The Last Cato Read Free

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    Of all the business at the Vatican, the election of a new pope interested people most. It was without a doubt the most fascinating, the most politically charged of the church’s worldly events. It demonstrated not only the basest ambitions of the Curia Romana, but also the least pious aspects of God’s representatives. Unfortunately, we were on the threshold of such a spectacular event. Vatican City was teeming with maneuvers and machinations on the part of the different factions interested in placing their candidate on Saint Peter’s throne. One thing was certain: It had been a long time since we in the Vatican had felt that the end was near for the pontificate. As a daughter of the church and a nun, I was hardly affected by all such problems, but as an investigator with several projects pending for approval and financing, I could be deeply affected. During the current pontificate, with his marked conservative leaning, it had been impossible to carry out certain types of investigation. In my heart, I yearned for a Holy Father who was more openminded, less worried about entrenching the official version of the church’s history. (So much material was labeled Classified and Confidential. ) However, I didn’t hold out much hope for such an unlikely revamping. The cardinals named by the pope had accumulated great power, and after more than twenty years, it looked like the election of a pope from the progressive wing was virtually impossible. Unless the Holy Spirit itself was determined to exert its powerful influence in such an unspiritual appointment, the conservative group would surely be the one to designate the new pontiff.
    Just then, a priest dressed in a black soutane approached Father Ramondino and whispered something in his ear. The reverend father raised his eyebrows, signaling for me to get ready. They were waiting for us. We were free to enter.
    The exquisite doors opened silently. I waited for the prefect to enter first, as protocol mandated. A sitting room three times the size of our waiting room and completely decorated with mirrors, gilded moldings, and frescoes—which I recognized as Raphaels—held the smallest office in its corner that I had ever seen in my life. It was barely visible at the opposite end of the large room, and consisted of nothing more than a classical writing desk situated on top of a rug and paired with a highbacked chair. To one side of the sitting room and under the slender, elegant windows that let the outside light filter in, a group of ecclesiastics seemed to be in the midst of an animated discussion. They were seated on small stools almost completely hidden under their cassocks. Behind one of them, standing at the fringes of the discussion, was a strange, taciturn, secular man. His bearing was so obviously military that I had no doubt he was a soldier or a policeman. He was very tall (over six feet), stocky, and compact, as if he lifted weights all day and chewed glass during meals. His blond hair was cropped so close that the nape of his neck and his forehead gleamed.
    Seeing us walk in, one of the cardinals, whom I recognized immediately as the secretary of state, Angelo Sodano, got to his feet and came to greet us. He was a man of medium height, about seventy years old. He had a broad forehead due to partial baldness, and his white hair was slicked back under his purple silk zucchetto. He was wearing oldfashioned tortoiseshell glasses with large square lenses, a black soutane with purple trim and buttons, and an iridescent sash with matching socks. A discreet gold pectoral cross glittered on his chest. His Eminence beamed a wide, friendly smile as he approached the prefect to exchange the customary kiss on each cheek.
    “Guglielmo!” he exclaimed. “I’m so glad to see you again!”
    “Eminence!”
    Their mutual delight was clear. So, the prefect had not dreamed up his old friendship with the most important executive in the Vatican (after the pope, of course). I