She did not react, as if a Vatican envoy contacted her daily. Finally she invited them inside.
The house was sparsely furnished in a mix-and-match decor. Sunlight spilled in from half-open windows, many of the panes cracked their length. A portrait of Mary hung over the fireplace, surrounded by flickering candles. A statue of the Virgin stood in one corner. The carved Madonna wore a gray dress trimmed in light blue. A white veil draped her face and highlighted wavy locks of brown hair. Her blue eyes were expressive and warm. Our Lady of Fatima, if he recalled correctly.
"Why Fatima?" he asked, motioning to the carving.
"It was a gift from a pilgrim. I like it. She seems alive."
He noticed a slight tremor to Jasna's right eye, and her barren expression and bland voice were causing him concern. He wondered if she was on something.
"You don't believe anymore, do you?" she quietly said.
The comment caught him off guard. "Why is that important?"
She shifted her gaze pointedly in Katerina's direction. "She confuses you."
"Why do you say that?"
"Priests rarely come here in the company of women. Especially a priest without his collar."
He had no intention of answering her inquiry. They were still standing, their host yet to offer a seat, and things were starting off badly.
Jasna turned to Katerina. "You don't believe at all. And have not in many years. How your soul must be tormented."
"Are these insights supposed to impress us?" If Jasna's comment bothered Katerina, she apparently was not going to let the woman know.
"To you," Jasna said, "what is real is only what you can touch. But there is so much more. So much you cannot possibly imagine. And though it cannot be touched, it is nonetheless real."
"We are here on a mission for the pope," he said.
"Clement is with the Virgin."
"That is my hope."
"But you do him a disservice by not believing."
"Jasna, I've been sent to learn the tenth secret. Clement and the camerlengo have both provided a written directive for it to be revealed."
She turned back. "I do not know it. And I don't want to. The Virgin will stop coming when that happens. Her messages are important. The world depends on them."
He was familiar with the daily messages from Medjugorje, faxed and e-mailed worldwide. Most were simple pleas for faith and world peace, fasting and prayer urged as a means to accomplish both. Yesterday he'd read some of the more recent in the Vatican library. Websites routinely charged fees for furnishing heaven's mandate, which made him wonder about Jasna's motives. But considering the simplicity of her home and the plain manner of her dress she wasn't reaping any profit. "We realize you don't know the secret, but can you tell us which one of the other seers we could talk with to learn it?"
"All were told to keep the information private, until the Virgin releases their tongues."
"Would not authority from the Holy Father be sufficient?"
"The Holy Father is dead."
He was tiring of her attitude. "Why must you make things so difficult?"
"Heaven has asked the same thing."
It sounded to him an awful lot like Clement's lamentations in the weeks before his death.
"I have prayed for the pope," she said. "His soul needs our prayers."
He was about to ask what she meant, but before he could say a word she crept close to the statue in the corner. Her gaze seemed suddenly distant and transfixed. She knelt on a prie-dieu, saying nothing.
"What's she doing?" Katerina mouthed.
He shrugged.
A bell pealed three times in the distance, and he remembered that the Virgin supposedly appeared to Jasna at three P.M. each day. One of her hands found the rosary that draped her neck. She clutched at the beads and started mumbling words he could not understand. He bent close and followed her gaze upward toward the sculpture, but saw nothing except the stoic wooden face of the Virgin Mary.
He recalled from his research that witnesses at Fatima reported hearing a buzz and feeling a warmth during the apparitions, but he thought that simply part of a mass hysteria that engulfed illiterate souls who desperately wanted to believe. He wondered if he was truly witnessing a Marian apparition or just a woman's delusion.
He moved closer.
Her gaze seemed locked on something beyond the walls. She was unaware of his presence and continued to mumble. For an instant he thought he caught a glimmer of light in her pupils--two quick flashes of a reflected image--a swirl of blue and gold. His head whirled left, searching for the source, but there was nothing. Only the sunlit corner and the silent statue. Whatever was occurring was apparently Jasna's alone.
Finally her head dropped and she said, "The Lady's gone."
She stood and moved toward a table and scribbled on a pad. When she finished, she handed the sheet to Michener.
My children, great is the love of God. Do not close your eyes, do not close your ears. Great is His love. Accept my call and my plea that I am entrusting to you. Consecrate your heart and make a home for the Lord within it. May He dwell within it forever. My eyes and my heart will be here even when I will not be appearing anymore. Conduct yourselves in everything as I'm asking you and leading you to the Lord. Do not reject God's name from yourselves, so that you would not be rejected. Accept my messages so that you would be accepted. It is time for decisions, my children. Be of righteous and innocent heart that I could lead you to your Father. Because this, my being here, is His great love.
"That's what the Virgin told me," Jasna said.
He read the message again. "Is this directed to me?"
"Only you can decide that."
He handed the page to Katerina. "You still haven't answered my question. Who can tell us the tenth secret?"
"No one can."
"The other five seers know the information. One of them can tell us."
"Not unless the Virgin consents, and I'm the only one left who experiences Her visits daily. The others would have to wait to receive permission."
"But you don't know the secret," Katerina said. "So it doesn't matter you're the only one who's not privy. We don't need the Virgin, we need the tenth secret."
"One goes with the other," Jasna said.
He couldn't decide if he was dealing with a religious fanatic or someone truly blessed by heaven. Her impertinent attitude didn't help. In fact, it only made him suspicious. He decided they would stay in town and try, on their own, to speak with the other seers who lived nearby. If nothing was learned, he could return to Italy and track down the one who lived there.
He thanked Jasna and started for the door, Katerina in tow.
Their host stayed rooted in the chair, her expression as blank as when they arrived. "Don't forget Bamberg," Jasna said.
Chilly fingers danced along his spine. He stopped and turned back. Had he heard right? "Why did you say that?"
"I was told to."
"What do you know about Bamberg?"
"Nothing. I don't even know what it is."
"Then why say it?"
"I don't question. I only do as I am told. Perhaps that's why the Virgin speaks to me. There is something to be said for a loyal servant."
FORTY-ONE
VATICAN CITY, 5:00 P.M.
Valendrea was growing impatient. His concern about the straight-backed chairs was proving justified, as he'd now spent nearly two agonizing hours sitting upright in the sedate Sistine Chapel. During that time each of the cardinals had walked to the altar and sworn before Ngovi and God that they would not support any interference in the election by secular authorities and, if elected, would be munus Petrinum--pastor of the universal church--and defend the spiritual and temporal rights of the Holy See. He, too, had stood before Ngovi, the African's eyes intense while the words were said and repeated.
Another half hour was needed to administer an oath of secrecy to the attendants allowed to remain within the conclave. Then Ngovi ordered everyone but
the cardinals from the Sistine and the remaining doors closed. He faced the assembly and said, "Do you wish a vote at this time?"
John Paul II's Apostolic Constitution allowed for a first vote immediately, if the conclave so desired. One of the French cardinals stood and stated that he would. Valendrea was pleased. The Frenchman was one of his.
"If there be any opposition, speak now," Ngovi said.
The chapel stayed in repose. There was a time when, at this moment, election by acclamation could occur, supposedly the result of a direct intervention by the Holy Spirit. A name would be spontaneously proclaimed and all would agree he was to be pope. But John Paul II eliminated that as a means of election.
"Very well," Ngovi said, "we will begin."
The junior cardinal-deacon, a fat, swarthy man from Brazil, waddled forward and chose three names from a silver chalice. Those selected would act as scrutineers, their task to count each ballot and record the votes. If no pope was elected, they would burn the ballots in the stove. Three more names, the revisers, were pulled from the chalice. Their job would be to oversee the scrutineers. Finally, three infirmarii were selected to collect ballots from any cardinals who might be taken ill. Of the nine officials, only four could be regarded as solidly Valendrea's. Particularly upsetting was the selection of the cardinal-archivist as a scrutineer. The old bastard might have his revenge after all.
Before each cardinal, beside the pad and pencil, lay a two-inch rectangular card. At the top was printed in black lettering: ELIGO IN SUMMUM PONTIFICEM. I elect as supreme pontiff. The space beneath was blank, ready for a name. Valendrea felt a special attachment to the ballot, as it had been designed by his beloved Paul VI.
At the altar, beneath the agony of Michelangelo's Last Judgment, Ngovi emptied the silver chalice of the remaining names. They would be burned with the results of the first balloting. The African then addressed the cardinals, speaking in Latin, reiterating the voting procedures. When he finished, Ngovi left the altar and took a seat among the cardinals. His task as camerlengo was drawing to a close, and less and less would be demanded of him in the hours ahead. The process now would be controlled by the scrutineers until another ballot was required.
One of the scrutineers, a cardinal from Argentina, said, "Please print a name on the card. More than one name will void the ballot and the scrutiny. Once done, fold the ballot and approach the altar."
Valendrea glanced to his left and right. The 113 cardinals were wedged into the chapel elbow-to-elbow. He wanted to win early and be done with the agony, but he knew that rarely had any pope won on a first scrutiny. Usually electors cast their initial ballot for someone special--a favorite cardinal, a close friend, a person from their particular part of the world, even themselves, though none would ever admit that. It was a way for the electors to conceal their true intentions and up the ante for their subsequent support, since nothing made the favorites more generous than an unpredictable future.
Valendrea printed his own name on the ballot, careful to disguise anything that might identify the script as his, then folded the paper twice and awaited his turn to approach the altar.
Depositing ballots was done by seniority. Cardinal-bishops before cardinal-priests, with cardinal-deacons last, each group ranked by date of investiture. He watched as the first senior cardinal-bishop, a silver-haired Italian from Venice, climbed four marble steps to the altar, his folded ballot held high for all to see.
At his turn Valendrea walked to the altar. He knew the other cardinals would be watching so he knelt for a moment of prayer, but said nothing to God. Instead, he waited an appropriate amount of time before rising. He then repeated out loud what every other cardinal was required to say.
"I call as my witness Christ the Lord, who will be my judge, that my vote is given to the one who before God I think should be elected."
He laid his ballot on the paten, lifted the glistening plate, and allowed the card to slide into the chalice. The unorthodox method was a means of ensuring that only one ballot for each cardinal was cast. He gently replaced the paten, folded his hands in prayer, and retreated to this seat.
It took nearly an hour to complete the balloting. After the final vote slid into the chalice, the vessel was carried to another table. There, the contents were shaken, then each vote was counted by the three scrutineers. The revisers watched everything, their eyes never leaving the table. As each ballot was unfolded, the name written upon it was announced. Everyone kept his own tally. The total number of votes cast had to add up to 113 or the ballots would be destroyed and the scrutiny declared invalid.
When the last name was read, Valendrea studied the results. He'd received thirty-two votes. Not bad for a first scrutiny. But Ngovi had amassed twenty-four. The remaining fifty-seven votes were scattered among two dozen candidates.
He stared up at the assembly.
Clearly they were all thinking what he was.
This was going to be a two-horse race.
FORTY-TWO
MEDJUGORJE, BOSNIA-HERZEGOVINA
6:30 P.M.
Michener found two rooms in one of the newer hotels. The rain had started just as they left Jasna's house, and they'd barely made it to the hotel before the sky exploded into a pyrotechnic display. This was the rainy season, an attendant informed them. The deluges came quick, fed by warm air off the Adriatic mixing with frigid northern breezes.
They ate supper at a nearby cafe crowded with pilgrims. The conversations, mostly in English, French, and German, centered on the shrine. Someone remarked that two of the seers had been in St. James Church earlier. Jasna was supposed to appear, but had failed to show, and one of the pilgrims had noted it was not unusual for her to remain alone during the daily apparition.
"We'll find those two seers tomorrow," he told Katerina, as they ate. "I hope they're easier to get along with."
"Intense, wasn't she?"
"She's either an accomplished fraud or the genuine thing."
"Why did her mention of Bamberg bother you? It's no secret the pope was fond of his hometown. I don't believe she didn't know what the name signified."
He told her what Clement had said in his final e-mail message about Bamberg. Do with my body as you please. Pomp and ceremony do not make the pious. For me, though, I would prefer the sanctity of Bamberg, that lovely city by the river, and the cathedral I so loved. My only regret is that I did not see its beauty one last time. Perhaps, though, my legacy could still be there. But he omitted that the message was a last statement from a pope who took his own life. Which brought to mind something else Jasna had said. I have prayed for the pope. His soul needs our prayers. It was crazy to think she knew the truth about Clement's death.
"You don't actually believe we witnessed an apparition this afternoon?" Katerina asked. "That woman was strung out."
"I think Jasna's visions are hers alone."
"Is that your way of saying the Madonna wasn't there today?"
"No more than she was at Fatima, or Lourdes, or La Salette."
"She reminds me of Lucia," Katerina said. "When we were with Father Tibor, in Bucharest, I didn't say anything. But from the article I wrote a few years ago, I remember that Lucia was a troubled girl. Her father was an alcoholic. She was raised by her older sisters. Seven kids in the house and she was the youngest. Right before the apparitions started her father lost some of the family land, a couple of sisters married, and the remaining sisters took jobs outside the home. She was left alone with her brother, her mother, and a drunk father."
"Some of that was in the Church's report," he said. "The bishop in charge of the inquiry dismissed most of it as common for the time. What bothered me more were the similarities between Fatima and Lourdes. The parish priest in Fatima even testified that some of the Virgin's words were nearly identical to what was said at Lourdes. The visions at Lourdes were known in Fatima, and Lucia was aware of them." He took a swallow of beer. "I've read all of the accounts from four hundred years of apparitions. There are a lot of mat
ching details. Always shepherd children, particularly young females with little or no education. Visions in the woods. Beautiful ladies. Secrets from heaven. Lots of coincidences."
"Not to mention," Katerina said, "that all of the accounts that exist were written years after the apparition. It would be easy to add details to give greater authenticity. Isn't it strange that none of the visionaries ever revealed their messages right after the appearance? Always decades pass, then little bits and pieces come to light."
He agreed. Sister Lucia had not provided a detailed account of Fatima until 1925, then again in 1944. Many asserted that she embellished her messages with later facts, like mentioning the papacy of Pius XI, World War II, and the rise of Russia, all of which occurred long after 1917. And with Francisco and Jacinta dead, there was no one to contradict her testimony.
And one other fact kept circling through his lawyerly mind.
The Virgin at Fatima, in July 1917, as part of the second secret, talked about the consecration of Russia to her Immaculate Heart. But Russia at that time was a devoutly Christian nation. The communists did not rise to power until months later. So what was the point of any consecration?
"The La Salette seers were a total mess," Katerina was saying. "Maxim--the boy--his mother died when he was an infant and his stepmother beat him. When he was first interviewed after the vision, he interpreted what he saw as a mother complaining about being beaten by her son, not the Virgin Mary."
He nodded. "The published versions of the La Salette secrets are in the Vatican archives. Maxim mentioned a vengeful Virgin who talked of famine and compared sinners to dogs."
"The kind of thing a troubled child might say about an abusive parent. The stepmother used to starve him as punishment."
"He eventually died young, broke and bitter," he said. "One of the original seers here in Bosnia was the same. She lost her mother a couple of months before the first vision. And the others have had problems, too."
"It's all hallucinations, Colin. Disturbed kids who have become troubled adults, convinced of what they imagined. The Church doesn't want anyone to know about the seers' lives. It totally bursts the bubble. Causes doubt."