Through the chaos, David and Allegra were finally greeted by a duty sister.
‘Oh, Dr Kaufmann, I didn’t see you there. Sorry to keep you waiting.’
‘That’s all right,’ David replied gently. ‘Are my parents here? Is there any word?’
‘One moment, Dr Kaufmann, I’ll get the medical superintendent.’
Allegra took David’s hand. They both knew that the old sister would only have summoned the superintendent at a time like this if the news was bad. The medical superintendent appeared and took David and Allegra down the corridor to a private waiting room.
Lorenzo Petroni was still glued to CCN’s live coverage. Tom Schweiker appeared on-screen and Petroni moved forward in his seat. Giorgio Felici had obviously failed to eliminate the journalist, but for the moment he was more interested in the fate of Donelli and Bassetti.
‘A shocking tragedy, Geraldine. Violence has once again taken the place of peace.’
‘And the casualties?’
‘All the government spokespeople will say is that Prime Minister Kaufmann and his wife Marian are in surgery, and that doctors are fighting to save them. The Palestinian President Ahmed Sartawi is believed to be in a serious but stable condition. He is also in the hospital here at Ein Karem, as is Cardinal Donelli.’
‘Any word on Cardinal Donelli’s condition, Tom?’
‘Remarkably his injuries are reported to be not serious and he has been listed as satisfactory. He was furthest away when the bomb went off. The explosives are believed to have been hidden in a lectern which was replaced shortly before the ceremony began. The Israeli Prime Minister was at the lectern when the bomb was detonated.’
‘No one has claimed responsibility?’
‘None of the terrorist groups have yet claimed responsibility, although my contacts here tell me the Israelis are now focusing on the brother of the Palestinian President, Yusef Sartawi. He worked for Cohatek, the company responsible for providing the logistics and sound for the ceremony. He died in the blast so we may never know the extent of his involvement.’
Cardinal Petroni snapped off the television, his lips set in a hard, colourless line. Giorgio Felici had set the contract at twenty-five million dollars, payable in advance, which Petroni had disguised as a Vatican Bank South American Aid Budget, and there was still nothing to show for it. Giorgio Felici had a lot of explaining to do.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Roma
‘ A vanti! ’
‘The media release, Eminence.’ Monsignor Servini, the Head of the Vatican Press Office, handed the momentous release to Cardinal Petroni. The world waited while Petroni checked every word: The Holy Father died at 9.37 this evening in his private apartment… A 8 p.m. the celebration of Mass for Divine Mercy Sunday began in the Holy Father’s room, presided by… The Holy Father’s final hours were marked by the uninterrupted prayer of all those who were assisting him in his pious death…
Lorenzo Petroni checked the release for accuracy and effect before he handed it back to the visibly distraught Monsignor Servini.
‘Release it,’ was all Petroni said, and he leaned back in his chair, contemplating the future with a degree of anticipation. Even after several meetings, some of the Curial Cardinals led by the elderly but immoveable Cardinal Castiglione were yet to be convinced of the need for the Pope to resign. Petroni had appealed to them on several grounds, including the obligation to put the good of the Holy Church above all else and the need to allow the Holy Father some peace in his declining health, but it had been to no avail. Even Petroni’s none-too-subtle reminder of the immense harm that could be done to a rudderless Church if a Pontiff were to slip into a coma had not been enough to shift Castiglione. Petroni sniffed the air with satisfaction. The votes of Castiglione and the rest of his knitting group would not be necessary. The stubborn old Pope was dead at last.
Petroni buzzed Father Thomas as soon as Monsignor Servini had left.
‘You may start the calls in the order of the list I gave you.’
‘Certainly, Eminence.’
A short while later the red telephone on Petroni’s desk buzzed quietly.
‘Cardinal Fritsch in Berlin, Eminence.’
‘Hans! Wie gehts? ’ Petroni asked, using the Cardinal Archbishop of Berlin’s native tongue more out of flattery than courtesy. ‘ Zehr gut. Zehr gut! The news here is not so good, Hans. Although not unexpected, this will still come as a shock, as it has to all of us here, but I wanted to call you personally before the news is released. The Holy Father passed away less than an hour ago at 9.37 our time…’
One by one Cardinal Petroni ticked off the names of the Church’s 194 cardinals from the list on his desk. One by one they were personally informed of the Secretary of State’s great sadness at the Pope’s passing. The last call was to Daniel Kirkpatrick.
‘Kirkpatrick.’
‘Lorenzo.’
‘It’s a very sad day here, Daniel. Your coverage has had just the right touch and I wanted to thank you personally. As has your coverage of the bombing in Jerusalem,’ Pentroni added, underlining the real reason for his call.
‘Thank you, Lorenzo, you’re very kind to call at such a sad time. Il Papa will be greatly missed, which is more than I can say for some of those Arabs in Jerusalem. Never trust an Arab, especially a Muslim.’
‘I agree entirely, Daniel, they run with the devil.’
‘Although Cardinal Donelli seemed fully supportive,’ Daniel Kirkpatrick responded, puzzled as to why such a senior member of the one true faith would side with the religion of terrorists.
‘Another reason for my call, Daniel.’
A few minutes later Cardinal Petroni replaced the receiver. As he had been for the story on the peace ceremony, Petroni was confident the damaging story on Donelli would also get a run. Given Donelli’s statements from Jerusalem, the story would seem quite plausible, even if it were subsequently found not to be true. Timing was everything and the information would be released just before all the cardinals were locked in the conclave to ensure any of those loyal to Donelli would not have time to offer anything by way of rebuttal. Petroni smiled. He could almost feel the Keys to Peter in his pocket.
Jerusalem
Geraldine headed back towards the news room and dialled the new mobile number she’d been given for Tom.
‘New number, Tom?’
‘The old one’s playing up,’ he said, not mentioning that the technician who had examined his mobile had found it loaded with Semtex.
‘We’re going to kick off with the usual backgrounder,’ she said, ‘then we’ll cross to you.’ The pair ran through the standard bulletin preamble and five minutes later Geraldine was on air with Tom keeping ten million viewers up to date on the bomb blast.
‘Welcome back to our live coverage of the latest bombing in Jerusalem,’ Geraldine began. ‘Shortly we’ll be crossing to our correspondent Tom Schweiker for what we understand will be a major announcement.’
The four most senior members of the new Liberal Justice Party, including the Party’s elder statesman and Deputy Prime Minister, Gideon Wiesel, filed in to the medical superintendent’s office in a sombre mood and one by one they offered their condolences. Gideon looked first at his colleagues and then at David.
‘I hope you don’t mind, David, but we have had an informal meeting and we have a proposal to put to you.’ His old eyes reflected a mixture of sadness at what had happened and hope for the future.
David nodded.
‘It falls to me, for the moment, to take over the prime minister-ship. The opposition parties are prepared to support that and will not insist that the government resign, and for the time being that will provide some stability. I agreed with everything your father stood for, but I am an old man and more accustomed to working behind the scenes than in front of the lights and cameras. We have scheduled a meeting one month from now which will allow an appropriate period for memorials and reflection, but it is our intention to put one name forward for election to replace your father as Prime Minister of Israel. Judging from the responses from those we have had a chance to talk to, it will be unanimous.’