The Fallen Angel

headquarters of Vatican Radio. Rising above it was the city-state’s only eyesore, the transmission tower that beamed Church news and programming to a worldwide flock increasingly distracted by terrestrial matters.
    “There was a priest who worked with me in Morazán,” Donati resumed, “a Spanish Jesuit named Father José Martinez. One evening, I was called away to another village to deliver a child. When I returned, Father José was dead. The top of his skull had been hacked away and his brain scooped from its cavity.”
    “He was killed by a death squad?”
    Donati nodded slowly. “That’s why they took his brain. It symbolized what the regime and its wealthy supporters hated most about us—our intelligence and our commitment to social justice. When I asked the military to investigate Father José’s death, they actually laughed in my face. Then they warned me I would be next if I didn’t leave.”
    “Did you take their advice?”
    “I should have, but his death made me even more determined to stay and complete my mission. About six months later, a rebel leader came to see me. He knew the identity of the man responsible for Father José’s murder. His name was Alejandro Calderón. He was the scion of a landowning family with close ties to the ruling junta. He kept a mistress in an apartment in the town of San Miguel. The rebels were planning to kill him the next time he went to see her.”
    “Why did they tell you in advance?”
    “Because they wanted my blessing. I withheld it, of course.”
    “But you didn’t tell them not to kill him, either.”
    “No,” Donati admitted. “Nor did I warn Calderón. Three days later, his body was found hanging upside down from a lamppost in the central square of San Miguel. Within hours, another death squad was headed toward our village. But this time, they were looking for me. I fled across the border into Honduras and hid in a Jesuit house in Tegucigalpa. When it was safe for me to move, I returned to Rome, whereupon I was immediately summoned by the head of our order. He asked me whether I knew anything about Calderón’s death. Then he reminded me that, as a Jesuit, I was sworn to be obedient perinde ac cadaver —literally, to have no more will than my own corpse. I refused to answer. The next morning, I asked to be released from my vows.”
    “You left the priesthood?”
    “I had no choice. I’d allowed a man to be killed. What’s more, I no longer believed in God. Surely, I told myself, a just and forgiving God would not have allowed a man like Father José to be killed in such a gruesome manner.”
    A group of Curial cardinals emerged from the entrance of the Vatican Radio building, trailed by their priestly staffs. Donati frowned and led Gabriel toward St. John’s Tower.
    “I can only imagine that leaving the priesthood is a bit like leaving an intelligence service,” Donati resumed after a moment. “It’s a deliberately long and cumbersome process designed to give the wayward priest ample opportunity to change his mind. But eventually I found myself back in Umbria, living alone in a village near Monte Cucco. I spent my days climbing the mountains. I suppose I was hoping to find God up there among the peaks. But I found Veronica instead.”
    “She’s the kind of woman who could restore a man’s faith in the divine.”
    “In a way, she did.”
    “What was she doing in Umbria?”
    “She’d just completed her doctorate and was excavating the ruins of a Roman villa. We bumped into each other quite by accident in the town market. Within days, we were inseparable.”
    “Did you tell her you’d been a priest?”
    “I told her every thing, including what had happened in Salvador. She took it upon herself to heal my wounds and to show me the real world—the world that had passed me by while I was locked away in the seminary. Before long, we began talking about marriage. Veronica was going to teach. I was going to work as an advocate for human rights. We had everything planned.”
    “So what happened?”
    “I met a man named Pietro Lucchesi.”
    Pietro Lucchesi was the given name of His Holiness Pope Paul VII.
    “It was shortly after he was appointed Patriarch of Venice,” Donati continued. “He was looking for someone to serve as his private secretary. He’d heard about a former Jesuit who was living like a recluse in Umbria. He arrived unannounced and said he had no intention of leaving until I agreed to return to the priesthood.