opportunities for bribery and shorten the time for deal making. The Latin root of the word conclave meant “a room that can be locked up.”
That meant few cardinals would be prepared for the coming battle. Thankfully, it appeared he would not be one of those.
He glanced down at the plastic binder.
Thank God one truth remained inviolate.
Powerful men wanted only one thing.
To keep their power.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Cotton took a suite at Rome’s Hotel d’Inghilterra, on the top floor with a balcony that ran the length of the building, spring geraniums bursting from its planters. He was being paid top dollar, so, as with the Alfa Romeo, he decided to splurge. He sat on the bed and stared out the terrace doors. Golden blocks of sunshine washed in through the clear glass. Beyond the railing stretched the city’s trademarked irregularly shaped roofs, with their gnarled pipe vents and ceramic-crowned chimneys, satellite dishes the only nod to the 21st century.
He’d flown south with Sir James Grant in a private jet, the trip a quick seventy minutes, during which he’d learned little more about what was happening. Their talks had been about books and world affairs. Along the way he’d confirmed a transfer of one hundred thousand euros into his Danish account. Not that the Brits didn’t have credit with him. It was just always better to be paid in advance.
He needed a shower and a change of clothes, so he took advantage of the hotel’s amenities, the spacious bathroom an amalgam of shiny marble and mirrors. He’d chosen the Inghilterra not only for its reputation but also for its location. It sat only a short distance away from the Via Condotti, the most popular shopping street in Rome, an endless panorama of high-end clothes, leather, silver, glass, jewelry, and stationery. Also on the Via Condotti, at number 68, sat the Palazzo di Malta.
In 1798, when the Hospitallers were tossed from Malta by Napoleon, they wandered the world searching for a home. Finally in 1834 they found one in Rome. Two villas, one here, the other—Villa del Priorato di Malta—a few miles away atop Aventine Hill. About an acre and a half of territory between the two, both independent, holding allegiance to no one, a Roman Catholic country unto itself, making up the smallest sovereign nation in the world.
On the flight south he’d also made use of the onboard WiFi, learning as much as possible about the Hospitallers. Incredibly, they still existed, over nine hundred years after their founding. They were governed by a chapter general of the membership that met once every five years to choose a sovereign council of six members and six high officers who administered things on an everyday basis. The grand master supervised it all, elected for life, holding the rank of cardinal but with no conclave vote for pope. No longer warrior-monks, today they were a quiet, pious, humanitarian organization supporting international health care, operating war zone refugee camps, caring for South American slum children, treating leprosy in Africa and Asia, managing first-aid clinics in the Middle East, running blood banks, ambulance services, soup kitchens, and field hospitals worldwide. Their help was extended to all, regardless of race, creed, or religion. Membership, though, came by invitation only, with a current roster of over thirteen thousand men and women divided into two classes of knights and dames. Protestants, Jews, Muslims, and divorced people were not allowed. More than 40 percent of the members were connected in some way with Europe’s oldest Catholic families. Over one hundred thousand people worked for the organization, 80 percent of those volunteers.
Fifty-five members, though, were special.
Knights of Justice.
Professed men who took religious vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience, they were the last remnants of the former Hospitallers. They were also its ruling class, holding all of the important positions of power.
The order itself was impressive.
One hundred and four countries maintained formal diplomatic relations, including an exchange of embassies. It possessed its own constitution and actively operated within fifty-four nations, having the ability to transport medicine and supplies around the world without customs inspections or political interference. It even possessed observer status in the United Nations, issuing its own passports, license plates, stamps, and coins. Not a country, as there were no citizens or borders to defend, more a sovereign entity, all of its efforts focused on helping the sick and protecting its name and heritage, which members defended zealously.
But the knights were troubled.
Big time.
He’d read several news accounts from L’Osservatore Romano about recent internal strife.