The Secret Cardinal (15 page)

“Good evening, Captain,” the lieutenant said. “The paperwork authorizing this transfer appears to be in order, though I am a bit surprised that we received no prior notification.”

“This is a highly unusual situation, Lieutenant Kwan,” Tao said, reading the name off the rectangular black badge pinned to the officer's jacket. “My superiors in Beijing wish their actions to leave as light a trail as possible. It is to be as if this prisoner was never here.”

“I understand,” Kwan said.

“The prisoner is to be held in solitary confinement. He is to have no contact with any other prisoners, and contact with your guards is to be kept to an absolute minimum. Under no circumstances is anyone to speak with this prisoner without authorization from the Ministry of State Security. Are these orders clear?”

“Perfectly. We have other prisoners with similar restrictions. The guards in the solitary wing will handle this prisoner accordingly. A question, if I may?”

Tao nodded her assent.

“I saw no sentencing information in the dossier.”

“
All
information regarding this prisoner is classified,” Tao was curt. “What is your question?”

“How long is this prisoner to be kept here?”

“For the rest of his life, which I expect will not be long.”

Kwan nodded. “I will arrange for a detachment to take custody of the prisoner for processing and transfer to the solitary-confinement wing.”

“There is no need to process this prisoner,” Tao said forcefully, her anger thinly veiled. “He does not exist.”

“Yes, but protocol requires the prisoner be stripped, visually inspected by our medical staff, and deloused before being placed in a cell.”

“Have I not made myself clear, Kwan?” Tao asked, her annoyance rising. “Contact with this prisoner is to be minimal. Preferably nonexistent. Your hygienic protocol is not required. Your detachment is not required. My soldiers will guard the prisoner as he is moved into a cell. All that is required is one person to escort us—
you
.”

Tao's eyes bore into the man, her position firmly delivered. He accepted her authority with a brief shrug.

“If your driver will follow me, I will take you to the entry with the shortest route into the solitary wing.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Tao replied, her tone a hint softer.

As he walked back to the jeep, Kwan barked a string of orders into a walkie-talkie to clear the route through the cellblock. From the reconnaissance photos, Tao knew which building held Yin, but those images did little to soften the brutal impact of the structure. Human beings languished inside those windowless walls, men interred in a mausoleum for the living, some for the crime of daring to believe in a power greater than the state.

They parked at the motor pool beside the prison's small fleet of vehicles. The area was well lit but deserted at this hour. The lieutenant met Tao and Shen at the rear of the transport.

“Bring the prisoner out!” Tao ordered.

The rear door swung open and Chuck Jing and Paul Sung stepped out. Behind them, Kilkenny shuffled toward the opening, followed by David Tsui. Kilkenny's wrists and ankles were manacled and tethered to chains riveted to a thick leather belt cinched around his waist. He was dressed in a pair of loose-fitting prison pajamas, his head hung low, for
all appearances a broken man. Tao noticed that the lieutenant didn't wince when he caught sight of Kilkenny's battered face, either a sign of formidable control or evidence that the man was inured to brutality.

Jing and Sung lowered Kilkenny to the ground. Kwan compared the face of the prisoner with the photograph included in the file and verified the match.

“I see you survived the long journey here with only a few bumps and bruises,” Tao said. “The road is unfortunately very rough in some places.”

Jing, Sung, and Tsui laughed for Kwan's benefit. Kilkenny shrugged, not understanding a word of Chinese.

“Hood,” Tao ordered.

Tsui draped a baggy black hood over Kilkenny's head and neck. The four soldiers accompanying Tao took up positions around the prisoner, two at Kilkenny's arms to steer him along the way.

“Lead the way, Lieutenant,” Tao commanded.

Each of the heavy steel doors Kwan led them through was secured by a magnetic lock and monitored by a closed-circuit camera.

I hope Grin is watching this,
Tao thought, resisting the urge to glance up at the cameras.

The route Kwan chose avoided areas where the prison's general population was housed for their scant hours of exhausted sleep between work shifts, so they saw few guards and no prisoners during the transit. Tao immediately noticed the difference when Kwan led them through a door into the solitary-confinement wing—the floors looked almost new. Elsewhere in the prison, evidence of the daily wear of thousands of footsteps showed unmistakably on the concrete, but the floors in this wing bore no sign of heavily trafficked use. Only the occasional scuffmark from the black sole of a guard's shoe or the wheels of the meal cart marred the glossy gray finish.

A lone guard stood at attention by a flush steel door near the end of the hall. Like the other guards Tao saw, the man wore an electronic earpiece, the thin wire dropping from behind his ear and down his collar. He saluted as Tao and the lieutenant approached.

“Open it,” Kwan commanded.

The guard thumbed the SEND switch on the radio clipped to his belt. “Open three-four-two.”

The electronic locks on the door buzzed, and the gears slowly pulled the heavy slab of metal to the side. Tao found her eyes drawn to the dark void, horrified at the perverse justice it represented. The thought of her friend spending even one minute in that cell angered and sickened her, but that Kilkenny would do so voluntarily to free an innocent man quelled those emotions. Somewhere close by, Yin Daoming lost decades of this life locked inside an identical two-meter cube.

“Put him in,” Tao said.

Jing and Sung guided Kilkenny through the doorway into the cell. Inside, they removed his restraints and pushed him into the shadows. There, outside the shaft of light from the corridor, they removed the hood and left Kilkenny in the darkness.

Kilkenny's heart was racing as the cell door closed. The steel dead bolts slid home with a dull metallic thud. He briefly heard voices outside his door, though he doubted he would have understood even if they were speaking English. Soon the voices were gone.

It wasn't the darkness that bothered Kilkenny. He had experienced perfect blackness in the depths of the oceans and once in an elaborate science experiment constructed in a cavern far beneath Lake Erie. His apprehension wasn't claustrophobia either. He had faced that fear many times, most recently while searching the ocean floor off South America inside the metal shell of a Hardsuit with a mile of water weighing him down with a crushing force more than a hundred times that of Earth's atmosphere at sea level.

The primordial surge of adrenaline Kilkenny felt was rooted solely in his loss of control. He had allowed himself to be placed inside a box of concrete and steel. That box was surrounded by armed guards and razor wire and situated inside a nation whose government would kill him if it knew of his presence and his purpose.

From his childhood on, Kilkenny's parents instilled in him the virtue of self-reliance—an attribute that formed the bedrock of his personality. It was the lens through which he viewed himself and those around him. His body reacted against the perceived dangers of
his situation, confused by an action it instinctively considered suicidal. But his mind knew better.

Kilkenny slipped off the thin-soled slippers and knelt down with his feet spread about eighteen inches apart and the tops flat against the floor. His arms hung at his sides, the rest of his body tall and upright. He inhaled deeply, and then slowly sat back, his palms resting on his thighs until his buttocks reached the floor. His knees crackled loudly with the increased tension in the joints.

Seated, Kilkenny raised his torso vertical and with each breath widened his chest. He could feel the energy flowing from the center of his body. He interlocked his fingers, turned his palms out, and raised his outstretched arms high above his head.

Virasana
. The word suddenly flashed into Kilkenny's conscious mind—the name the young woman who taught yoga at the community center had called this pose.
The hero posture
.

He moved slowly through a series of asanas, loosening his joints and steadying his breathing and the flow of blood throughout his body. The anxiety ebbed as he stretched, some of the ancient postures proving to be a challenge within the restrictive confines of the cell. A sheen of sweat dampened his prison uniform.

Through the exercises, Kilkenny achieved a state of meditative calm. His conscious mind possessed something that his body could not comprehend—faith. Kilkenny's situation, though dire, was not hopeless. That hope was rooted in the faith he had in his friends and the team they had assembled for this mission.

20

VATICAN CITY
October 29

On the morning of the fifteenth day following the death of Pope Leo XIV, the cardinals gathered inside Saint Peter's Basilica to take part in the votive mass
Pro Eligendo Papa
—
For the Election of the Pope
. They were as one, a sea of scarlet and white in the transepts and nave surrounding the baldacchino. The archpriest of the patriarchal Vatican basilica led his fellow cardinals and the faithful in attendance through the somber Eucharistic celebration. The theme of the mass could be distilled to a single hope—that God would help the cardinals select the right man to lead the Church. As voices of the pontifical choir rose in song, filling the basilica with the closing hymn, each cardinal felt the enormity of the task at hand.

After the mass, the cardinal electors gathered in the pontifical palace, in the four-room suite known as the
Stanze di Raphaello
—the Raphael Rooms. There, they enjoyed a light lunch while surrounded by frescos painted by the Renaissance master and his finest students. Though widely differing in subject matter, frescos ranging from the
School of Athens
and
Parnassus
to
Battle of Ostia
and
Constantine's Donation
, the suite was unified in themes celebrating the power of faith and the Church. In the Room of the Fire of the Borgo, the frescos make specific reference to Leo III and Leo IV, predecessors of Leo X, under whose pontificate the room was decorated. As Donoher studied the figure of Pope Leo III extinguishing the Borgo fire of 847 by making the sign of the cross, the cardinal wondered how Raphael would have depicted the accomplishments of the most recent Leo.

The cardinals, all robed in scarlet, clustered in small groups admiring the paintings and discussing in low tones the needs of the Church or the merits of various papabili. Cardinal Magni sat with a small group of Italian cardinals, among them Cardinal Gagliardi. Considered a papabile before cardiac problems effectively eliminated him from consideration, the gregarious cardinal from Palermo still carried a strong voice in Italy and throughout Europe.

A handful of Latin American cardinals gathered around Escalante, while Ryff, Oromo, and Velu moved among the other electors renewing acquaintances. Donoher sensed that alliances were forming—some geographic, others strategic, but all with the same purpose.

As he sipped an espresso, Donoher considered the unusual politics involved in electing a pope. An aspirant for the papacy does not openly run for the position as does a politician seeking a publicly elected office. Also, the fine art of backroom deal-making, of granting concessions and promises in exchange for votes, was a practice prohibited under pain of immediate excommunication. Further reducing such temptation—as if the loss of one's soul to eternal damnation was not enough—the Apostolic Constitution nullified all such agreements, freeing the new pope from any negotiated commitments made to secure his election. Simony simply did not pay.

Despite the global presence of the Church, the rest of the world played no role in selecting one of the last absolute monarchs, thanks largely to the Austrian emperor Franz Josef. During the 1903 conclave the emperor attempted to exercise the ancient veto right of Catholic monarchs against a cardinal he found politically objectionable. Today, anyone involved with the conclave who attempts to influence the election at the behest of a government would suffer immediate excommunication from the Church.

Donoher milled about, looking from face to face. Some he knew well, others hardly at all. Some were dear friends, and others he tolerated as a form of penance. Yet soon, one would be the next pope.

Who among us
? Donoher mused.
Who among us?

As the camerlengo considered the upcoming election, Archbishop Sikora approached him. The man seemed to have aged in the days since the pope's death.

“Your Eminence, may I have a word with you in private?”

“Of course, Archbishop. We still have a bit of time before the conclave begins.”

 

 

IN THE EARLY AFTERNOON, the cardinal electors gathered in the Pauline Chapel. They stood beneath the frescoed walls and ceilings robed in formal choir dress. There, in the presence of the cardinals, all those performing supporting roles to the conclave—including the master of papal liturgical celebrations, priest confessors, an ecclesiastic, two masters of ceremonies, medical personnel, and the cooks and house-keepers at Domus Sanctae Marthae—were sworn to preserve the secrecy of the conclave.

At the appointed hour, a bell was rung and the cardinals proceeded two by two toward the Sistine Chapel. As they walked through the ornate passageways of the Apostolic Palace, the cardinals solemnly invoked the Holy Spirit to guide their deliberations by chanting an ancient hymn.