Read Online The Order by Daniel Silva - Free Book Online Page B

unbendable countenance to match.
    He looked at Cardinal Albanese’s reflection in the elevator doors. “What’s on the menu this evening, Eminence?”
    â€œWhatever they serve us will be overcooked.” Albanese smiled gracelessly. Even in his red-trimmed cassock, he looked like
     the hired help. “Consider yourself lucky you don’t have to actually take part in the conclave.”
    In the nomenclature of the Roman Catholic Church, the Order of St. Helena was a personal prelature—in effect, a global diocese
     without borders. As superior general of the Order, Richter held the rank of bishop. Nevertheless, he was among the most powerful
     men in the Roman Catholic Church. Several dozen cardinals, all secret members of the Order, were obliged to obey his every
     command, including Cardinal Domenico Albanese.
    The elevator doors opened. Albanese led Bishop Richter along an empty corridor. The room they entered was in darkness. Albanese
     found the light switch.
    Richter surveyed his surroundings. “I see you’ve assigned yourself one of the suites.”
    â€œThe rooms were assigned by lottery, Excellency.”
    â€œLucky you.”
    Bishop Richter held out his right hand, the wrist cocked slightly. Albanese dropped to his knees and placed his lips against the ring on Richter’s third finger. It was identical in size to theRing of the Fisherman that Albanese had recently removed from the papal apartments.
    â€œI swear to you, Bishop Richter, my eternal obedience.”
    Richter withdrew his hand, resisting the urge to reach for the small bottle of sanitizer in his pocket. Richter was a germophobe.
     Albanese always struck him as a carrier.
    He moved to the window and parted the gauzy curtain. The suite was on the north side of the guesthouse, overlooking the Piazza
     Santa Marta and the facade of the basilica. The dome was aglow with floodlights. The wounds from the Islamic terrorist attack
     had healed nicely. If only the same could be said for the Holy Mother Church. She was a shadow of her former self, barely
     breathing, close to death.
    Bishop Hans Richter had appointed himself her savior. He had been prepared to wait out Lucchesi’s disastrous papacy before
     putting his plan into action. But His Holiness had given Richter no choice but to take matters into his own hands. It was
     Lucchesi who had erred, Richter assured himself, not he. Besides, God had been knocking on Lucchesi’s door for some time.
     To Richter’s way of thinking, he had merely given Pope Accidental an early start on the inevitable process of canonization.
    Richter’s thoughts were interrupted by a thunderous flush of the commode. When Albanese emerged, he was wiping his big hands on a towel—like a ditchdigger, thought Richter. And to think he actually regarded himself as a potential pope, the one Richter would choose to be his puppet pontiff. He was no intellectual giant, Albanese, but he had played the curial insider’s game well enough to secure two critical papal appointments. As camerlengo, Albanese had shepherded Lucchesi’s body from thepapal apartments to his tomb beneath St. Peter’s with no hint of scandal. He had also placed in Richter’s hands copies of several sin-filled personnel files from the Vatican Secret Archives that had proven invaluable during the preparations for the conclave. For his reward, Albanese would soon be the secretary of state, the second most powerful position in the Holy See.
    He dried his pitted face and then tossed the towel over the back of a chair. “With all due respect, Excellency, do you think
     it was wise to come here this evening?”
    â€œAre you forgetting that many of those cardinals downstairs are now wealthy men because of me?”
    â€œAll the more reason you should keep a low profile until the conclave is over. I can only imagine what the likes of Francona
     and Kevin Brady are saying right