‘This JC is truly intriguing,’ Jacopo remarked, taking his eyes off the street. He was not used to driving. ‘Have you known him long?’
‘About four years,’ she replied, holding tight to the case with the parchments.
‘He’s not someone I’d want as an enemy.’
Sarah knew that well. When she met him, he was just that, an enemy. Even today she didn’t know how things had taken such a turn. She tried not to think about it.
‘For the church he’s an extremely important partner,’ Jacopo declared. ‘And after this,’ he said, pointing at the parchments, ‘he’s an ally.’
Sarah knew that their secret underworld was always changing. Nothing was certain: all alliances were tenuous, relationships did not last, words meant nothing. Only money and power mattered.
‘Have you known Father Rafael for a long time, Jacopo?’ This question had been on Sarah’s mind since they had begun driving around.
‘Oh, so long I can’t remember,’ he replied nostalgically.
‘Was he your student?’ Sarah asked, trying to get an answer in another way.
‘He was.’
Interesting, Sarah thought. She couldn’t imagine Rafael as a student. ‘Did you know his parents?’
‘No. His life is a complete mystery, and the Holy See tries to keep it that way. No one knows where he comes from, his family… He came out of nowhere.’
The mystery thickened. Who was Rafael? Maybe she could collect a favor from JC and ask him. Oh, shut up, she reproached herself. She was in a relationship, pregnant, and had nothing to do with Rafael’s private life or his origins.
She clutched the case and took advantage of the opportunity to change the subject. Rafael upset her too much. ‘Do you think this parchment was actually written by Jesus?’
Jacopo didn’t reply right away. He obviously felt conflicted. ‘Everything is possible.’
‘I’d like it a lot if the things the church has been teaching us since childhood weren’t lies,’ Sarah said with a fanciful expression. ‘But it seems more and more impossible to believe anything that comes out of there.’ She pointed at the cupola of Saint Peter’s Basilica, which could be seen from where they were.
‘You said it,’ Jacopo lamented. ‘What’s born crooked can’t be made straight.’
‘Still, it’s lasted for two thousand years,’ Sarah observed.
Jacopo smiled. ‘As you said yourself, it’s hard to believe everything that comes from there. One needs to question everything, including the heritage they claim.’
Sarah understood what Jacopo wanted to say, or at least she thought she did. ‘Are you saying that Pope Ratzinger is not the heir to Peter or, consequently, to Jesus?’
‘I’m saying it’s possible he’s not,’ the historian corrected her. ‘We have the right to question everything, Sarah. Think about it. You’re carrying a gospel that puts the church in a difficult position. If in fact Jesus was the person who wrote it, how could that be justified? To say nothing of the historical impossibility of connecting Peter to Linus, the second pope, and consequently the popes that followed him.’
‘Seriously?’ There were things that left even Sarah puzzled. ‘That connection is the raison d’etre of the church.’
‘It is, Sarah. But it was fabricated. Conclaves are very recent. The term pope itself came into use only in the third century, though back then it meant all Catholic bishops. In the sixth century it was used to designate only the bishop of Rome, and only in the ninth century did it become the official title it is now.’
‘What does pope mean?’
‘It’s thought it has to do with the first syllables of the words pater and pastor, but that’s only a theory.’
‘How was it that a history that began so long ago in Israel could culminate here in Rome and turn Rome into the center of the Christian world?’
‘Think about it. Rome was the capital of the empire that ruled Israel. Two plus two… for the creation of a new religion to subjugate the population, Rome had to play a predominant role.’
‘My God.’
‘The truth is, Sarah, that we’ve attributed what we can’t explain to God from the beginning, and we continue to do so. Men in power understand this and use that knowledge for their own interests.’
‘But you work for a church that misrepresents things.’
‘We all have our price, Sarah,’ Jacopo confessed. ‘That said, what better job than to discover what’s true and what’s a lie?’
‘Have you been able to discover that?’
‘I’ve only achieved more doubts and questions,’ he replied with a frustrated smile.
‘Have you seen what’s inside here?’ She pointed to the case.
Jacopo shook his head no. ‘I still don’t have the courage.’
At that moment Sarah’s cell phone vibrated, announcing a new text message. She felt a moment of anxiety in her heart. Maybe it was Francesco saying he’d arrived. She read the text, but didn’t understand it immediately, despite its being short and clear.
‘News?’ Jacopo asked.
‘The driving around is over. We have to go to this location.’ She showed the screen to the historian.
He read the message and swallowed dryly. ‘Why didn’t I stay at home?’ he complained.
The Church of Saint Ignatius of Loyola, 15 minutes was written on the screen.
68
Rafael opened the inside door on the right, careful to make no noise, and entered silently. He closed the door and walked agilely through the side nave. He looked around the immense central nave, but neither saw nor heard anyone. The light was dim, favoring both sides.
He went past Saint Christopher’s Chapel toward Saint Joseph’s, using the columns and niches to shield himself. He looked over at the side nave on the left and saw Aris and Barry advancing cautiously in front of the chapel of the Sacred Heart of Jesus.
As he continued, he began to hear voices, imperceptible at first, disconnected, a murmur, and then words, entire phrases, a laugh he didn’t recognize, Tarcisio’s voice pleading for the craziness to stop, William’s warning that they’d regret all this. The laugh again.
‘God is going to punish us, Prefect?’ The same male voice that laughed asked. ‘Even though you gentlemen hired a criminal to murder a Supreme Pontiff? I really don’t know who deserves more punishment.’
Rafael moved a little closer. He hid behind a column and peered around the edge. Tarcisio and William were seated on chairs turned toward the altar on the right side of the transept, dedicated to Saint Aloysius Gonzaga, a Jesuit who died in the prime of life from the bubonic plague. There were four kidnappers, a man in a cassock, much younger than the cardinals, and three younger men in suits. You can’t trust a man in a suit or a cassock.
Beyond Saint Aloysius’s altar, next to the high altar, he could see the funerary monument of Gregory XV and of Cardinal Ludovico Ludovisi.
‘What can the pope’s assassin do to us?’ the priest continued.
Tarcisio and William were sweating profusely.
‘You’re not going to get away with it, Hans. The pope will concede nothing,’ the secretary argued.
‘The pope has no choice,’ Rafael heard a voice say from the altar.
Rafael couldn’t see where the voice came from, but he recognized the voice of Adolph, the superior general, who was walking toward the group with firm, decisive steps, a leader of men and the faithful.
‘The pope is the Supreme Pontiff, the pastor of pastors. You can’t do anything to him,’ William shouted.
‘In theory you’re right. But that’s going to change tonight,’ the superior general declared with a scornful smile.
The four kidnappers were silent and lowered their heads in respect. Tarcisio shivered.
‘You’re a heretic,’ William insulted Adolph, outraged.
‘Infidel,’ Adolph answered with the same tone. ‘I want the pope to sign an agreement with us. Since that’s
