the Third Secret (2005) Read Online Free PDF Page B

German mountains. An Alpine freshness. Such a shame to be inside.”
    Clement stepped into the alcove, but not far enough for him to be seen from outside. The pope wore a white linen cassock, caped across the shoulders, with the traditional white vest. Scarlet shoes encased his feet and a white skullcap topped his balding head. He was the only prelate among one billion Catholics allowed to dress in that manner.
    “Perhaps His Holiness could engage in that rather delightful activity after we have completed the briefing. I have other appointments, and the tribunal took up the entire morning.”
    “It would only take a few moments,” Clement said.
    He knew the German enjoyed taunting him. From beyond the open window came the hum of Rome, that unique sound of three million souls and their machines moving across porous volcanic ash.
    Clement seemed to notice the rumble, too. “It has a strange sound, this city.”
    “It is
our
sound.”
    “Ah, I almost forgot. You are Italian, and all of us are not.”
    Valendrea was standing beside a poster bed fashioned of heavy oak, the knicks and scrapes so numerous they seemed a part of its craftsmanship. A worn crocheted blanket draped one end, two oversized pillows the other. The remaining furniture was also German—the armoire, dresser, and tables all painted gaily in a Bavarian style. There hadn’t been a German pope since the middle of the eleventh century. Clement II had been a source of inspiration for the current Clement XV—a fact that the pontiff made no secret about. But that earlier Clement was most likely poisoned to death. A lesson, Valendrea many times thought, this German should not forget.
    “Perhaps you are right,” Clement said. “Visiting can wait. We do have business, now don’t we?”
    A breeze eased past the sill and rustled papers on the desk. Valendrea reached down and halted their rise before they reached the computer terminal. Clement had not, as yet, switched on the machine. He was the first pope to be fully computer literate—another point the press loved—but Valendrea had not minded that change. Computer and fax lines were far easier to monitor than telephones.
    “I am told you were quite spirited this morning,” Clement said. “What will be the outcome of the tribunal?”
    He assumed Michener had reported back. He’d seen the papal secretary in the audience. “I was unaware that His Holiness was so interested in the subject matter of the tribunal.”
    “Hard to not to be curious. The square below is littered with television vans. So, please, answer my question.”
    “Father Kealy presented us with few options. He will be excommunicated.”
    The pope clasped his hands behind his back. “He offered no apology?”
    “He was arrogant to the point of insult, and dared us to challenge him.”
    “Perhaps we should.”
    The suggestion caught Valendrea off guard, but decades of diplomatic service had taught him how to conceal surprise with questions. “And the purpose of such an unorthodox action?”
    “Why does everything need a purpose? Perhaps we should simply listen to an opposing point of view.”
    He kept his body still. “There is no way you could openly debate the question of celibacy. That has been doctrine for five hundred years. What’s next? Women in the priesthood? Marriage for clerics? An approval of birth control? Will there be a complete reversal of all dogma?”
    Clement stepped toward the bed and stared up at a medieval rendition of Clement II hanging on the wall. Valendrea knew that it had been brought from one of the cavernous cellars, where it had rested for centuries. “He was bishop of Bamberg. A simple man who possessed no desire to be pope.”
    “He was the king’s confidant,” Valendrea said. “Politically connected. In the right place at the right time.”
    Clement turned to face him. “Like myself, I presume?”
    “Your election was by an overwhelming majority of cardinals, each one inspired by the Holy