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A hardcover edition of this book was originally published in 1996 byDoubleday, a division of Random House, Inc. It is here reprinted byarrangement with Doubleday.

Windswept House. Copyright 1996 by Malachi Martin. All rights re-served. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this bookmay be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, elec-tronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by

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First Broadway Books trade paperback edition published 2001.

The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data has catalogedthe hardcover

edition as:

Martin, Malachi.

Windswept house: a Vatican novel / Malachi Martin.1st ed.

p. cm.

1. Catholic ChurchVatican CityClergyFiction.

2. Vatican CityFiction. 1. Title.

PS3563.A725W56 1996

813'.54dc20 95-26716

CIP

isbn 0-385-49231-6 17 16 15 14 13 12 11

For Pope St. Pius V

in honor of Mary Queen of the Most Holy Rosary

Contents

History as Prologue: End Signs 1

Part One PAPAL EVENING

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Best-Laid Plans . . .

29

Friends of Friends 121

Windswept House 173

... Of Mice and Men 213

Part Two PAPAL TWILIGHT

Roman Service 297

Unthinkable Realities and Policies of Extremes 349

Part Three PAPAL NIGHT

The Resignation Protocol 467

Quo Vadis? 563

Windswept House A VATICAN NOVEL

History as Prologue: End Signs 1957

DIPLOMATS schooled in harsh times and in the toughest ways of fin-ance, trade and international rivalry are not much given to omens.Still, today's enterprise brimmed with such promise that the six For-eign Ministers who gathered in Rome on March 25, 1957, felt thateverything surrounding themthe rock-solid centrality of Europe'spremier city, the cleansing winds, the open skies, the benign smile ofthe day's climatewas fortune's very cloak of blessing drawn aboutthem as they laid the foundation stone for a new edifice of nations.

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As partners in the creation of a new Europe that would sweep away thesquabbling nationalism that had so often split this ancient delta, thesesix men and their governments were one in their faith that they wereabout to open their lands to a wider economic horizon and a tallerpolitical sky than had ever been contemplated. They were about tosign the treaties of Rome. They were about to create the EuropeanEconomic Community.

In recent memory, nothing but death and destruction had beenspawned in their capitals. Only the year before, the Soviets had under-scored their expansionist determination in the blood of Hungary's at-tempted uprising; any day Soviet armor could roll across Europe. Noone expected the U.S.A. and its Marshall Plan to carry forever the bur-dens of building the new Europe. Nor did any European governmentwish to be clamped between the U.S.A. and the U.S.S.R. in a rivalrythat could only deepen in the decades ahead.

As if already accustomed to acting as one in the face of such reality, allsix ministers signed on as founders of the EEC. The three representat-ives of the Benelux nations, because Belgium, the Netherlands andLuxembourg were the very crucible in which the idea of a new Europehad been tried and found true. Or at least true enough. The ministerrepresenting France, because his country would be the beating heart ofthe new Europe, as it had always been of the old Europe. Italy, becausehis country was the living soul of Europe. West Germany, because theworld would never shunt his country aside again.

So the European Community was born. There were toasts to the geo-political visionaries who had made this day possible. To Robert Schu-man and Jean Monnet of France; to Konrad Adenauer of West Ger-many; to Paul-Henri Spaak of Belgium. And there were congratula-tions all around. It wouldn't be long before Denmark, Ireland andEngland would see the

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wisdom of the new venture. And, while they might require some pa-tient help, Greece, Portugal and Spain would join as well. Of course,there was still the matter of holding the Soviets at bay. And there wasthe matter of finding a new center of gravity. But no doubt about it:the nascent EEC was the cutting edge of the new Europe that had tocome if Europe was to survive.

When all the signing and sealing and toasting were done, the momentcame for the distinctively Roman ritual and privilege of diplomats: anaudience with the octogenarian Pope in the Apostolic Palace on Vatic-an Hill.

Seated on his traditional papal throne amid the panoply of Vatican ce-remonial in an ornate sala, His Holiness Pius XII received the six min-isters and their entourages with smiling countenance. His welcomewas sincere. His remarks were brief. His attitude was of a longtimeowner and resident of a vast property giving some pointers to newlyarrived and intending residents.

Europe, the Holy Father recalled, had had its eras of greatness when acommon faith had animated the hearts of its peoples. Europe, heurged, could have its geopolitical greatness again, refurbished andburnished anew, if it could create a new heart. Europe, he intimated,could again forge a supernal, common and binding faith.

Inwardly, the ministers winced. Pius had pointed to the greatest diffi-culty facing the EEC on the day of its birth. Beneath his words lay thewarning that neither democratic socialism nor capitalist democracynor the prospect of the good life nor a mystic "Europa" of the human-ists could provide the engine to drive their dream. Practically speak-ing, their new Europe lacked a glowing center, a superior force or prin-ciple to bind it together and drive it forward. Practically speaking,their Europe lacked what this Pope had. Lacked what he was.

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His points made, the Holy Father traced three crosses in the air as thetraditional papal blessing. Some few knelt to receive it. Some who re-mained standing bowed their heads. But it had become impossible forthem to associate the Pope with the healing balm of the God heclaimed to represent as Vicar, or to recognize that balm as the only co-hesive factor that could mend the world's soul; neither could they ac-knowledge that economic and political treaties were not the glue thatbinds the hearts and minds of mankind.

And yet, frail as he was, they could only envy this solitary, enthroneddignitary. For, as Belgium's Paul-Henri Spaak later remarked, hepresided over a universal organization. And he was more than theelected representative of that organization. He was the possessor of itspower. He was its center of gravity.

a 3 3

HISTORY AS PROLOGUE: F N D SIGNS 3

From the window of his study on the third floor of the ApostolicPalace, the Holy Father watched the architects of the new Europeclimb into their limousines in the square below.

"What do you think, Holiness? Can their new Europe develop stronglyenough to stop Moscow?"

Pius turned to his companiona German Jesuit, a longtime friend andfavorite confessor. "Marxism is still the enemy, Father. But the Anglo-Saxons have the initiative." On this Pope's lips, Anglo-Saxon meantthe Anglo-American establishment. "Their Europe will go far. And itwill go fast. But the greatest day for Europe has not yet dawned."

The Jesuit failed to follow the papal vision. "Which Europe, Holiness?The greatest day for whose Europe?"

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"For the Europe born today." The Pope's answer was unhesitating. "Onthe day this Holy See is harnessed to the new Europe of the diplomatsand politiciansto the Europe centered in Brussels and Parison thatday the Church's misfortunes will start in earnest." Then, turningagain to watch the limousines departing across St. Peter's Square,"The new Europe will have its little day, Father. But only a day."

1960

No more promising enterprise had ever hung in the balance, and nomore important piece of Vatican business had ever been transactedbetween a Pope and his councillors, than the issue on the papal docketthis February morning of 1960. Since the day of his election to thepapacy just over a year before, His Holiness John XXIII"good PopeJohn," as he was quickly calledhad moved the Holy See, the papalgovernment and most of the outside diplomatic and religious world in-to a new orbit. Now it seemed he wanted to raise the world as well.

Already seventy-seven years old at his election, this roly-poly peasantof a man had been chosen as an interim Pope; as an inoffensive com-promise whose brief reign would buy a little timefour or five yearshad been the reckoningto find a proper successor to guide theChurch through the Cold War. But, within months of his enthrone-ment and to everyone's astonishment, he had opened up his Vatican ina surprise call for an Ecumenical Council. In fact, nearly every Vaticanofficialincluding every advisor who had been summoned to this con-fidential meeting in the papal apartments on the fourth floor of theApostolic Palacewas already hip deep in preparations for thatCouncil.

With a directness natural to him, the Pope shared his mind with thehandful of men he had gathered for that purposea dozen or so of his

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key Cardinals, plus a number of bishops and monsignori from the Sec-retariat of State. Two expert Portuguese translators were present.

"We have a choice to make," His Holiness confided to his advisors.

"We prefer not to make it alone." The issue, he said, revolved around anow world-famous letter received by his predecessor on the Throne ofPeter. The story surrounding that letter was so well known, he saidfurther, that it needed only the barest outline this morning.

Fatima, once among the most obscure towns in Portugal, had becomesuddenly famous in 1917 as the site where three little peasant chil-dren two girls and a boyhad been the recipients of six visits, or vis-ions, of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Along with many millions of Cathol-ics, everyone in this room today knew that the Fatima children hadbeen given three secrets by the Virgin. Everyone knew that, as theirvisitor from Heaven had foretold, two of the children had died inchildhood; only the oldest, Lucia, had survived. Everyone knew thatLucia, now a cloistered nun, had long since revealed the first two ofthe Fatima secrets. But it was the Virgin's wish, Lucia had said, thatthe third secret be published by "the Pope of 1960"; and that simultan-eously the same Pope was to organize a worldwide consecration of"Russia" to the Virgin Mary. That consecration was to be performed byall the bishops of the world on the same day, each in his own diocese,each using the same words. That consecration would be tantamount toa public worldwide condemnation of the Soviet Union.

The Virgin had promised that if the consecration was done, Lucia hadsaid, "Russia" would be converted and would cease to be a threat.However, if her wish was not fulfilled "by the Pope of 1960," then"Russia would spread its errors throughout all nations," there wouldbe much suffering and destruction and the faith of the Church would

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be so corrupted that only in Portugal would "the dogma of the faith" bepreserved intact.

In the course of her third Fatima visit in July of 1917, the Virgin hadpromised to seal her mandate with tangible proof of its authenticity asa message from God. She would perform a miracle at noontime on thefollowing October 13. And in that very hour on that very day, alongwith some 75,000 people who had come, some of them from great dis-tances along with newsmen and photographers, along with scientistsand skeptics, along with many reliable clericsthe children had wit-nessed an astonishing miracle.

The sun had violated every possible natural law. Breaking from aheavy and unrelenting rain that had drenched everyone and turnedthe terrain of that remote place into a mud bog, it literally danced inthe skies. It had showered a rainbow flood of brilliant colors. It hadplummeted downward until it seemed certain to plunge into thecrowd. Then, just as suddenly, it had retreated to its normal positionand shone as benignly as ever. Everyone was stunned. Their clotheswere as immaculate as if just laundered and pressed. All were entirelyunharmed. All had seen the dancing sun; but only the children hadseen the Virgin.

HISTORY AS PROLOGUF: END SIGNS J

'"Surely"good Pope John retrieved an envelope from a humidor-sized box resting on the table beside him"the first thing to be donethis morning must be obvious." Excitement ran among his advisors.They were here, then, for a private reading of Lucia's secret letter. Itwas no exaggeration to say that tens of millions of people everywhereawaited word that "the Pope of 1960" would reveal the portions of thethird secret that had been so closely guarded until now, and wouldobey the Virgin's mandate. With that thought in mind, I lis Holiness

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underscored his exact and literal meaning of the word "private." Cer-tain that his admonition of secrecy was clear, the Holy Father handedthe Fatima letter to the two Portuguese translators; and they in turnrendered the secret text, viva voce, into Italian.

"Now." The reading completed, the Pope quickly pinpointed the choicehe preferred not to make alone. "We must confide that since August of1959, we have been in delicate negotiations with the Soviet Union. Ouraim is to have at least two prelates from the U.S.S.R.'s OrthodoxChurch attend Our Council." Pope John frequently referred to thecoming Second Vatican Council as "Our Council."

What was he to do, then? His Holiness asked this morning. Providencehad willed that he be "the Pope of 1960." And yet, if he obeyed whatSister Lucia clearly described as the mandate of the Queen ofHeavenif he and his bishops declared publicly, officially and univer-sally that "Russia" was full of baneful errorsit would spell ruin for hisSoviet initiative. But even aside from thataside from his fervent wishto have the Orthodox Church represented at the Councilif the Pontiffwere to use the full authority of his papacy and his hierarchy to carryout the Virgin's mandate, it would be tantamount to branding theSoviet Union and its current Marxist dictator, Nikita Khrushchev, ascriminal. In their rage, wouldn't the Soviets retaliate? Would the Popenot be responsible for a fresh wave of persecutionsfor the ugly deathof millionsthroughout the Soviet Union, its satellites and surrogates?

To underscore his concern, His Holiness had one portion of theFatima letter read out again. He saw understandingshock in somecaseson all the faces around him. If everyone in this room had un-derstood that key passage of the third secret so easily, he asked, wouldnot the Soviets be just as quick? Would they not take from it the stra-tegic information that would give them an undoubted advantage overthe free world?

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"We might still hold Our Council, but . . ." There was no need for HisHoliness to finish the thought. Everything was clear now. Publicationof the secret would set off repercussions everywhere. Friendly govern-ments would be gravely disturbed. The Soviets would be alienated onthe one hand and strategically aided on the other. The choice the goodPope had to make came down to bedrock geopolitics.

No one doubted the good faith of Sister Lucia. But several advisorspointed out that nearly twenty years had elapsed between the time in1917

6 WINDSWEPT HOUSE

when she had heard the words of the Virgin and the time in themid-1930s when she had actually written this letter. What guaranteehad the Holy Father that time had not clouded her memory? And whatguarantee was there that three illiterate peasant childrennot one ofthem twelve years old at the timehad accurately transmitted such acomplex message? Might there not be some preliterate and childishfancy at work here? Indeed, might there not be something even moredebilitating for the truth? Troops from the Soviet Union had enteredthe Spanish Civil War raging only miles away at the time Lucia hadwritten her letter. Had Lucia's words been colored by her own fear ofthe Soviets?

There was one dissenting voice from the consensus that was forming.One Cardinala German Jesuit, a friend and favorite confessor to thisPope, as he had been to the lastcould not remain silent in the face ofsuch degradation of the role of divine intervention. It was one thingfor ministers of secular governments to abandon the practicalities offaith. But surely such banality should be unacceptable for churchmenadvising the Holy Father.

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"The choice to be made here," the Jesuit argued, "is simple and primafacie. Either we accept this letter, do what it says, and then await theconsequences. Or we honestly disbelieve it. We forget it all. We sup-press the letter as a historical relic; we carry on as we are going and, byour deliberate decision, we strip ourselves of a special protection. Buteither way, let not one of us here doubt that we are talking about thefate of all mankind."

For all the trust His Holiness placed in the Jesuit Cardinal's expertiseand

loyalty, the decision went against Fatima. "Questo non e per i nostritempi," the Holy Father said. "This is not for our times." Shortly afterthat day, the Cardinal scanned the brief release distributed to the me-dia by the official Vatican press office. Its words would stand forever inhis mind as a curt refusal to obey the will of Heaven.

For the good of the Church and the welfare of mankind, the statementdeclared, the Holy See had decided not to publish the text of the thirdsecret at this time. ". . . The decision of the Vatican is based on variousreasons: (1) Sister Lucia is still living. (2) The Vatican already knowsthe contents of the letter. (3) Although the Church recognizes theFatima apparitions, she does not pledge herself to guarantee the vera-city of the words which the three little shepherds claim to have heardfrom Our Lady. In these circumstances, it is most probable that thesecret of Fatima will remain forever under absolute seal."

"Ci vedremo." The Cardinal set the release aside. "We shall see." Heknew the drill. The Holy See would have amicable words with NikitaKhrushchev. The Pontiff would have his Council. The Council wouldhave its Orthodox prelates from the Soviet Union. But the questionstill to be

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HISTOR Tf AS PROLOGUE: E N B SIGNS

answered was whether His Holiness, his Vatican and his Churchwould now undergo the consequences promised at Fatima.

Or, to frame the issue in geopolitical terms, the question was whetherthe Holy See had harnessed itself to "the new Europe of the diplomatsand politicians,' 1 as the good Pope's predecessor had foretold. "Onthat day," that frail old man had said, "the Church's misfortunes willstart in earnest."

"We shall see." For now, the Cardinal would have to settle for that.One way or the other, it would only be a matter of time.

1963

The Enthronement of the Fallen Archangel Lucifer was effected withinthe Roman Catholic Citadel on June 29, 1963; a fitting date for the his-toric promise about to be fulfilled. As the principal agents of this Cere-monial well knew, Satanist tradition had long predicted that the Timeof the Prince would be ushered in at the moment when a Pope wouldtake the name of the Apostle Paul. That requirementthe signal thatthe Availing Time had begunhad been accomplished just eight daysbefore with the election of the latest Peter-in-the-Line.

There had barely been time since the papal Conclave had ended for thecomplex arrangements to be readied; but the Supreme Tribunal haddecided there could be no more perfect date for the Enthronement ofthe Prince than this feast day of rhe twin princes of the Citadel, SS.Peter and Paul. And there could be no more perfect place than theChapel of St. Paul itself, situated as it was so near to the ApostolicPalace.

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The complexity of the arrangements were dictated mainly by thenature of the Ceremonial Event to be enacted. Security was so tight inthe grouping of Vatican buildings within which this gem of a Chapellay that the full panoply of the Ceremonial could not possibly escapedetection here. If the aim was to be achievedif the Ascent of thePrince was actually to be accomplished in the Availing Timethenevery element of the Celebration of the Calvary Sacrifice must beturned on its head by the other and opposite Celebration. The sacredmust be profaned. The profane must be adored. The unbloody repres-entation of the Sacrifice of the Nameless Weakling on the Cross mustbe replaced by the supreme and bloody violation of the dignity of theNameless One. Guilt must be accepted as innocence. Pain must givejoy. Grace, repentance, pardon must all be drowned in an orgy of op-posites. And it must all be done without mistakes. The sequence ofevents, the meaning of the words, the significance of the actions mustall comprise the perfect enactment of sacrilege, the ultimate ritual oftreachery.

The whole delicate affair was placed in the experienced hands of the

Prince's trusted Guardian in Rome. A master of the elaborate Ceremo-nial of the Roman Church, so much more was this granite-faced, acid-tongued prelate a Master of the Prince's Ceremonial of Darkness andFire. The immediate aim of every Ceremonial, he knew, is to venerate"the abomination of desolation." But the further aim now must be tooppose the Nameless Weakling in His stronghold, to occupy theWeakling's Citadel during the Availing Time, to secure the Ascent ofthe Prince in the Citadel as an irresistible force, to supplant theCitadel's Keeper, to take full possession of the Keys entrusted to theKeeper by the Weakling.

The Guardian tackled the problem of security head-on. Such unob-trusive elements as the Pentagram and the black candles and the

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appropriate draperies could be part ot the Ceremonial in Rome. Butother Rubrics the Bowl of Bones and the Ritual Din, for example, thesacrificial animals and the victimwould be too much. There wouldhave to be a Parallel Enthronement. A Concelebration could be accom-plished with the same effect by the Brethren in an Authorized Target-ing Chapel. Provided all the participants in both locations "targeted"every element of the Event on the Roman Chapel, then the Event in itsfullness would be accomplished specifically in the target area. It wouldall be a matter of unanimity of hearts, identity of intention and perfectsynchronization of word') and actions between the Targeting Chapeland the Target Chapel. The living wills and the thinking minds of theParticipants concentrated on the specific Aim of the Prince wouldtranscend all distance.

For a man as experienced as the Guardian, the choice of the TargetingChapel was easy. As simple as a phone call to the United States. Overthe years, the Prince's adherents in Rome had developed a faultlessunanimity of heart and a seamless identity of intention with theGuardian's friend. Leo, Bishop of the Chapel in South Carolina.

Leo was not the man's name. It was his description. The silvery-whitemane of hair on his large head looked for all the world like a scragglylion's mane. In the forty years or so since His Excellency had estab-lished his Chapel, the number and the social importance of the Parti-cipants he had attracted, the punctilious blasphemy of his Ceremoniesand his frequent and ready cooperation with those who shared hispoint of view and ultimate goals, had so established the superiority ofhis operation that by now it was widely admired among initiates as theMother Chapel of the United States.

The news that his Chapel had been Authorized as the Targeting Chapelfor such a great Event as the Enthronement of the Prince within theheart of the Roman Citadel itself was supremely gratifying. More to

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the point, Leo's vast Ceremonial knowledge and experience saved a lotof time. There was no need, for example, to test his appreciation of thecontradictory principles upon which all worship of the Archangel isstructured. No need to doubt his desire to encompass the ultimatestrategy in that bat-

tiethe end of the Roman Catholic Church as the papal institution ithad been since the Nameless Weakling had founded it.

There was no need even to explain that the ultimate aim wasn't exactlyto liquidate the Roman Catholic organization. Leo understood how un-intelligent that would be, how wasteful. Far better to make that organ-ization into something truly useful, to homogenize and assimilate it in-to a grand worldwide order of human affairs. To confine it to broadhumanistand only humanistgoals.

Like-minded experts that they were, the Guardian and the AmericanBishop reduced their arrangements for the twin Ceremonial Events toa roster of names and an inventory of Rubrics.

The Cuardian's list of namesthe Participants in the Roman Chapelturned out to be men of the highest caliber. High-ranking churchmen,and laymen of substance. Genuine Servitors of the Prince within theCitadel. Some had been selected, co-opted, trained and promoted inthe Roman Phalanx over the decades, while others represented thenew generation dedicated to carrying the Prince's agenda forward forthe next several decades. All understood the need to remain undetec-ted; for the Rule says, "The Guarantee of Our Tomorrow Is Today'sPersuasion That We Do Not Exist."

Leo's roster of Participantsmen and women who had made theirmark in corporate, government and social lifewas every bit as

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impressive as the Guardian had expected. But the Victim, His Excel-lency saida childwould be truly a prize for the Violation-of-Innocence.

The checklist of Rubrics required for the Parallel Ceremonial centeredmainly on the elements that had to be ruled out in Rome. Leo's Target-ing Chapel must have its set of Vials containing Earth, Air, hire andWater. Check. It must have the Bowl of Bones. Check. The Red andBlack Pillars. Check. The Shield. Check. The animals. Check. Down thelist they went. Check. Check.

The matter of synchronizing the Ceremonies in the two Chapels wasfamiliar for Leo. As usual, fascicles of printed sheets, irreligiouslycalled Missals, would be prepared for use by the Participants in bothChapels; and, as usual, they would be in flawless Latin. A telephonelink would be monitored by a Ceremonial Messenger at each end, sothat the Participants would always be able to take up their parts inperfect harmony with their Cooperating Brethren.

During the Event, the pulse of every Participant's heart must be per-fectly attuned to make I late, not love. The gratification of Pain and theConsummation must be perfectly achieved under Leo's direction in theSponsoring Chapel. The Authorization, the Instructions and the Evid-encethe final and culminating elements peculiar to this occasionwould be an honor for the Guardian himself to orchestrate in theVatican.

Finally, if everyone did the needful exactly according to the Rule, thePrince would at long last Consummate his Most Ancient Revengeupon

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the Weakling, the Merciless Knemy who had paraded through the agesas the Most High Merciful One for whom the darkest of darkness waslight enough to see all.

Leo could imagine the rest. The Enthronement Event would create aperfect covering, opaque and velvet smooth, to conceal the Princewithin the official Church membership of the Roman Citadel. En-throned in Darkness, the Prince would be able to foment that sameDarkness as never before. Friend and foe would be affected alike.Darkness of will would become so profound that it would obscure eventhe official objective of the Citadel's existence: the perpetual adorationof the Nameless One. In time and at last, the Goat would expel theLamb and enter into Possession of the Citadel. The Prince would usherhimself into possession of a house The Housethat was not his.

"Think of it, my friend." Bishop Leo was nearly beside himself with an-ticipation. "The unaccomplished will be accomplished. This will be thecapstone of my career. The capstone Event of the twentieth century!"

Leo was not far wrong.

It was night. The Guardian and a few Acolytes worked in silence to puteverything in readiness in the Target Chapel of St. Paul. A semicircleof kneeler chairs was set up to face the Altar. On the Altar itself, fivecandlesticks were fitted with graceful black tapers. A silver Pentagramwas placed on the Tabernacle and covered with a blood-red veil. AThrone, symbol of the Prince Regnant, was placed to the left of the Al-tar. The walls, with their lovely frescoes and paintings depicting eventsin the life of Christ and of the Apostle, were draped in black cloth suit-ably embroidered in gold with symbols of the Prince's history.

As The Hour drew near, the genuine Servitors of the Prince within theCitadel began to arrive. The Roman Phalanx. Among them, some of

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the most illustrious men currently to be found in the collegium, hier-archy and bureaucracy of the Roman Catholic Church. Among them,too, secular representatives of the Phalanx as outstanding in their wayas the members of the hierarchy.

Take that Prussian fellow just striding in the door, for example. Aprime specimen of the new lay breed if ever there was one. Not yetforty, he was already a man of importance in certain critical transna-tional affairs. Even the light from the black tapers glinted off his steel-rimmed glasses and his balding head as if to single him out. Chosen asInternational Delegate and Plenipotentiary Extraordinary to the En-thronement, the Prussian carried the leather pouch containing theLetters of Authorization and Instructions to the Altar before he tookhis place in the semicircle

Some thirty minutes before midnight, all of the kneeler chairs were oc-cupied by the current harvest of a Prince Tradition that had beenplanted, nurtured and cultivated within the ancient Citadel over aperiod of some eighty years. Though restricted in numbers for a time,the group

has persisted in protective obscurity as a foreign body and an alienspirit within its host and victim. It permeated offices and activitiesthroughout the Roman Citadel, spreading its symptoms through thebloodstream of the Church Universal like a subcutaneous infection.Symptoms like cynicism and indifference, malfeasance and misfeas-ance in high office, inattention to correct doctrine, neglect of moraljudgment, loss of acuity in sacral observance, blurring of essentialmemories and of the words and gestures that bespoke them.

Such were the men gathered in the Vatican for the Enthronement; andsuch was the Tradition they fostered throughout the worldwide ad-ministration headquartered in this Citadel. Missals in hand, eyes fixed

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on Altar and Throne, minds and wills deep in concentration, theywaited in silence for midnight to usher in the feast of SS. Peter andPaul, the quintessential holy day of Rome.

The Targeting Chapela large assembly hall in the basement of a pa-rochial schoolhad been furnished in strict observance of the Rules.Bishop Leo had directed it all personally. Now, his specially chosenAcolytes bustled quietly to put the final details in order as he checkedeverything.

The Altar first, placed at the north end of the Chapel. Flat on the Altar,a large Crucifix with the head of the corpus pointing to the north. Ahairbreadth away, the red-veiled Pentagram flanked by two blackcandles. Above, a red Sanctuary Lamp gleaming with the Ritual Flame.At the east end of the Altar, a cage; and in the cage, Flinnie, a seven-week-old puppy, mildly sedated against the brief moment of his use-fulness to the Prince. Behind the Altar, ebony tapers awaiting thetouch of Ritual Flame to their wicks.

A quick turn to the south wall. Resting on a credenza, the Thurible andthe container holding the squares of charcoal and incense. In front ofthe credenza, the Red and Black Pillars from which hung the SnakeShield and the Bell of Infinity. A turn to the east wall. Vials containingEarth, Air, Fire and Water surrounding a second cage. In the cage, adove, oblivious of its fate as a parody not only of the Nameless Weak-ling but of the full Trinity. Lectern and Book in readiness at the westwall. The semicircle of kneeler chairs facing north toward the Altar.Flanking the kneeler chairs, the Emblems of Entry: the Bowl of Boneson the west side nearest the door; to the east, the Crescent Moon andFive-Pointed Star with Coat-Points raised upward. On each chair, acopy of the .Missal to be used by the Participants.

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Finally, Leo glanced toward the entrance to the Chapel itself. Specialvestments for the Enthronement, identical to those he and his busyAcolytes had already donned, hung on the rack just inside the door.He checked his watch against the large wall clock just as the first Parti-cipants arrived. Satisfied with the arrangements, he headed for thelarge connecting cloakroom that served as vestry. The Archpriest andFrater Medico

should have the Victim prepared by now. Barely thirty minutes more,and his Ceremonial Messenger would open the telephone link to theTarget Chapel in the Vatican. It would be The Hour.

Just as there were different requirements for the physical setup in thetwo Chapels, so too for the Participants. Those in St. Paul's Chapel, allmen, wore robes and sashes of ecclesiastical rank or faultlesslytailored black suits of secular rank. Concentrated and purposeful, theireyes trained upon Altar and empty Throne, they appeared to be the pi-ous Roman clergy and lay worshippers they were commonly believedto be.

As distinguished in rank as the Roman Phalanx, the American Parti-cipants in the Targeting Chapel nevertheless presented a jarring con-trast to their fellows in the Vatican. Men and women entered here.And far from sirting or kneeling in fine attire, as they arrived each dis-robed completely and donned the single, seamless vestment pre-scribed for the Enthronementblood red for Sacrifice; knee lengthand sleeveless; V-necked and open down the front. Disrobing and en-robing were accomplished in silence, with no hurry or excitement. Justconcentrated, ritual calm.

Once vested, the Participants passed by the Bowl of Bones, dipped intheir hands to retrieve small fistfuls, and took their places in the semi-circle of chairs facing the Altar. As the Bowl of Bones was depleted and

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the kneeler chairs filled, the Ritual Dip began to shatter the silence.Ceaselessly rattling the Bones, each Participant began talkingto him-self, to others, to the Prince, to no one. Not raucously at first, but in anunsettling ritual cadence.

More Participants arrived. More Bones were taken. The semicircle wasfilled out. The mumbling cadence swelled from a softly cacophonoussus-sitrro. The steadily mounting gibberish of prayer and pleading andBone rattling developed a kind of controlled heat. The sound becameangry, as if verging on violence. Became a controlled concert of chaos.A mind-gripping howl of Hate and Revolt. A concentrated prelude tothe celebration of the Enthronement of the Prince of This World with-in the Citadel of the Weakling.

His blood-red vestments flowing gracefully, Leo strode into the vestry.For a moment, it seemed to him that everything was m perfect readi-ness. Already vested, his co-Celebrant, the balding, bespectacled Arch-priest, had lit a single black taper in preparation for the Procession. Hehad filled a large golden Chalice with red wine and covered it with asilver-gilt paten. He had placed an outsized white wafer of unleavenedbread atop the paten.

A third man, Frater Medico, was seated on a bench. Vested like theother two, he held a child across his lap. His daughter. Agnes. Leo ob-served with satisfaction that Agnes seemed quiet and compliant for achange. Indeed, she seemed ready for the occasion this time. She hadbeen

dressed in a loose white gown that reached to her ankles. And, like herpuppy on the Altar, she had been mildly sedated against the time ofher usefulness in the Mysteries.

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"Agnes," Medico purred into the child's ear. "It's almost time to comewith Daddy."

"Not my daddy . . ." Despite the drugs, the girl opened her eyes andstared at her father. Her voice was weak but audible. "God is my daddy..."

"BLASPHEMY!" Agnes' words transformed Leo's mood of satisfactionexactly as elrctrical energy is transformed into lightning. "Blasphemy!"He shot the word again like a bullet. In fact, his mouth became a can-non shooting a barrage of rebuke at Medico. Physician or no, the manwas a bumbler! The child should have been suitably prepared! Therehad been ample time to see to it!

Under Bishop Leo's attack. Medico turned ashen. But not so hisdaughter. She struggled to turn those unforgettable eyes of hers;struggled to meet Leo's wild glare of anger; struggled to repeat herchallenge. "God is my daddy . . . !"

Trembling in his nervous agitation, Prater Medico gripped hisdaughter's head in his hands and forced her to look at him again."Sweetheart," he cajoled. "I am your daddy. I've been your daddy al-ways. And, yes, your mummy too, ever since she went away."

"Not my daddy . . . You let Flinnie be taken . . . Mustn't hurt Flin-nie . .. Only a little puppy . . . Little puppies are made by God . . ."

"Agnes. Listen to me. I am your daddy. It's time . . ."

"Not my daddy . . . God is my daddy . . . God is my mummy . . . Dad-dies don't do things God doesn't like . . . Not my . . ."

Aware that the Target Chapel in the Vatican must be waiting for theCeremonial telephone link to be engaged, Leo gave a sharp nod of

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instruction to the Archpriest. As so often in the past, the emergencyprocedure was the only remedy; and the requirement that the Victimbe conscious at the first Ritual Consummation meant that it wouldhave to be accomplished now.

Doing his priestly duty, the Archpriest sat down beside Prater Medicoand shifted Agnes' drug-weakened form onto his own lap. "Agnes.Listen. I'm your daddy, too. Remember the special love between us?Remember?"

Stubbornly, Agnes kept up her struggle. "Not my daddy . . . Daddiesdon't do bad things to me . . . don't hurt me . . . don't hurt Jesus . . ."

In later years, Agnes' memory of this night for remember it she fi-nally did would contain no titillating edge, no trace of the merelypornographic. Her memory of this night, when it came, would he onewith her memory of her entire childhood. One with her memory ofprolonged assault by Summary Evil. One with her memory her nev-er failing sense

of that luminous tabernacle deep in her child's soul where Light trans-formed her agony with Courage and made her struggle possible.

In some way she knew but did not yet understand, that inner taber-nacle was where Agnes truly lived. That center of her being was an un-touchable refuge of indwelling Strength and Love and Trust; the placewhere the Suffering Victim, the true target of the assault on Agnes,had come to sanctify her agony forever with His oivn.

It was from within that refuge that Agnes heard every word spoken inthe vestry on the night of the Enthronement. It was from that refugethat she met the hard eyes of Bishop Leo glaring down at her, and thestare of the Archpriest. She knew the price of resistance, felt her bodybeing shifted from her father's lap. Saw the light glinting on the

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spectacles of the Archpriest. Saw her father draw close again. Saw theneedle in his hand. Felt the puncture. Felt the shock of the drug again.Felt herself lifted in someone's arms. But still she struggled. Struggledto see. Struggled against the blasphemy; against the effects of the viol-ation; against the chanting; against the horror she knew was still tocome.

Robbed by the drugs of strength to move, Agnes summoned her will asher only weapon and whispered again the words of her defiance andher agony. "Not my daddy . . . Don't hurt Jesus . . . Don't hurt me ..."

It was The Hour. The beginning of the Availing Time for the Prince'sAscent into the Citadel. At the tinkling of the Bell of Infinity, all Parti-cipants in Leo's Chapel rose to their feet as one. Missals in hand, theconstant clickety-clack of the Bones as grisly accompaniment, theychanted their full-throated processional, a triumphant profanation ofthe hymn of the Apostle Paul. "Maran Athal Come, Lord! Come, OPrince. Come! Come! . . ."

Well-rehearsed Acolytes, men and women, led the way from vestry toAltar. Behind them, gaunt but distinguished-looking even in his redvestments, Frater Medico carried the Victim to the Altar and placedher full-length beside the Crucifix. In the flickering shadow of theveiled Pentagram, her hair almost touched the cage that held her littledog. Next according to rank, eyes blinking behind his spectacles, theArchpriest bore the single black candle from the vestry and took hisplace at the left of the Altar. Last, Bishop Leo strode forward bearingchalice and Host, adding his voice to the processional hymn. "So moteit be!" The final words of the ancient chant washed over the Altar inthe Targeting Chapel.

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"So mote it be!" The ancient chant washed over Agnes' limp form, fog-ging her mind more deeply than the drugs, intensifying the cold shehad known would envelop her.

"So mote it be! Amen! Amen!" The ancient words washed over the Al-tar in the Chapel of St. Paul. Their hearts and wills as one with theTargeting Participants in America, the Roman Phalanx took up theMysteries Refrain set out for them in their Latin Missals, beginningwith the

Hymn of the Virgin Raped and ending with the Crown of ThornsInvocation.

In the Targeting Chapel, Bishop Leo removed the Victim Pouch fromhis neck and placed it reverently between the head of the Crucifix andthe foot of the Pentagram. Then, to the resumed mumbling-hummingchorus of the Participants and the rattling of Rones, Acolytes placedthree incense squares on the glowing charcoal in the Thurible. Almostat once, blue smoke curled through the assembly hall, its pungent odorengulfing Victim, Celebrants and Participants alike.

In the daze of Agnes' mind, the smoke and the smell and the drugs andthe cold and the Din all merged into a hideous cadenza.

Though no signal was given, the well-rehearsed Ceremonial Messen-ger informed his Vatican counterpart that the Invocations were aboutto begin. Sudden silence enveloped the American Chapel. Bishop Leosolemnly raised the Crucifix from beside Agnes' body, placed it upsidedown against the front of the Altar and, facing the congregation, raisedhis left hand in the inverted blessing of the Sign: the back of his handtoward the Participants; thumb and two middle fingers pressed to thepalm; index and little fingers pointing upward to signify the horns ofthe Goat. "Let us invoke!"

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Tn an atmosphere of darkness and fire, the Chief Celebrant in eachChapel intoned a series of Invocations to the Prince. The Participantsin both Chapels chanted a response. Then, and only in America's Tar-geting Chapel, each Response was followed by a Convenient Actionaritually determined acting-out of the spirit and the meaning of thewords. Perfect cadence of words and will between the two Chapels wasthe responsibility of the Ceremonial Messengers tending the telephonelink. From that perfect cadence would be woven a suitable fabric ofhuman intention in which the drama of the Prince's Enthronementwould be clothed.

"I believe in One Power." Bishop Leo's voice rang with conviction.

"And its name is Cosmos," the Participants in both Chapels chantedthe upside-down Response set out in the Latin Missals. The Conveni-ent Action followed in the Targeting Chapel. Two Acolytes incensedthe Altar. Two more retrieved the Vials of Earth, Air, Fire and Water,placed them on the Altar, bowed to the Bishop and returned to theirplaces.

"I believe in the Only Begotten Son of the Cosmic Dawn." Leo chanted.

"And His Name is Lucifer." The second ancient Response. Leo's Aco-lytes lighted the Pentagram Candles and incensed the Pentagram.

The third Invocation: "I believe in the Mysterious One."

The third Response: "And He is the Snake with Venom in the Apple ofLife." To the constant rattling of Bones, Attendants approached theRed Pillar and reversed the Snake Shield to expose the side depictingthe Tree of Knowledge.

1 he Guardian in Rome and the Bishop in America intoned the fourthInvocation; "I believe in the Ancient Leviathan."

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In unison across an ocean and a continent, the fourth Response: "And

His Name is Hate." The Red Pillar and the Tree of Knowledge wereincensed.

The fifth Invocation: 'i believe in the Ancient Fox."

The fifth lusty Response: "And His Name is Lie." The Black Pillar wasincensed as the symbol of all that is desolate and abominable.

In the flickering light cast by the rapers and with the blue smoke curl-ing around him, Leo shifted his eyes to Flinnie's cage close by Agneson the Altar. The puppy was almost alert now, coming to its feet in re-sponse to the chanting and clicking and clacking, "i believe in the An-cient Crab," Leo read the sixth Latin Invocation.

"And His Name is Living Pain," came the fulsome chant of the sixthResponse. Clickety-clack, came the chanting of the Bones. With alleyes on him, an Acolyte stepped to the Altar, reached into the cagewhere the puppy wagged its tail in expectant greeting, pinned the hap-less creature with one hand and, with the other, performed a perfectlyexecuted vivisection, removing the reproductive organs first from thescreaming animal. Expert that he was, the Attendant prolonged boththe puppy's agony and the Participants' frenzied joy at the Ritual ofPain-Giving.

Rut, not every sound was drowned by the Din of dreadful celebration.Faint though it was, there was the sound of Agnes' mortal struggle.There was the sound of Agnes' silent scream at the agony of her puppy.The sound of slurred and whispered words. The sound of supplicationand suffering. "God is my daddy! . . . Holy God! . . . My little puppy! . . .Don't hurt Flinnie! . . . God is my daddy! . . . Don't hurt Jesus . . . HolyGod . . ."

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Alert to every detail, Bishop Leo glanced down at the Victim. Even inher near-unconscious state, still she struggled. Still she protested. Stillshe felt pain. Still she prayed with that unyielding resistance of hers.Leo was delighted. What a perfect little Victim. So pleasing to thePrince. Pitilessly and without pause, Leo and the Guardian led theircongregations on through the rest of the fourteen Invocations, whilethe Convenient Actions that followed each Response became a raucoustheater of perversity.

Finally, Bishop Leo brought the first part of the Ceremonial to a closewith the Great Invocation: "I believe that the Prince of This World willbe Enthroned this night in the Ancient Citadel, and from there Lie willcreate a New Community."

The Response was delivered with a gusto impressive even in thisghastly milieu. "And Its Name will be the Universal Church of Man."

It was time for Leo to lift Agnes into his arms at the Altar. It was timefor the Archpriest to lift the chalice in his right hand and the largeHost in his left. It was time for Leo to lead the Offertory Prayer, wait-ing after each Ritual Question for the Participants to read the Re-sponses from their Missals.

"What was this Victim's name when once born?"

"Agnes!"

"What was this Victim's name when twice born?"

"Agnes Susannah!"

"What was this Victim's name when thrice born?"

"Rahab Jericho!"

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Leo laid Agnes atop the Altar again and pricked the forefinger of herleft hand until blood oozed from the little wound.

Pierced with cold, nausea rising in her, Agnes felt herself being liftedfrom the Altar, hut she was no longer able to focus her eyes. Sheflinched at a sharp sting in her left hand. She absorbed isolated wordsthat carried a dread she could not voice. "Victim . . . Agnes . . . thriceborn . . . Rahab Jericho ..."

Leo dipped his left index finger in Agnes' blood and, raising it for theParticipants to see, began the Offertory chants.

"This, the Blood of our Victim, has been shed * So that our service tothe Prince may be complete. * So that He may reign supreme in theHouse of Jacob '' In the New Land of the Elect."

It was the Archpriest's turn now. Chalice and Host still raised aloft, hegave the Ritual Offertory Response.

"I take You with me, All-Pure Victim s " I take you to the unholy north* 1 take you to the Summit of the Prince."

The Archpriest placed the Host on Agnes' chest and held the chalice ofwine above her pelvis.

Flanked at the Altar now by his Archpriest and Acolyte Medico, BishopLeo glanced at the Ceremonial Messenger. Assured that the granite-faced Guardian and his Roman Phalanx were in perfect tandem, heand his celebrants intoned the Prayer of Supplication.

"We ask You, Lord Lucifer, Prince of Darkness * Garnerer of all ourVictims :: " To accept our offering :: " Unto the commission of manysins."

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Then, in the perfect unison that comes from long usage, Bishop andArchpriest pronounced the holiest words of the Latin Mass. At the el-evation of the I lost: "hoc est emm corpus MEUM." At the elevation ofthe

chalice: "HIC EST ENIVI CALIX SANGUIMS .V1F.I, NOVI EXAETERNI TES'l AMENTI, MYSTERIUM EIDE1 QUI PRO VOBIS FTPRO MULTIS EEFUNDETUR IN REMISSIONEM PECCATORUM.HAEC QUOTIESCUMQUE FECERITIS IN MEI MEMORIAMFAC1ETIS."

Immediately, the participants responded with a renewal of the RitualDin, a deluge of confusion, a babel of words and rattling bones, withrandom lascivious acts of every kind, while the Bishop ate a tiny frag-ment of the Host and took a small sip from the chalice.

At Leo's signalthe inverted blessing of the Sign againthe Ritual Dinslipped into somewhat more orderly chaos as the Participants obedi-ently formed into rough lines. Passing by the Altar to receive Commu-niona

bit of the Host, a sip from the chalicethey also had an opportunity toadmire Agnes. Then, anxious not to miss any part of the first Ritual Vi-olation of the Victim, they returned quickly to their kneeler chairs andwatched expectantly as the Bishop focused his full attention on thechild.

Agnes tried with all her might to free herself as the weight of the Bish-op came upon her. Even then, she twisted her head as if to look forhelp in that unmerciful place. But there was no glimpse of help. Therewas the Archpriest waiting his turn at this most ravenous sacrilege.There was her father waiting. There ivas the fire from the black tapersreflecting red in their eyes. Fire itself aflame in those eyes. Inside all

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those eyes. Fire that would burn long after the candles died. Burnforever . . .

The agony that enveloped Agnes that night in body and soul was soprofound that it might have enveloped the whole world. But not for amoment was it her agony alone. Of that much she always remainedcertain. As those Servitors of Lucifer violated her on that defiled andunholy Altar, so too did they violate that Lord Who was father andmother to her. Just as He had transformed her weakness with Hiscourage, so also did He sanctify her desecration with the outrages ofHis scourging, and her long-suffering with His Passion. It was to Him to that Lord Who was her only father and her only mother and heronly defender that Agnes screamed her terror, her horror, her pain.And it was to Him she fled for refuge when she lost consciousness.

Leo stood once more at the Altar, his perspiring face flush with newexcitement at this, his supreme moment of personal triumph. A nod tothe Ceremonial Messenger by the phone. A moment's wait. An answer-ing nod. Rome was ready.

"By the Power invested in me as Parallel Celebrant of the Sacrifice andthe Parallel Fulfiller of the Enthronement, 1 lead all here and in Romein invoking You, Prince of All Creatures! In the name of all gathered inthis Chapel and of all the Brothers of the Roman Chapel, " invoke You,O Prince!"

The second Investment Prayer was the Archpriest's to lead. As culmin-ation of everything he waited for, his Latin recitation was a model ofcontrolled emotion:

''Come, take possession of the Enemy's House. * Enter into a placethat has been prepared for You. * Descend among Your faithful

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Servitors * Who have prepared Your bed, * Who have erected Your Al-tar and blessed it with infamy.'"

It was right and fitting that Bishop Leo should offer the final Invest-ment Prayer of the Targeting Chapel:

"Under Sacrosanct instructions from the Mountaintop, * In the nameof all the Brethren, * I now adore You, Prince of Darkness. * With theStole of all Unholiness, : " I now place in Your hands * The Triple

Crown of Perer * According to the adamantine will of Lucifer * So thatYou reign here. * So that there One Church be, * One Church from Seato Sea, * One Vast and Mighty Congregation ;l " Of Man and Woman, *Of animal and plant. * So that our Cosmos again * Be one, unboundand free."

At the last word and a gesture from Leo, all in his Chapel were seated.The Ritual passed to the Target Chapel in Rome.

It was very nearly complete now, this Enthronement of the Prince inthe Weakling's Citadel. Only the Authorization, the Bill of Instructionsand the Evidence remained. The Cuardian looked up from the Altarand turned cheerless eyes toward the Prussian International Delegatewho had brought the leather pouch containing the Letters of Authoriz-ation and Instructions. All watched as he left his place and strode tothe Altar, took the pouch in hand, removed the papers it containedand read out the Bill of Authorization in a heavy accent:

"By mandate of the Assembly and the Sacrosanct Elders, I do institute,authorize and recognize this Chapel, to be known henceforth as the In-ner Chapel, as taken, possessed and appropriated wholly by HimWhom we have Enthroned as Lord and Master of our human fate.

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"Whosoever shall, by means of this Inner Chapel, be designated andchosen as the final ln-the-Line successor in the Petrine Office, shall byhis very oath of office commit himself and all he does command to bethe willing instrument and collaborator with the Builders of Man'sHome on Earth and throughout Man's Cosmos. He shall transform theancient Enmity into Friendship, Tolerance and Assimilation as theseare applied to the models of birth, education, work, finance, com-merce, industry, learning, culture, living and giving life, dying anddealing death. So shall the New Age of Man be modeled.

"So mote it be!" The Guardian led the Roman Phalanx in the RitualResponse.

"So mote it be!" At a signal from the Ceremonial Messenger, BishopLeo led his Participants in their assent.

The next order of Ritual, the Bill of Instructions, was in reality a sol-emn oath of betrayal by which every cleric present in St. Paul'sChapelCardinal, bishop and monsignore alikewould intentionallyand deliberately desecrate the Sacrament of Lioly Orders by which hehad once received the grace and power to sanctify others.

The International Delegate lifted his left hand in the Sign. "Do youeach and all," he read the Oath, "having heard this Authorization, nowsolemnly swear to accept it willingly, unequivocally, immediately,without reservation or cavil?"

"We do!"

"Do you each and all now solemnly swear that your administration ofoffice will be bent to fulfill the aims of the Universal Church of Man?"

"We do so solemnly swear."

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"Are you each and all prepared to signal this unanimous will with yourown blood, so strike you Lucifer, if you are unfaithful to this Oath ofCommitment?"

"We are willing and prepared."

"Are you each and all fully consenting that, by this Oath, you transferLordship and Possession of your souls from the Ancient Enemy, theSupreme Weakling, to the All-Powerful Hands of our Lord Lucifer?"

"We consent."

The moment had arrived for the final Ritual. The Evidence.

With the two documents positioned on the Altar, the Delegate held outhis left hand to the Guardian. With a golden pin, the granite-faced Ro-man pricked the tip of the Delegate's left thumb and pressed a bloodyprint beside the Delegate's name on the Bill of Authorization.

Quickly then, the Vatican Participants followed suit. When everymember of the Phalanx had satisfied this last Ritual requirement, alittle silver bell was rung in the Chapel of St. Paul.

In the American Chapel, the Bell of Infinity rang its distant and as-senting response lightly, musically, three times. Ding! Dong! Ding! Anespecially nice touch, Leo thought, as both congregations took up therecessional chant:

"Ding! Dong! Dell! * Thus shall the Ancient Gates Prevail! * Thus theRock and the Cross must fail * Forever! * Ding! Dong! Dell!"

The recessional line formed in order of rank. Acolytes first. FraterMedico, with Agnes limp and frighteningly pale in his arms. Finally,

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the Archpriest and Bishop Leo kept up the chant as they retraced theirsteps to

the vestry.

The members of the Roman Phalanx emerged into the Court of St.Damasus in the small hours of the feast day of SS. Peter and Paul.Some of the Cardinals and a few of the bishops acknowledged the sa-lutes of the respectful security guards with an absentminded cross ofpriestly blessing traced in the air, as they entered their limousines.Within moments, the walls of St. Paul's Chapel glowed, as always theyhad, with their lovely-paintings and frescoes of Christ, and of theApostle Paul whose name the latest Peter-in-the-Line had taken.

1978

For the Pope who had taken the name of the Apostle, the summer of1978 was his last on this earth. Worn out as much by the turbulence ofhis fifteen-year reign as by the pain and physical degradation of longillness, he was taken by his God from the central seat of authority inthe Roman Catholic Church on August 6.

During sede vacante when Peter's chair is vacantthe practical af-fairs of the Church Universal are entrusted to a Cardinal Camerlengo.A Chamberlain. In this instance, to the unfortunate Pope's Secretary ofState; to His Fminence Cardinal Jean-Claude de Vincennes, who, Vat-ican wags said, had all but run the Church anyway even while the Popestill lived.

An unusually tall, well-built, spare-fleshed man, Cardinal Vincennespossessed from nature an overdose of Gallic gumption. His moods,which ran the gamut from acerbic to patronizing, regulated the atmo-sphere for peers and subordinates alike. The sharp lines of his face

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were the very badge of his unquestionably supreme status in the Vatic-an bureaucracy.

Understandably, the Chamberlain's responsibilities are many duringsede vacante, and the time to carry them out is short. Not least amongthose tasks is to sort the dead Pope's personal papers and documentsin a thorough triage. The official object of the exercise is to learn of un-finished business. But one unofficial by-product is the chance to dis-cover firsthand some of the innermost thoughts of the recent Popeconcerning sensitive Church affairs.

Ordinarily, His Eminence would have conducted the triage of the oldPope's documents before the Conclave had met to elect his successor.But preparations for the August Conclave had absorbed all of his ener-gies and attention. On the outcome of that Conclavemore precisely,on the type of man to emerge from that Conclave as the new Popede-pended the fate of elaborate plans prepared over the previous twentyyears by Cardinal Vincennes and his like-minded colleagues in theVatican and around the world.

They were men who promoted a new idea of the papacy and of the Ro-man Catholic Church. For them, no longer would Pope and Churchstand apart and beckon humanity to approach and enter the fold ofCatholicism. It was time now for both papacy and Church as an insti-tution to collaborate closely with the efforts of mankind to build a bet-ter world for everyone. Time for the papacy to cease its reliance ondogmatic au-thoritv and its insistence on absolute and exclusive claimto ultimate truth.

Of course, such plans were not elaborated within the isolated vacuumof in-house Vatican politics. But neither had the Cardinal Secretaryshared these ideas merely from afar. He and his like-minded Vaticanassociates

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had entered into a compact with their secular boosters. Together, bythat compact, all had undertaken to do their part in effecting at lastthe desired and fundamental transformation in Church and papacy.

Now, with the Pope's death, it was agreed that this Conclave was welltimed to effect the election of a complaisant successor to Peter's chair.With Cardinal Vincennes running the show, no one doubted that justthe type of man required would emerge as victor-as Popefrom theConclave of August 1978.

With such a load riding on his success, it was not surprising that HisEminence had put everything else aside, including the personal docu-ments of the old Pope. The thick envelope with its papal emboss hadrested unattended in a special pigeonhole in the Cardinal's desk.

But the Cardinal had made a gross miscalculation. Once shut in underlock and key as is the practice for Conclaves, the Cardinal Electors hadchosen a man for the papacy who was totally unsuitable. A man utterlyuncongenial for those plans laid by the Camerlengo and his associates.Few in the Vatican would forget the day that new Pope had been elec-ted. Vincennes had literally bolted out of the Conclave the instant theheavily locked doors were opened. Ignoring the customary announce-ment of "a blessed Conclave," he strode off toward his quarters likevengeance incarnate.

Just how serious his Conclave failure had been was borne in on Car-dinal Secretary of State Vincennes during the first weeks of the newpapacy. Those had been weeks of continual frustration for him. Weeksof continual argument with the new Pope and of fevered discussionswith his own colleagues. The triage of papal documents had been allbut forgotten in the sense of danger that pervaded his days. He simplyhad no way of predicting for his associates how this new occupant ofPeter's Throne would act and react. I lis Eminence had lost control.

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Uncertainty and fear had exploded when the totally unexpected cameto pass. Within thirty-three days of his election, the new Pope died,and the air in Home and abroad was full of ugly rumors.

When the newly dead Pope's papers had been gathered in a secondembossed envelope, the Cardinal had no choice but to place them onhis desk with the first. In the organization of a second Conclave to beheld in October, all of his efforts were trained on correcting the mis-takes made in August. His Eminence had been granted a reprieve. Hehad no doubt that his life depended on his making the most of it. Thistime he must see to the choice of a suitably complaisant Pope.

The unthinkable had pursued him, however. For all of his gargantuanefforts, the October Conclave had turned out as disastrously for him asthe one in August. Stubbornly, the Electors had again chosen a manwho was not complaisant in any sense of the word. Had circumstancespermitted, Elis F.minence would surely have taken time to unravel thepuzzle of what had gone wrong during the two elections. But time hedid not have.

With the third Pope on the Throne of Peter in as many months, thetriage of papers contained in the two envelopes, each bearing the papalemboss, had at last taken on its own urgency. Even at the heel of thehunt, His Eminence would not allow those two packets to slip from hishands without a careful screening

The triage took place one October day at an oval conference table inthe spacious office of Cardinal Secretary of State Vincennes. Situated afew yards from the papal study on the third floor of the ApostolicPalace, its tall Palladian windows forever surveying St. Peter's Squareand the wide world beyond like unblinking eyes, that office was butone of many outward signs of the Cardinal Secretary's global power.

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As custom required, the Cardinal had called two men as witnesses andaides. The first, Archbishop Silvio Aureatinia relatively young manof some note and huge ambitionwas a watchful, quick-witted north-ern Italian who looked out on the world from a face that seemed togather toward the end of his prominent nose the way a pencil gathersat the tip.

The second man, Father Aldo Carnesecca, was a simple and insignific-ant priest who had lived through four papacies and had twice assistedat triages of a Pope's papers. Father Carnesecca was treasured by hissuperiors as "a man of confidentiality." A gaunt, gray-haired, quiet-voiced man whose age was hard to determine, he was exactly what hisfacial appearance, his unadorned black cassock and his impersonalmanner indicated: a professional subordinate.

Such men as Aldo Carnesecca may come to the Vatican with great am-bitions. But with no stomach for partisan jealousy and hatetoo con-scious of their own mortality to step over dead bodies on the upwardladder, yet too grateful to bite the hand that originally fed themsuchmen hold on to their basic, lifelong ambition that brought them here.The desire to be Roman.

Rather than compromise their principles on the one hand or cross thethreshold of disillusionment and bitterness on the other, the Carnesec-cas of the Vatican make the most of their lowly state. They stay at theirposts through successive papal administrations. Without nourishingany self-interest or exerting any personal influence, they acquire a de-tailed knowledge of significant facts, friendships, incidents and de-cisions. They become experts in the rise and fall of the greats. They de-velop an instinct for the wood as distinct from the trees. It was not asurprising irony, therefore, that the man most fitted to conduct thetriage of papal documents that October day was not CardinalVincennes or Archbishop Aureatini, but Father Carnesecca.

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At first, the triage proceeded smoothly. After a pontificate of fifteenyears, it was only to be expected that the first envelope containing theold Pope's documents was a fat one. But most of its contents proved tobe copies of

memoranda between the Pontiff and His Eminence, and were alreadyfamiliar to the Cardinal. Vincennes did not keep all of his thoughts tohimself as he tossed page after page over to his two companions. Hepeppered them with commentary on the men whose names inevitablycropped up. That Swiss archbishop who thought he could cow Rome.That Brazilian bishop who had refused to go along with the changes inthe Mass ceremony. Those traditionalist Vatican Cardinals whosepower he had broken. Those traditionalist European theologianswhom he had retired into obscurity.

Finally, there remained only five of the old Pope's documents to dealwith before turning to the triage of the second Pontiffs papers. Each ofthe five was sealed in its own envelope, and each was marked"1'ersonalis-sirno e Confidenzialissimo." Of those envelopes, the fourmarked for the old Pope's blood relatives were of no special con-sequence beyond the fact that the Cardinal disliked not being able toread their contents. The last of the five envelopes carried an additionalinscription. "For Our Successor on the Throne of Peter." Those words,written in the unmistakable hand of the old Pope, put the contents ofthis document in the category of papers destined exclusively for theeyes of the newly elected young Slavic Pope. The date of the papal in-scription, July 3, 1975, registered in the Cardinal's mind as a particu-larly volatile time in his always strained relations with Flis Holiness.

What suddenly transfixed His Eminence's attention, however, was theunthinkable but unmistakable fact that the original papal seal hadbeen broken. Unbelievably, the envelope had been slit at the top andopened. Obviously, therefore, its contents had been read. Just as

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obviously, the slit had been mended with a length of thick filamenttape. A new papal seal and signature had been added by the old man'ssuccessor; by the Pope who had died so suddenly and whose own pa-pers still awaited triage.

But there was more. A second inscription in the less familiar hand ofthe second Pope: "Concerning the condition of Holy Mother Churchafter June 29, 1963."

For one unguarded moment. Cardinal Vincennes was unmindful ofrhe other two men at the oval table. His whole world suddenly shrankto the tiny dimensions of the envelope in his hands. In the horror andconfusion that paralyzed his mind at the sight of that date on a papallysealed envelope, it took a moment for the date of the second papal in-scription itself to register: September 28. 1978. One day shy of thedeath date of that second Pope.

In his bafflement, the Cardinal fingered the envelope as though itsthickness might tell him its contents, or as though it might whisper thesecret of how it had found its way from his desk and then back again.All but ignoring the presence of Father Carneseccaan easy thing todohe shoved the envelope across the table to Aureatini.

When the Archbishop raised thai pencil-nosed profile again, his eyes

were a mirror of the Cardinal's own horror and confusion. It was as ifrhose two men were not staring at one another, but at a commonmemory they had been certain was secret. The memory of victory'sopening moment. The memory of St. Paul's Chapel. The memory ofgathering with so many others of the Phalanx to chant ancient invoca-tions. The memory of that Prussian Delegate reading out the Kill of In-structions; of thumbs pricked with a golden pin; of bloody printspressed onto the Bill of Authorization.

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"But, Eminence . . ." Aureatini was the first to find his voice, but thesecond to find his wits. "How the devil did he . . . ?"

"Even the devil doesn't know that." By sheer force of will, the Cardinalwas beginning to regain something of his mental composure. Peremp-torily, he took the envelope back and pounded it onto the table in frontof him. He cared not one whit for the thoughts of either of his compan-ions. Confronted with so many unknowns, he needed to deal withquestions that were doubling back on themselves in his mind.

How had the thirty-three-day Pope got his hands on his predecessor'spapers? Treachery by one of I lis Eminence's own Secretariat staff?The thought caused the Cardinal to glance at Father Carncsecca. In hismind, that black-robed professional subordinate represented thewhole Vatican underclass of bureaucratic drones.

Of course, technically the Pope had a right to every document in theSecretariat; but he had shown no curiosity in the matter to Vincennes.And then again, just what had the second Pope seen? Had he gottenthe whole dossier of the old Pontiff's papersread them all? Or onlythat envelope with the crucial June 29, 1963, date now written in hishand on its face? If the latter were true, how did the envelope get backinto the old Pope's documents? And either way, who had restoredeverything just as it had been on the Cardinal Secretary's desk? Whencould anybody have succeeded in doing that without attractingattention?

Vincennes fixed again on the final date written on the envelope in thesecond Pope's hand. September 28. Abruptly, he rose from his chair,strode across the room to his desk, reached for his diary and flipped itspages back to that date. Yes, he had had the usual morning briefingsession with the I loly bather; but his notes told him nothing relevant.There had been an arternoon meeting with the Cardinal overseers of

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the Vatican Bank; nothing interesting there either. Another notecaught his eye, however. He had attended a luncheon at the CubanEmbassy for his friend and colleague the outgoing Ambassador. Afterthe luncheon, he had stayed on for a private conversation.

I he Cardinal reached for his intercom and asked his secretary to checkthe roster. Who had been on duty that day at the Secretariat's recep-tion desk? He had to wait only a moment for the answer; and when itcame, he raised a pair of dull eyes to the oval table. In that instant,Father Aldo

Carnesecca became much more for His Eminence than a symbol of theVatican's subordinate class.

In the time it took to replace the receiver in its cradle and return to thetable, a certain cold light seeped into the Cardinal Secretary's mind.Light about the past; and about his future. His large frame even re-laxed a bit as he fitted all the pieces together. The two papal dossierson his desk awaiting triage. His own long absence from his office onSeptember 28. Carnesecca on duty alone during the siesta hour.Vincennes saw it all. He had been circumvented by wile, outwitted byguileless-faced guile. His entire personal gamble was over now. Thebest he could do was to make sure the double-sealed papal envelopenever reached the hand of the Slavic Pope.

"Let us finish our work!" Glancing in turn at the still ashen-faced Aur-eatini and the imperturbable Carnesecca, the Cardinal was clear in hismind and entirely focused. In the tone he always used with subordin-ates, he rattled out a series of decisions that ended the triage of the oldPope's papers. Carnesecca would see to the dispatch of the four privateenvelopes addressed to the Pontiff's relatives. Aureatini would take theother papers to the Vatican Archivist, who would see to it that they

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would gather dust in some appropriately obscure cranny. The Cardinalhimself would see to the matter of the double-sealed envelope.

Quickly, then. His Eminence began the triage of the relatively few pa-pers the second Pope had accumulated in so abbreviated a reign. Cer-tain that the most significant document left by that Pope already laybefore him, he skimmed rapidly through the contents of the dossier.Within a quarter of an hour, he had passed them to Aureatini asdestined for the Archivist.

Vincennes stood alone at one of those long windows in his office untilhe saw Father Carnesecca step from the Secretariat into the Court ofSt. Damasus below. He followed the progress of that gaunt figure allthe way across St. Peter's Square toward the Holy Office, where thatpriest spent a good part of his working life. For a good ten minutes hecontemplated Carnesecca's unhurried but always sure and purposefulgait. If ever a man deserved an early place in Potter's Field, he decided,surely it was Aldo Carnesecca. Nor would he have to make a note in hisdiary to remember.

At last, the Cardinal Secretary turned back to his desk. He still had todeal with that infamous double-sealed envelope.

It was not unknown in papal history that, before final disposition of adead Pope's papers, someone in a position to do so might have had aquick look even at documents marked "Fersonalissuno eConfidenzialis-simo." In this case, however, the inscriptions of not onebut two Popes placed the contents beyond all but papal eyes. Therewere some barriers that would keep even Vincennes at bay. And in anycase, he was confident he knew the substance of the matter.

Nevertheless, His Eminence mused, it was possible to put more thanone interpretation on the biblical admonition: "Let the dead bury the

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dead." Without humor or self-pity, but with his own fate certain in hismind, he lifted his telephone with one hand and the envelope in theother. When Archbishop Aureatini came on the line, he issued his finalcurt instructions regarding the triage. "You forgot one item for theArchivist, Excellency. Come pick it up. I'll have a word with him my-self. He will know what to do."

The untimely death of His Eminence Cardinal Secretary of State Jean-Claude de Vincennes occurred in an unfortunate automobile accidentnear his birthplace of Mablon in the south of France on March 19,1979. Of the notices that told the world of such a tragedy, surely thedriest was contained in the Pontifical Yearbook for 1980. In that fat,utilitarian directory of Vatican Church personnel and other serviceabledata, the Cardinal's name and no more appeared in alphabetical orderin the list of recently deceased Princes of the Church.

PART ONE

Papal Evening

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IN THE VATICAN of early May, no one was surprised that the HolyFather would depart for yet another pastoral visit abroad. It was, afterall, just one more of many scores of visits he had made so far to someninety-five countries on all five continents since his election in 1978.

For more than ten years now, in fact, this Slavic Pope had seemed totransform his whole pontificate into one long pilgrimage to the world.He had been seen or heard, in the flesh or electronically, by over threebillion people. He had sat down with literally scores of governmentleaders. He possessed an intelligence about the countries of thoseleaders and a command of their languages that was unrivaled. He had

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impressed them all as a man without any major prejudice against any-one. He was accepted by those leaders, and by men and women every-where, as a leader himself. As a man concerned about the helpless, thehomeless, the jobless, the war-torn. A man concerned about all whowere denied even the right to live the aborted babies and the babiesborn only to die of hunger and disease. A man concerned about themillions who were living just to die from government-imposed fam-ines in Somalia, Ethiopia, the Sudan. A man concerned with the popu-lations of Afghanistan, Cambodia and Kuwait, whose lands were nowwantonly sown with over 80 million land mines.

All in all, this Slavic Pope had become a crystal-clear mirror held up tothe gaze of the real world, reflecting the real miseries of its peoples.

By comparison to such superhuman efforts, the papal jaunt set to be-gin this Saturday morning would be a short one. A pastoral visit to thecavern shrine of Sainte-Baume, high in the Maritime French Alps.There the Pontiff would lead the traditional devotions in honor of St.Mary Magdalene, who, legend had it, had spent thirty years of her lifein that cavern as a penitent.

There had been a certain quietly derisive behind-the-scenes humor inthe corridors of the Secretariat of State about "another of His Holiness'pious excursions." But in today's Vatican, that was only natural, giventhe extra workfor so it was regardedrequired for such incessantpapal meanderings into the world at large.

The Saturday of the Pope's departure for Baume dawned fresh andbright. As Cardinal Secretary of State Cosimo Maestroianni emergedwith the Slavic Pope and his little retinue from one of the rear portalsof the Apostolic Palace and proceeded through the gardens toward theVatican

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helipad, no humor, derisive or otherwise, was evident in HisEminence's demeanor. The Secretary was not known as a humorousman. But he did feel a certain happy relief. For, once he had seen theHoly Father safely on his way to Sainte-Baume as duty and decorumrequired, he would have a few days of valuable time to himself.

There was no real crisis facing Maestroianni. But in a certain sensetime was at a premium for him just now. Though the news had not yetbeen made public, by prior agreement with the Slavic Pope, the Car-dinal was about to quit his post as Secretary of State. Even after retire-ment, his hands would not be far from the highest levers of Vaticanpowerhe and his colleagues had seen to that. Maestroianni's suc-cessor, already chosen, was a known quantity; not the ideal man, butmanageable. Nevertheless, some things were better accomplishedwhile still standing visibly on the highest ground. Before ending his of-ficial tenure as head of the Secretariat, His Eminence had three partic-ularly important tasks to attend to. Each was sensitive in its own way.He had engineered all three to a certain crucial point. Just a little moreprogress to be made here, a few more steps to be set in motion there,and he could be confident that his agenda would be unstoppable.

The agenda was everything now. And time was running.

On this early Saturday morning, flanked by the ever present uni-formed security guards, followed by his companions on this trip andwith the Pontiff's personal secretary, Monsignore Daniel Sadowski,bringing up the rear, the Slavic Pope and his Cardinal Secretary ofState made their way along the shaded pathway like two men yokedtogether on a tightrope. Scurrying along beside the Holy Father, hisshort legs forced to take two steps for every one ot the Pope's, HisEminence recited a quick review of the main points of the Pontiff'sschedule at Sainte-Baume, then took his leave: "Ask the Saint toshower us with graces, Holiness."

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Retracing his steps in blessed solitude toward the Apostolic Palace,Cardinal Maestroianni allowed himself a few extra moments' reflec-tion within these lovely gardens. Reflections were only natural to aman accustomed to Vatican and global power, and especially so on theeve of his departure from office. Nor was this a waste of time. For hiswere useful reflections. Reflections about change. And about unity.

One way and another, it seemed to FFs Eminence that everything inhis lifetime, everything in the world, had always been about the pro-cess and purpose of change, and about the faces and the uses of unity.In fact hindsight being as acute as it always isit seemed to FiisEminence that even back in the 1950s, when he had first entered theVatican's diplomatic service as a young, ambitious cleric, change hadalready entered the world as its only constant.

Maestroianni let his mind travel back to the last long conversation hehad had with his longtime mentor, Cardinal Jean-Claude deVincennes. It

had been righr here in these gardens one open day in the early winterof 1979. Vincennes was immersed then in the plans for the newly elec-ted Slavic Pope's very first excursion outside the Vatican, the trip thatwould take the new Pope back to visit his native Poland after his unex-pected election to Peter's Throne.

Most of the world had seen that trip, both before and after its comple-tion, as the nostalgic return of the Pope to his homeland for the properand final farewell of a victorious native son. Not so Vincennes,however. Vincennes' mood during that conversation so many yearsago had struck Maestroianni as curious. As had been his way when hehad a particularly important point he wanted to drive home to his pro-tege, Vincennes had led what seemed an almost leisurely conversation.He had talked about his day in Vatican service. "Day One," Vincennes

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had called it. The long, tedious day of the Cold War. The peculiar thingwas that his tone had seemed consciously prophetic; seemed to foretellthe end of that Day in more ways than one.

"Frankly," Vincennes had confided to Maestroianni, "Europe's roleduring this Day One has been that of a supreme but helpless pawn inthe lethal game of nations. The Cold War game. The fear has alwaysbeen that any moment might bring a blaze of nuclear flames."

Even without the rhetoric Maestroianni had understood all that. Hehad always been an avid student of history. And by early 1979, he hadaccumulated hands-on experience in dealing with the Cold War gov-ernments and power brokers of the world. He knew that the forebod-ing of the Cold War dogged everyone, in and out of government. Eventhe six Western European nations whose ministers had signed thetreaties of Rome in 1957, and by those treaties had so bravely bandedtogether as the European Communityeven their plans and theirmoves were hemmed in at every turn by that Cold War foreboding.

As far as Maestroianni had seen in those early days of 1979, nothing ofthat geopolitical realitythe reality of what Vincennes called DayOne had changed. What startled him first, therefore, was Vincennes'conviction that Day One was about to end. More startling still, itdawned on Maestroianni that Vincennes actually expected this Slavicinterloper into rhe papacy to be what he called "an angel of change."

"Make nu mistake about it." Vincennes had been emphatic on thepoint. "This man may be seen by many as a bumbling poet-philosoph-er who wandered into the papacy bv mistake. But he thinks and eatsand sleeps and dreams geopolitics. I've seen the drafts of some of thespeeches he plans to deliver in Warsaw and Krakow. Eve made it apoint to read some of his earlier speeches. Since 1976 he's been talking

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about the inevitability of change. About the oncoming rush of nationsinto a New World Order."

In his surprise, Maestroianni had stopped in his tracks besideVincennes.

"Yes." From his towering height, Vincennes had peered down at his di-minutive associate. "Yes. You heard right. He, too, sees a new worldorder coming. And if I'm correct in my reading of his intent in this re-turn of his to his homeland, he may be the herald of the end of DayOne. Now, if that is true, then Day Two will dawn very quickly. Whenit does, unless I miss my guess, this new Slavic Pope will be up andrunning at the head of the pack. But you, my friend, must run faster.You must run rings around this Holy Father of ours."

Maestroianni had been struck dumb by his double confusion. Confu-sion first that Vincennes had seemed to be counting himself out of DayTwo; seemed to be giving instructions to Maestroianni as to a suc-cessor. And confusion that Vincennes should think that this Slav, whoseemed so unfit for the papacy, might play a pivotal role in the powerpolitics of the world.

It was a far different Maestroianni who paused for a while longertoday before entering the rear portal of the Apostolic Palace.Vincennes' voice had been stilled for these past twelve years. But thesevery gardens, unchanged themselves, stood as witness to the precisionof his prophecy.

Day Two had begun so subtly that the leaders of East and West real-ized only slowly what Vincennes had glimpsed in those early speechesof this Slav who was now Pope. Slowly, the brightest amongMammon's children began to see what this Pontiff kept drumminghome to them in that un-recriminating but insistent style of his.

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As he traveled to his homeland and successfully challenged the leadersof the East on their own turf, this Pope had ignited the energies of oneof the profoundest geopolitical changes in history. Yet it was difficultfor government leaders in the West to follow where the Slavic Popewas pointing. They had been so certain that the earthly fulcrum ofchange would be their own tiny and artificially misshapen littleEuropean delta. It was hardly believable that the epicenter of changeshould lie in the captive lands between the Oder River in Poland andthe eastern borders of Ukraine.

If they were not convinced by what the Pontiff said, however, thoseleaders had finally to be convinced by events. And once they were con-vinced, there was no stopping the rush to join the new march of his-tory. By 1988, the once tiny European Community had swelled to amembership of twelve states and a total population of 324 million,stretching from Denmark in the north to Portugal in the south andfrom the Shetland Islands in the west to Crete in the east. They couldreasonably expect that by 1994 their membership would increase by atleast five more states and another 130 million people.

Even then, however, Western Europe remained a stubborn belea-guered little delta, fearful that their ancient civilization might be incin-erated in the Mother of All Wars. The Enemy still occupied the hori-zons of their vision and stunted their ambition.