and left discreetly.
Fischer greeted them himself, advancing with an outstretched hand and a warm smile. He was a cheerful- looking man in his early sixties. Over the years, he had put on more weight than was altogether good for him, but he managed to carry it with dignity. His skull-cap was perched far to the back of his head, giving him a rather jaunty appearance.
‘Father O’Malley? I’m pleased to meet you at last. I’ve heard a great deal about your work. You may not know it, but we’ve crossed paths more than once. Used to have problems with new religions out in Africa - Kimbanguists, Aladura, all those native churches. Pretty crazy. But the worst are the new cults getting into the old mission fields. Jehovah’s Witnesses, Mormons, Baha’is. Your people used to give us a lot of help.’ He shook hands firmly, then turned to Assefa.
‘Tenastillin. Indamin adderu.’
‘Dahina,’ answered Assefa.
‘I’m afraid that’s about the extent of my Amharic,’ said the cardinal, smiling broadly. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t think Father O’Malley mentioned your name.’
‘Makonnen. Father Assefa Makonnen.’
‘I’m pleased to meet you, Father Makonnen. Are you attached to Father O’Malley’s office?’
Assefa shook his head.
‘No, Your Eminence, I’m ...’
‘Father Makonnen will explain who he is later,’ interrupted O’Malley. ‘I think it would make more sense that way. There are some things I have to explain first.’
The cardinal raised his eyebrows.
‘You sure believe in keeping things mysterious, Father. You weren’t too forthcoming on the phone either.’
‘No. No, I wasn’t. I...’ O’Malley hesitated. ‘Your Eminence, have Colonel Meyer and Monsignor Foucauld got here yet? I’d rather not start without them.’
Fischer glanced at his wrist.
‘I’m expecting the colonel any minute now. Monsignor Foucauld sends his apologies and says he’ll be joining us later. He’s having dinner with the Holy Father tonight. They have a few important guests, so he can’t really get away until about ten. Do you mind if we start without him? I have some very important business to attend to myself tonight.’
Well, it’s about that I’ve come. The ...’
There was a loud knock on the door. A moment later it opened and a tall man dressed in the gaudy Renaissance uniform of a Swiss Guard entered the room. He saluted the cardinal, then the others.
‘Hans, come on in.’
The cardinal stepped forward, drawing the colonel into the room.
‘Hans, this is Father Dermot O’Malley, the Director of fraternitA. You know? The guys who deal with the Moonies and loonies for us. And this is Assefa Makonnen. Father Makonnen’s some sort of mystery man. But not for long, I’m assured.’
Once the introductions were finished, the American had them draw up easy chairs round a small table.
‘Can I get you something to drink? I’ve got some great Scotch my brother sent me for New Year. No? Nothing? Well, let me get one for myself. I’ll be right back.’
‘Before we start, Your Eminence,’ O’Malley broke in, ‘would you mind if I made a telephone call?’
‘Sure, be my guest. There’s a phone right over there. Is it an outside line?’
O’Malley nodded.
‘You’ll have to go through the switchboard. Just give them the number. They’ll put you through.’
While the cardinal fixed his whisky, Father O’Malley made his call to Francesca. He explained briefly where he was and promised to ring again before leaving.
Cardinal Fischer came back to his seat, an ice-filled tumbler in hand.
Who was that, Father?’
‘Oh, just a friend who might be anxious about me.’
‘Anxious? You’re not in any trouble, are you?’
‘No more than any of us, Your Eminence. But it’s trouble I’ve come about this evening. Serious trouble. I have evidence of a plot against the life of the Holy Father.’
The cardinal put down his glass. He looked keenly at O’Malley, then at Assefa.
‘I think you’d better tell us all you know, Father.’
It took a long time. Now that he had made his knowledge public, O’Malley took care not to throw everything away by rushing. He took Fischer and Meyer step by step through the evidence he had collated, showing them documents to back up each statement. The more bizarre features of the Brotherhood and its history he left till last, saving them until his audience had been well prepared. Finally, with Assefa’s help, he outlined what he believed to be the scenario for the morning.
‘I have no proof that this is what they intend. Perhaps we have leapt to conclusions. But I’d rather be safe than sorry. It can do no harm to step up security for the audience tomorrow, even to call it off. The Holy Father’s life is at risk, I’m certain of it.’
The cardinal nodded.
‘Yes, Father, I think you’re right. You’ve made a very good case for yourself. Your evidence is extremely convincing.’ He turned to Colonel Meyer, who was seated on his right. ‘Do you agree, Colonel?’
Meyer said nothing at first. He picked up some papers from the table and examined them carefully. Finally, he laid them down and looked up.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I can’t comment on most of this, it’s outside my competence. But you’ve told me enough to make me very worried indeed. There isn’t time to organize fresh security. I’d have to bring in the Carabinieri’s anti- terrorist unit, the GIS. But they’re already up in Venice handling the business of Cardinal Migliau’s disappearance. I’d say we have to look very seriously at calling tomorrow morning’s audience off.’
‘You don’t think that’s a little alarmist, Colonel?’ Cardinal Fischer leaned across the table. ‘I’m pretty sure Father O’Malley’s right about this thing, about this Brotherhood. But surely you have enough men at your disposal to handle any threat they may pose. Your men are well-trained and well-armed. Now you know the danger, you can seal off the Sala Clementina.’
‘I’m sorry, Your Eminence, but I’d prefer not to do that. If there is some sort of assault, I may lose men holding it off. Innocent bystanders could be hurt. As a professional soldier, I can’t recommend any other course of action: the audience must be called off. But I will need your authority to persuade the Holy Father. Perhaps Monsignor Foucauld could be asked to expect us and to arrange for us to see the Pope at once.’
The cardinal seemed to hesitate for a moment.
‘Very well. I’ll see what I can do.’
He picked up the telephone.
‘Interno due, perfavore.’
There was a pause, then a voice came on the line.
‘Monsignor Foucauld, please. Tell him this is Cardinal Fischer. Thank you.’
Another pause, a longer one this time.
‘Hello, is that you Giuseppe? ... John Fischer here. I’ve got Father Dermot O’Malley with me. He spoke with you earlier tonight, asking for a meeting ... That’s right... Yes, I know. Look, Giuseppe, I’ve had a long chat with him and Colonel Meyer. There’s
really nothing to worry about... No, nothing at all. A false alarm.’
O’Malley looked at Assefa. He could not understand. Fischer went on speaking.
‘I’m sure his Holiness is tired. There’s no need to worry him tonight. Everything can go ahead in the morning as planned ... The same to you, Giuseppe. Please give the Holy Father my greetings. I’ll be praying that everything goes as planned tomorrow. I’m sure it’ll be a great success. Ciao.’
Both O’Malley and Meyer were already on their feet by the time the cardinal replaced the receiver. O’Malley spoke sharply.
‘Your Eminence, what ... is the meaning of this? We agreed that the Holy Father’s life may be in danger. I must protest. Please let me speak to Monsignor Foucauld.’
