Sanctuary Creek Read online

  “Mr. Samson is here,” Rosalita droned into the intercom.

  “Send him in.”

  “How did Juan die?” he whispered.

  “I heard it was the big H-A.”

  As he entered, the man seated at the far end motioned him to approach. Samson crossed the room and stood a moment, watching as Peter looked at the monitor at his side: chin resting on upraised knuckles, face reflecting the bluish light of the screen. The office was darker than he could ever recall. It wasn’t just the illumination - it was the entire atmosphere. After 30 seconds, the boss almost seemed to smile

  “Hello, Terry.”

  “Good evening, sir.”

  He glanced to the screen, then back at Samson.

  “Rosalita told me you were on vacation.”

  “She said you wanted to see me quick and I didn’t have time to change…”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He gestured to a facing chair. “How about a glass of wine. I could use one.”

  “Sure,” Samson replied, thinking a few bottles might be in order.

  It was so weird seeing the man. Others couldn’t in their most expansive imaginations picture a scene such as this. No one could conjecture what it was like, such an informal setting—the owner’s “randomly bred animal companion,” a Shep-Austrailian Cattle Dog potpourri named Dreamer, snoozing beside the desk.

  “Rosalita? Bring in a couple of glasses of the Peju Chardonnay.”

  If there were two things outside of business that the man knew as much as anyone, they were wine and art. The walls of the office contained proof of the latter and Samson methodically admired the painting returned to the monitor. Directly behind the desk was a gorgeous Picasso painting, from the Blue Period, of a seated woman. On the long wall to the left were three Johns—A Flag, a Map, and in the center, a Target. He spied the elegant Rembrandt depicting the crucifixion of Christ on the back wall as Rosalita brought in the tray. Decorating the right wall were three priceless, pre-trademark Lionne-Demilunes from his COMBAT ART series—NEMESIS, CHAOS, and in Samson’s favorite: RISK.

  Rosalita sniffed as she set the tray down. His jeans were what was really frying her, he thought as she left. He stood and approached the desk, picking up one glass as The Boss turned off the computer and reached for the other.

  “I heard Juan died. he leaned back in his black leather chair and toasted: “May God have mercy on him.” He took a sip. Samson returned the gesture.

  “When?”

  “Late last night. I was with him.”

  “I know you guys went way back.”

  Peter nodded but said nothing.

  “Does media have it yet?”

  “Mannherz is making a statement for the 10:00 news. I taped one earlier in the day.”

  “Is that why you…”

  “Called you back from your vacation?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Please make that the reason. I don’t know if you’re listening, Sir. But the last thing I want to do is cause any problems here at the Creek. For anyone.

  “Where were you?”

  “Florida. So that’s the reason you called me back?”

  “A bit unusual to take a vacation this time of year, isn’t it?”

  “I just needed to get away. Everything was on track before I left.” He paused. “Did you want me back because of Juan’s death?”

  “That has something to do with it.”

  “Just something?”

  He regarded him, took another sip, then set the glass on the desk and leaned forward, resting his chin on his folding hands. “Something troubling you, Terry?”

  He thought a moment. “I have a confession to make.”

  “Go ahead.”

  Samson studied the Target. It was as if the man had him in some strange mental cross hairs: always aware of his secret thoughts and fears. But if someone had to have him in a scope, the man was the best one could hope for.

  “Now, sir,” he cautioned, muscles tense. “You always told me that if there was something I needed to get off my chest, that I should tell to you.”

  “Go on.”

  “And when you hear this, I know you’re going to think to yourself; ‘Why do I even keep this guy around?’ And I guess if I were you, I’d think the same thing.”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “And I know in the past that we’ve had similar conversations to this, and I want you to know I’m sorry it happened.”

  “Go ahead.”

  Samson took a gulp of the wine. This was one of the worst things imaginable. But he had fess up. To part of it, anyway.

  “Okay, so it was, I don’t know, a few months ago. At this big fundraiser. It was a real good one.” He stopped. “So anyway, I met this woman there…”

  He rubbed his index finger back and forth under his lower lip impatiently “and you ended up in a romantic situation…”

  “And we ended up in a romantic situation. But it was just that once and I’m really sorry it happened.”

  “How old are you now, Terry?”

  “Thirty-three.”

  “When are you going to settle down?”

  “You’ve known me ten years. You tell me,” he replied, frustration in his voice.

  “Was she also single like yourself or…?”

  “Okay, okay. I know, sir. It won’t happen again. Believe me.”

  “Single?”

  Samson slowly shook his head.

  “Never again, huh?”

  “I promise. I swear.”

  “You don’t sound very sincere.”

  “I am.”

  The rested his arms on the desk. “What else is on your mind?”

  Seeing he had just suffered the loss of his best friend and closest confidant, he decided to sandbag it. “I missed mass last Sunday.”

  “Excuse?”

  “I was in Florida.”

  “They don’t have churches there? Since when?”

  “I’m really sorry.”

  “You don’t sound very sincere. I don’t know if I can forgive you.”

  Samson was shocked by the refusal. He set his glass on the floor and leaned in. It must be a nightmare. In a moment he’d wake up back in Destin. He rubbed his eyes, certain it was an evil illusion.

  “You can forgive anything you want, Peter,” he whispered. “You’re the Pope.”

  Chapter Two

  Peter the Second. Peter II. The Bishop of Rome. Il Papa. The Servant of the Servants of God. The Supreme Pontiff. The Vicar of Christ. The 251st to officially wear the Ring of the Fisherman. The former diocesan priest from the South Side of The Windy City. The former bishop who ran the business of the Archdiocese of Chicago. The hand-picked replacement of Nicholas VI to become the Archbishop. The titular leader of the Sanctuarian Party. The second American to gain the papacy, now entering the final year of his first, five-year term. Samson’s only mentor. The candidate he was charged with re-electing to the throne.

  Controversy had surrounded him from the dawn of his reign. Quite literally, from the first minutes. As he stood in the Sistine Chapel after his election, the Dean of the College of Cardinals approached and asked the time-honored question: “Do you accept your canonical election as the Supreme Pontiff?” He replied: “Yes.” And then the Dean, a fragile man of 79, asked the follow-up: “And what name do you choose?”

  “Peter the Second.”

  Cardinal Berberet, it was known—despite the proceedings were an inviolate secret—fainted dead away. No one, not in over two millennia, had ever, would ever have the presumptuous tenacity to choose the name Peter—no more so than if the President of the United States, if given a choice of titles—would call himself George Washington the Second.

  Not that there had ever been a Pope called Peter the First. But the name of the Fisherman—the one Jesus of Nazareth said he would build the Rock upon—was one no successor could even consider. However, it was Peter’s choice. That was the way he did things, and that very quality exemplified one of the r
easons he’d been elevated to the position. The former Peter Michael Cardinal Rehmer explained his decision at a press conference in response to the first question posed.

  “I realize some might think it a departure from standard operating procedures, but the way I look at it, and believe me I thought about it for a couple minutes after the results were announced… a man grows up with a name, and when you reach your late 40s like I have, it’s a bit difficult to imagine changing it to something else. Nick… I’m sorry… Nicholas VI, used his first name, so why shouldn’t I? Certainly, being the favored one of our Lord, Peter the Apostle was one of a kind. But his name was simply his name. I don’t think because his mother happened to name him Peter and he did well for himself means that no one else should be able to use the name their mother gave them. That’s what Nick thought, so I figure that’s good enough. Peter’s mother could have called him, I don’t know… Jake. Then we wouldn’t have all the commotion. Would everyone be happier with that? Should I change my title to Jake the Second? It’s got a nice ring to it, but I think I’ll stick with my Christian name.” After the laughter and some applause died down, the new Pontiff added: “Now one of my colleagues in the College, the Cardinal from Mexico City? If he gets the nod some day, that could be a little tougher than the rest to call. Pope Jesus? Now that’s a problem!”

  It was that type of crystal honesty that made Peter II such a popular figure both within and outside the Roman Catholic Church, and also the odds-on favorite for re-election in 12 months, to be voted a second and final five year term as the CEO of an organization which had recently boosted its market share to a shade over one-point-three billion members.

  Peter II. The fourth Cardinal to be elected to the papacy by V-Three Delegation, or perhaps the third. An esoteric debate was still going on among Church historians as to whether or not Nicholas VI had been the first. The question was seemingly simple on its face, but a consensus had yet to be reached. “Could Nicholas VI be elected Pope when he was already the Pope?” was a riddle nobody had yet solved.

  Prior to Vatican III, there were three ways someone could be elected Pope. The most common was by Scrutiny. The College of Cardinals was locked into the Sistine Chapel, as soon as practicable after the death of the previous Vicar, to designate the next to wear the Ring. First the voting cards were passed out to those in attendance, then lots chosen to determine who would deliver ballots to those members of the College in residence at the Vatican but too sick or infirm to be present in the Chapel for the polling. Then each Cardinal would write the name of his choice, the ballots were collected and the votes were counted. Scrutiny demanded a two-thirds plus one total to carry the day. If it didn’t work the first time around, the ballots were destroyed and the process repeated. If a candidate was not elected the second time around, a third vote was taken. If too many days elapsed without white smoke curling from the chimney of the Sistine, the proceedings were suspended so the College could take a break, think it over, then lock themselves up again to see if they could get it right during the next convention.

  A second traditional way to elect the Supreme Pontiff was by Acclamation. That was how Nicholas VI had been elevated. At least the first time.

  The third method, and now the only method, was by Delegation. The College would agree on a certain few to represent the whole, then reach a consensus. It wasn’t a rule prior to Vatican III, just an option, but now Delegation was the only way to pick a Pope. It was Canon Law.

  “Yes, I recall the day of my election,” Peter replied. “Especially when dear Cardinal Berberet hit the mat.”

  “I really am sorry.”

  “But what motivates your sorrow,” his confessor asked, searching a drawer then removing a long, satin, white-on-one-side-purple-on-the-other scarf and draping it over his shoulders, dark-side up. “Is it the love of our Lord?”

  “I’d like to think so. But I’m not certain.”

  I don’t know if you’re listening, Sir. I do believe in my heart that I do love you despite some screw-ups along the way. So how about if you give Peter one of those nudges and we get this over with without disrupting whatever it is that he’s called me back to discuss. I think that’s a reasonable request.

  Vatican III. Without a doubt the most radical, most pervasive and most important of the 22 general councils held in the history of the Church. The Council that saved it. Made it what it was today.

  The Church had meandered into the 21st Century under the stellar stewardship of John Paul II, now known as John Paul the Great, only the third of the four Pontiffs found to deserve the accolade, named that for the missionary zeal he brought to believers and non-believers alike. John Paul II was followed by Benedict XVI who was succeeded by Benedict XVII. And then it happened.

  Among those who could trace the chain of command back to Linus, the first acknowledged in the annals, surfacing 30 years after the death of Jesus of Nazareth, there were a score more of anti-popes. Men claiming to be the father of the bride when they hadn’t done the deed.

  But nowhere in the exhaustive chronicles of the Roman Catholic Church, one of the most influential organizations to have ever existed in the Western World, could a match be found for the Cardinal from Prague who grabbed the joystick in the wake of Benedict XVII’s death. Theologians had debated for centuries whether Evil was a perceived quality created by the mind of man or whether it was a tangible entity which physically existed and could move or be moved from place to place like a jet or a fishing boat or a deck of cards. In simple terms, they queried: “Does Evil exist only in our consciousness or does Evil exist outside of us?” The question would probably never be resolved but in support of the later proposition, one name was frequently proposed.

  Sixtus VI.

  “I’m sorry because I don’t want to burn. I’m sorry because I don’t want to scream.”

  “Scream?” Peter replied.

  “You know, suffer.”

  “Is that the best you can do, Terry?”

  “Tonight? Yeah. I want… I really want you to be proud of… “ Samson said softly, then hesitated. “That’s the best I can do. But I’m really sorry.”

  Peter motioned with his finger.

  Some said the two-year reign of Sixtus VI was, in retrospect, the best thing that could have happened to the Church. Others thought it the worst. But whichever group was correct, the fact was that Sixtus VI was the final Pope to be elected by Scrutiny.

  The stage for his election had been set by persons and events within the Vatican, the 108-acre plot that qualified it as the smallest sovereign state in the world: a third the size of Monaco, a 20th the size of Liechtenstein.

  The early years of the new century were not as bright as the futurists had hoped as known and new plagues raped the planet. AIDS followed by Camden-Young’s Disease, then the outbreak of Lassa III fever, then the virulent strain of influenza Bangkok-B. As the years drove on, the world population dropped to 98 percent of its size on the magic morning of the millennium and civilization began turning to the safest harbors in sight. Not to their governments or stock brokers. But to religion. At least religion offered hope for the future. If not in this world, perhaps the next.

  Catholicism and Christianity beyond it were not the only benefactors. Islam. Judaism. Buddhism. Confucianism. Shinto. Hinduism. Sikhism. Scientology. Falun Gong. Trimates. All garnered converts, all expanded in influence and devotion.

  The first few months of the papacy of Sixtus were unremarkable, but then the Pope began to sink into an abyss, dragging the Church with him. The first clue surfaced at an ordinary Wednesday afternoon papal audience. The question of priestly celibacy had been kicking around as always but Sixtus suddenly sent it spinning wildly. “Celibacy is a great virtue,” the Pontiff stated. “Matrimony is a great, but lesser virtue. I will not bend to the continued cries to abolish the celibacy of the servants of our Lord nor bend to the cries to abolish, except in extraordinary circumstance, the rules of the Church concerning annulments for its memb
ers who have taken the sacrament of Matrimony. But I realize all in my flock are human. I realize certain needs cannot be met, for us humans, within the boundaries of a celibate life or within a married life. I therefore proclaim, henceforth, that those who have chosen a celibate life will not be judged, will not have sinned, if they yield to their urges as humans but keep their vows of celibacy. And I further proclaim, henceforth, that those who have chosen a married life will not be judged, will not have sinned, if they yield to their urges as humans, but remain married.”

  Adulterous, extramarital affairs and sexual liaisons for the clergy were sanctioned that Wednesday afternoon, Sixtus killing two birds with one stone. And as everyone knew—from the College of Cardinals down to the parochial school janitor—nobody could question him. While it was a small stone, it was an infallible one.

  The First Vatican Council, held under Pius IX in 1870, established that the Pope was the absolute authority with supreme jurisdiction to decide any and all issues concerning doctrine or interpretation of the rules of the Church. Held 350 years after the Reformation, after the Council of Trent, after Martin Luther nailed his 95 talking points, the Church finally decreed what had been the problem for so many for so long: the Pope could do no wrong. Vatican II, 90 years later, called by John XXIII and closed by Paul VI, carved papal infallibility into the guts of the sun.

  And his powers were as pervasive as any man could dream. He could approve or sanction or suppress religious orders or cults. He could grant indulgences. He could beatify or canonize saints. He could appoint bishops or remove them. He could establish or suppress bishoprics. He could found or legislate universities. He could issue liturgical books. He could commence or terminate missions. He could administer, invest or eradicate all temporal goods owned by the Church. In addition, he could call, preside over or adjourn ecumenical councils. He could regulate, create or terminate Holy Days and Feasts. He could institute new rites, change the rules for existing rites or extinguish those which fell out of favor. He could issue ex cathedra decretals concerning belief. He could allow, destroy or tolerate any Church law on any subject. He could solely defend doctrine against anything he viewed as heresy. He could define fast days and the period of fasting. He could act as the sole and final judge of all matters brought in challenge to the Church. He could maintain or relax or abolish any and all religious vows or matrimonial vows. He could organize courts. He could establish precedent.