Sam stared right back at him. “I’ve been called lots of things in my time, but never dangerous.”
“You would extort half a billion dollars out of the mouths of the world’s neediest people?”
“And use it to create jobs so that they wouldn’t be needy anymore. So they won’t have to depend on you or anybody else. So they can stand on their own feet and live in dignity.”
Sam was getting worked up. For the first time in my life, I saw Sam becoming really angry.
“You go around the world telling people to accept what God sends them. You’ll help them. Sure you will. You’ll help them to stay poor, to stay miserable, to be dependent on Big Daddy from Rome.”
“Sam!” I admonished.
“I’ve read the Gospels. Christ went among the poor and shared what he had with them. He told a rich guy to sell everything he had and give it to the poor if he wanted to make it into heaven. I don’t see anybody selling off the papal jewels. I see Cardinals jet-setting around the world. I see the Pope telling the poor that they’re God’s chosen people—from the balconies of posh hotels.”
Greg Molina smiled grimly. He must be a Catholic who’s turned against the Church, I thought.
Sam kept on, “All my life I’ve seen the same old story: big government or big religion or big corporations telling the little guys to stay in their places and be grateful for whatever miserable crumbs they get. And they stay in their places and take what you deign to give them. And their children grow up poor and hungry and miserable and listen to the same sad song and make more children who grow up just as poor and hungry and miserable.”
“That’s not his fault,” I said.
“Isn’t it?” Sam was trembling with rage. “They’re all the same, whether it’s government or corporate or religion. As long as you stay poor and miserable they’ll help you. And all they do is help you to stay dependent on them.”
Pope William’s expression was grim. But he said, “You’re entirely right.”
Sam’s mouth opened, then clicked shut. Then he managed to utter, “Huh?”
“You are entirely right,” the Pope repeated. He smiled again, but now it was almost sad, from the heart. “Oh, maybe not entirely, but right enough. Holy Mother Church has struggled to help the world’s poor for centuries, but today we have more poor people than ever before. It is clear that our methods are not successful.”
Sam’s eyes narrowed warily, sensing a trap ahead. Cardinal Hagerty grumbled something too low for me to hear.
“For centuries we have ridden on the horns of a dilemma; a paradox, if you will,” the Pope continued. “The goal of Holy Mother Church—the task given to Peter by Christ—was to save souls, not bodies. The Church’s eyes have always been turned toward Heaven. Everything we have done has been done to bring souls to salvation, regardless of the suffering those souls must endure on Earth.”
Before Sam could object, the Pope added, “Or so we have told ourselves.”
Cardinal Hagerty let out his breath in what might have been a sigh. Or a hiss.
Pope William smiled at the old man, then continued, “The news media have hinted at… frictions between myself and the Curia—the bureaucracy that actually runs the Vatican.”
“I’ve heard such rumors,” I said.
Clasping his hands together, the Pope said, “The differences between myself and the Curia are based on the assessment that you have just made, Mr. Gunn. The Church has indeed told its faithful to ignore the needs of this world in order to prepare for the next. I believe that such an attitude has served us poorly. I believe the Church must change its position on many things. We can’t save souls who have given themselves to despair, to crime and drugs and all kinds of immorality. We must give our people hope”
“Amen to that,” Sam muttered.
“Hope for a better life here on Earth.”
Ordinarily Sam would have quipped that we weren’t on Earth at the moment. But he remained quiet.
“So you see,” Pope William said, “we are not so far apart as you thought.”
Sam shook himself, like a man trying to break loose from a hypnotic spell. “I still want my half bill,” he said.
Pope William smiled at him. “We don’t have it, and even if we did, we wouldn’t give it to you.”
“Then you’re going to go down the tubes, just like I said.”
“And the changes I am trying to make within the Vatican will go down the tubes with me,” Pope William replied.
Sam thought a moment, then said, “Yeah, I guess they will.”
Leaning toward Sam, Pope William pleaded, “But don’t you understand? If you press your case, all the reforms that the Church needs will never be made. Even if you don’t win, the case will be so infamous that I’ll be blocked at every turn by the Curia.”
“That’s your problem,” Sam replied, so low I could barely hear him.
“Why do you think I came up here?” the Pope continued. “I wanted to make a personal appeal to you to be reasonable. I need your help!”
Sam said nothing.
Cardinal Hagerty recovered his voice. “I thought from the beginning that this trip was a waste of precious time.”
Pope William pushed his chair back from the table. “I’m afraid you were right all along,” he said to the Cardinal.
“So we’ll have a trial,” Sam said, getting to his feet.
“We will,” said the Pope. He was nearly six feet tall; he towered over Sam.
“You’ll lose,” Sam warned.
The Pope’s smile returned, but it was only a pale imitation of the earlier version. “You’re forgetting one thing, Mr. Gunn. God is on our side.”
Sam gave him a rueful grin. “That’s okay. I’m used to working against the big guys.”
Sam and I walked slowly along the corridor that led from the Pope’s quarters to the main living section of Selene. Josella trudged along on Sam’s other side; Greg was a few steps ahead of us.
“Sam,” I said, “I’m going to recommend against a trial.”
He didn’t look surprised.
“You can’t do this,” I said. “It’s not right.”
Sam seemed subdued, but he still replied, “You can recommend all you want to, Jill. The Court will still have to hear the case. The law’s on my side.”
“Then the law is an ass!”
He grinned at me. “Old gray-eyes got to you, didn’t he? Sexy guy, for a Pope.”
I glared at him. There’s nothing so infuriating as a man who thinks he knows what’s going on inside your head. Especially when he’s right.
Josella said, “I’ll have to report this meeting to my superiors back in Hartford.”
“How about having supper with me?” Sam asked her. Right in front of me.
Josella glanced at me. “I don’t think so, Sam. It might be seen as a conflict of interest.”
Sam laughed. “We’ll bring the judge along. We’ll discuss the case. Hey Greg,” he called up the corridor, “you wanna have dinner with the rest of us?”
So the four of us met at the hotel’s restaurant after freshening up in our individual rooms. I made certain to follow Sam to his suite, down the corridor from Josella’s, before going to my own.
“Bodyguarding me?” he asked mischievously.
“Protecting my interest,” I said. Then I added loftily, “In the integrity of the World Court and the international legal system.”
Sam gave me a wry smile.
“I don’t want you tampering with the opposition’s lawyer,” I said.
“Tamper? Me? The thought never entered my mind.”
“I know what’s in your mind, Sam. You can’t fool me.”
“Have I ever tried to?” he asked.
And I had to admit to myself that he never had. To the rest of the world Sam might be a devious womanizing rogue, a sly underhanded con man, even an extortionist, but he’d always been up-front with me. Damn him!