A final shot. Ivo screamed.
Pearse looked up.
There, lying in front of the boy, was Mendravic, his chest covered in blood. Ivo was crying wildly as he pulled at Mendravic’s arm.
“Get up, Salko! Get up!”
Unscathed. Perfect. Pearse breathed again as he saw his little man standing over Mendravic’s shattered body.
Even so, the Croat was doing all he could to calm the boy. Pearse pulled himself to his feet and hobbled over. Petra already held Ivo close to her chest as he continued to scream. Now at her side, Pearse took them both in his arms for several moments before turning and dropping to Mendravic’s side.
The sound of Ivo’s cries seemed to vanish as Pearse took Mendravic’s head in his hands. Barely focusing, Mendravic looked up at him.
His breathing was erratic as he spoke: “I taught him how to run out like that.” He coughed several times. “‘Out in the open, Ivi. Out in the open.’” His neck arched for a moment. “He’s all right, yes?”
Pearse nodded. “Yes.”
“Good … that’s good.” He tried to swallow. “I never meant to …” He squeezed Pearse’s arm, the grip powerful. “You have to know that, Ian.”
Pearse nodded, tears beginning to roll down his cheeks. A final act of redemption. “I do.”
Mendravic tried to nod, but his back suddenly constricted. He stared up at Pearse, an instant of clarity in the eyes. His grip then released. And he became still.
Pearse held him there, gently pressing Mendravic’s head to his own, unwilling, for the moment, to let go. His body began to shake, tears flowing for the man he had known. The man he would always know.
Slowly, he laid Mendravic’s head on the gravel. He brushed away his own tears, shut the Croat’s eyes, and made the sign of the cross. Then, as best he could, he made his way back to Petra and Ivo.
Four men lay dead, the rest in the hands of Peretti’s men. The scroll was where it had fallen, Blaney’s arm cast awkwardly over it.
None of it mattered, though. Not as he reached Petra and Ivo and wrapped his arms around them. Again he cried. They pressed into him, all three quietly cocooned within themselves.
Two hours later, Pearse was still holding Petra’s hand, Ivo on her lap, the three of them seated across from Peretti in his library. The stars outside the oriel windows were holding Ivo’s gaze, the first time since the Pincio that he’d stopped shaking. Angeli sat as well, the scroll in its box at her feet.
The doctor had left twenty minutes ago, Pearse’s flesh wound handled easily, more attention for Petra’s side. She was doing fine. A little less activity would be good. She had refused the sedative for Ivo.
“And I can’t convince you otherwise?” said Peretti.
“I don’t think so, Eminence,” Pearse answered.
“It’s an extraordinary opportunity, Ian,” said Angeli, no small degree of hope in her voice. “And I could use the help.”
Pearse shook his head.
“It’s not because you’re worried about the instability in the church, is it?” asked Peretti. “Because if that’s it, you might want to know that we’ve decided to make von Neurath a martyr in all of this.” He saw Pearse’s reaction. “Oh, yes. The woman who killed him has an interesting enough background to make her and Blaney the perfect models for a fanatical movement within the church.”
“Hard to believe,” said Angeli somewhat playfully, “but they were actually going to destroy a recently discovered parchment, a very sacred scroll that, some say, may shed light on a whole new, liberalized church. Can you imagine that?” She smiled. “Luckily, we caught them in time.”
“Sounds reasonable enough, doesn’t it?” asked Peretti.
“So no Manichaeans,” said Pearse.
“No,” answered Peretti. “Something that well entrenched wouldn’t blow over so quickly. This way, we defuse the current situation much more effectively.”
“And then?” asked Pearse.
“Then …” Peretti bobbed his head from side to side. “Then we publish Q and tell the world that it’s actually something called the ‘Hagia Hodoporia.’ That should send a shock wave through the Manichaean cells. Impotence has a tendency to undermine even the most powerful of heresies. I imagine it might even make your friend Cesare a little more talkative.”
Pearse nodded.
Peretti continued to stare at him. “But it’s not the instability, is it?”
Pearse waited. “No, Eminence, it’s not.”
“Then why?” When Pearse didn’t answer, he continued. “I realize the priesthood might not be what you want now”-he glanced momentarily at Petra and Ivo-“and I would certainly understand that, but you have the chance to take the church someplace it’s never been.”
“But built on what, Eminence?” Again, Pearse waited. “A few hours ago, we had the Word at its purest, and we decided to alter it to protect the church.”
“True,” countered Peretti, “and if I remember, you were the one who said we had no other choice.”
“Fair enough. But that’s always the argument, isn’t it? Protect the church, keep it strong, no matter how much we might need to change the message.”
“It’s still a very powerful message.”
“To a point, Eminence. I suppose taking a match to the ‘Hodoporia’ helped me to see that.”
Peretti’s tone was slightly less inviting “And how is that?”
Pearse waited. “I always thought that if I found something pure enough, everything would fall into place, no matter what the expectations surrounding it. But that just isn’t the case. Nothing stays that pure when it has to fit into a man-made structure. And Christ knew that. That’s why He designed the message with each singular spirit in mind. That’s His infallibility, His power. To know that everyone brings his or her own faith to the table, purely individuated, purely isolated, and yet, it’s in that perfect singularity that the message makes sense. It defines a relationship built on one brutal truth: that it’s our responsibility to find connection with the world outside us. No one else’s. And certainly no church’s. In a strange way, the Manichaeans brought that home to me.” Not even aware of it, Pearse pulled Petra’s hand closer to him. “It’s that connection that lies at the heart of purity, and makes clarity possible.”
Peretti continued to stare at Pearse. “You realize, of course, that it’s the church’s sole purpose to enhance that connection.”
“I’m not sure I agree anymore.”
Peretti was about to answer. Instead, he held back. “Well,” he said, nodding, “then we’ll be sorry not to have you.”
“So,” said Angeli, clapping her hands together and standing, an attempt to diffuse the moment, “you’re leaving me with His Eminence.” She laughed to herself as she looked at Peretti. “I’ll tell you, I’m not easy to work with.”
Peretti smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Ashtrays,” said Pearse. “I’d recommend them as a peace offering.”
“Very funny,” said Angeli. “So, now it’s back to the States, then?”
Pearse looked at Petra. “We’ll see.”
“I have some very good friends at the Biblical Institute in Boston. They’d love to get their hands on you.”
He smiled at Angeli, then turned again to Petra. “I think the first order of business is to get this little one to sleep.”
“Of course,” said Peretti, immediately on his feet. “We have rooms for you upstairs. And please, the villa is yours for as long as you need it.”
Pearse stood as well, then Petra, as Ivo hopped down to the floor. Pearse waited until he had Peretti’s gaze, then said, “Thank you, Eminence.”
“No,” said the cardinal, “thank you … Father.”
Pearse turned and picked Ivo up. He then took Petra’s hand.
Before they had taken a step, Angeli was on the move. “Wait, wait.” She darted in and kissed Pearse on the cheek. “I’ve always liked doing that. I suppose I’ll miss it.” She smiled at Petra and Ivo, then looked back at Pearse. Before he could reply, she was already bearing down on Peretti. “Now, the way I see it, Eminence, we have two choices. Well, one, really, if you understand how the …”