The Order (Gabriel Allon #20) - Daniel Silva Page 0,101
after he became Lucchesi’s private secretary. As far as the Jesuits are concerned, it never happened.” Veronica nodded toward a table lined with soft drinks and bottles of red and white wine. “Would you mind? I’m not sure I can do this sober.”
Gabriel added Veronica’s four bottles of pinot grigio to the collection of wine. Then he poured three glasses from an open bottle of lukewarm Frascati while Chiara served the children pasta from the chafing dishes arranged along the neighboring buffet. They found an empty table near one of the televisions. The cardinal-electors had left the Casa Santa Marta and were gathered in the Pauline Chapel, the final stop before they entered the Sistina for the start of the conclave.
Veronica tentatively sipped her wine. “Is there anything worse than room-temperature Frascati?”
“I can think of a few things,” answered Gabriel.
Donati and a smiling Father Agular approached the table. Rising, Gabriel offered the leader of the Jesuits his hand before introducing Chiara and the children. “And this is our dear friend Veronica Marchese.” Gabriel’s tone was uncharacteristically bright. “Dottora Marchese is the director of the Museo Nazionale Etrusco.”
“An honor, Dottora.” Father Agular looked at Gabriel. “I follow events in the Middle East quite closely. I wonder if we might have a word before you leave.”
“Of course, Father Agular.”
The Jesuit contemplated the television. “Who do you think it will be?”
“They say it’s Navarro.”
“It’s time for a Spanish-speaking pope, don’t you think?”
“If only he were a Jesuit.”
Laughing, Father Agular withdrew.
Donati pulled out a chair between Gabriel and Raphael and sat down. He scarcely acknowledged Veronica’s presence. Beneath his breath he asked, “How is she doing?”
“As well as can be expected.”
“I have to say, she looks wonderful.”
“You should have seen her after Metzler killed Father Graf.”
“He covered it up quite well. Even Alessandro Ricci is in the dark.”
“How did you manage to convince him not to publish his story about the plot against the conclave?”
“By promising to give him everything he needs to write a blockbuster sequel to The Order.”
“Tell him to keep my name out of it.”
“You deserve a little credit. After all, you saved the Catholic Church.”
“Not yet,” said Gabriel.
Donati looked up at the television. “We’ll know by tomorrow night. Monday at the latest.”
“Why not tonight?”
“This afternoon’s vote is largely symbolic. Most of the cardinals will cast ballots for friends or benefactors. If we have a new pope tonight, it means that something extraordinary has taken place inside the Sistine Chapel.” Donati looked at Raphael. “It’s uncanny. If he had gray temples …”
“I know, I know.”
“Can he paint?”
“Quite well, actually.”
“And Irene?”
“A writer, I’m afraid.”
Donati looked at Veronica, who was sharing a private joke with Chiara. “What do you suppose they’re talking about?”
“You, I imagine.”
Donati frowned. “You haven’t been meddling in my personal life, have you?”
“A little.” Gabriel lowered his voice. “She has something she wants to discuss with you.”
“Really? And what’s that?”
“She’d like to ask you a question before it’s too late.”
“It already is too late. Rome has spoken, my friend. The case is closed.” Donati drank from Gabriel’s wineglass and made a face. “Is there anything worse than room-temperature Frascati?”
SHORTLY AFTER THREE O’CLOCK, THE cardinal-electors processed into the Sistine Chapel. With the cameras watching, each placed a hand on the Gospel of Matthew and pledged, among other things, that he would not take part in any attempt by outside forces to intervene in the election of the Roman pontiff. Domenico Albanese repeated the oath with exaggerated solemnity, a sainted expression on his face. The television commentators praised his performance during the period of the interregnum. One went so far as to suggest he stood an outside chance of emerging from the conclave as the next pope.
“Heaven help us,” murmured Donati.
It was nearly five o’clock when the last cardinal had sworn his oath. A moment later the Master of Pontifical Liturgical Ceremonies, a thin bespectacled Italian named Monsignor Guido Montini, stood before the microphone and declared softly, “Extra omnes.” Fifty priests, prelates, and Vatican-connected laity filed out of the chapel, including Alois Metzler, who was wearing his Renaissance-era dress uniform and white-plumed helmet.
“Good thing he wasn’t dressed like that last night,” remarked Gabriel.
Donati smiled as Monsignor Montini closed the Sistine Chapel’s double doors.
“What now?”
“We find a bottle of chilled wine,” said Donati. “And we wait.”
58
SISTINE CHAPEL
THE FIRST ORDER OF BUSINESS was the distribution of the ballots. Atop each were the words ELIGO IN SUMMUM PONTIFICEM: I elect as supreme pontiff. Next came a drawing to select the Scrutineers, the three cardinals who