The Devil Will Come

THIRTY-THREE

THE MOOD INSIDE the Basilica was as somber as it had been for any funeral Mass ever held under its hallowed dome. A few dozen Vatican insiders huddled in the dust-filled pews praying silently, as shell-shocked as the victims of the physical blast the day before.

Matthias Hackel’s black suit, white shirt and polished black shoes had been found on the bank of the Tiber near the Ponte Sant’Angelo. Perhaps he’d drowned himself, perhaps not, but the internal investigation was in its infancy and there were certainly no conclusions about possible accomplices yet. Because of this, Oberst Sonnenberg reluctantly ceded primary security to the Polizia di Stato and the Swiss Guards were remanded to barracks. The Gendarmerie were deployed to seal off Vatican City to all but critical employees and a small pool of international reporters.

Elisabetta, Micaela and their father sat in a rear pew, waiting silently.

At noon, Monsignor Achille, Cardinal Aspromonte’s private secretary, approached them, leaned over and whispered into Elisabetta’s ear.

She told Micaela and her father. ‘Wait here. They want to speak to me now.’

Elisabetta followed Achille through the aisle under the monument of Pius VIII to the passageway of St Peter’s Sacristy and Treasury. They walked over the marble floors to a museum-like room where three plush chairs faced each other. She looked up at the Crux Vaticans, the Vatican Cross, covered in leather, silver and precious stones. It was the Vatican’s greatest treasure, said to contain fragments of the True Cross.

Achille asked her to wait. Soon Cardinals Aspromonte and Diaz appeared. When Elisabetta rose to greet them Aspromonte smiled and told her to sit down again. They joined her, their chairs so close that their knees almost touched.

Diaz was rigid and imposing but Aspromonte’s full face was kind and avuncular; she warmed to him immediately.

‘Elisabetta Celestino,’ he said, clasping her thin, cold hand in his warm, generous ones. ‘Sister Elisabetta. The Church owes you an incomparable debt of gratitude.’

‘I was only serving God, Your Excellency. He has been my guide through this ordeal.’

‘Well, you’ve served Him well. Imagine what the world would look like today if you hadn’t succeeded. Tell me, how is your brother?’

‘We saw him this morning. They hope to release him from intensive care later today. He’s doing well.’

‘Good, good. He was so bold, so brave,’ Aspromonte said. ‘He saved many lives.’

‘Yes, he’s amazing,’ Elisabetta said. ‘But it’s sad that good men like Professor De Stefano, Father Tremblay and Cardinal Giaccone died. It’s sad that the great Sistine Chapel is no more.’

‘The Chapel will be rebuilt,’ Aspromonte said, releasing her hand. ‘De Stefano and Tremblay are greatly mourned. Cardinal Giaccone is a different matter.’

‘He was one of them,’ Diaz said curtly. ‘The head of the Pontifical Commission for Sacred Archeology was one of them!’

‘My God,’ Elisabetta said. ‘That’s how they knew. Even years ago when I was a student. He was a Lemures?’

The cardinals were dumbstruck by her response. ‘You know of them?’ Diaz whispered.

Elisabetta nodded. ‘I discovered some facts. I shared them with Father Tremblay and in return he told me certain things in the strictest confidence.’

‘Then you understand what we’ve been up against. Lord knows what harm Giaccone would have done to the Church if he’d been the only Cardinal Elector left,’ Diaz said angrily.

‘He would have been Pope,’ Aspromonte said.

‘A disaster,’ Diaz said, gritting his teeth and pumping a fist, as if the old boxer in him was itching to leave his corner and go another round.

Aspromonte opened his palms. ‘Sister, you must tell us what you think because you have seen them up close. You have spoken with one of their leaders.’

‘And God forgive me, and forgive my sister,’ Elisabetta said, ‘we took lives.’

‘Later, you will give your confession and you will be forgiven,’ Diaz said impatiently. ‘What is your impression of them?’

Elisabetta took a breath. ‘They want to destroy the Church. They hate it and everything it stands for. They want to trample all that is good, and if everything is destroyed in the process they’ll feel satisfaction at seeing the world in flames. They are pure evil.’

Aspromonte listened to her, doleful, his head shaking, as if keeping time to an unseen metronome. ‘We speak of the Devil all the time,’ he said, ‘but even for me, a man who is quite literal in my beliefs and my interpretation of the Bible, the Devil has always been something of a metaphor. Evil exists, of that there can be no doubt, but for there to be a physical embodiment like this! It is a fearful notion.’

Elisabetta felt she should only listen, not speak anymore, but she couldn’t hold back. ‘It makes the word of Christ that much more important, doesn’t it?’

‘Yes!’ Aspromonte agreed. ‘You are exactly right, Sister. We’ve always had work to do. Today we have work to do. Tomorrow we have work to do. It will never be done until the day Christ returns. We must be perpetually vigilant.’

Elisabetta felt an overwhelming sadness wash over her. ‘Could I ask a question of you?’

‘Of course, Sister,’ Aspromonte said.

‘My mother died when I was a girl. She was an historian. She found a document in the Vatican Secret Archives, a sixteenth-century letter from John Dee, a man who could have been a Lemures. Her research privileges were cancelled and within days she became ill and died. I think she was poisoned.’

‘What was her name?’ Aspromonte asked.

‘Flavia Celestino. She passed away in 1985.’

The Cardinals whispered among themselves. ‘We don’t know of her,’ Diaz said.

‘Before we were abducted, Father Tremblay told me that he knew the name of the man who had the John Dee letter removed from the archive. It was Riccardo Agnelli. He was the personal secretary to someone who is now a cardinal.’

‘I know Agnelli!’ Diaz exclaimed. ‘He died some years ago. I’ll tell you who he worked for! He worked for Giaccone!’

‘Then she was murdered,’ Elisabetta said, her eyes stinging.

‘I’m so sorry, my dear,’ Aspromonte said. ‘Your life has been traumatized again and again by these fiends.’ He reached for her hands and she gave them up freely. ‘Why, we must ask, has the Lord tried you so?’

Diaz interrupted impatiently. ‘An important question, I’m sure, but we have some practical work to do first. We have concerns about these matters becoming public. Imagine what the reaction would be among the faithful if they knew about the Lemures. And we aren’t even sure what we’re up against. Where are they lurking? And who knows how many of them even exist? Do you have any idea about these things?’

Elisabetta shook her head and Aspromonte released her hands.

Diaz leaned closer. ‘Perhaps these Slovenians and Giaccone were the leaders. Perhaps there aren’t so many of them. If Hackel hasn’t drowned himself he must be caught. Regardless, he will be identified as the perpetrator of the bombing. He was deranged, bitter, disgruntled after becoming aware that he would never become the head of the Guards. We have worked this out.’

Elisabetta listened incredulously. ‘I’m sorry, Your Excellency, maybe it’s not for me to say – but do you think it’s the right thing to suppress the truth?’

Aspromonte jumped in before Diaz could answer. ‘After hearing a preliminary report of your ordeal and reviewing the facts as we know them, the Cardinal Bishops met late into the night discussing the matter. I mustn’t speak of these deliberations but perhaps some members, myself included, were more inclined than others toward the view which I believe you possess. But we debated the issues with great solemnity and with prayerful guidance and we speak as one. We think it is better to spare the world such a great anxiety. We think there is more harm to be done than good.’ Then he added, ‘In the afternoon, we will start the Conclave again in this very room, under this great symbol, the Crux Vaticans. We will have a new Pope. Perhaps the new Holy Father will have a different view. We shall see.’

‘In the meantime,’ Diaz said, ‘we must have your silence. We know that Major Celestino will do his duty. We need your sister and father to do likewise. Can you guarantee their discretion?’

Micaela had never been accused of discretion, Elisabetta thought, but she nodded. ‘I will speak to them. I’m sure they will agree. But what about Krek? And the other man Micaela had to kill? Krek was a very wealthy man. The police were there. Surely this will come out!’

‘I think not,’ Diaz said. ‘The Slovenian Ambassador to the Vatican has had a busy night. The Slovenian government has no desire for the facts ever to be known about Damjan Krek. He was quite far to the right, certainly no friend of the country’s political leaders. They’ve already begun circulating the word that Krek and Mulej died in a murder-suicide. It seems that they were having a homosexual affair. Their bodies will be cremated.’

Elisabetta held her tongue. ‘And the skeletons of St Callixtus? What will become of them?’

‘They’re already on their way back to Italy. They’ll go into storage. The new Pope will choose the next President of the Pontifical Commission for Sacred Archeology. Decisions will be made in good time.’

Elisabetta had only one more question. ‘And what of me?’ she asked.

Diaz rubbed his face. ‘I have to tell you, Sister, that you could be of great service to us here in the Vatican. I, for one, would like to see you pick up the staff that fell from Father Tremblay’s hand and continue his important work. No one is in a better position to fight these Lemures than you.’

Elisabetta’s lower lip quivered uncontrollably. ‘Please, Your Excellency. I will do whatever the Church demands of me but I beg you, please let me go back to my school.’

Aspromonte smiled. ‘Of course you can, my dear, of course you can. Go in Christ.’

After Elisabetta had left them, the two cardinals faced each other, their expressions grim. ‘It’s a pity,’ Diaz said. ‘She’s young with an agile mind. It seems it’s left to old men like you and me to carry on this struggle.’

It was five o’clock in the afternoon.

They had been meeting for just three hours but the Cardinal Electors looked weary and shell-shocked.

They sat in the Sacristy of St Peter’s in a chamber that had never been intended for this purpose. Tables and an altar unused since the last Papal Synod had been brought in from the adjacent Paul VI Audience Hall.

A new batch of ballots had been hastily printed, each beginning with the words: Eligo in Summum Pontificem – I elect as Supreme Pontiff.

When they had put their pens down, Cardinal Franconi summoned the Electors one by one, in order of their precedence, to the altar where each man presented the ballot to one of the Cardinal Scrutineers and swore in Latin, ‘I call as my witness Christ the Lord who will be my judge, that my vote is given to the one who before God I think should be elected.’

When all the ballots had been cast, one Scrutineer shook the container and another removed a ballot and read the name aloud.

As the balloting progressed there was a growing chorus of whispers but when the senior Scrutineer read the results the whispers were replaced by silence.

Cardinal Diaz rose and stretched himself to his full height.

He strode to the row of tables on his right, stood in front of one man and looked down.

‘Acceptasne electionem de te canonice factam in Summum Pontificem?’ Diaz asked. Do you accept your canonical election as Supreme Pontiff?

Cardinal Aspromonte had been looking down at his clasped hands.

He turned his eyes upwards, met his old friend’s gaze and hesitated for a very long time before nodding. ‘Accepto, in nomine Domini.’

‘Quo nomine vis vocari?’ Diaz asked. By what name will you be called?

Aspromonte raised his voice for all to hear. ‘Celestine VI.’

The old oven and chimney of the Sistine Chapel were gone so the fireplace in the Papal residence was used in its place. It was an eerie sight. St Peter’s Square was still cordoned off and empty except for a smattering of Vatican workers. But there were crowds outside the gates craning their necks and at the sight of plumes of white smoke against a pale evening sky a roar went up that echoed throughout Rome.

Elisabetta kicked off her shoes and lay fully dressed on her old bed, in her old room, in her old school.

It felt unimaginably good to be back with the nuns of the convent. After communal dinner, Sister Marilena had made a little speech about the two joyous events she urged them to dwell on – the election of a new pope and the return of their Elisabetta – rather than the horrific ones of the previous day.

She was scared to close her eyes lest she see Krek’s raging face and flipping tail so she prayed with her eyes wide open. And when she felt the courage to test the darkness behind closed lids, she was relieved to see not Krek but the young, sweet face of Marco, just as she remembered him.

There was a light tap on her door.

It was Sister Marilena. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt you, Elisabetta, but there’s someone to see you, here, in the chapel.’

Monsignor Achille, Aspromonte’s secretary, was waiting patiently. He held a snow-white envelope in his hands. ‘The Holy Father wanted me to deliver this in person,’ he said.

With trembling hands Elisabetta opened the envelope and pulled out a handwritten letter.

Sister Elisabetta,

There were two reasons why I chose the name Celestine VI.

The first is, like Celestine V, who was a famously reluctant Pope, I too was reluctant to accept the Papacy.

The second, dear Elisabetta, was you, Celestine VI

Elisabetta reached into the pocket of her habit and pulled out the silver chi-rho pendant.

‘Please give this to the Holy Father,’ she said. ‘Tell him it’s from the columbarium of St Callixtus. Tell him it was the one small ray of goodness in a place of great darkness and evil.’