Chapter 25
CHAPTER 25
R OME , I TALY
T UESDAY , J ULY 1
2:40 A.M.
C OTTON WALKED THE NEARLY DESERTED STREETS, HEADING FOR THE address he’d been provided. Stephanie had again supplied him with fast transportation from Koblenz by authorizing a quick charter flight. He’d reconned the train station on the off chance that the other man he’d seen might surface, but no such luck. Whoever took out that woman was a pro, moving in fast, getting the job done, then disappearing. He was still perplexed as to why. Best guess? His appearance on the train had something to do with it. Which meant the man knew his identity. There was clearly a leak within the Swiss Guard that had alerted outsiders to every single thing they were doing. But who? And why? Stephanie had assured him that she would pass everything along to the right people within the Vatican. His concern now was Cardinal Richter, a man who may indeed have a target on his back.
But from who? And why?
He’d landed at a small commercial airport just outside of Rome. A private car service had been waiting and had taken him into the city. Thankfully, he’d managed a power nap on the flight and was now rested, ready to go. There’d even been some food. His destination, though, was a bit of a surprise. An acquaintance. Someone he’d dealt with a little while back. The former head of the Entity, Charles Cardinal Stamm.
Stephanie had told him that the current pope had made a change at the head of Vatican intelligence. Stamm had served many and was way past the age of eighty, which disqualified him from actively participating in any future conclaves. Forced to retire? That had to have been brutal for a guy accustomed to being in charge.
“Apparently, Richter and Stamm are old friends,” Stephanie said. “Richter went straight to him. Cardinal Stamm is the one who gave my name to the Swiss Guard, so he’s aware of what’s happening. But he now tells me there is more to the story. ”
“Care to share?”
“Stamm asked that he be the one to tell you.”
He found the address and the wooden apartment door, its peeling blue paint casting a tired look. It was answered not by Stamm but by a younger man. Late fifties. Thick, tawny hair. Square, tensed jaw. Blue eyes. Compressed lips. And a faint, almost weak smile from either exhaustion or anxiety.
“Jason Richter,” the man said in English, extending a hand, which he shook. Richter was dressed in street clothes, nothing at all suggesting that he was a prince of the church. “You must be Cotton Malone. I have heard all about you.”
He smiled. “Just cruel and vicious lies put out by my enemies to discredit me.”
“Chas said you would say something like that.”
He caught the familiar “ Chas ,” which was what Stamm’s friends called him, himself included. “And where is the cardinal?”
“Right in here,” Stamm called out.
Together, he and Richter walked back to a cozy den, dimly lit, where Stamm sat in a high-backed upholstered chair. The cardinal looked the same as at their previous dealings and, like Richter, was dressed casually. Nothing pretentious about him. Much like the Entity itself, which worked under an umbrella of total deniability, never venturing far from the shadows but always getting the job done.
Stamm motioned for him to sit. “We meet again. Under equally difficult circumstances.”
He and Richter sat in their own chairs.
“Though this time,” Stamm said, “I am no longer head of the Entity. The pope thought it was time for me to take a rest.”
“Maybe it was?”
“I could say the same for you.”
Touché. “Okay, point made.”
“Did you really see a bag full of cash in the Dillenburg residence?” Richter asked.
“I’m afraid so. Booby-trapped with a dye pack. Somebody went to a lot of trouble.”
He found his phone and showed them the images. “Those were sent to the Swiss Guard hours ago.”
Richter faced Stamm. “Ascolani mentioned there were pictures.”
“The Swiss Guard is keeping him informed,” Stamm said. “Like the chickens telling the fox everything that’s happening in the coop. But it is hard for them to accept that he is no friend of theirs.”
“Who is Ascolani?” Cotton asked.
“The current Vatican secretary of state,” Richter said, “and head of the Entity. A bit of a megalomaniac. He thinks he possesses capabilities and strengths exceeding those of all others. He and I have never cared for each other.”
“So you’re a known enemy to him?”
Richter nodded. “He’s always been resentful of my relationship with the pope. Who apparently has now turned on me.”
“We cannot be harsh on the pope,” Stamm said. “He’s an absolute ruler, blessed with a stamp of infallibility, unhampered by any checks and balances. He lives and works within a protective bubble, one the secretary of state can greatly influence. Our current pontiff is not the most learned of men. Spiritual? Yes. Devoted? Absolutely. But he is ignorant of politics.” Stamm motioned toward Richter. “Tell him about the pledge.”
And he listened as the cardinal explained what Eric Casaburi, an Italian politician, had revealed. When Richter finished, he asked, “Is it real?”
“Oh, yes,” Stamm said. “Most real. I learned during my time with the Entity that there are many things the church would prefer to remain lost and forgotten. Part of my job was to make sure they stayed gone. This is one of those things, though I can understand how it became a non-concern. The pledge was supposedly given around 1512. The Medici died out in 1743. During their existence no one came forward to claim the debt. Then, after 1743, the royal Medici were gone.”
“So Casaburi has to be a real Medici heir?” Cotton asked.
“Correct. But Casaburi is no fool. He would not bring forth this claim unless he can prove that he is legitimate. Today, DNA testing would be irrefutable.”
He’d seen his share of the incredible. And probably Stamm had too. So this could not be taken lightly. He studied the spymaster, imagining what this man had been privy to. Certainly the intelligence resources of the Vatican were not comparable in funding or cutting-edge technology to those of the CIA or the SVR, but what was lacking in money was more than made up for in human resources. The Entity had eyes and ears everywhere, and it would be a fatal mistake to underestimate its reach and capabilities. The fabled Nazi hunter Simon Wiesenthal once observed that the best and most effective espionage service in the world belonged to the Vatican .
“I think we have a two-front problem,” Stamm said. “The first involves the discrediting of Jason. Why is this happening? Who will benefit from that? The second is the ambition of Eric Casaburi and his National Freedom Party.” Stamm raised two fingers and moved them closer, then apart. “Two parallel issues. About to converge.”
“To what end?” Richter asked.
Stamm lowered his hands. “That is what you two must discover.”
He decided to level with Stamm and told them both about what had happened in Cologne and on the train. Stephanie had left the decision on that openness to him.
“That is troublesome,” Stamm said. “Those murders seem targeted at whatever is happening to Jason. I am sorry, old friend, but you have been selected as the patsy. I would assume your death was next on the list.”
“My thought exactly,” Cotton said.
“But luck favors the fortunate,” Stamm said. “And Eric Casaburi may have revealed something far more powerful than anything Cardinal Ascolani imagined. Make no mistake, he will go after that pledge.”
“But where?” Richter asked.
“It does not exist within the Vatican,” Stamm said. “Of that I am sure. But there is one other place where it may be.”
He and Richter listened as Stamm told them about the Dominican friar Miguel Ghislieri who, in 1551, was promoted to head of the Inquisition. He was eventually banished from Rome and barely escaped with his life, taking refuge in a monastery. There he stayed for six years until January 7, 1566, when Ghislieri was elected pope.
“He chose the name Pius V,” Stamm said. “It was he who started the Entity, empowering it from the beginning with an autonomy that still exists today. During my tenure that freedom was used with caution. My fear is that Ascolani has modified that restraint.”
Cotton was beginning to connect the dots. “You’re afraid he will use the Pledge of Christ for his own benefit.”
“It would be a powerful weapon. The sacred promise of a pope, in writing, upon the name of the Lord. The church could only deny that to its own detriment. He would want to find and destroy the pledge. An act the other cardinals might find important enough to elevate him to pope.”
“Now it makes sense,” Richter muttered.
Stamm appraised the younger cardinal with oily eyes. “I was wondering if you knew.”
Richter nodded.
“Can we not do this?” Cotton asked. “What is it?”
“The pope is contemplating quitting,” Richter said. “He wants to retire and enjoy his final years without the pressures of the Vatican. He and I have privately discussed it.”
“Ascolani most certainly knows,” Stamm said. “So he is making a play. A big one. In secret. Before the gathering storm clouds appear. And Eric Casaburi just gave him an unexpected gift.”
“So let’s find that document first,” Cotton said. “And take the wind out of his sails.”
Stamm nodded. “Precisely. But I am afraid it will not be easy.”
He did not like the sound of that.
“When Ghislieri fled Rome in 1559, he took with him a great many records,” Stamm said. “We have long known that. Documents from the more recent popes, Julius II being one of those, included. Julius II is the one who supposedly offered the pledge to the Medicis. My guess is that, if the church’s copy still exists, it is within those papers. But those have long been secreted away in a Tuscan monastery. Santa Maria di Castello. I learned of the cache decades ago. That is where you must look.”
“How do we get in?” Cotton asked.
“That is the hard part. The Carthusian Order controls the site. They will never allow you in voluntarily. They will not even allow the Vatican in. But there is one person who might be able to open the way. A friend of mine, who lives in Siena.”
“You said it won’t be easy,” Cotton said. “What’s the problem?”
“She’s an opportunist. Not to be trusted.”