Day of Confession - Allan Folsom [134]
Palestrina paused, looking at the priest directly, making certain there would be no confusion interpreting what he said next.
“How joyous it would make Cardinal Marsciano to see Father Daniel alive. But since he is under the care of physicians and unable to travel, it follows that Father Daniel should come, or be brought, if it is necessary, to visit him here, at the apartments of San Giovanni.”
It was here that Father Bardoni faltered, casting a quick, furtive glance at Farel—a sudden, instinctive reaction, to see if Farel fully sided with Palestrina and backed Marsciano’s imprisonment. And from his cold, impassive stare, there was no doubt whatsoever that he did. Recovering, he looked back to Palestrina, incensed.
“You are suggesting that I know where he is? And could get that message to him? That I could somehow engineer his coming to the Vatican?”
“A box is opened,” Palestrina said easily. “A moth flies out…. Where does it go? Many people ask that same question and hunt for it. But it is never found because, at the last minute, it moves, and then moves again, and then again. Most difficult when it is either ill or injured. That is, unless it has help… from someone sympathetic, a famous writer perhaps, or someone in the clergy… and is attended to by a gentle hand schooled in such things. A nurse perhaps, or a nun, or one and the same… a nursing sister from Siena—Elena Voso.”
Father Bardoni didn’t react. Simply stared, vacantly, as if he had no idea what the secretariat of state was talking about. It was a deliberate orchestration to cover his earlier lapse, but it was too late, and he knew it.
Palestrina leaned forward. “Father Daniel is to come in silence. To speak with no one…. Should he be caught along the way, his answer—to the police, to the media, even to Taglia or Roscani—is that he simply does not remember what happened…”
Father Bardoni started to protest, but Palestrina held up a hand to silence him, and then he finished, his voice just loud enough to be heard.
“Understand—that for every day Father Daniel does not come, Cardinal Marsciano’s mental outlook will worsen…. His health declining with his spirit, until there comes a point where”—he shrugged—“it no longer matters.”
“Eminence.” Father Bardoni was suddenly curt. “You are speaking to the wrong man. I have no more idea where Father Daniel is or how to reach him than you.”
Palestrina stared for a moment, then made the sign of the cross. “Che Dio ti protegga, “he said. May God protect you.
Immediately Farel crossed to the door and opened it. Father Bardoni hesitated, then stood and walked past Farel and out into the darkness.
Palestrina watched the door as it closed. The wrong man? No, Father Bardoni was not. He was Marsciano’s courier and had been all along. The one responsible for getting Father Daniel out of the hands of medical personnel and to Pescara after the bus explosion and guiding his movements ever since. Yes, they had suspected—followed him, had his phone line tapped, even suspected he was the man who had hired the hydrofoil in Milan. But they had been unable to prove anything. Except he had erred in glancing at Farel, and this had been enough. Palestrina knew Marsciano commanded strong loyalty. And if Marsciano had trusted enough in Father Daniel to confess to him, he would have trusted in Father Bardoni to help save the American’s life. And Father Bardoni would have responded.
And so, he was not the wrong man, but the right one. And because of it, Palestrina was certain his message would be sent.
3:00 A.M.
Palestrina sat at a small writing table in his bedroom. He was dressed in sandals and a silk scarlet robe that, with his physical poise and enormous size and his great mane of white hair, gave him the look of a Roman emperor. On the table in front of him were the early editions of a half dozen world newspapers. In each the lead story was the ongoing tragedy in China. To his right, a small television tuned to World News Network showed live coverage