was all the devil’s work. The one true apostolic church was in trouble, but he knew what its corpus needed—a firm hand. One that ensured priests obeyed, members stayed, and income rebounded. One he was more than willing to provide.
He felt a touch to his knee and looked away from the window. “Eminence, it’s just ahead,” Ambrosi said, pointing.
He glanced back out the window as the car turned and a progression of cafes, bistros, and flashy discos streamed by. They were on one of the lesser streets, Via Frattina, the sidewalks packed with night revelers.
“She’s staying in the hotel just ahead,” Ambrosi said. “I located the information on her credentials application filed in the security office.”
Ambrosi had been thorough, as usual. Valendrea was taking a chance visiting Katerina Lew unannounced, but he hoped the hectic night and the late hour would minimize any curious eyes. How to make actual contact was something he’d been considering. He didn’t particularly want to parade up to her room. Nor did he want Ambrosi doing that. But then he saw none of that would be necessary.
“Perhaps God is watching over our mission,” he said, gesturing to a woman strolling down the sidewalk toward an ivy-encased entrance for the hotel.
Ambrosi smiled. “Timing is everything.”
The driver was instructed to speed past the hotel and ease alongside the woman. Valendrea pressed a button and the rear window descended.
“Ms. Lew. I am Cardinal Alberto Valendrea. Perhaps you recall me from the tribunal this morning?”
She ceased her casual stride and stood facing the window. Her body was supple and petite. But the way she carried herself, how she planted her feet and considered his inquiry, the way her shoulders squared and her neck arched, signaled something more substantial in her character than her size might indicate. There was a languorous trait about her, as if a prince of the Catholic Church—the secretary of state, no less—approached her every day. But Valendrea also sensed something else. Ambition. And that perception instantly relaxed him. This might be far easier than he’d first imagined.
“Do you think we might have a conversation? Here in the car?”
She threw him a smile. “How could I refuse such a gracious request from the Vatican secretary of state?”
He opened the door and slid across the leather seat to give her room. She climbed inside, unbuttoning her fleece-lined jacket. Ambrosi closed the door behind her. Valendrea noticed a hike in her skirt as she settled into the seat.
The Mercedes inched forward, stopping a little way down a narrow alley. The crowds had been left behind. The driver exited and walked back to the end of the street, where Valendrea knew he would make certain no cars entered.
“This is Father Paolo Ambrosi, my chief assistant in the Secretariat of State.”
Katerina shook Ambrosi’s offered hand. Valendrea noticed Ambrosi’s eyes soften, enough to signal calm to their guest. Paolo knew exactly how to handle a situation.
Valendrea said, “We need to speak with you about an important matter we were hoping you might assist us on.”
“I fail to see how I could possibly help someone of your stature, Eminence.”
“You attended the tribunal hearing this morning. I assume Father Kealy requested your presence?”
“Is that what this is about? You concerned about bad press on what happened?”
He offered a self-deprecating expression. “With all the reporters that were present, I assure you bad press is not what this is about. Father Kealy’s fate is sealed, as I’m sure you, he, and all the press realized. This is about something much more important than one heretic.”
“Is what you’re about to say for the record?”
He allowed himself a smile. “Always the journalist. No, Ms. Lew, none of this is for the record. Still interested?”
He waited as she silently weighed her options. This was the moment when ambition must defeat good judgment.
“Okay,” she said. “Off the record. Go ahead.”
He was pleased. So far, so good. “This is about Colin Michener.”
Her eyes showed surprise.
“Yes, I’m aware of your relationship with the papal secretary. Quite a serious matter for a priest, especially one of his importance.”
“That was a long time ago.”
Her words carried the tone of denial. Perhaps now, he thought, she realized why he was so willing to trust her
“Paolo witnessed your encounter with Michener this afternoon in the piazza. It was anything but cordial.
She cast a glance at his acolyte. “I don’t recall seeing him there.”
“St. Peter’s Square is a large place,” Ambrosi said in a low voice.
Valendrea said, “You are perhaps thinking, how could he have heard that? You barely whispered. Paolo is an excellent lip-reader. A talent that comes in handy, wouldn’t you say?” She seemed not to know how to respond, so he allowed her to linger a moment before saying, “Ms. Lew, I’m not trying to be threatening. Actually, Father Michener is about to embark on a journey for the pope. I need some assistance from you regarding that journey.”
“What could I possibly do?”
“Someone must monitor where he goes and what he does. You would be the ideal person for that.”
“And why would I do that?”
“Because there was a time when you cared for him. Perhaps even loved him. You might even still. Many priests like Father Michener have known women. It’s the shame of our times. Men who care nothing about a vow to their God.” He paused. “Or for the feelings of the women they might hurt. I sense that you would not want anything to harm Father Michener.” He let the words take hold of her. “We believe there’s a problem developing, one that could indeed harm him. Not physically, you understand, but it could hurt his standing within the Church. Perhaps jeopardize his career. I’m trying to keep that from happening. If I were to charge someone from the Vatican with this task, that fact would be known within a matter of hours and the mission would fail. I like Father Michener. I would not want to see his career hurt. I need the secrecy you can provide to protect him.”
She motioned at Ambrosi. “Why not send the padre here?”
He was impressed with her spunk. “Father Ambrosi is too well known to accomplish the task. By a stroke of luck, the mission Father Michener has undertaken will take him to Romania, a place you know well. So you could appear without him asking too many questions. Assuming he even learned of your presence.”
“And the purpose of this visit to my homeland?”
He waved off the question. “That would only taint your report. Instead, just observe. That way, we don’t risk slanting your observations.”
“In another words, you’re not going to tell me.”
“Precisely.”
“And what would be the benefit of my doing this favor for you?”
He allowed a chuckle as he slid a cigar from a side pocket on the door. “Sadly, Clement XV will not last much longer. A conclave is approaching. When that happens, I can assure you that you will have a friend who will provide more than enough information to make your reports an important commodity in journalistic circles. Maybe enough to get you back to work with all those publishers who let you go.”
“Am I supposed to be impressed that you know things about me?”
“I’m not trying to impress you, Ms. Lew, only secure your assistance in return for something any journalist would die for.” He lit the cigar and savored a draw. He made no effort to crack the window before he exhaled a thick fog.
“This must be important to you,” she said.
He noticed how she phrased the statement. Not
