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"What are you doing here?" he asked Ngovi.
"I was summoned."
"I thought Clement was at the North American College for the evening." He kept his voice hushed.
"He was, but he left abruptly. He called me half an hour ago and told me to meet him here."
"This is the third time in two weeks he's been in there. Surely people are noticing."
Ngovi nodded. "Thankfully, that safe contains a multitude of items. Hard to know for sure what he's doing."
"I'm worried about this, Maurice. He's acting strange." Only in private would he breach protocol and use first names.
"I agree. He dismisses all my inquiries with riddles."
"I've spent the last month researching every Marian apparition ever investigated. I've read account after account taken from witnesses and seers. I never realized there were so many earthly visits from heaven. He wants to know the details on each one, along with every word the Virgin uttered. But he will not tell me why. All he does is keep returning here." He shook his head. "It won't be long before Valendrea learns of this."
"He and Ambrosi are outside the Vatican tonight."
"Doesn't matter. He'll find out. I wonder sometimes if everybody here doesn't report to him."
The snap of a lid closing echoed from inside the Riserva, followed by the clank of a metal door. A moment later Clement appeared. "Father Tibor must be found."
Michener stepped forward. "I learned from the registry office of his exact location in Romania."
"When do you leave?"
"Tomorrow evening or the following morning, depending on the flights."
"I want this trip kept among the three of us. Take a holiday. Understand?"
He nodded. Clement's voice had never risen above a whisper. He was curious. "Why are we talking so low?"
"I was unaware that we were."
Michener detected irritation. As if he wasn't supposed to point that out.
"Colin, you and Maurice are the only men I trust implicitly. My dear friend the cardinal here cannot travel abroad without drawing attention--he's too famous now--too important. So you are the only one who can perform this task."
Michener motioned into the Riserva. "Why do you keep going in there?"
"The words draw me."
"His Holiness John Paul II revealed the third Fatima message to the world at the start of the new millennium," Ngovi said. "Beforehand, it was analyzed by a committee of priests and scholars. I served on that committee. The text was photographed and published worldwide."
Clement did not respond.
"Perhaps a counsel with the cardinals could help with whatever the problem may be?" Ngovi said.
"It is the cardinals I fear the most."
Michener asked, "And what could you hope to learn from
an old man in Romania?"
"He sent me something that demands my attention."
"I don't recall anything coming from him," Michener said.
"It was in the diplomatic pouch. A sealed envelope from the nuncio in Bucharest. The sender said he'd translated the Virgin's message for Pope John."
"When?" Michener asked.
"Three months ago."
Michener noted that was just about the time Clement began visiting the Riserva.
"Now I know he spoke the truth, so I no longer desire for the nuncio to be involved. I need you to go to Romania and judge Father Tibor for yourself. Your opinion is important to me."
"Holy Father--"
Clement held up his hand. "I do not intend to be questioned on this matter any further." Anger laced the declaration, an unusual emotion for Clement.
"All right," Michener said. "I'll find Father Tibor, Holiness. Rest assured."
Clement glanced back into the Riserva. "My predecessors were so wrong."
"In what way, Jakob?" Ngovi asked.
Clement turned back, his eyes distant and sad. "In every way, Maurice."
EIGHT
9:45 P.M.
Valendrea was enjoying his evening. He and Father Ambrosi had left the Vatican two hours ago and rode in an official car to La Marcello, one of his favorite bistros. Its veal heart with artichokes was, without question, the best in Rome. The ribollita, a Tuscan soup made from beans, vegetables, and bread, reminded him of childhood. And the dessert of lemon sorbet in a decadent mandarin sauce was enough to ensure that any first-timer would return. He'd suppered there for years at his usual table toward the rear of the building, the owner fully aware of his wine preference and his requirement of absolute privacy.
