The Secret of Fatima by Peter J; Tanous Page A

Cardinals, 5,000 bishops and 400,000 priests. Kevin himself was one of those 400,000 priests. Probably the only one who’d been in the CIA. Maybe not, but thinking about it made him feel special.
    In addition, there were over a million clerical brothers and nuns, plus 500 citizens, all living in this inner circle, a one hundred-acre area called Vatican City. And of course, there were museums and administrative offices and colleges, tucked around and behind the Grand Central Piazza, stone buildings marked by bronze plaques.
    Cardinal Porter’s office was on the second floor of the Governatorato , the Palace of the Governatorate, a tall, boxy building in the heart of the formal Vatican Gardens. Though it wasn’t as well-known as the Apostolic Palace, where the Constantinian Basilica of St. Peter’s was constructed in the first half of the 4th century, this was where the serious business was orchestrated. The most important behind-the-scenes management of Vatican City happened here, and the city’s 1,500 employees were hired and managed from these offices.
    â€œPlease, this way,” said a uniformed attendant as he opened the door to Cardinal John Porter’s office. As Drotti and Kevin walked into the room, Kevin let out a low whistle, but checked himself, remembering where he was. Things here were tighter, more reserved than where he came from.
    Kevin and Drotti found themselves enveloped by the creation of a medieval ambience. Tall ceilings and walls of filigreed gold statues. Italian Renaissance furniture glistening with gold trim. Three period chairs faced the antique desk where His Eminence stood, smiling. Porter looked to be around sixty years old and stood six feet tall. He was slim with beautifully groomed silver hair, blue eyes, and a movie star sculpted face. If Hollywood ever needed a senior cleric for films, Porter would fit the bill.
    Kevin was genuinely pleased to see his old friend again.
    â€œIt’s great to see you, Kevin!” Cardinal Porter said, hugging him. He turned and shook Drotti’s hand. “Nice to see you, as well. I wish the circumstances were different, of course. Come, let’s sit at the conference table where we’ll be more comfortable.”
    â€œSo, how have you been?” asked Kevin once they were seated on forest green velvet-covered chairs around an oval oak table. Kevin thought the place was truly regal.
    â€œI’m doing well. May have put on a few pounds.” Cardinal Porter patted his stomach. “I have to tell you, I really miss our training sessions in the gym, Kev. Can’t get any of my colleagues to work out with me.”
    â€œThe extra pounds come with age,” Kevin said. He smiled. “I’m starting to feel it, too.”
    â€œMaybe we can get in a game of racquetball while you’re here?”
    â€œI’d like that,” Kevin said, “and my game is a lot better than it used to be.”
    â€œReally? You’re telling me I’m not going to win this time around?”
    Kevin shook his head. “Sorry to tell you, Eminence, you haven’t got a chance.”
    â€œWe’ll settle that later.” Cardinal Porter smiled. “But back to the present reality. Kevin, you’re here because we need somebody with your special skills. For a major crisis.”
    â€œSo I gather,” said Kevin. “I’m surprised I was chosen. You’re one of the few who really know me—and the truth about my background.”
    â€œWe considered your background carefully, Kevin, and to tell you the truth, that’s precisely why we need you.” The cardinal smiled, settled in his chair, folded his hands, and took a deep breath. “I trust you, Kevin.”
    â€œThank you, sir,” said Kevin. “I appreciate that.”
    â€œI suppose you’ve been following the international news. There’s a risk of war between Iran and Israel. The Israelis might strike at any