its creation. What you just read, though, is more immediate and has a far greater value. So he wants a trade. Let him have the Trinity, and you get all that,”—Chatterjee pointed at the pages—“plus the flash drive.”
“Will he destroy the Nostra Trinità?”
“Absolutely.”
He didn’t necessarily disagree with that course. That had been his intention, too. Once he achieved the papacy, the last thing he’d want was for anything to cast doubt.
“Also,” Chatterjee said, “after an appropriate time, no more than ninety days beyond your coronation, you will make the archbishop a cardinal. He wants to die with a red hat on his head.”
“He doesn’t seem to like the ‘red vultures.’”
“He despises them. But he still wants to be one.”
“He’s a bit old.”
“You will likewise appoint him head of the Entity, dismissing the current cardinal who oversees that department. He’s no friend of the archbishop’s and, by the way, no friend of yours, either.”
“Making Spagna a cardinal will raise a lot of questions.”
“So? Only a pope chooses a cardinal and that is not subject to question or review. It’s solely your decision. And no secret appointments. This one is all public.”
It was almost like this demon was reading his mind. Popes had the power to name cardinals in pectore, in the breast, with only the pope knowing of the appointment, in his heart. But in pectore cardinals could only function after the appointment became public. In modern times it had been used to protect an appointee from hostile political situations in places like China, Ukraine, Latvia, and Russia. Once the pope made the appointment public, the secret cardinal would then assume his duties and be ranked within the cardinalate back to the time of his selection. However, if a pope died before revealing the in pectore cardinal, the appointment died, too.
“John Paul II gave Archbishop Spagna an in pectore appointment, but died before revealing it,” Chatterjee said. “Not this time. He wants the red hat and the investiture ceremony. He wants all of the red vultures to be there and watch as he joins their ranks. The one thing you and he agree on is a mutual hatred of the curia.”
For so long the taste of failure had lingered in his mouth. Becoming pope would, in one stroke, regain everything he’d lost. He’d once said that the church’s greatest sin of modern times was an unwillingness to become involved.
The sin of omission.
Popes had grown soft, their voices devoid of thunder.
He would change that.
He’d originally thought that what he sought might be the best weapon to use in the coming conclave to sway votes. Now it seemed only a means to a better end. And he had no problem with any of Spagna’s demands.
But there were two things.
First—
“As head of the Entity, Spagna will do whatever I need done. No questions. No debate. Just do it.”
“Of course, that goes without saying.”
And second—
“What happened with the woman in the boat and the American parasailer?”
Chatterjee nodded. “Alea jacta est.”
He grinned at the irony.
The die is cast.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Cotton felt the swoop as the helicopter began to descend toward the Italian countryside. His greeter had led him to the top of the Palazzo di Malta, where a black-and-white AgustaWestland AW139 bearing civilian markings had landed on a small pad. He’d been under the mistaken impression that the interim grand master would be at the palazzo. Instead he’d been informed that the lieutenant ad interim waited at Villa Pagana, a seaside residence in Rapallo, about 250 miles to the north.
Evening was approaching, the late-afternoon sun hanging solemn in the western sky. Being transported a long way from Rome only raised more red flags in his already suspicious mind. True, the pessimist might be right in the long run, but he’d come to know that the optimist had a better time along the way. So he decided to keep an open mind.
He stared down at Rapallo, which looked like a typical seaside Italian town. An amphitheater of hills faced the sea supporting a jumble of whitewashed houses with red-tile roofs that funneled downward to a stark stretch of sandy beach. A promenade lined the shore, flanked by a small castle. Boats and yachts rolled at anchor in the blue waters of the Ligurian Sea.
The chopper came in low over the shoreline and flew inland, angling toward one of the villas, an impressive three-story battlement of ocher stone, set among a thick stand of maritime pines dominating a rocky promontory. A red flag with a white Maltese cross flew