Despite this good fortune, the Italian government remained embarrassed by the incident, which became a political hot potato. Galeazzo Grandi and the reactionaries blamed “foreign elements” and “outside agitators.” In a press conference, Grandi stressed Simon’s North African roots and his connections to the Arab world. Other right-wing politicians lamented that military security had been hamstrung by bleeding-heart peaceniks and civil libertarians; the Left characterized the episode as “yet another example of capitalist oligarchs stifling political speech and repressing the right to free assembly.” Newspaper editorialists demanded greater restrictions of citizens’ ability to purchase military hardware.
Paul and Ava were detained by the U.S. Secret Service. Held for a week and denied access to legal counsel, they were questioned separately at first, then jointly. Ava was furious about the gross infringement of her constitutional rights. Paul was so thankful to see Ava alive that he would have signed any confession they offered.
At first no interrogator credited their story. As time passed, however, each new fact tended to corroborate the Americans’ account. At that point the character witnesses began their campaign. On behalf of the Church, the indefatigable bishop Garagallo championed the couple’s cause with vigor. Professor Clarkson organized a candlelight vigil, while Gabe and durmdvl flooded every congressional office with texts, tweets, and e-mails. Nick pulled strings, utilizing his network of wealthy business connections. Ava’s father called in favors, as did Paul’s many influential relatives. Jess, eyes blazing with indignation, made a particularly forceful appearance on MSNBC. But it was the discovery of the missing warhead, hidden in the basement of a luxury hotel, that finally turned the tide. Paul and Ava were perfunctorily thanked, released, and reminded in the most severe terms of their binding legal and moral obligations to keep silent about the matter.
On a late-summer afternoon in the Argentine capital, the sun was just setting when the news broke: Catholic leaders had astounded the world by selecting Jorge Mario Bergoglio, former archbishop of Buenos Aires, to be the next pope. In the city’s many bars and cafés, joyful crowds gathered to toast and cheer. A happy chaos filled the streets, as the overwhelmingly Catholic population celebrated — some praying, some pointing at screens showing live broadcasts from Rome.
The new pope wasted no time in breaking with tradition, taking the name Francis. According to Church spokesman Thomas Rosica, the pontiff selected this name to reflect the “special place in his heart for the poor, for the disenfranchised, for those living on the fringes and facing injustice.” The new pope’s choice also represented his opposition to violence because “Francis loved peace.”
Later, Pope Francis delivered an inspiring message: “When we don’t walk, we are stuck. All of us must find the courage to walk in the presence of God. Only in this way can the Church move forward.” He extended his blessing to everyone, including non-Catholics, saying, “You are of different religions, but you are all children of God.”
Ava ran hard, and as she ran she wept. She’d left the hotel in the morning, jogged out into the Piazza della Rotunda, and circled the ageless Pantheon. Passing Bernini’s Elephant and Obelisk in the Piazza della Minerva, she took the Via del Piè di Marmo east to the Collegio Romano. She kept up a spirited pace, hoping strenuous exercise would dispel the tempest roiling within her. Instead, Ava’s mind replayed an endless loop of frightful images: a man chasing her in Yemen; a policeman smiling as he shot Sefu; the throng of anti-immigrant rioters intoxicated by rage; and Sheik Ahmed’s madness. She relived the terror she experienced when La Belva’s helicopter exploded and the dizzying blend of guilt and gratitude she felt on learning of Simon’s final sacrifice. With a cringe, Ava recalled her litany of petty insults. By what right had she judged him? Who was she to judge anyone?
Cutting north, she ran toward the Piazza di Sant’ Ignazio. There, in the shadow of the baroque Jesuit church, Ava paused, winded. Reaching for her feet, she stretched. Rays of sunshine reflected off the rooftops. Dappled Italian light began to warm the street. A dog barked as the first wave of shopkeepers emerged, readying their quaint stores and cafés for a busy day, the Feast of St. Joseph. Ava smiled. Her sadness finally ebbed and was replaced by a sense of purpose.
She resumed her course, pushing to complete another circuit. What’s done is done, she realized, and can’t be undone. Mistakes cannot be erased, but perhaps they can be redeemed. Rather than hiding in academe, Ava vowed to embrace life, utilizing her gifts and abilities to make a better world. Inspired, she felt better — good enough to attempt one more lap.
A sweaty, exhausted Ava flashed her room key to the hotel doorman. She crossed the lobby, smiling again at its graceful arched ceiling, red tile floor, and clean, whitewashed walls. In the room she found Paul stuck on the phone, just as she’d left him. With his free hand, he waved a greeting, then pantomimed a mouth yammering endlessly. Simon’s death had generated a host of complications. His will named Paul as the executor, tasking him with distributing DeMaj assets to a select group of charities. In addition, by a quirk of Italian law, Paul had become Mellania’s guardian. A nonresident alien, she’d been paroled into Simon’s custody after her previous arrest, and upon his death she’d become a ward of his estate. Thus, despite Paul’s duty to testify for the prosecution at Mellania’s trial, he’d begun the arduous process of finding her a good criminal lawyer. Ava recommended hiring the cheapest attorney in the phone book.
Covering the mouthpiece with his palm, Paul stage-whispered, “I’m sorry. It shouldn’t be much longer.” Ava shrugged, removed her new pink Reeboks, and retreated into the marble bathroom. She stripped away her sweat-soaked clothes and stepped into a relaxing shower.
An hour later she reappeared looking clean and pretty. Paul sat slumped behind the desk, still holding the phone to his ear. He’d ordered brunch: A platter of salame di Aant’Olcese (coarse-ground, aged Genoa salami mixed with salt, black pepper, garlic, and white wine), a brioche, butter, fresh fruit, and sliced tomato sat untouched on the marble-topped table. Ava lifted a bottle of fruit juice from a silver bucket and poured herself a glass. After waiting a suitable interval, she crossed the room, took the phone from Paul’s hand, and hung it up.
“Time to eat,” she announced. He smiled at her.
Halfway through the meal, Paul said, “I spoke to Nick last night. Sinan’s recovering. He’ll be okay. Nick will stay with him until he’s out of the hospital.
“What a relief!”
Paul gestured toward a nicely wrapped parcel resting on the nightstand. “That’s for you.”
Her eyes widened. “Why, Mr. Grant! How generous! Thank you. I don’t—”
He raised a hand for silence. “It’s something he wanted you to have.”
Hands shaking, Ava opened the package. Inside was the priceless blue porcelain tea service. A handwritten card read: in case you never learn to enjoy coffee — S.D.
To celebrate the new pontiff’s official inauguration, more than one million visitors from around the world had gathered in Rome, infusing the city with optimism. As the flags of numerous nations waved in the bright sunshine, Pope Francis addressed the crowd. He urged his listeners to become protectors: “The vocation of being a ‘protector’… is not just something involving us Christians alone; it also has a prior dimension which is simply human, involving everyone. It means protecting all creation, the beauty of the created world.… Whenever human beings fail to live up to this responsibility, whenever we fail to care for creation and for our brothers and sisters, the way is opened to destruction and hearts are hardened. Tragically, in every period of history, there are ‘Herods’ who plot death, wreak havoc, and mar the countenance of men and women. Please, I would like to ask all those… of goodwilclass="underline" let us be protectors of creation, protectors of God’s plan inscribed in nature, ‘protectors’ of one another and of the environment. Let us not allow omens of destruction and death to accompany the advance of this world!”