The Holy Bullet Read Online Free PDF Page B

in the office of one or the other. Another point of historical discord is the discussion itself. One faction defends a calm, cordial conversation, while another precisely the contrary. There are even those who reject all these theories and claim that such an encounter never took place. With history it’s all a question of point of view and imagination.
    In fact the supposed meeting between the two men occurred in the office of the first, at eleven o’clock on the morning of Tuesday, February 3. The second man showed up very early at the door of the office, not knowing that the American slept very late. He should have known his habits, since the man whom he waited for was not exactly a novitiate. At that time he had exercised his duties for more than ten years. No meeting was officially recorded.
    Thus, after two and a half hours of waiting, the American finally appeared at the office.
    “Good morning, Your Eminence,” said the assistant who opened the door promptly so the American wouldn’t dirty his chaste hand on the doorknob.
    “Good morning.” The harsh voice of someone who has risen too early. The best time in bed for this man was during the morning, the warmth of the sheets, the sound of daily movements, no guilty conscience. . . . Someone was sitting inside his office.
    “The cardinal has been waiting for you a long time,” the secretary told him quickly, nervously. The American had temper tantrums, especially in the morning. This time, though, he restrained himself from throwing any accusing look at the unlucky functionary. What could he do? Refuse a cardinal of the Holy Mother Church?
    The other was seated in front of the desk, his face expressionless, absorbed in the documents he’d brought with him. The American went to his desk without looking at him once.
    “Good morning, Your Eminence,” the recently arrived one said in a neutral tone. “I don’t recall that we had an appointment this morning.”
    “We didn’t,” replied the other without raising his head.
    Two dogs sniffing out each other’s fear—if you will pardon the metaphor. Take the canine allusion as merely a metaphor to help understand the scene, not a gratuitous insult to either of those present.
    “Then I’m going to have to ask you to leave and make an official appointment,” the American said coldly, sitting down and taking a Cuban cigar from a gold box on top of the mahogany desk.
    “Has Bishop Marcinkus forgotten how to behave with his superiors?” the cardinal asked, lifting his eyes for the first time.
    “Not at all, Your Eminence. I am only doing what my duties demand. All meetings should be previously scheduled. Besides, in this department my superior is His Holiness.”
    “I know, I know,” the cardinal said without taking his eyes off Marcinkus. “And how far do you think you are going to get?”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “Do you believe His Holiness is going to help you when the Italian and American authorities start applying pressure? Do you believe that he, in good faith, is going to stand by you?” The cardinal got up and leaned on the desk, looking intently at the bishop.
    “I don’t understand, Your Eminence.”
    “Come on, drop the act. You don’t have to play dumb with me. I already know everything.”
    “What, Your Eminence?”
    “Everything. Everything. The financial machinations, the money laundering, the losses at the Ambrosiano. I know what’s behind it all.”
    It was Marcinkus’s turn to stand up and look at the cardinal from his imposing height of six feet.
    “I’ll have to ask you to schedule this meeting for another time. Do me the favor of leaving.” His deep sigh failed to disguise the fury he wanted to show.
    “That won’t be necessary, Bishop.” The cardinal took his hands off the desk and moved toward the door. “His Holiness is informed.”
    Before the cardinal could leave, he heard the American’s reply.
    “That’s good, Your Eminence. You never know what could