Israeli force, you offend the Arabs. Oh, and forget the UN. Israel won't like it because the Jews haven't made out all that well in the place. The Arabs won't like it because there's too many Christians. And we won't like it because the UN doesn't like us all that much. The only available international body is distrusted by everyone. Impasse.”
“The President really wants to move on this,” the Chief of Staff pointed out. We have to do something to make it look like we're DOING SOMETHING.
“Well, next time he sees the Pope, maybe he can ask for high-level intercession.” Jack's irreverent grin froze momentarily. Van Damm thought he was cautioning himself against speaking badly of the President, whom he disliked. But then Ryan's face went blank. Arnie didn't know Jack well enough to recognize the look. “Wait a minute…”
The Chief of Staff chuckled. It wouldn't hurt for the President to see the Pope. It always looked good with the voters, and after that the President would have a well-covered dinner with B'nai B'rith to show that he liked all religions. In fact, as van Damm knew, the President went to church only for show now that his children were grown. That was one amusing aspect of life. The Soviet Union was turning back to religion in its search for societal values, but the American political left had turned away long ago and had no inclination to turn back, lest it should find the same values that the Russians were searching for. Van Damm had started off as a left-wing believer, but twenty- five years of hands-on experience in government had cured him of that. Now he distrusted ideologues of both wings with equal fervor. He was the sort to look for solutions whose only attraction was that they might actually work. His reverie on politics took him away from the discussion of the moment.
“You thinking about something, Jack?” Alden asked.
“You know, we're all 'people of the book,' aren't we?” Ryan asked, seeing the outline of a new thought in the fog.
“So?”
“And the Vatican is a real country, with real diplomatic status, but no armed forces… they're Swiss… and Switzerland is neutral, not even a member of the UN. The Arabs do their banking and carousing there… gee, I wonder if he'd go for it…?” Ryan's face went blank again, and van Damm saw Jack's eye center as the light bulb flashed on. It was always exciting to watch an idea being born, but less so when you didn't know what it was.
“Go for what? Who go for what?” the Chief of Staff asked with some annoyance. Alden just waited.
Ryan told them.
“I mean, a large part of this whole mess is over the Holy Places, isn't it? I could talk to some of my people at Langley. We have a really good—”
Van Damm leaned back in his chair. “What sort of contacts do you have? You mean talking to the Nuncio?”
Ryan shook his head. “The Nuncio is a good old guy, Cardinal Giancatti, but he's just here for show. You've been here long enough to know that, Arnie. You want to talk to folks who know stuff, you go to Father Riley at Georgetown. He taught me when I got my doctorate at G-Town. We're pretty tight. He's got a pipeline into the General.”
“Who's that?”
“The Father General of the Society of Jesus. The head Jesuit, Spanish guy, his name is Francisco Alcalde. He and Father Tim taught together at St. Robert Bellarmine University in Rome. They're both historians, and Father Tim's his unofficial rep over here. You've never met Father Tim?”
“No. Is he worth it?”
“Oh, yeah. One of the best teachers I ever had. Knows D.C. inside and out. Good contacts back at the home office.” Ryan grinned, but the joke was lost on van Damm.
“Can you set up a quiet lunch?” Alden asked. “Not here, someplace else.”
“The Cosmos Club up in Georgetown. Father Tim belongs. The University Club is closer, but—”
“Right. Can he keep a secret?”
“A Jesuit keep a secret?” Ryan laughed. “You're not Catholic, are you?”
“How soon could you set it up?”
“Tomorrow or day after all right?”
“What about his loyalty?” van Damm asked out of a clear sky.
“Father Tim is an American citizen and he's not a security risk. But he's also a priest, and he has taken vows to what he naturally considers an authority higher than the Constitution. You can trust the man to honor all his obligations, but don't forget what all those obligations are,” Ryan cautioned. “You can't order him around, either.”
“Set up the lunch. Sounds like I ought to meet the guy in any case. Tell him it's a get-acquainted thing,” Alden said. “Make it soon. I'm free for lunch tomorrow and next day.”
“Yes, sir.” Ryan stood.
The Cosmos Club in Washington is located at the corner of Massachusetts and Florida Avenues. The former manor house of Sumner Welles, Ryan thought it looked naked without about four hundred acres of rolling ground, a stable of thoroughbred horses, and perhaps a resident fox that the owner would hunt, but not too hard. These were surroundings the place had never possessed, and Ryan wondered why it had been built in this place in this style, so obviously at odds with the realities of Washington, but built by a man who had understood the workings of the city so consummately well. Chartered as a club of the intelligentsia — membership was based on “achievement” rather than money — it was known in Washington as a place of erudite conversation, and the worst food in a town of undistinguished restaurants. Ryan led Alden into a small private room upstairs.
Father Timothy Riley, S.J., was waiting for them, a briar pipe clamped in his teeth as he paged through the morning's Post. A glass sat at his right hand, a skim of sherry at the bottom of it. Father Tim was wearing a rumpled shirt and a jacket that needed pressing, not the formal priest's uniform that he saved for important meetings and had been hand-tailored by one of the nicer shops on Wisconsin Avenue. But the white Roman collar was stiff and bright, and Jack had the sudden thought that despite all his years of Catholic education he didn't know what the things were made of. Starched cotton? Celluloid like the detachable collars of his grandfather's age? In either case, its evident rigidity must have been a reminder to its wearer of his place in this world, and the next.
“Hello, Jack!”
“Hi, Father. This is Charles Alden, Father Tim Riley.” Handshakes were exchanged, and places at the table selected. A waiter came in and took drink orders, closing the door as he left.
“How's the new job, Jack?” Riley asked.
The horizons keep broadening,' Ryan admitted. He left it at that. The priest would already know the problems Jack was having at Langley.
“We've had this idea about the Middle East, and Jack suggested that you'd be a good man to discuss it with,” Alden said, getting everyone back to business. He had to stop when the waiter returned with drinks and menus. His discourse on the idea took several minutes.
“That's interesting,” Riley said, when it was all on the table.
“What's your read on the concept?” the National Security Advisor wanted to know.
“Interesting…” The priest was quiet for a moment.
“Will the Pope…?” Ryan stopped Alden with a wave of the hand. Riley was not a man to be hurried when he was thinking. He was, after all, an historian, and they didn't have the urgency of medical doctors.
“It certainly is elegant,” Riley observed after thirty seconds. “The Greeks will be a major problem, though.”
“The Greeks? How so?” Ryan asked in surprise.
“The really contentious people right now are the Greek Orthodox. We and they are at each other's throats half the time over the most trivial administrative issues. You know, the rabbis and the imams are actually more cordial at the moment than the Christian priests are. That's the funny thing about religious people, it's hard to predict how they'll react. Anyway, the problems between the Greeks and Romans are mainly administrative — who gets custody over which site, that sort of thing. There was a big go-round over Bethlehem last year, who got to do the midnight mass in the Church of the Nativity. It is awfully disappointing, isn't it?”
“You're saying it won't work because two Catholic churches can't—”
“I said there could be a problem, Dr. Alden. I did not say that it wouldn't work.” Riley lapsed back into silence
