Jeff drew away from the table and began to pace the room in a grid. “Then one day,” he went on, “my little brother took me to this tiny hole-in-the-wall shop. But what he took me to was much more than that. It was a martial arts studio. But it was the beginning of us as brothers working as a team not to be fooled with. So we grew together, became inseparable. Then one day when this kid came at me for my money, I knew I was ready and stood my ground with my brother at my side, all guts and glory Stan was. Needless to say my brother and I beat this kid so bloody because we wanted to make a statement. And a statement we made. Nobody ever messed with us again. And you know what? We loved that feeling of toughness, that feeling of invincibility. So we became the very thing that we abhorred most. We became bullies who were no different from the kid we destroyed that day on the playground. And because of him we became something else. And then one day, when we were ready, we went back to destroy our creator.”
Kimball stepped forward. “I’m sorry for your loss, Jeff. I am.”
Jeff’s face suddenly became hardened, the muscles in his jaw working. “Don’t you dare feel sorry for me, you son of a bitch. Don’t… you… dare.” Jeff galvanized himself into action and placed more essentials in the duffel bag.
And then, at the top of his lungs and driven by rage, “DON’T YOU DARE!” And then he broke, sobbing like that bullied little boy he once was on that playground.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Cardinal Marcello lightly knocked on the pontiff’s door. He was wearing a black cassock with scarlet buttons, piping and fascia. On top of his head sat a scarlet zucchetto.
“Come in.” The pope’s voice, like always, was warm and comforting, a genuine smile on his face.
When Cardinal Marcello stepped inside the papal office, he saw the pontiff sitting at his desk with a hand held out toward one of the two empty seats in front of him. “Please,” he said.
Marcello sat down.
Then, from Pius: “And how are you today, Constantine? Good I hope?”
The cardinal nodded and smiled. “I’m fine, Your Eminence. Yourself?”
“Considering the circumstances, I guess I’m as well as can be expected.” The pontiff leaned forward, clasped his hands together into a fisted joining of prayer, and gently placed them on the desktop. His smile never wavered as his demeanor remained consistently warm and inviting.
“Something on your mind, Your Holiness?”
Pope Pius bowed his head, the single act of nodding sufficing as an affirmation to the cardinal’s query. “There are rumblings within the Church,” he finally told him, “that Cardinal Angullo’s camp may be uniting with your own in order to secure your position as the next pope.”
“Your Eminence, with all due respect and barring the state of your condition, it is my right as cardinal to seek out the coveted position that will be left vacant by your passing.”
The pope raised his hand. “Don’t get me wrong, Constantine. You have every right to politick for my role — as does anyone else. Without ambition there can never be progress.”
“Then I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“To follow your ambitions is a wonderful thing,” he continued. “It promotes us all to be better. But how you pursue those ambitions and what you leave in your wake is a matter that’s altogether different.”
The brow above the cardinal’s left eye arced questioningly. “I’m still not following.”
The pontiff leaned back into his seat, his smile washing away. “The rumblings,” he said evenly. “There are rumblings coming from the camps that for you to secure your role as pontiff, then you are willing to offer recompense. Tell me this is not the case?”
Cardinal Marcello betrayed nothing with so much as a facial tic, or the rising or lowering of an octave in his voice as he spoke. “Your Eminence, politicking does not come without making allies through whatever means that are readily available.”
“Then it’s true? Instead of winning the seat by the merits of your past actions as a cleric, you’ve decided to take it by pure ambition by compensating others for the favor of their vote?”
“It’s politicking,” he returned.
“What you politick, Constantine, is your skills. You bring to the table what you have done in the past and show what it is that you can do in the future to better the Church, not yourself. It’s always been about the Church.”
“And there lies my ambitions,” he countered. “I seek to better the Church.”
For a moment they stared at each other. There was no animosity or underlying subterfuge by either man. They were simply coming square with one another regarding their philosophies.
The cardinal then settled back into his chair and tented his hands so that his fingertips pointed ceilingward. “May I be candid,” he asked, “since we’re talking about rumblings?”
“Of course.”
“It’s said that you have spoken about the Church holding secrets only the pope can know about. So my question is: Is this true?”
“Then it’s obvious to me that you have spoken to Cardinal Angullo.”
“Then it is true. The Church does hold secrets.”
“If you become pope, then you will learn that secrets are sometimes better left untold.”
“The reason for secrets — with all due respect, Your Eminence — is that there is usually a certain degree of immorality tied to them.”
“Or perhaps they can cause controversies that often lead to division rather than unity.”
“Semantics,” he quickly responded.
“Semantics or not, we all know that God does not favor acts of immorality. If you begin your term as pontiff with an immoral act of obtaining a position by recompense rather than merit, then you will continue to commit and justify immoral acts and cast them off as a necessity for the sake of the Church. And this cannot be, Constantine.”
“However, Your Eminence, you sit here and say that it’s quite all right for you to justify the secrets of the Church, even though they may bear a certain degree of immorality to them. If that’s the case, then I guess one man’s morality is another man’s immorality.”
The pontiff’s face had slowly gravitated to that of a puppy-dog hang. The conversation had grown to a bitter display of counter offensives of one man’s vision against the other, which he wanted to avoid. And his lobbying efforts had failed miserably. If anything, his action of calling the cardinal to his chamber adversely affected Vessucci’s chances of securing the highest seat in the land. He suddenly realized this with grave regret.
“This secret,” began the cardinal, “are you willing to tell me?”
The pope sat silent and studied the man in front of him. Should he become pope, then he would have to know about the Vatican Knights. “No,” he finally said. “Perhaps someday you will understand the necessity for such secrets.”
“Not if they hold something immoral to them.”
“There is nothing immoral to the secret I bear. Just controversy.”
“I see.” The cardinal got to his feet. “Unless there is anything more, Your Eminence, I have matters to attend to.”
The pontiff stood and held out his ring finger, proffering the Fisherman’s Ring. The cardinal dutifully kissed it, bowed in honor of Pius, and exited the chamber.
Pope Pius slid slowly down into his chair, truly concerned about the fate of the Vatican Knights.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE