‘And all this took place here, in the chapel?’
‘Yes. Cardinal Cain was with me outside the chapel when the Pope recorded his message. After the Pope sealed the envelope, Cardinal Cain and I placed it in a secure box at the IOR.’
The Istituto per le opere di Religione — the Institute for Religious Works more commonly known as the Vatican Bank — held as many secrets in its vaults as notes and securities. As the head of Vatican Intelligence, Donoher knew both were valuable forms of currency. That the Pope would place this secret in one of the bank’s vaults made perfect sense.
‘What were the Pope’s instructions regarding the envelope?’ Donoher asked.
‘The IOR could release it only to the Pope himself, or, in the event of his death, to the Cardinal Camerlengo on the morning of the opening session of the conclave. My instructions were to bring you to the IOR to retrieve it. If I was unable to perform this duty, the IOR was to notify the Cardinal Camerlengo directly.’
Sikora spoke easily, without a hint of nervousness. Donoher also noted that he maintained eye contact as he spoke.
‘So, from the time you removed the disk from the camera until you placed it in the vault,’ Donoher posited, ‘the disk was never out of your sight?’
‘That is correct,’ Sikora replied.
‘And you were never alone with it?’
‘Never. Cardinal Cain and I delivered the envelope to the IOR together.’
‘Do you have any questions for the Archbishop?’ Donoher asked Grin.
‘Just one. Did you program the camcorder to put a time and date stamp on the DVD?’
‘I always do that, for posterity.’
Grin nodded to Donoher that he was finished.
‘Thank you, Michal. That’s all the questions we have for now.’
Donoher led Grin out of the Apostolic Palace and along the broad path that ran behind the basilica. Above them, the basilica’s dome glowed in an aura of artificial light that obscured the stars above.
‘What do you think?’ Donoher asked.
‘He was being straight with you. You going to double-check his story with Cardinal Cain?’
‘Of course, but I’m sure I’ll get the same answers.’
‘Did you think Sikora was the leak?’
‘Not really. I thought perhaps there was a time when the disk was left unattended, or maybe the files were copied onto a hard drive. I hoped we’d find an opportunity when someone could have seen the Pope’s message beforehand.’
‘In the legal thrillers my lady likes to read, it’s called the chain of evidence, and the chain here looks pretty solid. I suppose Sikora and Cain could have sneaked a look at the disk, but that depends on how much time elapsed between the recording of the DVD and when they dropped it off at the bank. The IOR should have a record of the deposit, and the camera burned the file data onto the disk.’
‘Even if opportunity and curiosity somehow led a pair of churchmen to conspiracy, you’re forgetting the seal. If they opened the envelope, they would have broken the Pope’s seal. Closing it again would have required a new seal, and to make one of those you need the Pope’s ring.’
‘Did he ever take it off?’
‘Not to the best of my knowledge,’ Donoher said. ‘And when I received the envelope at the IOR, the seal was still intact.’
‘Barnett told us Beijing received word from their embassy in Rome around four in the morning — eight o’clock last night, our time. If Sikora and Cain are the leak, they sat on what they knew until after the conclave started, which begs the question, Why? If it’s not them, we’re back to either someone eavesdropping on the Sistine Chapel or a cardinal has broken his oath.’
‘I don’t find either possibility to my liking,’ Donoher admitted, ‘but I pray it’s not the latter.’
40
Ke Wen-An could not feel his arms. The thin steel cable from which he was suspended dug deeply into his wrists like a dull saw blade. At first, the pain was excruciating, but numbness brought some relief. Blood streaked down his arms from where the skin had given way, the deep red trails dry and hard in the hours since the wounds were fresh.
The ordeal began late the previous day, when the police arrested Ke, along with his wife, his father, and his young daughter. Initially, they thought they were just one of the many families of Roman Catholics detained by authorities for questioning, but a unique interest in them became quickly apparent. Over the past twelve hours, the gray concrete interrogation room became hell for Ke and his family.
Ke’s feet dangled just inches from the floor, and he wondered if the weights strapped to his ankles would eventually lengthen his body enough to gain even a meager foothold. The floor was close enough to tempt him with the possibility of a respite, but the price to end his anguish was still too high.
Blood and saliva trickled down Ke’s throat, triggering a spasm of coughing. His body reflexively fought to prevent fluid from collecting in his lungs to avoid drowning, but with each breath his exhalations weakened. Carbon dioxide, the waste product of normal breathing, was slowly building to toxic levels inside Ke’s body.
And he was naked. Not that Ke cared at all about his state of undress — agony has a way of rendering the superficial concerns of modesty irrelevant. Bruises mottled his flesh — whorls of blues, blacks, and sickly yellows — a visual record of abuse by clubs, batons, whips, and fists. Burns scarred his flesh where cigarettes had been extinguished and firecrackers detonated. Blackened stubble was all that remained of the tufts of hair that grew in various places on his body. And when the fire beneath his arms failed to elicit the information his interrogators demanded, an accelerant was applied to his genitalia to assure adequate fuel for the flame.
As a physician, Ke understood the trauma his body was enduring. Injury and reaction. Cause and effect. And little by little his body’s defenses were failing, unable to keep up with the increasing scope of damage. He was past the tipping point and knew with all certainty that he would never recover. Not that he wanted to.
Ke was not tortured alone. The body of his wife lay atop a large table in front of him. In between his own beatings, he was forced to watch as the woman he loved and the mother of his child was tormented, her body defiled with vicious depravity. A succession of guards raped and sodomized Gan Yueying, splaying her nude body across the table for their warped, deviant pleasure. The last wrapped his meaty hands around her delicate throat and nearly strangled her to death as he climaxed.
The worst torture came from the man who led the interrogation. When his wife’s ravaged and beaten body no longer amused even the most cruelly imaginative of the guards, Liu questioned Ke again. With each refusal to answer, Liu severed another piece of Gan’s body.
Gan was never allowed to lose consciousness for long, and once she revived, Liu would cut her again. Digits littered the floor amid pools of blood, vomit, and waste. The skill with which he amputated her breasts with a balisong knife bespoke experience unimaginable. Gan screamed in agony as she was dismembered, but between her wails she locked eyes with her beloved husband and urged Ke to remain strong, to keep their faith.
Ke never imagined he would pray for his wife’s death, but when it finally came, he wept tears of joy. Her suffering was over. On the journey to heaven, he would not be far behind.
Liu leaned against the wall as the police doctor vainly tried to revive Gan, but finally the doctor shook his head and retreated from the interrogation room. Ke’s father and six-year-old daughter wept in the corner of the room, the old man trying to console the horrified child, unwilling witnesses to the barbarity inflicted upon the couple.