The Devil Will Come

TWENTY-EIGHT

THE GREAT ROOM of Castle Krek made Elisabetta feel like a speck of dust. The huge hearth was blazing, the furniture was oversized, the gallery and wood-beamed ceiling were impossibly high.

Krek had made her sit on a sofa. There were doors on three sides of the room, all shut. There was no sign of the fat man. They were alone.

Elisabetta watched him closely, trembling and frozen like a rabbit trying to remain hidden from a prowling wolf.

Krek was impeccably groomed, with barbershop-fresh silvering hair and a perfectly aligned posture. He poured himself coffee and with an afterthought offered her a cup. She declined with a single head shake.

‘I’ve never actually met a nun,’ he said suddenly. ‘Can you believe that? Particularly with my long interest in the Church. And no ordinary nun. A professional woman, an archeologist. An expert in the catacombs – which have always fascinated me. I’m also fascinated by the choices you’ve made. You see, I’m always learning. Do you nuns have the opportunity to keep learning too? Or do they stifle this when you join a convent?’

Elisabetta stared mutely back at him, refusing to answer.

Seemingly unperturbed by her snub, Krek checked his watch and said, ‘Look at the time!’ He picked up a remote control, turned on a large flat-screen TV which hung above a sideboard and put on a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. The wall became alive with a bright helicopter’s view over St Peter’s Square where tens of thousands of pilgrims were so packed in that they could hardly move.

Krek seemed gleeful.

‘Can you believe how many people are there? It’s going to be a big, big day for them. Some of them will tell their children and their children’s children: “I was there! I was at St Peter’s that day.”’

Elisabetta finally spoke. ‘I know what you are.’

‘You know what I am,’ he spat back. ‘What am I?’

‘Lemures.’

‘So, I knew you were clever. This is just a confirmation.’

‘You killed Professor De Stefano. You killed Father Tremblay. You’re a monster.’

‘Labels. Always labels. A monster! Too glib, don’t you think? I define myself as a successful businessman who happens to be a member of a very old, very elite club.’

‘You must not do this.’

Krek looked at Elisabetta over the top of his wire-framed glasses and smiled. But there was no hint of humor in his expression. It was the smile of a predator closing in on its prey. ‘What do you think I’m going to do?’

She trembled inwardly but said nothing more, causing him to stare at her fiercely.

‘Please understand this: I’ll do whatever I please.’

Three luxury coaches, each with a capacity of forty-two passengers, idled at the Domus Sanctae Marthae, waiting for the Cardinal Electors and the conclavists to file out for the one-minute ride to the courtyard behind the Basilica. True, all the electors were under eighty years of age, their older brethren banned from the task, and all possessed enough mobility to walk the short distance. But security concerns dictated this part of the ritual.

Cardinals Diaz and Aspromonte boarded the first coach and took adjoining seats. ‘Did you hear about Giaccone?’ Diaz asked.

‘No, what?’

‘He’s still in his room. He can’t come.’

‘What happened?’

‘He called the doctor. It seems that he has the runs. Too much food, I suspect.’

‘Will he join us later?’

‘The rules permit him to do so but he can also cast ballots from the Domus. I’ve assigned a monsignor to bring him a ballot if necessary.’

‘A disaster,’ Aspromonte whispered. ‘He’s the popular choice. But who knows how easy it will be to get votes in absentia. People like to see the face of the new man.’

‘Well, God willing, he’ll recover quickly.’

On the television there was a bird’s-eye view of the coaches crawling away from the guest house and their brief journey to the rear of the Basilica. One by one the Cardinals filed out of the coaches and disappeared inside a door manned by Swiss Guards in full ancient regalia.

‘It’s a colorful spectacle,’ Krek said. ‘Full of tradition. That much I respect.’

From their sofas, both he and Elisabetta had a good view of the TV and with every passing second Elisabetta’s anxiety ratcheted upward. Out of desperation to do something, anything, she decided to engage him.

‘And what part of it don’t you respect?’ she asked, her voice tremulous.

He seemed delighted to have her come alive. ‘Well, the belief in God, of course, is a fundamental weakness. A crutch as ancient as man himself. I believe the more you rely on a god to govern your life, the less you govern it yourself. But besides that, the Catholic Church has always been the most smug, most repugnant, most hypocritical of all the religions. A billion people slavishly following some old man tarted up in robes and a hat! We’ve been fighting it since its earliest days.’

‘You say you believe that men should rely on themselves, not on God. What else do you believe in?’ Elisabetta asked.

‘Me? I very much believe in myself. I believe in the heavens, too. The stars and planets clearly influence human events. That much is factual but I confess I haven’t a clue how it works. So that, I suppose, is my suspension of rationality in favor of a belief system.’

‘You believe in astrology,’ she said, bemused.

‘Our kind have respected astrology for many centuries,’ Krek sniffed.

‘I found astrological symbols at St Callixtus.’

‘Yes, I know. If there had been a way to quickly remove the wall intact I would have been very happy to have the fresco in my home. My men said they tried, but it crumbled. They were hardly conservationists and they had a more important task.’

‘The skeletons.’

‘Yes. Again, a crude job – but speed was necessary.’

‘What will you do with them?’

‘I intend to give them the respect they deserve. The bones are in a jumble. I need them to be properly assembled, every man, woman and child. Somewhere within that confusion is our greatest astrologer – Balbilus, and I would like his remains to be identified and given pride of place in my family crypt. He was Emperor Nero’s personal astrologer, imagine that! Nero was one of us, you know. Tradition tells us that the burial chamber belonged to Balbilus and that he and his followers perished during the Great Fire of Rome. It can’t be verified but Peter the Apostle was said to have been involved in their demise.’

‘There were signs of a fire.’

‘You see. Science! That’s why I need you.’

‘To do what?’

‘You’re going to handle the bones for me. You’re an archeologist and a woman who respects the past and the sanctity of the dead. I think you’ll do a marvelous job.’

Elisabetta shook her head. ‘You think I’d do this voluntarily?’

Krek shrugged. ‘I really hadn’t thought about that. I simply decided you were going to do it.’ Before she could express outrage he added, ‘What did you make of the star signs at St Callixtus?’

‘I hadn’t fully worked them out.’

‘You took note of the particular order of the planets, didn’t you?’

She nodded.

‘That was the alignment at the moment Balbilus was born in 4 AD. Check the charts if you don’t believe me. I think it was a personal homage to his greatness. It became a symbol for us – of his power, of our power.’

‘Marlowe used it in Faustus.’

‘Yes! Bravo! You noticed the illustration. I told you that you were the one for this job. We’ve had many powerful astrologers through the ages. Bruno Ottinger was my personal astrologer. I believe you know certain things about Bruno.’

‘I have the book that you gave him.’

‘I want it back,’ Krek said icily. ‘Maybe you’ll give it to me as a present.’ He checked the TV and turned up the volume. ‘So, there they are, all of them in the Pauline Chapel. We should watch.’

Hackel stood immobile inside the Pauline Chapel of the Palace of the Vatican. He was in front of the Pauline Door which led to the Sala Regia, a frescoed hall which connected the Palace to the Sistine Chapel. The Cardinal Electors stood in rows facing Cardinal Diaz who was about to address them. There were two videographers who’d been cleared to broadcast the brief ceremony, the last that the public would see of the Cardinals before the Conclave began.

Hackel heard chatter in his earpiece. Minor things: a tourist had been removed from the Square for public drinking. There were pickpockets about. He controlled his breathing, slow and smooth. It would be over soon. Perhaps his role would come out in the investigation, perhaps not. One could never underestimate incompetency. Regardless, he’d know what he’d done. And, more importantly, K would, too. If it looked as though the authorities were on to him, he would disappear into the Lemures network. There would be choices. He fancied South America. There were beautiful women there.

The Master of the Papal Liturgical Celebrations, Cardinal Franconi, held a microphone up to Diaz’s mouth. He made a short speech in Latin, reminding the Electors of their responsibilities to the Church for the solemn task they were about to undertake and led them in a brief prayer to give them the strength and wisdom to choose a new Holy Father.

It was Hackel himself who opened the Pauline Door to let the procession begin.