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Cardinal Armando Mara sat at the small desk in the room he had been given for his use and studied the paperwork officer Gilbert had faxed to his friend Father Martin Miller. He had asked that a copy be made before releasing the originals to Fr. Miller. He instructed the younger priest not to respond to his friend until he had chance to study the material himself. Fr. Miller didn’t look like he understood the request, but he understood chain of command. That was something Mara knew well, also.
Even after being a priest for more than 25 years, Mara still didn’t consider himself a priest first. He was a soldier who happened to preach the Gospel of Christ. Not a soldier for Christ, for Jesus could never condone the work he did for the Church. Rather, Mara was a trained killer. He took the body and blood of Christ in Communion each day, and the blood of those who opposed his Lord whenever possible.
He held the page with the Seal of God up to the light of the small lamp. It was not the real seal, he realized. It was altered, making it something else. Something Mara recognized. He had half expected this when the Monsignor had asked him what it all meant. Miller had left the room, presumably to return to his office and the work of investigating Church finances, leaving Mara alone with Monsignor Copani.
“What does this all mean?” Copani had asked, his right hand was clenched into a fat fist on the desk while his left played idly with the silver crucifix that hung by a chain around his neck. Mara couldn’t help but notice that the Monsignor didn’t know how to make a proper fist. He would dislocate his thumb if he ever hit anyone with that hand, not that Mara could imagine the older man doing such a thing. He wasn’t a fighter. His first wasn’t a sign of aggression; he was clinging to something, something he hoped would save him. Cardinal Mara rose from his chair and paced to the other side of the room.
When he turned back to face the Monsignor, he was no longer the friendly Italian clergyman who had arrived, unannounced, the previous evening.
“We are under attack,” he said, closing on the Monsignor’s desk and leaning over it. Copani leaded back in his chair, his eyes wide. He started to mouth a response, but Mara wasn’t done. “What we do next may well decide the fate of the Holy Catholic Church in America.”
Mara saw the shock and fear in the older man’s face and sighed internally. It was as he feared. He would get no help from this office. He stepped back away from the desk and lowered himself into the seat that Fr. Miller had previously occupied. He resisted the urge to shake his head. These American priests were so soft. They were completed disconnected from the epic struggle the Church was intended to win for Christ on Earth. He couldn’t possibly explain to this man what was really going on. Fortunately, thanks to his rank in the Church, he didn’t have to.
“This is not something that truly concerns you, Monsignor Cobani. My apologies. I must travel to meet with this police officer and find out how this involves the Church precisely,” he said.
“Oh, of course,” Copani whispered the words. The relief on his face was unmistakable and his hand opened on the desk, still trembling slightly. “I’ll ask Fr. Carlson to make any arrangements you need.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Mara said, rising. “I have my own transportation. I’ll be leaving as soon as I’m packed.” He turned toward the door, taking the file with him. Copani seemed pleased to see the information leaving his office.
Mara opened the door and stepped into the hall, but before he closed it, he turned back to Copani. “I’ll be taking Fr. Miller with me, as a translator. I’ll return him when we’re finished.” He stepped into the hall and closed the door.
Now, back in his small room, his small suitcase packed and sitting on the made bed, Cardinal Mara glanced through the paperwork one last time. He resisted the urge to break out his satellite phone and place another call to his team. At last contact, they were headed to La Paz to deal with something that could not be ignored. He knew they were unavailable. He was on his own.
There was a knock at the door. Well, not completely, he thought. He opened the door to find Fr. Miller standing in the hallway.
“Are you packed?” Mara asked.
“I’m ready,” Miller replied, but said nothing more. Mara smiled for the first time that day.
Read Part 14
