then he will find the salvation that he has been so desperately seeking.”

“I hope so.”

“Kimball has to find his own way.”

The cardinal had moved the wheelchair to the center of an entourage dressed in priestly vestments. They were standing at the base of the stairs leading into Shepherd One.

“Well, my dear, my gratitude for your perseverance in this matter cannot even begin to be measured by my standards. I do wish you well. And I will tell the Vatican Knights that you wish them well.”

“Thank you.”

“Perhaps we shall cross paths again,” he told her. “Next year I have a highly publicized Papal Symposium, if God allows my health to get better. And I will journey across the world once again, ending my mission in the United States.”

“After what happened, you’d come back?”

“That’s all the more reason, my dear. I cannot let a setback undermine what needs to be done. If my health holds, then I will return. I will not allow terrorism to slow the Word of God. I can’t.”

He smiled and reached out for her free hand. “God bless you, Ms. Cohen. You truly are an asset to mankind, which makes me believe there is hope after all. Even when I questioned myself that man was too far gone. It was a period in my life when I was at my lowest. Sometimes, my dear, it takes a tragedy to see the full picture. I now believe that tragedies are sometimes good for the soul that often reminds man that he sometimes needs a misfortune in life to bring out the best in him.”

“I’ve always believed in that,” she told him. “A perfect example is nine-eleven.”

“Yes, of course. Your nine-eleven brought strangers together in a cause to heal not only a nation, but one another. There was no prejudice, no animosity, all of which were forgotten due to a common tragedy. From hatred came pure love. It was a balance that formed from both the Darkness and Light of Man. Let’s hope that Kimball finds his balance, too.”

Shari leaned close and hugged the old man as he gained his feet. She barely touched him, his bones as frail as a sparrow.

“Be good, my dear.”

“And you take care of yourself.”

“Don’t worry,” he told her. “Gemelli Hospital is one of the best in the world.”

There was one last question she wished to pose to the pope.

“Your Holiness, if I should visit the Vatican someday, would it be possible to visit the Knights… or Kimball?”

“If you should happen to see the Vatican Knights again,” he informed her, “then it will be because something terrible has happened… So let’s hope not.”

Aided by the archdiocese staff, Pope Pius XIII climbed the stairs and waved his hand in loving gesture. Once inside Shepherd One, the door closed behind him and the mobile stairway pulled back from the Boeing.

Along with Cardinal Medeiros, Shari turned and walked away from the jet and made her way back to the terminal.

Kimball Hayden had been sitting inside Shepherd One looking out the window watching the pontiff being wheeled from the terminal to the plane. Shari accompanied the pope and became his focal point of interest as the pontiff’s party made their way toward the Boeing. Since Kimball knew the pope would never allow her passage on board, he pressed his hand against the window, and with the tip of his forefinger traced the outline of her body against the pane, the closest thing to actually saying goodbye.

As the pontiff made his way up the stairway, Kimball thought Shari looked as pleasing as always, the way she smiled, the point of her widow’s peak and the way her hair shined in the sun, a mental picture he would carry with him for the rest of his life. Perhaps, he thought, if I do right, then maybe He’ll grant me the right to love someone openly.

But if anything was taught and learned, it was the fact that Shari Cohen made him see through their affinity that he was not the painted monster without feeling or remorse, but someone fully capable of loving.

Nevertheless, he knew he had a long way to go.