Seconds later, a man wearing a captain’s uniform came running through the doors. He paused briefly to take in the scene. Genscher ran up to him. They talked briefly, then Captain Luft came across to where Patrick and Francesca were standing together at the back of the van.
‘Is this true? You ask me to believe there is some sort of plot against the Pope. What evidence do you have?’
‘For God’s sake,’ Francesca retorted, ‘we don’t have time for evidence. Just tell your men to be ready and get reinforcements quickly. You can have all the investigations you want afterwards.’
Luft did not argue. He turned to Genscher.
‘Do as she says. Tell Hofmann and Wegener to bring their men here straight away. Contact
Carabinieri HQ and tell Colonel Sahi I need help right away.’
Genscher saluted and left.
“You two,’ the captain said, addressing Patrick and Francesca. ‘Come with me.’
‘Captain,’ Francesca implored, ‘there isn’t time. The audience must be halted. The Pope and everyone else have to be evacuated.’
‘I can’t do that. The audience has already started. I don’t have the authority to stop it.’
‘Who has authority?’
‘Colonel Meyer, but he’s missing. And even he would need authorization from Cardinal Fischer.’
Francesca closed her eyes.
‘Cardinal Fischer’s mixed up in this. We have to take Migliau to the Holy Father. We have to shock them into evacuating the Sala Clementina. Please, Captain. There are lives at stake.’
Luft looked from them to Migliau and back again. Genscher had told him he thought Migliau was mad. Mad and evil? Or maddened by being taken hostage?
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I’ll take responsibility. God help you if you’re lying.’ He turned to the guards still waiting by the van. ‘You men come with me. We’re going to interrupt a papal audience.’
FIFTY-SEVEN
Patrick carried the child while Luft escorted Cardinal Migliau. In the Corridore del Bernini they caught a brief glimpse of the imposing Regia staircase, before turning right onto the Scala Pia. Guards lined the staircase, saluting as the captain passed, yet betraying bewilderment on their faces.
At the top of the staircase, Luft hesitated before the doors of the Sala Clementina.
‘This is your last chance,’ he said. ‘Once I open this door, there’s no going back.’
‘If we don’t go in,’ pleaded Patrick, holding the child out to the captain, ‘this will only be the first of many. We have no choice.’ He drew the sheet away, exposing the naked child.
Luft straightened himself and opened the door.
Red and black painted pillars rose majestically to a curved, frescoed ceiling on which the figures of Justice and Religion upheld a universe of order and love. In a painted sky, angels and cherubim circled in a cosmic dance. Light and harmony, the world unchanging, archetypes in a heaven of incorruptible delight.
On the floor, a different harmony, vanity seeking grace, jewels and precious cloths conferring an unworldly dignity on the merely mortal. Cardinals in red silk, bishops in robes of magenta, priests in black, and above them all, at the end of the room, seated on a chair of gold, the Pope in white.
Cardinal Migliau took a faltering step into the room. No one noticed him at first. Then a diplomat near the doors caught sight of him. Patrick followed, carrying the dead child in his arms. A deathly hush began at the back of the room where they passed and conveyed itself to the very end. Men and women parted to let the mad procession pass. No one tried to stop them, no one spoke a word.
Migliau held himself erect now, as though entry to this room had granted him new strength. He walked unaided past rows of staring faces, never looking either to right or left until at last he came to the foot of the papal chair, raised on a low dais above the crowd.
‘Come down,’ Migliau said, in a voice that was scarcely more than a whisper. Those that had hung back to let him pass now crowded forward to hear him speak.
‘Come down,’ he repeated. ‘That is my throne. Those are my robes. I depose you in the name of Christ.’
The Pope did not respond at first. He could not understand what was happening. Migliau he recognized, but who were these others with him? And what was the meaning of the dead child being carried behind the cardinal?
Captain Luft stepped forward.
‘Your Holiness, I must apologize for this interruption. There’s no time to explain. We must evacuate the chamber. There is reason to believe that some sort of attack is planned.’
The Pope stood, horror on his face.
‘I do not understand. You come here in this fashion, you interrupt a most important audience. I demand to speak to Colonel Meyer. Where is he? Where is Cardinal Fischer? Have they been told about this?’
‘There is no time, Your Holiness. We have to clear the room. I have ordered the Bronze Doors closed. We need to get everyone as far away from the Sala Clementina as possible, into the Appartamento behind. I believe lives may be in danger. Please help me, Your Holiness. I beg you.’
The Pope saw the concern on the man’s face. He hesitated only a moment longer, then raised his hand.
‘Please,’ he called. He spoke simply and directly in Italian, in a calm voice. There is no need for panic. I have just been told that, for our safety, the Swiss Guard wishes us to move to the apartments behind this room. I want you to follow their advice as quietly and speedily as possible.’
At that moment, there was a movement in the crowd. A figure detached itself from the group of cardinals standing near the Pope. Cardinal Fazzini ran forward and threw himself in front of Migliau, taking his hand and raising it to his lips. Then a second cardinal and a third stepped forward and knelt in front of Migliau. They were followed by an archbishop and four bishops.
Patrick laid down the child’s body. Looking round, he caught sight of the group of orphans who had been waiting to meet the Pope. They were wide-eyed, many of them openly weeping, while a handful of visibly distressed nuns bustled round them trying to restore order.
On the other side, a collection of priests stood in shocked silence. Patrick glanced at them. At the front stood Assefa.
‘Assefa!’ Patrick ran forward.
The Ethiopian did not respond. Patrick noticed that the priests on either side of him were holding him by the elbows, as though to prevent him falling. As he came up to his friend, one of them pushed him roughly away.
Patrick hit the man hard, knocking him back. He staggered, then rallied and came for Patrick. Dodging the priest’s first blow, Patrick threw himself on him. There were shouts and screams as people struggled to get out of their path.
‘Patrick!’ Francesca’s voice cut through the din. ‘He’s got a gun! The other one.’
Patrick twisted round to see the second priest aiming at him. There was nothing he could do. As he watched, Assefa swung his arm down, striking the priest’s hand. Two more priests rushed forward and grabbed the first man as he too pulled a pistol.
At that moment, there was the sound of an explosion from below. Less than a second later, another followed it, then a third. They were breaching the Bronze Doors. Someone screamed. There was a burst of frightened voices.
Patrick ran to Assefa. The Ethiopian had collapsed. Patrick saw at once that he had been heavily drugged.
‘Assefa, are you all right? What about O’Malley? What happened to him?’
Assefa struggled to form words.
‘O’.. .Malley ... dead ... Fischer ...Il Pescatore ... Patrick, listen ... The Guards ... all bullets ... blanks ... No good ...’
Patrick stood.
‘Francesca, get the pistol from that other priest. I’ll take this one. I’ve got to warn the captain that his men are armed with blanks.’
Suddenly, there was a sound of shooting. Burst after burst of machine-gun fire echoed faintly from below. There were shouts from outside as Swiss Guards ran to defend the stairs.
