Read Online The Sparrow by Mary Doria Russell - Free Book Online
Authors: Mary Doria Russell
Ads: Link
heâd do better," said John, smiling genially and thinking, You pedantic prig.
"Forgive me, Father General," Brother Edward broke in hastily. The animosity between Candotti and Voelker was becoming the stuff of legends. "With respect, the Exercises are a very emotional experience. I donât think Emilioâs ready for them now."
"Iâd have to agree with that," John said pleasantly. And Johannes Voelker is the last man on Earth Iâd choose as a spiritual director for Sandoz, he thought. Shit or get off the pot, my son.
"Strictly from a safety standpoint, however," Edward Behr continued, "Iâd like to see him elsewhere. He feels as though heâs under siege, here in Rome."
"Well, in a manner of speaking, he is," the Father General said. "I agree with Father Voelker that Emilio must face up to his situation, but now is not the time and Rome is not the place. So. We are agreed that itâs a good idea to take Emilio out of the Residence, even if we have different motives for the move, correct?" Giuliani rose from his desk and went to his windows, where he could see a morose crowd standing around under umbrellas. Theyâd been fortunate with the cold, wet weather, which had discouraged all but the most persistent reporters that winter. "The retreat house north of Naples would provide more privacy than we can guarantee here."
"The problem, I should think, is how to get Sandoz out of Number 5 without being detected," Edward Behr said. "The bread van wonât work a second time."
"Reporters follow every vehicle," Voelker confirmed.
Giuliani turned from the windows. "The tunnels," he said.
Candotti looked puzzled. "Iâm sorry?"
"We are connected to the Vatican by a complex of tunnels," Voelker informed him. "We can take him out through St. Peterâs."
"Do we still have access to them?" Behr asked, frowning.
"Yes, if one knows whom to ask," Giuliani said serenely and moved toward the door of his office, signaling the end of the meeting. "Until our plans are in place, gentlemen, it is best, perhaps, to say nothing to Emilio. Or to anyone else."
F INISHED AT N UMBER 5, John Candotti stood by the front door with his umbrella at the ready, irrationally irritated that the weather had been so bad for so long. Sunny Italy, he thought, snorting.
He shouldered his way through the media crowd that rushed at him as soon as he opened the door and took perverse pleasure in answering all the shouted questions with pointless quotations from Scripture, making a great show of piety. But as soon as he left the reporters behind, he turned his thoughts to the meeting that had just ended. Giuliani obviously agreed it was crazy to put Sandoz through the Exercises in his present state, John thought as he walked back to his room. So what was the point of that little show with Voelker?
It wasnât in John Candottiâs nature to be suspicious of motives. There were people who loved to play organizational chess, to pit one person against another, to maneuver and plot and anticipate everyone elseâs next three moves, but John had no talent for the game and so he was nearly home before he got it, at the very moment that he managed to step into a fresh pile of dog droppings.
Crap, he thought, in observation and in commentary. He stood there in the rain, contemplating his shoe and its adornment and his own guileless good nature. This meeting, he realized, was part of some kind of good cop, bad cop balancing act Giuliani was encouraging. Gee, nice thinking, Sherlock! he told himself mordantly.
Obedience was one thing. Being used, even by the Father General, was another. He was offended but also embarrassed that he had taken so long to wise up. And even suspicious, now, because Giuliani had agreed so easily to find a way out of town for Sandoz. But, scraping the shit off his shoe and considering things, John was also sort of flattered; after all, heâd been brought here all the way from Chicago
"Forgive me, Father General," Brother Edward broke in hastily. The animosity between Candotti and Voelker was becoming the stuff of legends. "With respect, the Exercises are a very emotional experience. I donât think Emilioâs ready for them now."
"Iâd have to agree with that," John said pleasantly. And Johannes Voelker is the last man on Earth Iâd choose as a spiritual director for Sandoz, he thought. Shit or get off the pot, my son.
"Strictly from a safety standpoint, however," Edward Behr continued, "Iâd like to see him elsewhere. He feels as though heâs under siege, here in Rome."
"Well, in a manner of speaking, he is," the Father General said. "I agree with Father Voelker that Emilio must face up to his situation, but now is not the time and Rome is not the place. So. We are agreed that itâs a good idea to take Emilio out of the Residence, even if we have different motives for the move, correct?" Giuliani rose from his desk and went to his windows, where he could see a morose crowd standing around under umbrellas. Theyâd been fortunate with the cold, wet weather, which had discouraged all but the most persistent reporters that winter. "The retreat house north of Naples would provide more privacy than we can guarantee here."
"The problem, I should think, is how to get Sandoz out of Number 5 without being detected," Edward Behr said. "The bread van wonât work a second time."
"Reporters follow every vehicle," Voelker confirmed.
Giuliani turned from the windows. "The tunnels," he said.
Candotti looked puzzled. "Iâm sorry?"
"We are connected to the Vatican by a complex of tunnels," Voelker informed him. "We can take him out through St. Peterâs."
"Do we still have access to them?" Behr asked, frowning.
"Yes, if one knows whom to ask," Giuliani said serenely and moved toward the door of his office, signaling the end of the meeting. "Until our plans are in place, gentlemen, it is best, perhaps, to say nothing to Emilio. Or to anyone else."
F INISHED AT N UMBER 5, John Candotti stood by the front door with his umbrella at the ready, irrationally irritated that the weather had been so bad for so long. Sunny Italy, he thought, snorting.
He shouldered his way through the media crowd that rushed at him as soon as he opened the door and took perverse pleasure in answering all the shouted questions with pointless quotations from Scripture, making a great show of piety. But as soon as he left the reporters behind, he turned his thoughts to the meeting that had just ended. Giuliani obviously agreed it was crazy to put Sandoz through the Exercises in his present state, John thought as he walked back to his room. So what was the point of that little show with Voelker?
It wasnât in John Candottiâs nature to be suspicious of motives. There were people who loved to play organizational chess, to pit one person against another, to maneuver and plot and anticipate everyone elseâs next three moves, but John had no talent for the game and so he was nearly home before he got it, at the very moment that he managed to step into a fresh pile of dog droppings.
Crap, he thought, in observation and in commentary. He stood there in the rain, contemplating his shoe and its adornment and his own guileless good nature. This meeting, he realized, was part of some kind of good cop, bad cop balancing act Giuliani was encouraging. Gee, nice thinking, Sherlock! he told himself mordantly.
Obedience was one thing. Being used, even by the Father General, was another. He was offended but also embarrassed that he had taken so long to wise up. And even suspicious, now, because Giuliani had agreed so easily to find a way out of town for Sandoz. But, scraping the shit off his shoe and considering things, John was also sort of flattered; after all, heâd been brought here all the way from Chicago
Similar Books
