the Third Secret (2005) by Steve Berry

Vatican frowned on cardinals being involved in secular activities, Valendrea was noted as a stockholder in several Italian conglomerates and served on many boards of directors. His relative youth was deemed an asset, as were his innate political abilities and dominating personality. He’d used his post as secretary of state wisely, becoming well known in the Western media. He was a man who recognized the propensities of modern communication and the need to convey a consistent public image. He was also a theological hard-liner who openly opposed Vatican II, a fact made clear during Kealy’s tribunal, and was one of the strict traditionalists who felt the Church was best served as it was once served.
    Nearly all of the people she’d spoken with concurred that Valendrea was the front-runner to succeed Clement. Not necessarily because he was ideal for the job, but because there was no one strong enough to challenge him. By all accounts he was poised and ready for the next conclave.
    But he’d also been a front-runner three years ago and lost.
    The phone jarred her from her thoughts.
    Her gaze darted to the receiver and she fought the urge to answer, preferring to let Valendrea, if indeed the caller was him, sweat a little.
    After the sixth ring she lifted the handset.
    “Making me wait?” Valendrea said.
    “No more than I’ve been.”
    A chuckle came through the earpiece. “I like you, Ms. Lew. You have personality. So tell me, what is your decision?”
    “As if you have to ask.”
    “I thought I’d be courteous.”
    “You don’t impress me as someone who cares about such details.”
    “You don’t have much respect for a cardinal of the Catholic Church.”
    “You put your clothes on every morning like everybody else.”
    “I sense you’re not a religious woman.”
    It was her time to laugh. “Don’t tell me you actually convert souls in between politicking.”
    “I really did choose wisely in you. You and I will get along well.”
    “What makes you think I’m not taping all this?”
    “And miss the opportunity of a lifetime? I seriously doubt that. Not to mention a chance to be with the good Father Michener. All at my expense, no less. Who could ask for more?”
    His irritating attitude wasn’t much different from Tom Kealy’s. She wondered what it was about her that attracted such cocksure personalities. “When do I leave?”
    “The papal secretary flies out tomorrow morning, arriving in Bucharest by lunch. I thought you might leave this evening and stay ahead of him.”
    “And where am I to go?”
    “Father Michener is going to see a priest named Andrej Tibor. He’s retired and works at an orphanage about forty miles to the north of Bucharest, in the village of Zlatna. Perhaps you know the place?”
    “I know of it.”
    “Then you’ll have no trouble learning what Michener does and says while there. Also, Michener is carrying some sort of papal letter. Getting a look at its contents would further increase your stock in my eyes.”
    “You don’t want much, do you?”
    “You are a resourceful woman. I suggest using those same charms Tom Kealy apparently enjoys. Surely then your mission will be a complete success.”
    And the line went dead.

THIRTEEN
    VATICAN CITY, 5:30 P.M.
    Valendrea stood at the window in his third-floor office. Outside, the tall cedars, stone pines, and cypresses in the Vatican gardens stubbornly clung to summer. Since the thirteenth century popes had strolled the brick paths lined with laurel and myrtle, finding comfort in the classical sculptures, busts, and bronze reliefs.
    He recalled a time when he’d enjoyed the gardens. Fresh from the seminary, posted to the only place in the world where he wanted to serve. Then, the walkways were filled with young priests wondering about their future. He came from an era when Italians dominated the papacy. But Vatican II changed all that, and Clement XV was retreating even farther. Every day another list of orders shuffling