‘You thinking about something, Jack?’ Alden asked.
‘You know, we’re all “people of the book,” aren’t we?’ Ryan asked, seeing the outline of a new thought in the fog.
‘So?’
‘And the Vatican is a real country, with real diplomatic status, but no armed forces . . . they’re Swiss . .. and Switzerland is neutral, not even a member of the UN. The Arabs do their banking and carousing there . . . gee, I wonder if he’d go for it. . . ?’ Ryan’s face went blank again, and van Damm saw Jack’s eye center as the lightbulb flashed on. It was always exciting to watch an idea being born, but less so when you didn’t know what it was.
‘Go for what? Who go for what?’ the Chief of Staff asked with some annoyance. Alden just waited.
Ryan told them.
‘I mean, a large part of this whole mess is over the Holy Places, isn’t it? I could talk to some of my people at Langley. We have a really good -‘
Van Damm leaned back in his chair. ‘What sort of contacts do you have? You mean talking to the Nuncio?’
Ryan shook his head. ‘The Nuncio is a good old guy, Cardinal Giancatti, but he’s just here for show. You’ve been here long enough to know that, Arnie. You want
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to talk to folks who know stuff, you go to Father Riley at Georgetown. He taught me when I got my doctorate at G-Town. We’re pretty tight. He’s got a pipeline into The General.’
‘Who’s that?’
‘The Father General of the Society of Jesus. The head Jesuit, Spanish guy, his name is Francisco Alcalde. He and Father Tim taught together at St John Bellarmine University in Rome. They’re both historians, and Father Tim’s his unofficial rep over here. You’ve never met Father Tim?’
‘No. Is he worth it?’
‘Oh, yeah. One of the best teachers I ever had. Knows D.C. inside and out. Good contacts back at the home office.’ Ryan grinned, but the joke was lost on van Damm.
‘Can you set up a quiet lunch?’ Alden asked. ‘Not here, someplace else.’
‘The Cosmos Club up in Georgetown. Father Tim belongs. The University Club is closer, but -‘
‘Right. Can he keep a secret?’
‘A Jesuit keep a secret?’ Ryan laughed. ‘You’re not Catholic, are you?’
‘How soon could you set it up?’
‘Tomorrow or day after all right?’
‘What about his loyalty?’ van Damm asked out of a clear sky.
‘Father Tim is an American citizen and he’s not a security risk. But he’s also a priest, and he has taken vows to what he naturally considers an authority higher than the Constitution. You can trust the man to honor all his obligations, but don’t forget what all those obligations are,’ Ryan cautioned. ‘You can’t order him around, either.’
‘Set up the lunch. Sounds like I ought to meet the guy in any case. Tell him it’s a get-acquainted thing,’ Alden said. ‘Make it soon. I’m free for lunch tomorrow and next day.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Ryan stood.
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The Cosmos Club in Washington is located at the corner of Massachusetts and Florida Avenues. The former manor house of Sumner Welles, Ryan thought it looked naked without about four hundred acres of rolling ground, a stable of thoroughbred horses, and perhaps a resident fox that the owner would hunt, but not too hard. These were surroundings the place had never possessed, and Ryan wondered why it had been built in this place in this style, so obviously at odds with the realities of Washington, but built by a man who had understood the workings of the city so consummately well. Chartered as a club of the intelligentsia – membership was based on ‘achievement’ rather than money – it was known in Washington as a place of erudite conversation, and the worst food in a town of undistinguished restaurants. Ryan led Alden into a small private room upstairs.
Father Timothy Riley, S.J., was waiting for them, a briar pipe clamped in his teeth as he paged through the morning’s Post. A glass sat at his right hand, a skim of sherry at the bottom of it. Father Tim was wearing a rumpled shirt and a jacket that needed pressing, not the formal priest’s uniform that he saved for important meetings and had been hand-tailored by one of the nicer shops on Wisconsin Avenue. But the white Roman collar was stiff and bright, and Jack had the sudden thought that despite all his years of Catholic education he didn’t know what the things were made of. Starched cotton? Celluloid like the detachable collars of his grandfather’s age? In either case, its evident rigidity must have been a reminder to its wearer of his place in this world, and the next.
‘Hello, Jack!’
‘Hi, Father. This is Charles Alden, Father Tim Riley.’ Handshakes were exchanged, and places at the table selected. A waiter came in and took drink orders, closing the door as he left.
‘How’s the new job, Jack?’ Riley asked.
The horizons keep broadening,’ Ryan admitted. He left it at that. The priest would already know the problems Jack was having at Langley.
‘We’ve had this idea about the Middle East, and Jack
suggested that you’d be a good man to discuss it with,’ Alden said, getting everyone back to business. He had to stop when the waiter returned with drinks and menus. His discourse on the idea took several minutes.
‘That’s interesting/ Riley said, when it was all on the table.
‘What’s your read on the concept?’ the National Security Advisor wanted to know.
‘Interesting . . .’ The priest was quiet for a moment.
‘Will the Pope . . . ?’ Ryan stopped Alden with a wave of the hand. Riley was not a man to be hurried when he was thinking. He was, after all, an historian, and they didn’t have the urgency of medical doctors.
‘It certainly is elegant,’ Riley observed after thirty seconds. ‘The Greeks will be a major problem, though.’
‘The Greeks? How so?’ Ryan asked in surprise.
‘The really contentious people right now are the Greek Orthodox. We and they are at each other’s throats half the time over the most trivial administrative issues. You know, the rabbis and the imams are actually more cordial at the moment than the Christian priests are. That’s the funny thing about religious people, it’s hard to predict how they’ll react. Anyway, the problems between the Greeks and Romans are mainly administrative – who gets custody over which site, that sort of thing. There was a big go-round over Bethlehem last year, who got to do the midnight mass in the Church of the Nativity. It is awfully disappointing, isn’t it?’
‘You’re saying it won’t work because two Catholic churches can’t -‘
‘I said there could be a problem, Dr Alden. I did not say that it wouldn’t work.’ Riley lapsed back into silence for a moment. ‘You’ll have to adjust the troika . . . but given the nature of the operation, I think we can get the right kind of cooperation. Co-opting the Greek Orthodox is something you’ll have to do in any case. They and the Muslims get along very well, you know.
‘How so?’ Alden asked.
‘Back when Mohammed was chased out of Medina by the pre-Muslim pagans, he was granted asylum at the
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Monastery of St Catherine in the Sinai – it’s a Greek Orthodox shrine. They took care of him when he needed a friend. Mohammed was an honorable man; that monastery has enjoyed the protection of the Muslims ever since. Over a thousand years, and that place has never been troubled despite all the nasty things that have happened in the area. There is much to admire about Islam, you know. We in the West often overlook that because of the crazies who call themselves Muslims – as though we don’t have the same problem in Christianity. There is much nobility there, and they have a tradition of scholarship that commands respect. Except that nobody over here knows much about it/ Riley concluded.
‘Any other conceptual problems?’ Jack asked.
Father Tim laughed: ‘The Council of Vienna! How did you forget that, Jack?’
‘What?’ Alden sputtered in annoyance.
‘1815. Everybody knows that! After the final settlement of the Napoleonic Wars, the Swiss had to promise never to export mercenaries. I’m sure we can finesse that. Excuse me, Dr Alden. The Pope’s guard detachment is composed of Swiss mercenaries. So was the French king’s once – they all got killed defending King Louis and Marie Antoinette. Same thing nearly happened to the Pope’s troops once, but they held the enemy off long enough for a small detachment to evacuate the Holy Father to a secure location, Castel Gandolfo, as I recall. Mercenaries used to be the main Swiss export, and they were feared wherever they went. The Swiss Guards of the Vatican are mostly for show now, of course, but once upon a time the need for them was quite real. In any case, Swiss mercenaries had such a ferocious reputation that a footnote of the Council of Vienna, which settled the Napoleonic Wars, compelled the Swiss to promise not to allow their people to fight anywhere but at home and the Vatican. But, as I just said, that is a trivial problem. The Swiss would be delighted to be seen helping solve this problem. It could only increase their prestige in a region where there is a lot of money.’