‘Tell me what you see.’
The attendant went over to the sink and saw what she was referring to. She checked it and gave Sarah an uncomfortable half smile. Tears were running down the journalist’s face.
‘Congratulations,’ the attendant said in a questioning way.
61
Tarcisio rode in the backseat of a luxurious Mercedes, and felt an unbearable absence, as if he’d lost a familiar part of himself. Trevor had been a dedicated assistant, and Tarcisio didn’t return a third of the attention the young Scotsman devoted to him. A man as pious as the secretary of state should not feel remorse. His feelings were supposed to follow a sense of right, of purity, full of love and compassion. Still, he couldn’t help but feel overwhelming guilt for having taken Trevor for granted, with never a friendly word of recognition. Although the Scotsman had never indicated he felt the lack of appreciation, Tarcisio now felt he should show a paternal concern for a life whose only detail he knew was his nationality. Tarcisio had been embroiled in his own problems, the church’s problems. Never had he called Trevor at the end of the day to ask him about his hopes for the future, how his family was… if he needed anything. Trevor never missed work for an illness, never showed a lack of respect toward anyone. The church and the secretary of state were the first priority in his short life. He had died under terrifying circumstances without a friendly hand to help him. Remorse. That’s what Tarcisio felt, though his position did not permit it.
His eyes couldn’t camouflage his grief and guilt. If it weren’t for the presence of Cardinal William and Father Schmidt in the car, Tarcisio would have cried openly.
The secretary didn’t have the courage to look at poor Trevor’s body splayed out in the corridor of the Domus Sanctae Marthae. It was a sight he didn’t want to remember. William spared him that suffering and offered to go in his place. Trevor was not his assistant. He saw him often and always considered him a good person, but felt nothing more than the normal shock of seeing a life cut short in that way.
‘This doesn’t seem prudent to me,’ William protested vehemently in the backseat. ‘It goes against all security standards.’
‘You’ve already said that,’ Tarcisio answered impatiently, his voice breaking a little.
Daniel, the commander of the Swiss Guard, had also disapproved when he’d heard Tarcisio’s intention in his office.
‘There are security protocols that have to be complied with,’ he’d asserted. ‘With all due respect, the secretary of state can’t leave the Vatican like a normal citizen or even like a normal cardinal. Your Eminence knows you are not a cardinal like the others, excuse my familiarity.’ This last remark was for William, who agreed with him and was not offended.
‘It wouldn’t be the first time,’ the secretary argued.
‘It would be the first time under these circumstances. Two murders in one day. We’re under attack, Your Eminence agrees, I know. The secretary of state is the most important prince of the church.’
‘You don’t have to teach me my position, Daniel,’ Tarcisio grumbled.
‘Your Eminence, pardon me, but I can’t let you leave without security.’
‘Be reasonable, Tarcisio,’ William said.
Tarcisio persisted. ‘I’m the cardinal secretary of state of the Holy See,’ he cried, flushed with anger. ‘His Holiness is the face of the church, but I’m the one who has to expose my chest to the bullets. What happened here today and in the last few days must not happen again. The Society of Jesus wants to negotiate, and with these latest developments they’re in a position to do so.’ His voice broke. ‘I don’t want to belong to a church that won’t defend its own.’
Daniel took a deep breath after listening to the secretary’s arguments. What a situation. ‘Very well, Your Eminence, I’ll prepare a car. You’ll take one of my men as the driver, and I’ll go in back.’
‘I’d like to go with Your Eminence to help as much as possible,’ Father Schmidt volunteered.
Tarcisio laid a grateful hand on Schmidt’s shoulder. ‘I appreciate it, my friend, but you’ve been through a lot today, and I want you to get some rest. I’ll take care of this.’
‘I won’t be able to rest until you return. Let me go with you, please.’
Tarcisio said nothing. He went to the window and looked at the sun setting behind the buildings.
‘All right,’ he finally decided.
‘I’ll come also,’ William said.
Daniel held a Beretta up in front of Schmidt’s face. ‘Do you know how to use one of these?’
Schmidt blushed and smiled nervously. ‘Of course not.’
‘I’ll explain it quickly.’
The Mercedes left twenty minutes later with a driver and two Swiss Guards, young but well trained, and two Volvos behind the Mercedes.
‘Was it Adolph who called?’ William asked.
‘No, Aloysius.’
‘What do you expect from this?’
‘I have no idea, Will. Not the slightest.’
‘But…’
‘He threatened to kill more people, Will,’ Tarcisio suddenly confessed. ‘He said they would kill…’ He hesitated. ‘His Holiness, to be specific. After what happened to Trevor, I don’t believe I’m in a position to bargain,’ he added in defeat.
‘The bastards,’ the prefect swore.
‘We can’t foresee their game, Will. We can only look out for ourselves.’
‘There’s nothing that can be done?’ Schmidt asked.
The two cardinals gestured negatively.
‘The person who helped us with this tragic operation complied with what was specified. Our interest was only the parchments. They’re in our possession,’ Tarcisio explained.
William didn’t approve of the secretary revealing these details to someone unknown. They might be friends, but that didn’t give him the right.
‘Who did you trust with this job, if I might ask?’ William insisted with no embarrassment or hesitation to interfere.
Tarcisio looked out at the Roman street they were passing before responding, ‘The pope’s assassin.’
62
Everyone follows predetermined patterns. His weak father had chosen to be an alcoholic who abused his wife and three children. Being a bricklayer was no excuse for staggering home every night, reeking of alcohol and shouting insults at his children and the bewitching woman to whom he was married. He was cursed for life with the responsibility of being the head of a family… or at least that’s what he blabbered during those long sessions with a belt in one hand and a beer in the other.
His mother never intervened. She always ended up asleep at the table, deaf to their wails and their father’s roars. When he tired of beating them, he knocked her awake and dragged her to the bedroom, slamming the door. A few minutes later the creaking of the bed could be heard.
For years he hated his mother for her weakness, her lack of concern for them, for falling asleep during almost every supper, for having to take her plate away so that her stringy blond hair didn’t get in the food, and for leaving them at the mercy of his father’s belt. Sometimes he saw her swollen face or eyes, a look of suffering, or a more pronounced limp in a woman who must have been very beautiful once.
He spent the best hours of the day in school, when his father didn’t make him come to work with him. He learned to read, though poorly, joining the syllables together with difficulty and stammering over the words like
