Read Online the Third Secret (2005) by Steve Berry - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Steve Berry
Ads: Link
retiring two decades ago. He lives now in Romania and receives a monthly pension check that’s regularly cashed with his endorsement.”
Valendrea savored a deep drag on his cigarette. “So the inquiry of this day is, what does Clement want with that aging priest?”
“Surely it concerns Fatima.”
They’d just rounded Via Milazzo and were now speeding down Via Dei Fori Imperiali toward the Colosseum. He loved the way Rome clung to its past. He could easily envision emperors and popes enjoying the satisfaction of knowing that they could dominate something so spectacularly beautiful. One day he would savor that feeling as well. He was never going to be content with the scarlet biretta of a cardinal. He wanted to wear the
camauro,
reserved only for popes. Clement had rejected that old-style hat as anachronistic. But the red velvet cap trimmed in white fur would serve as one of many signs that the imperial papacy had returned. Western and Third World Catholics no longer would be allowed to dilute Latin dogma. The Church had become far more concerned with accommodating the world than with defending its faith. Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism, and too many Protestant sects to count were cutting deeply into Catholic membership. And it was all the devil’s work. The one true apostolic church was in trouble, but he knew what its corpus needed—a firm hand. One that ensured priests obeyed, members stayed, and income rebounded. One he was more than willing to provide.
He felt a touch to his knee and looked away from the window. “Eminence, it’s just ahead,” Ambrosi said, pointing.
He glanced back out the window as the car turned and a progression of cafés, bistros, and flashy discos streamed by. They were on one of the lesser streets, Via Frattina, the sidewalks packed with night revelers.
“She’s staying in the hotel just ahead,” Ambrosi said. “I located the information on her credentials application filed in the security office.”
Ambrosi had been thorough, as usual. Valendrea was taking a chance visiting Katerina Lew unannounced, but he hoped the hectic night and the late hour would minimize any curious eyes. How to make actual contact was something he’d been considering. He didn’t particularly want to parade up to her room. Nor did he want Ambrosi doing that. But then he saw none of that would be necessary.
“Perhaps God is watching over our mission,” he said, gesturing to a woman strolling down the sidewalk toward an ivy-encased entrance for the hotel.
Ambrosi smiled. “Timing is everything.”
The driver was instructed to speed past the hotel and ease alongside the woman. Valendrea pressed a button and the rear window descended.
“Ms. Lew. I am Cardinal Alberto Valendrea. Perhaps you recall me from the tribunal this morning?”
She ceased her casual stride and stood facing the window. Her body was supple and petite. But the way she carried herself, how she planted her feet and considered his inquiry, the way her shoulders squared and her neck arched, signaled something more substantial in her character than her size might indicate. There was a languorous trait about her, as if a prince of the Catholic Church—the secretary of state, no less—approached her every day. But Valendrea also sensed something else. Ambition. And that perception instantly relaxed him. This might be far easier than he’d first imagined.
“Do you think we might have a conversation? Here in the car?”
She threw him a smile. “How could I refuse such a gracious request from the Vatican secretary of state?”
He opened the door and slid across the leather seat to give her room. She climbed inside, unbuttoning her fleece-lined jacket. Ambrosi closed the door behind her. Valendrea noticed a hike in her skirt as she settled into the seat.
The Mercedes inched forward, stopping a little way down a narrow alley. The crowds had been left behind. The driver exited and walked back to the end of the street, where Valendrea
Valendrea savored a deep drag on his cigarette. “So the inquiry of this day is, what does Clement want with that aging priest?”
“Surely it concerns Fatima.”
They’d just rounded Via Milazzo and were now speeding down Via Dei Fori Imperiali toward the Colosseum. He loved the way Rome clung to its past. He could easily envision emperors and popes enjoying the satisfaction of knowing that they could dominate something so spectacularly beautiful. One day he would savor that feeling as well. He was never going to be content with the scarlet biretta of a cardinal. He wanted to wear the
camauro,
reserved only for popes. Clement had rejected that old-style hat as anachronistic. But the red velvet cap trimmed in white fur would serve as one of many signs that the imperial papacy had returned. Western and Third World Catholics no longer would be allowed to dilute Latin dogma. The Church had become far more concerned with accommodating the world than with defending its faith. Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism, and too many Protestant sects to count were cutting deeply into Catholic membership. And it was all the devil’s work. The one true apostolic church was in trouble, but he knew what its corpus needed—a firm hand. One that ensured priests obeyed, members stayed, and income rebounded. One he was more than willing to provide.
He felt a touch to his knee and looked away from the window. “Eminence, it’s just ahead,” Ambrosi said, pointing.
He glanced back out the window as the car turned and a progression of cafés, bistros, and flashy discos streamed by. They were on one of the lesser streets, Via Frattina, the sidewalks packed with night revelers.
“She’s staying in the hotel just ahead,” Ambrosi said. “I located the information on her credentials application filed in the security office.”
Ambrosi had been thorough, as usual. Valendrea was taking a chance visiting Katerina Lew unannounced, but he hoped the hectic night and the late hour would minimize any curious eyes. How to make actual contact was something he’d been considering. He didn’t particularly want to parade up to her room. Nor did he want Ambrosi doing that. But then he saw none of that would be necessary.
“Perhaps God is watching over our mission,” he said, gesturing to a woman strolling down the sidewalk toward an ivy-encased entrance for the hotel.
Ambrosi smiled. “Timing is everything.”
The driver was instructed to speed past the hotel and ease alongside the woman. Valendrea pressed a button and the rear window descended.
“Ms. Lew. I am Cardinal Alberto Valendrea. Perhaps you recall me from the tribunal this morning?”
She ceased her casual stride and stood facing the window. Her body was supple and petite. But the way she carried herself, how she planted her feet and considered his inquiry, the way her shoulders squared and her neck arched, signaled something more substantial in her character than her size might indicate. There was a languorous trait about her, as if a prince of the Catholic Church—the secretary of state, no less—approached her every day. But Valendrea also sensed something else. Ambition. And that perception instantly relaxed him. This might be far easier than he’d first imagined.
“Do you think we might have a conversation? Here in the car?”
She threw him a smile. “How could I refuse such a gracious request from the Vatican secretary of state?”
He opened the door and slid across the leather seat to give her room. She climbed inside, unbuttoning her fleece-lined jacket. Ambrosi closed the door behind her. Valendrea noticed a hike in her skirt as she settled into the seat.
The Mercedes inched forward, stopping a little way down a narrow alley. The crowds had been left behind. The driver exited and walked back to the end of the street, where Valendrea
Similar Books
