Barnes grabbed Sarah by her other arm and, without further ado, yanked her out of the assistant’s hands.

“What are you doing?” J.C. asked.

“Sit down,” Barnes ordered Sarah before he turned to the old man. “She sent the papers to the Vatican.”

“I know. She’ll pay for that.”

“I got a call, precisely from the Vatican, just minutes ago.”

The old man shuddered. Disbelief darkened his eyes.

“And what do they want?”

“It’s not what they want, but what they ordered.”

57

LAST DEFENSE SEPTEMBER 28, 1978 OFFICE OF HIS HOLINESS JOHN PAUL I

Hans had survived a hectic day, but he had the sense that the next few hours would lead to an endless, sleepless night.

The chief of security for the Swiss Guard had spent the whole afternoon receiving contradictory instructions. While many had come from the secretary of state, there were others from the head of the Vatican Archives, from the secretary of the synod, and from the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith.

That same afternoon, Cardinal Jean-Marie Villot’s secretary asked to have the Leo XIII passageway, usually kept closed, opened. Later, none other than the prefect of the Doctrine of the Faith told him that this was an unnecessary measure. Archbishop Paul Marcinkus’s office had recommended that he open all points of access to Pope John Paul’s private quarters. Other assistants to different cardinals stopped by the Swiss Guard’s offices to give him notes with even more unusual security details.

Hans finally guessed that a critical meeting was going to take place in the pope’s office, which was next to his private quarters, in the Apostolic Palace. Naturally, in the security chief’s judgment, this was a highly important political gathering, though informal, since there was no communication from the Vatican public-address system. All he could conclude from that bundle of faxes, phone calls, and loose notes was that those attending would include Secretary of State Jean-Marie Villot, Archbishop Paul Marcinkus, and the Archbishop Vicar of Rome, Ugo Poletti.

Hans headed for the Apostolic Palace and reinforced the Swiss Guard at the main entrance. Then he called an assistant to deploy guards at the back of the building. Each of the various attending groups was instructed to lead the cardinals through a discreet doorway. From there they would climb a side staircase and gain access to the palace corridor without interference. The Swiss Guard took care to seal off all the entrances and prevent any possible intrusion. This way, the cardinals, whoever they might be, would avoid meeting anyone en route and would arrive at the pope’s office within four minutes and fifty seconds. Hans also arranged for a pair of non-uniformed guards stationed at eighty-foot intervals, and at the entrance to the office, two of his best men in full regalia, according to custom.

The office anteroom had a reception desk, usually occupied by a former assistant to John XXIII whom no one wanted to dismiss, and who was given tasks better suited to an office boy than to a pontifical door guard.

In the middle of the afternoon the pontiff’s two secretaries left their offices, and Hans knew that the meeting was about to take place. The names of the attendees were going to be relayed to him through his walkie-talkie.

“Cardinal Villot is coming up, sir.”

Exactly half a minute later, there was a new walkie-talkie announcement.

“Cardinal Ugo Poletti and Cardinal Agostino Casaroli are coming up, sir.”

Cardinal Casaroli served as counselor for Church Public Affairs, a kind of foreign minister for the Vatican.

A couple of minutes later, the sergeant’s speaker crackled again as the agent stationed at the entrance identified the next guests.

“Archbishop Marcinkus and Monsignor De Bonis, sir.”

Paul Marcinkus and Donato de Bonis both belonged to the management of the Vatican Bank.

Exactly four minutes and fifty seconds later, the first to arrive appeared at the end of the corridor and waited at the top of the stairs for their colleagues.

Hans observed the guards. Everything was in order.

When the five cardinals gathered, they exchanged a few words and almost immediately moved toward the pontiff’s office. It was a strange retinue. In the Vatican it was said that “the friends” of Villot, those who familiarly called him Jeanni, were angry about the supposed innovations being introduced by Pope John Paul I. Given all their precautions, it was obvious that Villot, Marcinkus, De Bonis, Casaroli, and Poletti did not wish to be seen together.

Hans felt a cold shiver watching those five men advance down the corridor. Their friendly, pious mannerisms suddenly seemed menacing, and their billowing black robes produced a somber, sinister effect.

Without a word to him, they went inside and shut the door behind them.

HIS HOLINESS didn’t see the five prelates come in. He was looking at the rooftops of Rome from his office window. By then he had almost grown used to these untimely visits. Since that unlucky conclave in which they had named him supreme pontiff, the members of the Curia hadn’t let up on their intrigues for one moment. He knew too well that he was surrounded by wolves. Without turning around, Albino Luciani spoke softly.

“It’s taken you a long time.”

Villot observed his companions out of the corner of his eye and, with a slight wave of his hand, asked them not to respond, to let the pope speak.

John Paul I turned around and observed them with his typical roguish smile. It only served to compound his enemies’ intense mistrust.

“Yes. You’ve taken a long time and, besides, I expected a few more cardinals. It would have pleased me greatly to see all of you together. Since you’ve got certain activities in common, I imagined that you’d try to mount your defenses.”

“They are lies, Holy Father,” De Bonis pleaded, hidden behind Marcinkus.

“Of course, Cardinal. Otherwise, you couldn’t be here,” the pope responded, then going over to his desk and sitting down. The five cardinals remained standing. The pontiff opened one of the folders on his desk and observed the prelates over the top of his glasses. Then he looked back at the papers. “Several days ago, as you surely must know, I received a commission from the Secret Service of the United States.”

Villot sighed audibly. Finally the Americans were doing something useful. Surely the CIA had informed the pope of certain politicized factions in the Curia that were attacking the secretary of state and Marcinkus. Hopefully the Americans would try to convince John Paul I of the nonexistence of the P2 Lodge.

“That’s great news, Holy Father. Maintaining friendly relations with the United States of America is a wise decision. The CIA has always been very helpful for the Church, and its directors are godly men.”

“You may not be aware, Cardinal Villot, that the CIA is not the only American investigative agency. And, luckily, not all the American politicians and judges are as ‘godly’ as you would like. For instance, these friends who visited me were not exactly godly concerning you.”

“These are crosses the Lord gives us to bear,” Cardinal Casaroli mused. “We resign ourselves to having to stand up to the devil’s temptations, Holy Father.”

“Yes. I hope you’re able to stand up to them.”

Albino Luciani got up with the folder in his hand and waved it in front of the cardinals. His eyes showed more sadness than anger, but he could not tolerate the contents of this report.

“What have you been doing all this time?”

“Our life is devoted to the benefit of the Church, Holy Father,” Villot answered firmly.

“To the benefit of the Church?” Luciani asked angrily. “What Church needs to have its servants making clandestine plots and holding secret meetings, Cardinal Villot? Since when did the Church require its priests to get involved with the Masons, Cardinal Poletti? What Church needs to be defended by making filthy money in the Bahamas, Archbishop Marcinkus? Since when has it been Rome ’s wish to invest in pornography, Monsignor