From Chapter One, Conclave Conspiracy
It was Wednesday morning. Just picking up and leaving for even a few days was not something he could easily do. This week’s schedule was particularly difficult to alter because he was also preparing for a twelve-day trip to Asia, departing Sunday night. Most importantly, he had great tickets to the Cubs play-off game that evening, and he was going with his daughter, Mary. Mary was a pediatric nurse, and at thirty-two, his pride and joy. Nothing could pry him from an opportunity to spend time with Mary.
“Jimmy, you gotta do this. They made it sound as though the whole future of the Church is at stake,” Maloney had pleaded.
Jimmy Flahvin was used to this kind of hyperbole; it was common currency in the high-powered world of international business law. However, he wasn’t used to hearing it from a Catholic priest. He looked at his calendar on his iPhone and concluded it was simply impossible for him to go anywhere in the next six days, let alone six hours.
“Mike, I’m really sorry, but I can’t go anywhere,” Jimmy said. “I’ve got too much on my plate. Tell them I’ll see what I can do later in the month. Maybe I could fly to Rome on my way home from Singapore.”
“Jimmy, I don’t know what to say other than they need you in Rome tomorrow. The words they used were ‘vital,’ ‘critical,’ ‘imperative.’ They specifically told me to tell you that this is the most important thing you’ll ever do in your life.”
“Who’s asking for me, Mike?” Jimmy asked.
“It’s Cardinal O’Bryan, Jimmy, but he said he was speaking for all the US cardinals.”
Jimmy had known John Cardinal O’Bryan for several years and considered him a good friend. O’Bryan was a very important leader in the Catholic hierarchy, albeit one of a minority of progressives in the Church. Jimmy remembered when they had first met over dinner and recalled O’Bryan’s subtle change in attitude when he had learned Jimmy was a successful international business lawyer and a wealthy Catholic. Princes of the Church were drawn to the affluent faithful out of basic financial necessity. As their friendship grew, they would meet in New York or Chicago when one or the other was in town. Jimmy did some pro bono legal work for both the Chicago and New York archdioceses, and the Vatican had sought his advice numerous times. Whenever one of the cardinals asked for money for an important cause, Jimmy always made a substantial contribution.
He and O’Bryan had last met six months earlier in the office of the archbishop of Chicago, Peter Cardinal Schmidt. Schmidt had invited several prominent Catholics to discuss the future of the Church in America. The discussion had run the gamut. How to solve the severe priest shortage and the possibility of married priests and female priests. The continuing priest sex-abuse scandal (could it get any worse?). Welcoming gays and lesbians to the Church without offering same-sex marriages. The Church’s failure to effectively oppose recent wars, and how to help prevent future wars. And why the Church found it appropriate to legislatively impose its views on abortion onto non-Catholics. It had been a straightforward meeting, and that was the last time Jimmy had spoken to O’Bryan.
“Mike, if I could I would. I’m honored that they would contact me during this particular time. But I just can’t help them out right now.”
After hanging up with Maloney, Jimmy turned to CNN on the large-screen monitor in his office. As they had for the last three months, cameras focused on the chimney of the Sistine Chapel in Vatican City, waiting for the signal that the cardinals had elected a new pope.
From Chapter Twelve, Conclave Conspiracy
Lieutenant Colonel D’Amore made arrangements for James and his three companions to secretly board the Boeing 797 Dream Cruiser in advance of other passengers. As they settled in, the senior flight attendant, hands trembling, asked Pope James if he needed anything. He thanked her and said he was fine. A moment later, the captain walked back to James’s seat and told him what an honor it was to have him onboard. He thanked the captain and said to him, “Have a safe flight.” They both smiled.
As the other business-class passengers boarded, they immediately recognized James, but none approached, out of respect for his privacy. Of course, they wondered why in God’s heavenly name the pope was travelling on their plane. Shortly after they were airborne and the seatbelt light turned off, James got up to walk around. He acknowledged each of the flight attendants, and then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a young girl sitting in coach in an aisle seat next to her parents. She waved at him, and he walked over to her. Kneeling down so his eyes were level with hers, he said, “Do you like flying in airplanes?”
She replied somewhat shyly, “Yes.”
“So do I. How many times have you flown on an airplane?”
“Just once, when we came to Rome.”
“Really. And why did you come to Rome?”
“To see the pope. Are you the pope?”
“Yes, I am,” he replied.
“I thought so. Only the pope wears all white clothes. We saw you at St. Peter’s. You were far away. It’s nice to see you up close.”
James looked past the girl at her parents, who were staring on in amazement. All over the plane people were standing, some on their toes, trying to capture a glimpse of him and taking photos.
“What’s your name?” he asked the girl.
“Kathleen.”
“Kathleen what?”
“Kathleen Marie Hanson.”
“My mother’s name was Kathleen Marie. What a coincidence.”
“What’s a coincidence?” she asked.
“That’s when two things are almost the same, but for no obvious reason. It’s like both you and my mother having the same name.”
“That’s cool we have the same name,” she said.
“Yes,” he laughed. “It’s very cool.”
As he stood up, the entire coach section burst out into applause. Most people on the plane were Catholic tourists returning home from Rome. There were also several priests and nuns and a couple of bishops. They all applauded for an extended period. James acknowledged the applause and then placed his hand on the girl’s head and asked God to bless her. He shook the hands of her mother and father and told them, “You have a lovely daughter. God bless you. And God bless you, Kathleen Marie.”
From Chapter Fourteen, Conclave Conspiracy
In his darkened quarters at a local seminary outside Vatican City, Father Bonn practiced putting the bomb components together. He had rehearsed the exercise so many times in his cramped room that he could have performed it in his sleep. An engineer by training, Bonn understood the mechanics of the device, but he questioned the morality of taking human life—anyone’s life.
Sicoli had meticulously planned every detail. Getting the bomb-making material into Vatican City had been relatively easy. Learning how to assemble and use the bombs presented the most difficult challenges. Explosive training was not something Catholic priests had on their résumés, and there was no opportunity to practice. However, the Internet offered a source of abundant and valuable information, and a video game allowed Sicoli’s lieutenants to learn how and where to place the bombs on the papal helicopter.
Access to the aircraft created the most obstinate hurdle. The Swiss Guard was impenetrable. No one could infiltrate it. Even though Guardsmen wore strange-looking uniforms for a military force—a diagonal jerkin, yellow, blue, and red trousers, and black berets—and appeared to arm themselves with antiquated lances, halberds, and swords, no security force in the world was more dedicated to its principal. Theirs was a half-millennium-old tradition of defending the life of the pope, if necessary by giving their own. For more than five hundred years, this elite group of Swiss men had sworn to faithfully, honestly, and honorably serve the supreme pontiff. It was impossible to contemplate turning even one of them. Moreover, if any of the guardsmen suspected anything, the immediate ensuing investigation would foil the plot.
Sicoli needed to design and execute the deed without raising any suspicions. Carrying the bomb-making material onto the helicopter, piece by piece, over several months, was the answer. His coconspirators obtained a copy of the maintenance timetable, studied the aircraft’s cleaning and inspection schedule, and identified windows during which they could plant the components undetected. Getting some of their own onto the helo took a high level of coordination and chicanery. Security measures permitted no one other than guardsmen and mechanics aboard a papal aircraft, unless they were on the flight manifest. So Sicoli’s lieutenants devised legitimate reasons to fly without drawing attention. This would have been simple if Sicoli or one of the other cardinals or archbishops made the request. However, Sicoli was in New York, DeLuca was in Dublin, and the others either reassigned outside the Vatican or retired. The few remaining high-ranking clerics in the Vatican needed to stay well undercover until the plot concluded. Using their internal network, they learned when a nonsuspecting cardinal or archbishop was traveling and arranged to have one of their working-level priests assigned to the entourage or hitch a ride. That is how they got the bomb-making elements onto the aircraft.