“Those are two very different objectives.”

“Not if you understand what we’re trying to do.”

“You mean like creating raw panic? I guess there’s nothing more practical than that. I’m not sure that’s what the ‘Hodoporia’ has in mind.”

“I agree. And it’s not what we have in mind, either.”

“Not from what I’ve seen.”

Cesare seemed ready to press on. Instead, he stopped. The lazy smile reappeared. His gaze drifted out the window. “That will all be corrected.”

“Oh.” Pearse nodded. “I get it. Blaney’s the good Manichaean with all the programs. It’s von Neurath who’s been the rogue all along.” When Cesare didn’t answer, Pearse continued. “You really expect me to believe that Blaney had no idea what von Neurath was doing? Do you actually believe that? Unless I’ve missed something, you need to eliminate every other church out there before your true and holy one can make its appearance. Which means von Neurath is every bit the committed Manichaean Blaney is, and every bit as crucial. Maybe more so. Blaney needs this violence and hysteria just as much as von Neurath does.”

Cesare looked again at Pearse. “He needs the ‘Hodoporia’ for the reason you’ve just pointed out. Are you that dense that you think there haven’t been Manichaean Popes before now? Benedict the Ninth, Celestine the Fifth-but they were as devoted to the ‘Hodoporia’ as we are. And not just to its destructive force as von Neurath is. They refused to do anything-in fact, they knew they couldn’t do anything-because the promise of the ‘Hodoporia’ isn’t just about destruction. It’s about rebirth. You more than anyone know that it explains what the unity is meant to look like beyond the corrupted church. Without the ‘Hodoporia’ and its full promise, those Popes had no choice but to keep their power in check while they served a corrupted church. A man like von Neurath doesn’t understand that.”

“Really? Or maybe those Popes realized the greater paradox. That in order to achieve the triumph here on earth-your one pure church-they had to unleash a darkness that would have tainted any consequent light, no matter how pure. Blaney’s just convinced himself that the ‘Hodoporia’ can rise above that. How convenient.”

Cesare had lost the smile. “You really didn’t understand it at all, did you?”

“I guess not.”

Silence. Cesare again turned to the window. “Well, then, you’ve missed your opportunity now that Blaney has it.”

“Oh, he doesn’t have it.”

Pearse thought he saw the slightest crack in Cesare’s expression. Just as quickly, the monk regained his composure.

“Then he will soon enough.” He slowly turned to Pearse. “How’s the boy? I meant to ask. He has such a good mind for the prayers.”

The two men stared at each other. Cesare then returned his gaze to the window. “Such a lovely little soprano.”

Pearse stood there, his eyes fixed on Cesare. Once again, he felt a rush of violence. With every ounce of restraint he had, he slowly turned and headed for the door.

“Good-bye, Ian.”

Half a minute later, Pearse watched Angeli rise from her chair as he walked back into the library. “Well?” she said.

Pearse said nothing as he moved toward them.

Angeli sensed something. “What is it, Ian?”

“Did he tell you anything?” asked Peretti, once again seated behind the desk.

Pearse drew up to them. He continued to hold Peretti’s gaze. Finally, he spoke. “I can’t give you the scroll.”

The cardinal leaned forward. “You have to believe me that we’re not involved-”

“That’s not the reason,” said Pearse.

“Then it’s the scroll itself, isn’t it?” said Angeli. Pearse started to shake his head, but she was already taking off. “I knew it. What’s in there, Ian?” The glint was back. “Why all the fuss?”

He started to explain; again she pressed.

“What have they been hiding all these years?”

Pearse saw the anticipation in her eyes. He knew she wouldn’t let it go. Very quietly, he finally said, “Q.”

“Q!” Her knees nearly buckled. “You mean to say it’s … Of course.”

Ten minutes later, she was pacing the middle of the room, a cigarette in one hand, waving wildly as she spoke. “That’s remarkable. Unbelievable. The Resurrection bits alone …” She stopped and looked at the two of them. “No wonder the Manichaeans wanted to get their hands on it. Out with the old church, in with the new. It’s perfect. This whole Islam business finally makes sense.”

Angeli’s enthusiasm was having a very different effect on Peretti. The lines on his face seemed to deepen as he spoke. “Something like that would be dangerous in anyone’s hands. I can understand your hesitation.”

“No, you can’t,” said Pearse, now seated in the lip of the desk. Again, with no emotion in his voice, he said, “I’m giving it to Blaney.”

“What?” Angeli blurted out. “Giving it to … If those passages are in there-”

“I know,” said Pearse. “I don’t have a choice.”

“I’m afraid it’s not your choice to make,” said Peretti.

“I think it is.” Pearse waited before continuing. “My son’s life depends on it.”

The room fell silent.

After several uncomfortable moments Angeli said, “I … had no idea.”

“Neither did I,” said Pearse, again no emotion.

“How did-”

“In Bosnia, during the war. Before I took the cloth.”

After a long silence, Peretti finally spoke. “So you never knew about the boy?”

Pearse shook his head.

“But why would Blaney have him?”

“Because he’s known about him from the beginning. He made sure that he was raised as a Manichaean. And then made equally certain that I never found out. Probably with this very moment in mind.” Pearse waited, then said, “He has the mother, as well.” He saw the look in Peretti’s eyes. “No. She’s not one of them. She was as much in the dark as I was.”

“You’re certain of that?” he asked. Pearse continued to stare at him. Peretti nodded. “I’m not sure that changes anything.”

“I think it does,” said Pearse. “I have the scroll.”

“You can’t be serious,” said Peretti.

Pearse stared back at him.

“Actually … I think he can,” said Angeli. It was clear her wheels were spinning. “You say the scroll is unambiguous about the Resurrection business?” Pearse nodded. “But you also say it’s equally clear on individual responsibility, autonomy, and women?” Again, he nodded. She looked at Peretti. “That could be very helpful to the church right now, Eminence.”

“Where are you going with this, Professor?”

“I think that’s pretty clear, isn’t it?”

Peretti shook his head. “No. You can’t have one without the other.”

“Why not?” she said.

“You can’t simply write out the things you don’t like.”

“Why?” It was Pearse who now asked.

“‘Why?’” Peretti seemed surprised that it was Pearse who had asked. “Because, Father, we’re talking about the Holy Word of Christ. You can’t overlook that.”

“The Gospel writers did,” said Pearse. “They had Q and chose to take what they wanted from it.” He waited. “Maybe that’s what the church needs now in order to survive in the next millennium. Another dose of selective editing.”

Peretti stared at him for a moment. “From what the professor tells me, Father, you’re the last person I would have expected to hear that from.”

“Things change.” Pearse waited. “Look, my own reasons for you to do this aside, without those forty lines of Resurrection text, you’d have a very powerful document, something to take us beyond the brick wall we’ve all been running into since Vatican Two. Modernize the church without losing touch with the Christ we’ve always known. Q might just be the answer.”

“It’s the Word of Christ.” Peretti let the phrase settle. “I can’t permit that. And neither can you. You know that.”

Angeli jumped in. “I’ve worked with hundreds of scrolls, Eminence. None I’ve seen has ever come close to the one he’s describing. We’re lucky if we find a few strands of parchment here and there. The fact that this one hasn’t disintegrated makes it seem almost … unreal. You might have to lose a few bits just to make sure it looks authentic.” She stopped him before he could respond. “All right, I’m being a little facetious, but you do understand the point. It might be the one time when you can have your liturgical cake and eat it, too.”