Pandora's Box: Book 3 of the Crystal Raven Series
Chapter 41

Rome – five months earlier.

The Conclave of Cardinals was into its ninth day of sitting. Outside, news from Turkey had yet to settle on the collective consciousness of the media, and the attention of the world was still on Rome. This election for pope had all the juicy intrigue to make it a media spectacle – murders, kidnappings, and ongoing investigation, and an apparent deadlock between political camps that could split the Church. The bishops were praying for guidance after another fruitless vote, preparing for another. The two surviving candidates had been asked to lead the prayers, and Cardinal Wright was praying now. He said nothing about his own candidacy – that would not be politic - only asking that God grant them all the wisdom and guidance as they searched their hearts for an answer. That he had his own agenda here that none of these men could know or even suspect, an agenda that would see most of their flock sheep or slaves to his own people, was something he chose to keep to himself. Nor did it make his own prayers anymore sincere.

And the sound of his voice, the charisma that gave him a presence only a vampyre could own, had a hypnotic effect on many of the men listening. The call for the vote came while these men were still under the thrall of his voice.

Many were surprised by their vote when the time came. They had voted their conscience, each consoled themselves, and his prayers had been inspiring. Later, when these men would talk amongst themselves, this self-justification would turn into conviction. Still, three votes shy of the consensus needed to elect a pope, it was the closest they had come to resolve the deadlock. Once again, black smoke rose from the chimney of the Vatican, announcing to the world that once again they had failed. Tomorrow then. Surely everyone liked to back a winner – it was human nature, and with only three votes lacking, these men would be vindicated for their change of heart. Tomorrow…

Word of the black smoke and their failure to elect a pope hit the airwaves in time for the evening news. For those inside the College of Cardinals, there was no retiring to their quarters, only another long night of prayer and contemplation. Cardinal Wright arranged to lead the morning prayers, right before the first vote of the day. He was beginning to fear he was not going to pull this off. Unlike these old, dried up husks of humans, he needed no sleep, and he was as lively and energetic as he had been on the first day. Oh, so close this evening, and still, the papacy lay out of his reach. Could his people still obtain their dreams without it? Did the papacy still have enough political clout in this modern world to call for peace when the time came?

Too many questions swirled about his mind for him to sit still, feigning contemplation. He wanted to get up and pace, but could not afford to show weakness in front of these mortal sheep. Too much was riding on the next twenty-four hours, personally as well as for his people. Word had reached him before the papal conclave, a hastily passed note during the High Mass that told him his people were making their move. And of course, that pesky Oberst Gersbach and his Swiss Guard waited with their investigation into the murder and kidnapping of his rivals. Only a Pope could call a halt to that investigation – for the good of the Church, of course.

Many of the old men around him were sleeping and not praying. A Cardinal two seats over from him was actually snoring. A more tolerant individual would make allowances for their age, and for the three days and nights without any real rest. Not Cardinal Wright. He saw only how weak and pathetic these men were, a pitiful species who had the gall to claim mastery over the world. His master would change all that, would restore the proper order where the strong ruled over the weak. And he would play a large role in this new world order.

The long night passed in silent reflection, each man lost in his own thoughts or his dreams. One of the cardinals in charge of organizing the conclave came to let Cardinal Wright know it was time to begin the morning prayers. He sighed, shaking off the cobwebs of his long hours of contemplation as he found his feet. This was it. One last push and the long years of plotting would bear fruit – he would become pope. True, his personal history would now come under closer scrutiny, and some of his back story – that part that had been carefully crafted by his handlers – would come to light. But that was a battle for another day.

Oberst Gersbach and his team of investigators had begun to tear apart the lives of their three surviving suspects, searching for a motive within their personal pasts. It was the blanks in Cardinal Wright’s personal history that first aroused his suspicions, the ambiguity of his early years as a priest before his meteoric rise within the church. The FBI agents who had conducted the background check on the then Father Wright could replace no-one who remembered the man and having personally witnessed more than one of the Cardinal’s charismatic sermons, Oberst Gersbach could not believe he was that unmemorable. Unless he had picked up this skill late in his career, it was as if the first thirty years of his priesthood had not existed.

The oberst ordered his men to look harder into the movements of this man and his assistants. Who were his assistants? Who were their associates? He wanted everything, and he wanted it now. True, Cardinal Wright could not be questioned until the conclave was over, but surely the Church would not elect a man like him Pope – a man Oberst Gersbach now suspected had orchestrated many of the recent deaths and the assault on his own person.

Cardinal Wright kept his impassioned plea to God going for over an hour. It was a verbal work of art. Within two minutes of his prayer’s opening sentence, not a sound could be heard in the chamber, a miracle given the health and advanced age of many of the men present. He prayed for peace and compassion, for understanding, and for the strength and vision to make the hard choices. He implored the men present to remember the true roots of the Church, its core beliefs and its duty to direct and protect God’s flock here on Earth. It was a speech that would have led an atheist to believe and amongst these men of faith, it gave birth to a flame of conviction.

As his last words fell from the rafters, a thunderous silence followed. He held it for a good three minutes before leading the congregation in a relieved ‘Amen.’ It was all over but the counting. You could see it in the faces of the men staring back at him, many totally enraptured. They waited only now for the call to vote. Surely this was a man who could lead many back to the faith, a true spiritual leader the likes of which the Church had not witnessed for many generations.

And at last, the time had come. The men left their seats to queue up to cast their final vote of this conclave. The soft rustle of robes and albs and the scrape of slippers was the only sound as the ballot was cast. The thrall of his prayer still held sway in this chamber, wrapping these men inside a cloak of calm stillness. Each hastily scrawled a name on a piece of parchment, dropping it wordlessly into the ballot box as they made room for the next man. One by one the slips of paper fell into place until only Cardinal Wright and his nearest rival remained.

“After you, Cardinal,” Cardinal Wright offered the elderly man. “Let the least amongst us be last.”

The man smiled and nodded. He wondered who his rival would vote for, knowing he could not afford any grand gestures with three votes lying between him and his election to Pope. Too much rested on it. Oh, the psychological games of the old and the weak, he thought wryly. If only he were free to show his true nature, none of these sheep would dare vote against him. He was, however, bound by the times and circumstances. How that would all change when his people regained their birthright! Would there even be another human pope? Would the Church even be needed? Yes, perhaps as a tool to control these foolish mortals. After all, they bred like lice in numbers that threatened even the planet they called home.

The counting had begun. Those entrusted with the deed took the ballot box to a quiet corner while the rest of the cardinals sought solitude or the comfort of their fellows. For appearance’s sake, Cardinal Wright returned to the chapel to pray, replaceing his thoughts too disturbed for this quiet activity. Only years of discipline kept him kneeling perfectly still, his head bent to pray. To the outside world, he remained the picture of pious devotion while inside raged a storm of anger that he had to put himself through this for mere mortals.

Yet it wasn’t for mere mortals, was it? He comforted himself with this thought. While these men sat insulated from the world within the Vatican, soldiers from his own people were beginning the conquest of Turkey. Soon the Vampyre dream of a homeland would be a reality. Trapped between the Islamic world it once led and the Western democracies, Turkey was ripe for conquest. Insular enough and prone to internal coups, its sudden silence would be slow to penetrate the consciousness of the decadent west – especially with its leader preoccupied with events in the Middle East and in South America.

White smoke drifted up from the chimney of the Vatican. Oberst Gersbach, like the world’s media, waited to hear word of who this new pope was to be. Mostly, he waited on his suspect. An hour ago, his people had uncovered a link between Cardinal Wright’s aide and a safe house used by the terrorists. Inside, search teams had found some of the ammunition that matched the round taken from the African Cardinal’s body – ammunition that was both unique in its calibre and its vintage. Yes, it was circumstantial, but many cases had been closed with a lot less.

Walking from his office to the square, where Oberst Gersbach would get his initial impress of the man he was going to have to report to, he barely noticed the crowd or the increased security measures. Since the first attack by the Brotherhood, such things had become a part of the daily routine of the Vatican, so long ago now that it had seemed to always be this way. Who noticed such things as ubiquitous as a clock on the wall, or the shoes you put on in the morning? All too soon, they faded into the background of your awareness, becoming just another part of everyday life. Yes, the world was changing, his world was changing, but he adjusted.

The crowd stirred. There was movement on the balcony of St. Peter’s basilica. Some Cardinal from the college was announcing the new pope – Pope Sylvester IV. He knew he should recognize the Cardinal making the announcement from his briefing notes, but there were so many here for this election that Oberst Gersbach had not had time to put a face to every name. The crowd surged as the new pope stepped out from the doors, a sea of camera flashes momentarily blinding him. And then he saw it and could not help the gasp that escaped him. Pope Sylvester IV and Cardinal Wright were one and the same man.

He did not know where his steps carried him in his initial shock, only that he eventually found himself outside the doors of Cardinal Carmichael’s office. Too old to vote in the college any more, in his time, this wise old gnome had directed the Vatican’s judicial wing for decades. If anyone knew what Oberst Gersbach could or should do when the prime suspect in a dozen murders had been elected pope, it was Cardinal Carmichael. And still, he could not bring himself to lay his burden at this man’s feet.

“You looked troubled, my son,” Cardinal Carmichael greeted, looking up from an ancient tome he had most likely lifted from the Vatican archives. “Is this not a happy occasion? We have elected a new pope.”

“For some, Your Grace,” Oberst Gersbach replied, admitting more than he intended.

“And what could dampen this festive occasion for you?” The older man asked shrewdly.

“The man elected to the office,” Oberst Gersbach confessed from habit. When the older man lifted a questioning eyebrow, he continued. “We have strong evidence linking Cardinal Wright’s aide to a safe house used by the terrorists. We also found evidence linking the previous tenants to the assassination of our African Cardinal. And now that this man has been elected pope, I believe I found my motive.”

“Means and motive,” the old cardinal nodded, “and still lacking opportunity.”

Oberst Gersbach nodded glumly. “And even if I do, will I ever have strong enough evidence to dethrone a sitting pope?”

“I advise,” Cardinal Carmichael urged, “that you close the case officially ‘for the good of the church.’”

“And unofficially?”

“That you conduct a very quiet and very discreet inquiry,” the old man counselled. “Bring your notes to our weekly visits. If, and only if, we can put together a strong, unimpeachable case, I will help you bring it to a Tribunal. But remember, the standard of proof to dethrone a sitting pope is a lot higher than for a mere mortal….”