True Believers(153)

“If you’ve cleared this with the Holy Father, I don’t see that you have anything to worry about with the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops.”

“I keep telling you. I haven’t cleared this with anybody. I’ve only kept them informed. Except that I haven’t kept the Conference informed. I think it was easier when we really were Princes of the Church. I’d like to be an autocrat for a day. It would be considerably more relaxing than being what I actually am. Have you kept tabs on that damned fool with the money?”

“Uh, not exactly,” Father Doheny said. “Which damned fool with the money were you referring to?”

“The one who was in here the other day. The one we wanted to put at the head of the committee. Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Either he’s going to quit outright, or he’s going to lecture me and I’m going to tell him off, and then he’s going to quit. It can’t be helped. I doubt if the bankruptcy can be helped, either. I’ll think about it tomorrow. Are we ready to go?”

“Of course. I’m ready if you are, Your Eminence.”

“Do we have press at the door?”

Father Doheny gave him a very odd look and went to the window to check. “Yes,” he said finally. “It seems we do. We do have press at the door.”

“Good. There ought to be even more when we get across town. I’m ready to go if you are, Father. It’s about time we got this show on the road.”

The Cardinal Archbishop never used phrases like “get this show on the road.” His English was as formal and correct as a set of model sentences in a grammar book. He didn’t care. He swept out of his office and into the hall with Father Doheny trailing behind. He let Sister call the elevator for him, then swept inside the elevator cab when it came. In these clothes, the only movement possible for him was sweeping. The cape could have been designed for Zorro on a night with more assignations in it than sword fights.

“Make sure the car is ready when we get down,” he told Sister, as the elevator doors closed. She scurried back to her desk, and he looked at the crucifix that had been put up in the cab next to the security mirror.

“There are people who think we should abandon the crucifix for a plain cross,” he said to Father Doheny. “They want Christ risen and triumphant, not dying in agony. But you know, Father, I think they’re wrong. We preach Christ and Him crucified. That’s what St. Paul said. He knew what he was talking about.”

“Yes, Your Eminence,” Father Doheny said, sounding thoroughly confused.

They had reached the first floor. The elevator doors were opening again. The Cardinal Archbishop stepped out and walked across the broad foyer to the front doors of the chancery, moving so quickly that Father Doheny had to half run to keep up. Outside, the wind was bitter and full of ice. The Cardinal Archbishop felt it as needles against the skin of his face. He got into the car and let the driver close the door on him as half a dozen reporters pushed in to ask him questions. He wasn’t answering questions, at the moment. He would answer questions when he got to Baldwin Place.

“Are they following us?” he asked Father Doheny when the car pulled out into traffic.

“They seem to be.”

“With any luck, there will be more of them when we get to St. Anselm’s and St. Stephen’s. That was a pretty poor showing. You’d think the Cardinal Archbishop of Philadelphia could command more press attention than that just by going to a baseball game.”

“Your Eminence, would you mind very much if I asked you what we’re doing?”

“We’re going to see Father Burdock.”

“Well, yes, I know that, but—”

“Something else occurred to me. Now that Father Healy is dead, he’s no longer a suspect.”

“Your Eminence?”

“Never mind. We’ll have to come back for Father’s funeral, too, of course, when the time comes. But that will be later. Is that Baldwin Place up there?”

“Yes, Your Eminence.”

“Is that a television van?”

“Your Eminence, if you could just tell me—”

The car pulled up to the curb in front of St. Stephen’s. To pull up in front of St. Anselm’s would have required going against the traffic. There was indeed a television van—in fact, there were two of them—but what the Cardinal saw the most of were nuns. Sister Scholastica had done what he had asked of her. She had her nuns out on the street in force, in full habits and capes, so that there looked like there were a lot more of them than there actually were. Maybe there really were a lot more of them. The Cardinal Archbishop would not have put it past Sister Scholastica to bring in recruits from other schools in other parts of the city, or even from other traditional orders. All that mattered was that the nuns looked like nuns. They had to be easily recognizable to non-Catholics who had only a quick glimpse of them on television. The driver came around the side of the car and let the Cardinal Archbishop out. He stepped into the street and looked around.