“That’s efficient.”
“That’s really being in a hurry. At five thirty in the morning the same day, forty-five minutes after the pope was declared dead, the embalmers were already in the Vatican. With all that had to be done, it was suspicious that the Signoracci brothers were there so soon. Especially if we consider that Italian law permits embalming only twenty-four hours after death.”
Sarah shook her head.
“At six in the afternoon that same day, John Paul I was already embalmed. It was a flagrant violation of the law.”
“But what kind of poison would fool the doctors?”
“The pope wasn’t poisoned.”
“He wasn’t?”
“No. And no doctor was fooled.”
“Then-”
“Even a moron could see there was something fishy. A simple heart attack would never have made the pope’s enemies act so foolishly or hastily. When Paul VI died, barely a month earlier, the Vatican behaved in a completely different way.”
“And who exactly killed him?”
“Nobody knows his name. But I think he’s the man on our trail.”
“Then he’s got to be connected with the P2.”
“Yes. The one who killed John Paul I was, and is, a member of the P2.”
“And you don’t know his name?”
“Only his initials: J.C.”
“And where do I come into all this?” Sarah asked for the umpteenth time, hoping her father would finally make it clear.
“Where do you come into all this?” the captain repeated out loud, sighing as he tried to arrange his thoughts and make them understandable to others. “Valdemar Firenzi, who’s an old member of the P2, like me, found the famous vanished papers. He spent many years pursuing leads and gathering evidence, and finally, when he had already given up, he found them in the least likely place.”
“Where?”
“In the Vatican ’s Secret Archives.”
“How would they end up there?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea. You’ll have to ask J.C.,” Raul answered. “After the people connected with the case started to die off, I think he felt more secure. It really wouldn’t have been at all wise for him to keep the papers.”
“Agreed. It doesn’t matter. Firenzi found the documents, and then?”
“A short time earlier, Pietro Saviotti had reopened the case of the death of John Paul I in the District of Rome, and those papers acquired a tremendous importance as evidence. Aware of their value, and of the fact that many people would rather have them disappear, Firenzi decided to take them out of the Vatican and send them to people nobody knew, intending to save them. But since the walls of the Holy See have ears, he felt threatened. So what did he do? He sent a photo of Benedict XVI to Felipe Aragón and to Pablo Rincón, with a message intended to be understood only by them. And something happened, I don’t know what, that made him send the list to you.”
“But why me?”
“Because you’re his goddaughter. Don’t you remember our talking about him when you were little? He moved to Rome a long time ago, that’s why you don’t know him.
“He needed someone that didn’t belong to the organization, and figured that, after seeing my name on the list, you would get in touch with me and I would understand right away. The worst that could happen was that you wouldn’t pay any attention. He wasn’t thinking that he’d be captured. But he was, and somehow they found out about practically everything.”
“And now?”
“Now he must be dead,” her father said, his voice choked up.
Thinking about it, Sarah grew very serious.
“I didn’t remember that I had an Italian godfather.”
“Don’t let the name fool you. Firenzi was of solid Portuguese stock.”
“All the same, he endangered everybody.”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s the truth. He stuck his nose into something that was just fine as it was. What did he expect to accomplish?”
“To bring the truth to light.”
“That truth was fine as it was, locked away.”
Rafael looked for something inside the pocket of his jacket, pulling out a sheet of paper and a photo of Benedict XVI.
“What’s that?” Sarah asked.
“What Father Felipe received in Madrid.”
He handed the letter to her. Although she didn’t speak Spanish, the language was so similar to Portugese that she understood nearly everything.
Today, on my seventy-fourth birthday, my past mistakes have caught up with me. Divine irony doesn’t pass unnoticed, and I know that He is the one behind all of this. As life unfolds, it’s difficult to understand the implications and consequences of our decisions and actions. We start from the right principles, having the noblest of dreams, and in time we come up against our own monstrosity, the vile and cruel consequence of what we have done. No matter how much we may spend the rest of our days using good to atone for the bad, completely denying ourselves for the other, the stain remains, always sneaking up behind us, whispering, “You won’t escape, you won’t escape.” Until it ends up fulfilling its promise, as happens today, on my birthday. Before saying good-bye, I want to present you with this letter and the photo of my beloved pope, to whom you’ll know how to apply the tender light of prayer. As for myself, I bid farewell with a confession. Because of my cowardice I let a pope die, and I did nothing to prevent it.
“The Spanish authorities gave this to me when I went to arrange for Felipe’s funeral. My good friend Felipe.”
“And they didn’t find the content strange?”
“They didn’t put two and two together. And luckily, I arrived before anybody from the organization could get hold of the letter. In Buenos Aires that wasn’t possible, and not only did they kill Pablo, but they also took the photo.”
“What’s special about the photo?”
Raul took out a small pocket flashlight with ultraviolet light.
“Come closer.”
Hesitant at first, Sarah moved closer to her father, driven by curiosity. Rafael took an occasional glance, without neglecting his driving. They saw, under the application of the black light, how the face of Benedict XVI disappeared, and there was instead the face of an old man, skillfully traced with thousands of fluorescent filaments.
“Who is it?” Sarah asked.
“I don’t know,” her father answered.
“A double portrait,” Rafael said.
Raul removed the magical light, and immediately the image of Benedict XVI reappeared.
“I’m confused.”
“I don’t know who it is, but they must know already. I suppose,” Raul added, “right now it’s the man who has the papers.”
“And that brings us to the two other elements that Sarah received,” Rafael said.
“Which?” Raul asked.
“A code-”
“That your friend swallowed, for better or worse,” Sarah noted.
“And the key.”
“That’s right, the key.” Sarah had completely forgotten about this. She retrieved it from her pants pocket and showed it to her father. A very small key to a padlock.
“Where could it be from?” Raul asked, studying it. “What would it open?”
They were silent for a few seconds, each analyzing possible theories about the key, the photo, and Raul’s most recent revelations.
“You mentioned a code.”
“Yes, but it’s gone,” Sarah pointed out.
“The original disappeared, but I have a copy,” Rafael announced, holding a piece of paper he’d removed from his pocket. It was the paper on which he’d copied the code, before having Margulies try to decipher it.
Raul looked at it, paying close attention to the code.
18, 15-34, H, 2, 23, V, 11