The Order (Gabriel Allon #20) - Daniel Silva Page 0,104
his threat. When he was finished, not one stone would be left standing on another. He would build a new church. A church Jesus would recognize.
Donati’s fellow Jesuits, however, were electrified by the conclave’s unusually swift selection of a new pope. Indeed, the commotion in the room was so loud that he could not make out what the commentators were saying. Nor, for that matter, could he hear his Nokia telephone, which was lying on the table next to Gabriel’s. When he finally checked it, he was shocked to see he had five missed calls, all in the last two minutes.
“Dear God.”
“What is it?” asked Gabriel.
“You’ll never guess who’s been frantically trying to reach me.”
Donati dialed and raised the phone swiftly to his ear.
“It’s about time,” said Cardinal Angelo Francona.
“What is it, Dean?”
“Have you seen the smoke?”
“Yes, of course. Please tell me it isn’t—”
“We’ve had an unexpected development.”
“Obviously, Eminence. But what is it?”
“You’ll know when you get here.”
“Where?”
“There’s a car waiting downstairs. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
The call went dead. Donati lowered the phone and looked at Gabriel. “I could be mistaken, but I believe I’ve just been summoned to the Sistine Chapel.”
“Why?”
“Francona wouldn’t tell me, which means it can’t be good. In fact, I’d feel better if you came with me.”
“To the Sistine Chapel? You can’t be serious.”
“It’s not as if you’ve never been there before.”
“Not during a conclave.” Gabriel tugged at the collar of his leather jacket. “Besides, I’m not really dressed for the occasion.”
“What does one wear to a conclave?” asked Donati.
Gabriel looked at Veronica and smiled. “White, I believe.”
TO AVOID THE CROWDS IN St. Peter’s Square, the car slipped into the Vatican through the motor entrance near the Palace of the Holy Office. From there it made its way around the back of the basilica to a small courtyard at the foot of the Sistine Chapel. Monsignor Guido Montini pounced on Donati’s door like a hotel bellman. He seemed to be resisting an impulse to genuflect.
Montini had to raise his voice to be heard over the tolling of the basilica’s bells. “Good evening, Excellency. I’ve been instructed to bring you upstairs.” He looked at Gabriel. “But I’m afraid your friend Signore Allon will have to remain here.”
“Why?”
Montini’s eyes widened. “The conclave, Excellency.”
“It’s over, is it not?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“Please, Excellency. The cardinals are waiting.”
Donati gestured toward Gabriel. “Either he comes with me or I’m not going in.”
“Yes, of course, Excellency. If that is what you wish.”
Donati exchanged an apprehensive glance with Gabriel. Together they climbed a flight of narrow stairs to the Sala Regia, the glorious fresco-covered antechamber of the Sistine Chapel. A pair of Swiss Guards stood like bookends outside the entrance. Gabriel hesitated, then followed Donati inside.
THE CARDINALS WAITED AT THE base of the altar, dwarfed by Michelangelo’s Last Judgment. After passing through the doorway of the transenna, Donati stopped abruptly and turned.
“Don’t you see what’s happening?”
“Yes,” answered Gabriel. “I believe I do.”
“No one in their right mind would want this. I’ve seen with my own eyes the toll it takes.” Donati stretched out his hand. “Please grab hold of it. Drag me out of here before it’s too late.”
“It already is too late, Luigi. Rome has spoken.”
Donati’s hand was still suspended between them. He placed it on Gabriel’s shoulder and squeezed with surprising force. “Try to remember me the way I was, old friend. Because in a moment, that person won’t exist.”
“Hurry, Luigi. You mustn’t keep them waiting.”
Donati glanced at the 116 men waiting at the altar.
“Not them, Luigi. The people in the square.”
“What will I say to them? My God, I don’t even have a name.” Donati threw his arms around Gabriel’s neck and clung to him as though he were drowning. “Tell her I’m sorry. Tell her I never meant for this to happen.”
Donati drew away and squared his shoulders. Suddenly composed, he marched the length of the chapel and stopped directly in front of Cardinal Francona.
“I believe you have something you wish to ask me, Eminence.”
Francona posed the question in Latin. “Acceptasne electionem de te canonice factam in Summum Pontificem?” Do you accept your canonical election as supreme pontiff?
“I accept,” answered Donati without hesitation.
“Quo nomine vis vocari?” By what name do you wish to be called?
Donati stared at Michelangelo’s ceiling, as if searching for inspiration. “To tell you the truth, I haven’t a clue.”
Laughter filled the Sistine Chapel. It was a good beginning.
60
SISTINE CHAPEL
IT WAS FITTING THAT DONATI’S first official act as pope was to affix his signature to