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He motioned to the senior cardinal-bishop, a supporter, who rose and started the process. John Paul II had broken a long-standing practice of popes sitting before the princes by greeting the college standing, but this was a new day and everyone might as well start adjusting. Actually, they should be glad--in centuries past, kissing the papal shoe had been a part of the ritual.
He stayed seated and offered his ring for a dutiful kiss.
Ngovi approached about halfway through the procession. The African knelt and reached for the offered ring. Valendrea noticed that lips did not actually touch gold. Ngovi then stood and walked away.
"No congratulations?" Valendrea asked.
Ngovi stopped and turned back. "May your reign be all that you deserve."
He wanted to teach the smug son of a bitch a lesson, but this was not the time or place. Maybe that was Ngovi's intent, a provocation to spark an early show of arrogance. So he calmed his emotions and simply said, "I take that to mean good wishes."
"Nothing but."
When the last cardinal departed the altar, he stood. "I thank you all. I will do my best for the mother Church. Now I believe it's time to face the world."
He stomped down the center aisle, through the marble gate, and out the chapel's main entrance. He strode into the basilica and crossed the Regal and Ducal Halls. He liked the chosen route, the massive paintings on the walls making clear the superiority of the papacy over temporal power clear.
He entered the central loggia.
About an hour had passed since his election and the rumors were, by now, at an epidemic stage. Enough conflicting information had surely seeped from the Sistine that no one could, as yet, know anything for sure. And that was the way he was going to keep it. Confusion could be an effective weapon, provided the source of that confusion was him. His choice of name alone should be generating a fair amount of speculation. Not even the great warrior-popes, or the sanctified diplomats who'd managed election over the past hundred years, had dared that move.
He reached the alcove that led out to the balcony. But he would not exit just yet. Instead, the cardinal-archivist, as senior cardinal-deacon, would appear, then the pope, followed by the president of the Sacred College and the camerlengo.
He stepped close to the cardinal-archivist, just inside the doorway, and whispered, "I told you, Eminence, that I would be patient. Now do your last duty."
The old man's eyes betrayed nothing. Surely he already knew his fate.
Without saying a word, the archivist stepped onto the balcony.
Five hundred thousand people roared.
A microphone stood before the balustrade and the archivist stepped to it and said, "Annuntio vobis gauduium magnum." Latin was required for this announcement, but Valendrea knew the translation well.
We have a pope.
The crowd exploded in raucous joy. He could not see the people, but their presence could be felt. The cardinal-archivist spoke again into the microphone, "Cardinalem Sanctae Romanae Ecclesiae . . . Valendrea."
The cheers were deafening. An Italian had regained the throne of St. Peter. Shouts of "Viva, Viva" grew in intensity.
The archivist paused to glance back and Valendrea caught the wintry expression. The old man clearly did not approve of what he was about to say. The cardinal-archivist turned back to the microphone, "Qui Sibi Imposuit Nomen--"
The words came back in an echo. The name that has been chosen is--
"Petrus II."
The echo bounced across the massive piazza, as if the statues topping the colonnade were talking to one another, each asking the other in wonderment if they'd heard correctly. The people, for an instant, considered the name, then understood.
The cheers amplified.
Valendrea started for the doorway, but noticed only one cardinal following. He turned. Ngovi had not moved.
"Are you coming?"
"I am not."
"It is your duty as camerlengo."
"It is my shame."
Valendrea took a step back into the alcove. "I let your insolence go in the chapel. Don't try me again."
"What would you do? Have me imprisoned? My possessions seized? My titles stripped? This is not the Middle Ages."
The other cardinal standing nearby seemed clearly embarrassed. The man was a staunch supporter, so some show of power was needed. "I will deal with you later, Ngovi."
"And the Lord will deal with you."
The African turned and walked away.
He wasn't going to let this moment be ruined. He faced the remaining cardinal. "Shall we, Eminence?"
And he stepped out into the sun, his arms extended in a warm embrace to the multitudes who shouted back their approval.
FIFTY-TWO
MEDJUGORJE, BOSNIA-HERZEGOVINA
12:30 P.M.
Michener was feeling better. His vision had cleared and his head and stomach had finally settled down. He could now see that the infirmary room was a cubicle, the cinder-block walls a pale yellow. A window with lace curtains allowed light but no view, the panes coated with a thick layer of paint.
Katerina had gone to check on Jasna. There'd been no word from the doctor and he hoped she was all right.
The door opened.
"She's okay," Katerina said. "Apparently you both were just far enough away. Only a couple of nasty bumps to the head." She stood beside the bed. "And there's more news."
He looked at her, glad to once again see her lovely face.
"Valendrea is pope. I saw it on television. He just finished addressing the crowd in St. Peter's. Made a plea for a return to the Church's roots. And get this, he chose Peter II as his name."
"Romania is looking better and better."
She offered a half grin. "So tell me, was the climb to the top worth it?"
"What do you mean?"
"Whatever you and she were doing on that mountain last night."
"Jealous?"
"More curious."
He realized some explanation was owed. "She was supposed to tell me the tenth secret."
"In the middle of a storm?"
"Don't ask me to rationalize it. I woke up and she was outside in the street, waiting for me. It was spooky. But I felt the need to go."
He decided to say nothing about his hallucination, but his memory of the vision remained clear, like a dream that wouldn't let go. The doctor had said he'd been unconscious for several hours. So whatever he saw or heard was only a manifestation of all that he'd learned over the past few months, the messengers two men who weighed heavily on his mind. But what of the Lady? Probably nothing more than the image of what he'd seen at Jasna's house yesterday.
Or was it?
"Look, I don't know what Jasna had in mind. She told me that
to learn the secret I needed to come with her. So I went."
"You didn't find the situation a bit strange?"
"This whole thing is strange."
"She's coming here."
"What do you mean?"
"Jasna said she's coming here to see you. They were readying her when I left."
The door opened and a wheelchair guided by an older woman rolled into the cramped room. Jasna looked tired, her forehead and right arm bandaged.
"I wanted to see if you were all right," she said in weak voice.
"I was wondering the same about you."
"I only took you there because the Lady told me to. I meant no harm."
For the first time she sounded human. "I don't blame you for anything. I chose to go."
"I'm told the cross is permanently scarred. A blackened slash down its white length."
"Is that your sign to the atheists?" Katerina asked, a touch of scorn in her inquiry.
"I have no idea," Jasna said.
"Perhaps today's message to the faithful might clear up everything." Katerina apparently wasn't going to cut her any slack.
He wanted to tell her to back off, but he knew she was upset, venting her frustration on the easiest target.
"The Lady has come for the final time."
He studied the features of the woman sitting before him. Her face was sad, the eyes drawn tight, the expression different than yesterday. For twenty-plus years she'd supposedly talked with the mother of God. Real or not, the experience was significant to her. Now all of that was over, and the pain of her loss was evident. He imagined it being akin to the death of a loved one--a voice never to be heard again, counsel and comfort gone forever. As with his parents. And Jakob Volkner.
Her sadness suddenly became his.
"The Virgin revealed to me last night, on the mountaintop, the tenth secret."
He recalled what little he'd heard her say through the storm. I can remember. I know I can. Dear Lady, I had no idea.
"I wrote down what she said." She handed him a folded sheet of paper. "The Lady said for me to give it to you."
"Did she say anything else?"
