“What would you do? Have me imprisoned? My possessions seized? My titles stripped? This is not the Middle Ages.”
The other cardinal standing nearby seemed clearly embarrassed. The man was a staunch supporter, so some show of power was needed. “I will deal with you later, Ngovi.”
“And the Lord will deal with you.”
The African turned and walked away.
He wasn’t going to let this moment be ruined. He faced the remaining cardinal. “Shall we, Eminence?”
And he stepped out into the sun, his arms extended in a warm embrace to the multitudes who shouted back their approval.
FIFTY-TWO
MEDJUGORJE, BOSNIA-HERZEGOVINA
12:30 P.M.
Michener was feeling better. His vision had cleared and his head and stomach had finally settled down. He could now see that the infirmary room was a cubicle, the cinder-block walls a pale yellow. A window with lace curtains allowed light but no view, the panes coated with a thick layer of paint.
Katerina had gone to check on Jasna. There’d been no word from the doctor and he hoped she was all right.
The door opened.
“She’s okay,” Katerina said. “Apparently you both were just far enough away. Only a couple of nasty bumps to the head.” She stood beside the bed. “And there’s more news.”
He looked at her, glad to once again see her lovely face.
“Valendrea is pope. I saw it on television. He just finished addressing the crowd in St. Peter’s. Made a plea for a return to the Church’s roots. And get this, he chose Peter II as his name.”
“Romania is looking better and better.”
She offered a half grin. “So tell me, was the climb to the top worth it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Whatever you and she were doing on that mountain last night.”
“Jealous?”
“More curious.”
He realized some explanation was owed. “She was supposed to tell me the tenth secret.”
“In the middle of a storm?”
“Don’t ask me to rationalize it. I woke up and she was outside in the street, waiting for me. It was spooky. But I felt the need to go.”
He decided to say nothing about his hallucination, but his memory of the vision remained clear, like a dream that wouldn’t let go. The doctor had said he’d been unconscious for several hours. So whatever he saw or heard was only a manifestation of all that he’d learned over the past few months, the messengers two men who weighed heavily on his mind. But what of the Lady? Probably nothing more than the image of what he’d seen at Jasna’s house yesterday.
Or was it?
“Look, I don’t know what Jasna had in mind. She told me that to learn the secret I needed to come with her. So I went.”
“You didn’t find the situation a bit strange?”
“This whole thing is strange.”
“She’s coming here.”
“What do you mean?”
“Jasna said she’s coming here to see you. They were readying her when I left.”
The door opened and a wheelchair guided by an older woman rolled into the cramped room. Jasna looked tired, her forehead and right arm bandaged.
“I wanted to see if you were all right,” she said in weak voice.
“I was wondering the same about you.”
“I only took you there because the Lady told me to. I meant no harm.”
For the first time she sounded human. “I don’t blame you for anything. I chose to go.”
“I’m told the cross is permanently scarred. A blackened slash down its white length.”
“Is that your sign to the atheists?” Katerina asked, a touch of scorn in her inquiry.
“I have no idea,” Jasna said.
“Perhaps today’s message to the faithful might clear up everything.” Katerina apparently wasn’t going to cut her any slack.
He wanted to tell her to back off, but he knew she was upset, venting her frustration on the easiest target.
“The Lady has come for the final time.”
He studied the features of the woman sitting before him. Her face was sad, the eyes drawn tight, the expression different than yesterday. For twenty-plus years she’d supposedly talked with the mother of God. Real or not, the experience was significant to her. Now all of that was over, and the pain of her loss was evident. He imagined it being akin to the death of a loved one—a voice never to be heard again, counsel and comfort gone forever. As with his parents. And Jakob Volkner.
Her sadness suddenly became his.
“The Virgin revealed to me last night, on the mountaintop, the tenth secret.”
He recalled what little he’d heard her say through the storm. I can remember. I know I can. Dear Lady, I had no idea.
“I wrote down what she said.” She handed him a folded sheet of paper. “The Lady said for me to give it to you.”
“Did she say anything else?”
“It was then she vanished.” Jasna motioned to the older woman behind the chair. “I’m going back to my room. Get well, Father Michener. I will pray for you.”
“And I for you, Jasna,” he said, meaning it.
She left.
“Colin, that woman is a fraud. Can’t you see it?” Katerina’s voice was rising.
“I don’t know what she is, Kate. If she’s a fraud, she’s a good one. She believes what she’s saying. And even if she’s a fake, that scam just ended. The visions are over.”
She motioned to the paper. “Are you going to read it? There’s no papal order this time forbidding it.”
That was true. He unfolded the sheet, but focusing on the page made his head ache. He handed the writing to her.
“I can’t. Read it to me.”
FIFTY-THREE
VATICAN CITY, 1:00 P.M.
Valendrea stood in the audience chamber and accepted congratulations from the staff in the Secretariat of State. Ambrosi had already indicated a desire to move many of the priests and most of the secretaries to the papal office. He hadn’t argued. If he expected Ambrosi to cater to his every need, the least he could do was allow him to choose his own subordinates.
Ambrosi had left his side only sparingly since the morning, standing dutifully beyond the balcony as he’d addressed the throngs in St. Peter’s Square. Ambrosi had then monitored radio and television reports, which he reported were mainly positive, especially at Valendrea’s choice of label, the commentators agreeing that this could be a significant pontificate. Valendrea imagined even Tom Kealy stuttering a second or so as the words Peter II left his mouth. There’d be no more best-selling priests during his reign. Clerics would be doing as they were told. If not, they’d be fired—starting with Kealy. He’d already told Ambrosi to defrock the idiot by the end of the week.
And there would be more changes.
The papal tiara would be resurrected, a coronation scheduled. Trumpets would sound at his entrance. Fans and drawn sabers would once again accompany him during the liturgy. And the gestatorial chair would be restored. Paul VI had changed most of those—a few momentary lapses in good judgment, or perhaps a reaction to his own times—but Valendrea would rectify all that.
The last of the well-wishers streamed by and he motioned to Ambrosi, who drew close. “There is something I need to do,” he whispered. “End this.”
Ambrosi turned to the crowd. “Everyone, the Holy Father is hungry. He hasn’t eaten since breakfast. And we all know how our pontiff enjoys his meals.”
Laughter echoed through the hall.
“For those he has not spoken with, I will make time later in the day.”
“May the Lord bless each of you,” Valendrea said.
He followed Ambrosi from the hall to his office at the Secretariat of State. The papal apartments had been unsealed half an hour ago, and many of his belongings from his third-floor chambers were now being moved to the fourth floor. In the days ahead he would visit the museums and basement storage facilities. He’d already provided Ambrosi with a list of items he wanted as part of the apartment décor. He was proud of his planning. Most of the decisions made over the last few hours had been contemplated long ago and the effect was of a pope in charge, doing the appropriate thing in the appropriate manner.