The Caravaggio Conspiracy (29 page)

In their hotel room, Dempsey and Maya made love. Afterwards, they showered together and ended up doing it again.

‘Not ready to take your vow of celibacy?’ she asked.

‘Maybe next year,’ he replied.

It was clear to both of them now that they were engaged in something that went far beyond a ‘summer fling’. They had discovered qualities in each other that they felt sure would last beyond their present adventure.

After they got dressed, they took a taxi to the Gesù, where Uncle Declan had told them to expect something out of the ordinary. Dempsey hadn’t had a chance to talk to his uncle face to face about Visco. There had only been time for a quick two-minute conversation on his mobile. When he had called again later, he was told by Giovanni that the Father General was writing his sermon and had given strict order that he was not to be disturbed. He’d sent him an email instead, warning him that the video of Visco had been sent to
Il Messaggero
and
La Reppublica
, as well as to RaiNews24. Whether or not he’d read it, he had no idea, but he rather thought not. A little after 6.30 the taxi dropped him and Maya in the Via del Plebiscito, from which they made their way on foot to the Piazza del Gesù. Several television units, alerted by the Jesuit communications department, were set up outside the church. Reporters – as yet unaware of the Visco revelation – wanted to know what worshippers expected from tonight’s sermon. The Rome police were more concerned with keeping order. Dempsey was impressed. His uncle, he realized, had successfully mobilized the power of the Jesuits and created the sort of buzz normally associated with a corruption trial or the latest ‘turning point’ in Italian politics.

Inside the church, the atmosphere was electric. In a matter of hours, word had swept the city that the Superior General would deliver a sermon to end all sermons and that the object of his ire would be the government of the Church itself. By 6.45 pm, fifteen minutes before the Mass was due to start, nine cardinals, including Germany’s Von Stiegel, seventeen bishops, four abbots and the head of the Dominicans, as well as the president and prime minister of Italy, the mayor of Rome and at least a score of top diplomats, were in their places in front of the altar. Microphones and cameras would relay the sermon to a breathless public that included at least three thousand frustrated worshippers in the Piazza del Gesù.

The High Mass itself, over which O’Malley presided, assisted by three of his senior priests, went on for forty-five minutes, with music provided by the Holy Cross choir from Worcester, Massachusetts. The setting, dating back to the last quarter of the sixteenth century, was spectacular. Designed especially for the Jesuits, the Gesù was one of the most richly decorated churches in Rome and the original model for the Italian Baroque. The enormous, gilded interior, its
barrel-vaulted
ceiling lit by a soaring cupola, was created to provide the acoustics
appropriate
to preaching, and O’Malley, the 31st Superior General in a line going back to St Ignatius Loyola, intended to produce a message worthy of the occasion.

As the Mass ended, with the smell of incense still hanging in the air, all eyes turned to O’Malley, who had moved from the high altar to a lectern positioned closer to the congregation. In the old days, sermons were delievered from a special lateral pulpit, set between two side-chapels on the left side of the nave, but the invention of the microphone had made such an acoustic device redundant. O’Malley, dressed, as tradition required, entirely in black, placed his hands on the top rim of the lectern and surveyed the sea of faces gazing expectantly back at him.

There was total silence, broken only by someone’s nervous cough that echoed round the walls.

‘Tomorrow,’ the Father General began, speaking in fluent Italian, ‘the Sacred College of the Holy Roman and Apostolic Church withdraws to the Sistine Chapel to elect the 265th successor to St Peter as Bishop of Rome and Supreme Pontiff.

‘Some of the cardinals who will discharge this solemn task are with us this evening. Others are engaged in worship elsewhere in Rome, or in private prayer and contemplation. All will wish, with God’s help, to elect the man best placed to take the Church forward at a dangerous time in our history.’

O’Malley paused. His eyes passed up and down the rows of pews, hoping to catch sight of Liam and Maya. But it was impossible to make them out. He just hoped they were there, listening.

‘Consider the state of the world today. Many years ago, less than a week before his death, His Holiness John Paul I, Pope for just thirty-three days, confessed to me his fear that the next great global conflict would not be between the forces of belief and unbelief, but between a weakened Christianity and a resurgent Islam. The Holy Father warned that this was to be prevented at all costs. But he knew how hard it would be. In more recent times we have learned just how hard. The United States, casting itself as the defender of Christian values, decided in 2003 to invade Iraq. It had already invaded Afghanistan in pursuit of the Taliban. Later, having sustained twin defeats, it sought to isolate and destablize Iran. We all know what happened next. Today, the Islamic world is aflame, united in its hatred of the West, determined to restore its ancient power and honour. At the same time, with the numbers of European Muslims growing every year, a movement has sprung up that demands not merely civil rights and religious freedom for the followers of Muhammad – peace be upon him – but the achievement of a hitherto mythical goal: the establishment of a caliphate ranging from Spain and England in the West to the Balkans and Turkey in the East.

‘Is such a development realistic? For Catholics, such a state of affairs would truly be the end of history. It would be the end of certainty – the end of everything. We do not fear the real Islam. We respect the real Islam. We would do nothing – would we? – that would make Muslims feel other than comfortable in the
expression
of their beliefs and customs. But we, too, are rooted in faith – a faith that has Jesus Christ and the certainty of the Resurrection at its heart. Sadly – I might even say,
tragically
– our belief, centred on the certainty of a life hereafter, has been replaced by belief in an eternal present. We think not of the soul but of the self. So far has our faith shrunk that today in large parts of Europe there are more who worship Allah and venerate the Prophet – peace be upon him – than occupy churches on Sunday that have stood for a thousand years.

‘Those of us who cling to the old certainties are particularly vulnerable today. Not only are we beset by our enemies, we must also cope with the enemy within. Our consolation is that a bedrock of faith remains and that, in the general population, there is still a vestigial, one might almost say an
atavistic
, respect for our Christian past. Nothing, we tell ourselves, is beyond recovery. Nothing is impossible. There is still a pope in Rome; there are still bishops and priests; there are still parishes in every corner of every country. Some might even say’ – and here O’Malley offered a modest smile – ‘that so long as the Jesuits remain, hope cannot die.’

‘But what if I tell you tonight that the enemy within is not unbelief, or even indifference, but the growth of a secret Muslim sect?’ 

At this, a gasp echoed round the church.

O’Malley continued. ‘What if I tell you that there is an insidious force at work in the Church today that would pit Christian Europe against the Muslim world not in the hope that the faith of Christ will prevail, but in the belief that the West lacks the strength and the endurance for the struggle and would, in time, embrace the caliphate as the price of its survival?’

‘My brothers and sisters,’ O’Malley went on, ‘tonight I tell you that there is indeed such a faction in the Eternal City, working in the Vatican to elect a pope whose goal will be conflict, whose means will be war and terrorism, whose
ambition
is a different world, alien to the world we have known all our lives.’

At this, provoked beyond endurance, Cardinal Von Stiegel stood up from the front row and pointed an accusing finger at O’Malley.

‘Stop!’ he called out. ‘Stop this! The Father General has clearly taken leave of his senses. He is seeking to undermine confidence in the cardinal electors and the conclave that begins tomorrow. I urge you all to ignore him and to place your confidence in the princes of the Church whose only concern is the restoration of faith and the peace of Christ.’

The church by now was dangerously restive. The Archbishop of Paris joined Von Stiegel by rising to his feel, shouting in French, followed by the ultra-
conservative
president of the Polish bishops’ conference, who demanded O’Malley’s
resignation
. All three men, dressed for a ceremonial occasion, looked confused and angry. They were not alone in this. Members of the congregation up and down the church were twisting round in their seats, arguing in angry tones. O’Malley realized that if he didn’t say something incisive soon, the night would end in chaos.

It was at that moment that the Archbishop of Dublin heaved himself to a standing position. ‘Let the Father General speak,’ he called out, in English, then Italian. ‘If he is wrong, we will know soon enough and he will be forced to bear the consequences of his error. But if speaks the truth, he will have done us a great service. I beg you, sit down and listen.’

A nervous silence greeted the Irishman’s intervention. O’Malley seized the opportunity to re-establish control.

‘I am grateful to Cardinal McCarthy,’ he said. ‘And he is right. If what I am saying is a lie, it is a lie that will be quickly exposed. And I will, of course, resign my position with immediate effect. But if it is true, my brothers and sisters, then the conclave that opens tomorrow in the Sistine Chapel faces a conspiracy more iniquitous, more evil in its intent, than anything for a thousand years.’

He raised his hands, then lowered them, fingers extended, in a universal call for calm. When he resumed his sermon, his words came out almost in a whisper. Only the astonishing acoustics of the Gesù bore his message to the hundreds seated below. 

‘Four hundred years ago, in September 1602, the artist Caravaggio, one of history’s greatest and most tortured geniuses, discovered a Muslim faction within the Curia of his day. Cardinal Orazio Battista, then Camerlengo of the Holy Roman Church, had no interest in spreading a greater understanding of the mystery of faith. Instead, with others, he sought to create the conditions that would lead to the conquest of Rome by the Ottomans. Caravaggio stumbled upon the shocking fact that Battista was not a Christian when he chanced upon him and his secretary engaged in the Salaah, the daily obligation of prayer. His life from that moment was a living hell. Two priests who shared his secret were murdered; he himself was almost killed in a duel forced upon him in Rome and obliged to flee south to Naples, branded a killer, subject to a
banda capitale
. Following the intercession on his behalf of the Marchesa di Caravaggio, he sailed to Valletta, hoping to be accepted as a Knight of Malta, dedicating his life to the defence of Catholic Europe. But no sooner had he been accepted into the order than he was again falsely accused by his enemies, this time of assault and blasphemy, and ended up again in prison, facing disgrace and execution. Once more, with the help of a trusted friend – Fabrizio Colonna – he escaped. But the terror continued. Back in Naples, where he was given refuge by Fabrizzio’s cousin, Prince Luigi Colonna, he was attacked by an assassin in a tavern, who scarred him horribly. Only the intervention of local people saved his life. Finally, on his way to Rome, intending to regain his honour and put his facts about Battista before the Pope, he died mysteriously, and suddenly, in Porto Ercole. His body was never found, but the record shows that a Monsignor close to Battista, as well as two monks, were in Porto Ercole that day, despatched post haste from Rome. There is no doubt in my mind that Caravaggio was murdered. God rest his soul.’

By now, everyone in the church was hanging on O’Malley’s words.

‘You may ask, how can I be sure of this? Where is my proof? And what do the events of four hundred years ago have to do with the election of the next pope? For the moment, I ask you to believe that my investigations have led to the uncovering of certain incontrovertible facts, not least that Battista himself was subsequently arrested by the Inquisition, for which he had once, notoriously, been a prosecutor, and made to answer for his crimes. Following his execution, carried out in secret lest it cause alarm and lead to fears of an Ottoman attack, he was expunged from the history of the Church he had betrayed. Even his time as Camerlengo was stricken from the record.

‘Which brings me back to the present day. My brothers and sisters, I beg you to believe me when I say that there is a certain, highly placed individual at work in the Vatican today who is steeped in the history of Battista, and aims, like his wicked forebear, to exploit the mistrust that exists in our world between Christians and Muslims. This man is soaked in blood – and it is not the blood of Christ. His crimes are many, his ambition unsated. And he is not alone.’

O’Malley now turned to glare directly at Cardinal Von Stiegel. ‘One man at least, who had the courage to stand up against him and would tomorrow have been a voice of reason and tolerance in the conclave, is already dead, taking with him, I fear, the hopes of a generation. I refer, of course, to Cardinal Horst Rüttgers …
murdered
in his bath, then buried without any post-mortem examination behind the walls of the Teutonic Cemetery.’

Throughout the Gesù, incomprehension and speculation erupted in equal measure. Once again, O’Malley called for silence.

‘But that was not all. Two nights ago, my own nephew, who had carried out research in the Vatican Library into the life and times of Cardinal Battista, was attacked by a professional assassin in Rome and was lucky to escape with his life. That crime at least is being investigated by the city police, who believe that an attempt had earlier been made by someone inside the Vatican to cast my nephew as a thief.’