the Third Secret

same?”

“I’ve realized that since this afternoon.” His voice was low and calm and he waited while she considered the implications. They’d talked many times about her lack of her faith. But he’d never been one to judge, considering his own lapses. After which in the seven hilled city the dreadful judge will judge all people. Maybe Katerina was the first of many to judge themselves.

“The Lord seems to have made a comeback,” he said.

“It’s unbelievable. Yet what else could it be? How could those messages be the same?”

“It’s impossible, considering what you and I know. But doubters will say we fashioned Father Tibor’s translation to match Jasna’s message. They’ll say it’s all a fraud. The originals are gone and the drafters are all dead. We’re the only ones who know the truth.”

“So it’s still a matter of faith. You and I know what happened. But everybody else would have to simply take our word.” She shook her head. “Seems God is destined to always be a mystery.”

He’d already considered the possibilities. The Virgin told him in Bosnia that he was to be a sign to the world. A beacon for repentance. The messenger to announce that God is very much alive. But something else the Virgin said was equally important. Do not forsake your faith, for in the end it will be all that remains.

“There is a consolation,” he said. “I berated myself badly years ago for violating Holy Orders. I loved you, but believed that what I felt, what I did, was a sin. I know now that it wasn’t. Not in God’s eyes.”

He heard John XXIII’s urging to the Vatican II council again in his mind. His pleading with traditionalists and progressives to work in unison so the earthly city may be brought to the resemblance of that heavenly city where truth reigns. Only now did he fully understand what that pope meant.

“Clement tried to do what he could,” she said. “I’m so sorry for the way I thought of him.”

“I think he understands.”

She threw him a smile. “What now?”

“Back to Rome. Ngovi and I have a meeting tomorrow.”

“Then what?”

He knew what she meant. “To Romania. Those kids are waiting on us.”

“I thought maybe you were having second thoughts.”

He pointed skyward. “I think we owe it to Him. Don’t you?”

SIXTY-NINE

VATICAN CITY

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 2

11:00 A.M.

Michener and Ngovi walked down the loggia toward the papal library. Bright sunshine swept in through towering windows on both sides of the wide corridor. They were dressed in clerical robes, Ngovi in scarlet, Michener in black.

The papal office had been contacted earlier, and Ambrosi’s assistant had been enlisted to speak directly with Valendrea. Ngovi wanted a papal audience. No subject matter was provided, but Michener was banking on the fact that Valendrea would understand the significance that he and Ngovi needed to talk with him, and Paolo Ambrosi was nowhere to be found. The tactic apparently worked. The pope himself granted permission for them to enter the palace, allocating fifteen minutes for the audience.

“Can you accomplish your business in that time?” Ambrosi’s assistant had asked.

“I believe so,” Ngovi answered.

Valendrea had kept them waiting nearly half an hour. Now they approached the library and entered, closing the doors behind them. Valendrea stood before leaded-glass windows, his stout form, dressed in white, flooded in sunshine.

“I have to say, my curiosity was piqued when you requested an audience. You two would be the last people I’d expect to be here on a Saturday morning. I thought you, Maurice, were in Africa. And you, Michener, in Germany.”

“Half right,” Ngovi said. “We were both in Germany.”

A curious expression came to Valendrea’s face.

Michener decided to get to the point. “You won’t be hearing from Ambrosi.”

“What do you mean?”

Ngovi removed the recorder from his cassock and flipped on the machine. Ambrosi’s voice filled the library as he explained about Father Tibor’s murder, the listening devices, the files on cardinals, and the blackmail used to secure conclave votes. Valendrea listened impassively as his sins were revealed. Ngovi switched off the machine. “Clear enough?”

The pope said nothing.

“We have the complete third secret of Fatima and the tenth secret of Medjugorje,” Michener said.

“I was under the impression I possessed the Medjugorje secret.”

“A copy. I know now why you reacted so strongly when you read Jasna’s message.”

Valendrea seemed jittery. For once, this obstinate man was not in control.

Michener stepped closer. “You needed to suppress those words.”

“Even your Clement tried,” Valendrea said in defiance.

Michener shook his head. “He knew what you’d do and had the foresight to get Tibor’s translation away from here. He did more than anybody. He gave his life. He’s better than any of us. He believed in the Lord . . . without proof.” His pulse pounded with excitement. “Did you know Bamberg was called the seven hilled city? Remember Malachy’s prediction? After which in the seven hilled city the dreadful judge will judge all people.” He pointed to the tape. “For you, truth is the dreadful judge.”

“That tape is merely the ramblings of a man caught,” Valendrea said. “It’s not proof of anything.”

Michener wasn’t impressed. “Ambrosi told us about your trip to Romania, and supplied more than enough details to mount a prosecution and obtain a conviction, especially in a former communist-bloc nation where the burden of proof is, shall we say, loose.”

“You’re bluffing.”

Ngovi removed another microcassette from his pocket. “We showed him the Fatima message and the one from Medjugorje. We did not have to explain their significance. Even an amoral man like Ambrosi saw the majesty of what awaits him. After that, his answers came freely. He begged me to hear his confession.” He motioned with the cassette. “But not before he spoke for the record.”

“He makes a good witness,” Michener said. “You see, there actually is an authority higher than you.”

Valendrea paced across the room, toward the bookshelves, looking like an animal examining his cage. “Popes have been ignoring God for a long time. The La Salette message has been missing from the archives for a century. I’d wager the Virgin told those seers the same thing.”

“Those men,” Ngovi said, “can be forgiven. They considered the messages the seer’s, not the Virgin’s. They rationalized their defiance with caution. They lacked the proof you possessed. You knew the words to be divine and still would have killed Michener and Katerina Lew to suppress them.”

Valendrea’s eyes flashed hot. “You sanctimonious ass. What was I to do? Let the Church crumble? Don’t you realize what this revelation will do? Two thousand years of dogma has been rendered false.”

“It is not for us to manipulate the Church’s fate,” Ngovi said. “God’s Word is His alone, and apparently His patience has run out.”

Valendrea shook his head. “It is for us to preserve the Church. What Catholic on this earth would listen to Rome if he knew we lied? And we’re not talking about minor points. Celibacy? Women priests? Abortion? Homosexuality? Even the essence of papal infallibility.”

Ngovi seemed unaffected by the plea. “I’m more concerned how I would explain to my Lord why I ignored His command.”