“I’m sorry,” he said, apologetically. “You were sleeping, yes?”
The pope shook his head. “I was just thinking.” Then, after a brief moment of deliberation, he said: “Trying to win back the masses will be no easy task, Gennaro. I know this. But these—” he raised the documents “—sound a bit scripted. Now I know the Holy See means well, but these documents seem without substance.” The pope suddenly reached over and patted Bishop Angelo on the forearm, his smile all-encompassing. “And please, my friend, don’t be offended. Your writing has much merit, but this effort needs something more. It needs more of a direct truthfulness. I need to approach the people without feeling as though I’m trying to sell a pitch rather than instill lost faith.”
“Then perhaps, Your Holiness, these documents will be more suited to your needs.” The bishop removed a thin sheaf of papers from his case, and handed them to the pope.
“What are these?”
“Let’s just say a more direct approach to address the current concerns of the people and the Church… and perhaps less of the pitch.”
The pope’s smile widened. “You always know what I want, Gennaro. Thank you. I would be more than happy to look them over.”
“I hope they meet with your approval, Your Holiness.”
“Let’s hope so, because America is only hours away and I need to be duly prepared.”
Bishop Angelo bowed his head and returned to the rows behind the pope where the bishops of the Holy See sat judiciously debating the best way to handle the media. Sometimes their voices swelled in disagreement, but mostly they united in solidarity.
Tuning his eyes to the new set of documents, the pope once again began his studies.
The time was 10:47 a.m., Eastern Standard Time.
CHAPTER THREE
When Shepherd One landed at Dulles, the plane taxied under the watchful eyes of thousands who waited to gaze upon the pontiff from cordoned-off areas within the terminal. Hand-painted signs waved, people cheered, and the air became electric as the pope exited the plane and made his way down the breezeway in full decorative vestments. After reaching the terminal and giving the sign-of-the-cross as a papal blessing to the masses, he then offered his hand to the political principals who either kissed the Piscatorial Ring in greeting or simply shook his hand.
In an area set aside for the media, cameras and news networks recorded the moment of the pope’s arrival, capturing the pontiff’s first celebrated appearance upon American soil, as he and his papal team made their way to a procession of limos.
Raising an arm toward the masses, Pope Pius XIII waved, inciting a cheer, before ducking into the governor’s vehicle.
One man, however, appeared indifferent.
From the crowd’s front line, a man of light complexion neither smiled nor showed any emotion as he studied the pope. He gave the impression of being deep in thought, an effect caused by the act of tracing his fingers over the scar beneath his chin.
Just prior to the pope’s arrival, Team Leader received intel that the president of the United States had assigned a detail of four battle-tested agents, a highly skilled contingent team, along with the usual police security, to guard the Governor’s Mansion where the pope would be staying.
But Team Leader’s unit was honed to the level of an elite force. And despite the president’s confidence in the capabilities of his agents, Team Leader knew that taking the Governor’s Mansion would be nothing more than a nominal exercise performed at minimal risk. By morning, Pope Pius XIII would be within his authority, and the president’s detail would be nothing more than a list of names on the obituary page of the morning news.
With inwardly-turned enthusiasm, Team Leader envisioned his unit moving through the halls of the Governor’s Mansion with stealth and precision. He had trained his team repeatedly until their motions became involuntary acts rather than practiced maneuvers. This, in turn, developed a higher degree of instinct in decision-making, which now took nanoseconds rather than moments. The infinitesimal time difference could mean the difference between success and failure in such an operation.
As the Governor’s limo and its supporting motorcade started toward the airport exit, Team Leader began to move against the crowd and toward the terminal doors.
CHAPTER FOUR
Normally, VIP dignitaries stayed at Blair House, which is the official state guest quarters of the president of the United States. But since the residence was occupied by top Chinese officials on a mission to improve trade relations with the United States, the pope was housed at the Governor‘s Mansion in Annapolis, not far from the vice president’s residence at the Naval Observatory.
When it became apparent that Blair House would be unavailable during the weeks of the pope’s visit, Maryland’s governor offered to host the pontiff at the Mansion, with provisional security provided by the president. It was not a gesture of good will. It was an opportunity for Governor Steele to promote his bid for a seat in the Senate in the upcoming election. With the pope’s visitation cementing the governor’s image as a conservative Christian, it would serve well as the basis of his platform in the months to come.
Campaigning alongside him would be his wife of eleven years, Darlene Steele. With azure blue eyes, pale porcelain skin, and a graceful elegance to her movements, she embodied the image of Victorian innocence. But beneath her gracious persona she had all the quintessence of a remora clinging to the underside of her husband’s political belly, feeding off whatever remnants floated her way. Money, power and status were the lures that kept her in a loveless marriage with the governor.
Inside the dining area of the mansion, Governor Jonathan Steele headed a stately ceremonial dinner with political luminaries including the lieutenant governor, two state senators and a representative from the House Committee. With the pope and the bishops of the Holy See in attendance, the dining room was filled to capacity.
For three hours they sat at a table that dominated the room’s center, drinking wine or liqueur or both, and eating from a rich and varied menu that gratified the palate of everyone.
Bearing witness to this cheerful gathering were oil paintings of past governors, arranged along the rich cherry paneling of the East Wall. Their faces, unmoving for all time, appeared studious and judgmental as they stared from mercury-hued eyes. From the coffered ceiling suspended a magnificent Bohemian chandelier, its multiple teardrop-shaped crystals glittering with iridescent pinpricks of light. And opposite the Governors’ Gallery, floor-to-ceiling panes of tempered glass made up the entire West Wall, providing a panoramic view of the horizon as soft hues of fading light traversed the color spectrum throughout the course of the meal.
Nothing was more perfect than the moment.
As the night grew late, the time difference between Rome and Washington proving too great for the pope, Pius proposed an end to the evening by bestowing blessings all around before retiring to his room.
Everyone, including those who never subscribed to a certain denomination or faith or followed any specific religious path, found themselves in awe of this king who ruled an empire of more than a billion people.
With the dignitaries vacating soon after the conclusion of the meal, the dining hall became eerily silent as the faces of the Governors’ Gallery alone watched over the room.