Page 63 of The Order

Ricci nodded.

“How?”

“With money, Excellency. How else? Money makes the world go round. The Order of St. Helena, too.”

31

Via della Paglia, Trastevere

Alessandro Ricci beganby reminding Donati that during the final year of the Wojtyla papacy, he had published a best-selling book on the Order of St. Helena that, the state of his apartment notwithstanding, had made him a wealthy man. Not hedge-fund wealthy, he hastened to add, but enough money to look after his mother and a brother who had never worked a day in his life. The Pole had not liked the book. Neither had Bishop Hans Richter, who had agreed to be interviewed for the project. It was the last time he would ever submit to questioning by a journalist.

Donati granted himself the luxury of a smile at Bishop Richter’s expense. “Youwererather unkind to him.”

“You read it?”

Donati deliberately removed another cigarette from his case. “Go on.”

The book, explained Ricci, shone a harsh light on the Order’s close relationship with Hitler and the Nazis during World War II. It also explored the Order’s finances. It was not always so wealthy. Indeed, during the depression of the 1930s, the Order’s founder, Father Ulrich Schiller, was forced to wander Europe, hat in hand, seeking donations from wealthy patrons. But as the continent drifted toward war, Father Schiller developed a far more lucrative method of filling his coffers. He extorted cash and valuables from wealthy Jews in exchange for promises of protection.

“One of Father Schiller’s victims lived here in Trastevere. He owned several factories up north. In exchange for false baptismal records for himself and his family, he gave the Order several hundred thousand lire in cash, along with numerous Italian Old Master paintings and a collection of rare books.”

“Do you happen to remember his name?” asked Gabriel.

“Why do you ask?” replied Ricci, displaying the sharp ear of a seasoned journalist.

“I’m just curious, that’s all. Stories about art intrigue me.”

“It’s all in my book.”

“You wouldn’t have a copy lying around, would you?”

Ricci inclined his head toward a wall of books. “It’s calledThe Order.”

“Catchy.” Gabriel wandered over to the shelves and craned his neck sideways.

“Second shelf, near the end.”

Gabriel took down the book and reclaimed his seat.

“Chapter four,” said Ricci. “Or maybe it’s five.”

“Which is it?”

“Five. Definitely five.”

Gabriel leafed through the pages of the book while its author resumed his lecture on the finances of the Order of St. Helena. By the end of the war, he said, it had burned through its cash reserves. Its fortunes changed with the outbreak of the Cold War, when Pope Pius XII, an anti-Communist crusader, showered Father Schiller and his right-wing priests with money. Pope John XXIII put the Order on a tight budget. But by the early 1980s it was not only financially independent, it was fabulously rich. Alessandro Ricci had not been able to pinpoint the source of the Order’s financial turnaround—at least not to the satisfaction of his risk-averse publisher, who feared a lawsuit. But Ricci was now confident he knew the identity of the Order’s main benefactor. He was a reclusive German billionaire named Jonas Wolf.

“Wolf is a traditionalist Catholic who celebrates the Tridentine Latin Mass daily in his private chapel. He’s also the owner of a German conglomerate known as the Wolf Group. The company is opaque, to put it mildly. But in my opinion, it’s nothing more than the Order of St. Helena Incorporated. Jonas Wolf is the one who supplied the money to buy the papacy.”

“And you’re sure it’s Emmerich?” asked Donati.

“I’ve got it cold. By next Saturday evening at the latest, Franz von Emmerich will be standing on the balcony of St. Peter’s dressed in white. The real pope, however, will be Bishop Hans Richter.” Ricci shook his head with disgust. “It seems theChurch hasn’t changed so much, after all. Remind me, Excellency. How much did Rodrigo Borgia give Sforza to secure the papacy in 1492?”

“If memory serves, it was four mule-loads of silver.”

“That’s a pittance compared to what Wolf and Richter paid.”

Donati closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “How much did it cost him?”