54

Cardinal Polletto sliced through the throng of reporters and well-wishers outside the hospital, wearing a look of serious concern, ignoring questions and comments about Cardinal Maximilian’s medical status.

He reached the intensive care unit, and gave two of his Vatican colleagues long hugs and kisses on each cheek before making his way to Cardinal Maximilian’s bedside, whose fierce eyes and fiery aura had been replaced with the helplessness of a child. Tubes flowed in and out of the cleric, surrounded by more medical equipment and wires than Cardinal Polletto had ever seen. A large tube disappeared down Cardinal Maximilian’s throat, and the black, glass enclosed ventilator pump worked hard to keep him alive.

“What’s his prognosis?” Cardinal Polletto wondered out loud.

“He’s been in a coma for almost twelve hours,” a voice behind him answered.

Cardinal Polletto turned to find Bishop Giovanni Ruini, a stout, round-faced Italian, with a large bulbous nose, slightly kowtowing before him.

“His condition is touch and go for the next twenty-four hours, Your Eminence. If he hangs on until then, he’ll be out of the woods,” said Bishop Ruini.

Cardinal Polletto thanked the bishop, then turned back toward the man who’d given him more difficulties than he cared to think of, closed his eyes, and pretended to pray. Twenty-four hours. You won’t make it if I can help it. When he finished, most everyone had left for the waiting room, except Bishop Ruini and a few Vatican aides.

Cardinal Polletto pulled the bishop aside. “Have the authorities caught the ones who did this?”

“They’re still investigating, but it doesn’t look good. It happened so fast, we didn’t get many helpful details,” said Bishop Ruini.

The cardinal put a comforting hand on the bishop’s shoulder.

“Nobody’s blaming you for not remembering any details. We’re just thankful you didn’t get hurt.”

“Thank you, Cardinal. I wish I could’ve done more.”

“The Lord will prevail, Bishop. Just stay prayerful.” Relief spread across Bishop Ruini’s face. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Cardinal?”

“Yes,” said Cardinal Polletto. “I want you to keep me informed of any changes in Cardinal Maximilian’s condition. If he wakes up, I want to know immediately.”

“Most certainly, I plan to stay here around the clock.” Cardinal Polletto thanked the bishop for his diligence, then took another look at Cardinal Maximilian. “Has anyone given thought to the cardinal’s security?”

“It hasn’t been mentioned,” the bishop responded. “Do you think it’s necessary? I mean, do you think whoever did this will try again?”

“You can’t be too sure,” said Cardinal Polletto. “It’s better to be safe.”

Bishop Ruini stroked his chin. “I guess I could prevail upon the police to post someone, or call the Vatican Guard.”

“I’d be happy to leave Father Ortega, my assistant, to help with any details. He has a special knack for security.”

“I don’t believe he’ll be needed,” said the bishop. “I can handle this myself.”

The Vatican aides left the room. When it was clear that nobody was listening, Cardinal Polletto pulled the bishop close. “How much do Veil and his partner know?”

Bishop Ruini nervously rubbed his hands together. “Not much at this point, but soon they’ll pull it all together. They know Samuel was being kept at the castle in Torre Astura, but have no idea where he is now.”

“Good, then we have time.”

“A little, they’re working on the identities of the men they killed at the castle. That will lead them to Rinaldo and Dianora.” Cardinal Polletto looked around to make sure nobody was near the door. “Rinaldo and Dianora can take care of themselves. With Cardinal Maximilian out of action, things should slow down considerably.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be the case. The cardinal left instructions that the American, Robert Veil, should lead Il Martello di Dio in this matter, and as you know, he’s very determined.”

Cardinal Polletto thought in silence, his eyes fixed on the bishop’s.

“Fine, it means nothing. Everything is in place at Bracciano. By the time he figures it out, it’ll be over.” The cardinal noticed hesitation in Bishop Ruini’s eyes, weakness. “Is there something I’m missing?” he asked.

“No, Cardinal, I just…I,” Bishop Ruini began to say.

Cardinal Polletto grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him closer. “Don’t fold up on me now,” he said, in a low growl. “This is not the time.”

Father Ortega had overheard Bishop Ruini on a phone call at the Vatican not long after they arrived in Rome, discussing Samuel and his whereabouts. Cardinal Polletto finally confronted the bishop, and offered him a place in The Order’s new kingdom, or death to him and everyone in his family.

Bishop Ruini’s hands trembled, sweat beaded up on his forehead.

Cardinal Polletto eased his grip. “There will be a place for you, a high place in my administration, but I need you to stand firm through this.

We’ll need leaders like you in The New Order.” A weak smile elbowed its way on the bishop’s lips. “I understand.

I’m fine.”

Cardinal Polletto let go. “Good, then there’s one last thing I need you to do.”

Bishop Ruini gathered himself and stood up straight. The cardinal looked over at Cardinal Maximilian, then back at the bishop, whose face turned pale.

“But how?” he whispered, anxious, eyes wide. “I could never.”

“I’d leave it to Father Ortega, but that would be too conspicuous.” He leaned over to the bishop’s ear. “It shouldn’t take much. Use a pillow, he’ll go peacefully.”

Bishop Ruini fell back against the wall, flush, confused. Cardinal Polletto handed him a tissue from a box on a table next to the bed. The bishop, eyes filled with tears, tried to compose himself. “What if I get caught?” he asked.

Cardinal Polletto headed for the door, grabbed the handle and turned.

“Don’t.” He opened the door. “Come, Bishop, let me buy you a cup of coffee. You look tired.”

Bishop Ruini, sullen, head low, walked past the cardinal, avoiding the eyes of those watching.

The door closed. Cardinal Maximilian’s eyes slowly opened.