Petroni entered the Basilica San Pietro from below, through the labyrinth of underground passages that accessed the grottoes beneath the most famous church in all of Christendom, unobserved by the crowd of tourists. Emerging behind the row of confessionals he moved to the one at the end that had been reserved for his use and he slipped through the door at the rear. Drawing the curtain and the ‘ Occupato ’ sign he settled down to wait.
Outside the tourists thronged backwards and forwards across the Piazza San Pietro and through the massive bronze doors of the Basilica that Filarete had decorated with biblical reliefs in 1439. Outside Giorgio Felici looked at his watch, grateful for the anonymity the tourists provided. For some strange reason he was uncharacteristically nervous. Felici had understood the need for a meeting outside of Petroni’s office and had admired the ruthless Cardinal’s audacity. Even if the meeting was somehow discovered, which was extremely unlikely, it could be put down to a request for confession. Perhaps that was the cause of his nervousness. Felici hadn’t been anywhere near a church since he was a boy, much less visited St Peter’s. Giorgio joined the queue to go through the magnetometers and a possible physical search. No guns today.
The sign above the small dark panelled confessional was in position as Giorgio knew it would be. He glanced around casually. No one was taking the slightest interest and he slipped onto the kneeler.
‘Forgive me Father for I have sinned,’ he said softly, echoing the agreed passwords, ending with, ‘and many of mine have been the sins of Mammon.’ Petroni, Giorgio thought darkly, had a peculiar sense of humour.
‘We have two new problems, either of which can destroy control here,’ Petroni began, cutting straight to the chase. ‘There is a journalist, Tom Schweiker…’
Giorgio listened intently as Petroni outlined the contract on CCN’s Middle East correspondent, and as he listened his nervousness disappeared. Sensing a desperation in Petroni, his old cunning returned and he wondered why a journalist would pose such a threat to the Vatican.
‘It is perhaps fortunate,’ Giorgio Felici responded evenly, when Petroni had finished, ‘that in this era of mobile phones, surveillance is easy. Should we need to take the final step, murders are quite commonplace in Jerusalem, although the journalist is a very prominent international figure and this will not be easy.’
‘ Si. The second assignment is even more difficult,’ Petroni warned.
‘The second assignment is indeed far more difficult,’ Giorgio agreed when Petroni had finished issuing the second contract. In the circles of assassination and intrigue in which the members of P3 moved, Giorgio Felici had learned not to be surprised by the various threats that had to be eliminated, but it was the first time he had ever been asked to assassinate a cardinal.
‘On occasions we have had to deal with leading bankers and industrialists who have misbehaved, but we try to avoid it. Assassinating powerful people can make life very uncomfortable and assassinating a cardinal would be no exception. The heat would be intense.’
In the silence that followed Felici wrongly concluded that Petroni’s concern was a simple case of him making certain of the Keys to Peter. Elimination of rivals was something the little Sicilian was well practised in, as the members of the Bontate and Buscetta families had found to their cost in Palermo. Felici now perceived a vulnerability in Petroni on the other side of the confessional, and his green eyes glinted in the half light. With a touch of condescension he said, ‘Should you lose the conclave, you will still be very useful to us as a cardinal.’
Petroni smiled thinly. Giorgio Felici was a piece of work, a particularly nasty one at that, but Petroni was ready for him.
‘Be that as it may, Giorgio, it is not only a matter of what happens in the conclave – your own survival is at stake here.’
‘For you to lose an election, even to someone like Cardinal Donelli, might be awkward but I doubt it will affect me.’
‘But the Vatican Bank does affect you and the reason for this contract is that Cardinal Donelli has commenced an investigation into your acquisition of the Banco del Sacerdozio. If he is elected Pope that investigation will certainly probe into the depths of the Vatican Bank itself.’
Giorgio Felici felt as if he’d been hit by a combination left and right from Mike Tyson at his peak. He shifted uncomfortably on his knees, detesting the subservience of the confessional.
‘That must never be allowed to happen,’ he hissed.
‘The takeover of the Priests’ Bank in the Veneto may have made you a lot of money, my friend, but your cancellation of the low interest loans is coming home to roost.’ Cardinal Petroni would normally not have given a second thought to the Patriarch of Venice’s constituents, but now it had become necessary to grind the little Sicilian’s face in his own greed. Petroni knew that the contract on Giovanni Donelli might be difficult to enforce unless Felici was in a corner, and Petroni wanted that corner to be as tight as he could make it.
‘Cardinal Donelli must be the victim of an unfortunate accident,’ Petroni said calmly, as if he was making the decision to put a dog out of its misery.
‘The journalist is difficult enough but assassinate a cardinal? Are you out of your mind?’ Giorgio was angry now, and wary, like a rat that had been cornered, looking for a way out. ‘Have you any idea how much that will cost? You’re looking at a price tag in the millions.’
‘Cost is not an issue, my friend,’ Petroni replied. ‘The Vatican Bank will pay, but if it ever gets to the stage where independent authorities open up the bank’s books, you will be looking at spending the rest of your life in a cell.’
Giorgio Felici was silent for the count of quite a few heartbeats. ‘Let me get back to you,’ he said finally. ‘This is going to be extremely difficult.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Jerusalem
‘ W elcome to the Rockefeller Museum. Or should I say welcome back.’ Derek Lonergan had a habit of smiling without exposing his teeth.
‘We’ve been a little bemused by all the fuss in the media but that’s politics, I suppose,’ he said over his shoulder as David and Allegra followed ‘the waddling cassock’ down the corridor to his office.
‘Don’t,’ Allegra mouthed at David, who wore a look of innocence. She instinctively knew he was going to come up with another of his ‘nice arse’ comments that would bring her undone.
‘As I understand it you will be working with us for the next six months or so.’
‘It’s a four-year research project,’ David said.
‘Is it really? That’s even better, I hadn’t realised you would be here that long,’ Lonergan lied. ‘We’re still finalising your tasking so we can take that into account.’
‘What scrolls do we have access to?’ David asked abruptly, determined to nail Lonergan to something concrete.
‘As it happens, I’m due to leave this week for a five-month lecture tour of Europe,’ Lonergan replied evasively. ‘Blasted nuisance but as I’m the acknowledged expert on these things it’s only natural that the great universities of this world are going to want a fair slice of my time. That should provide plenty of opportunity for you to settle in and start reading up and we can discuss the details of your task on my return.’ Lonergan looked at his watch. It was twenty to five. ‘If you’ll excuse me I have another appointment. I’ll get someone to show you to your office space.’
Derek Lonergan had the trip to the nearby Cellar Bar down to a fine art. Within fifteen minutes of leaving the Rockefeller he had launched himself into the vaults of the American Colony Hotel.
‘Another whiskey, Dr Lonergan?’ Abdullah asked politely as Derek Lonergan threw the first one down.