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sure can handle it. You know Father Ales-sandri, of course.”
    “Yes, but this matter requires your personal attention.”
    Barbo shrugged. “Come to my office today at five o'clock. I'm sure Alessandri can fit you in.”
    As they rejoined the reception in the grand salon, Barbo was surprised to see Hans Cardinal Diefenbacher among the guests. A Jesuit, Diefenbacher was archbishop of Durban and primate of South Africa. Jailed for his opposition to apartheid, Diefenbacher had recently become a passionate advocate of a decentralized Church. In a recent article in the Jesuit weekly, America , Diefenbacher had floated the idea of sharing the pope's spiritual authority with the Eastern Rite patriarchs and giving national bishops' conferences a much wider role in Church governance. Some suspected that what Diefenbacher really wanted was virtual autonomy for national churches, with the pope acting simply as a unifying symbol of faith and belief. “If Diefenbacher were ever elected pope,” Alessandri joked after reading the America article, “he would give awayso much of his authority that he would have little to do. I guess he could wander about Rome in the morning shaking hands and in the afternoon passing out holy cards.”
    “Hans, it is good to see you. You know, of course, Pietro Visconti.”
    “Yes, of course. We had dinner with mutual friends the last time I was in Italy.”
    “What brings you to Rome, Hans?” Barbo noticed that Diefen-bacher wore no pectoral cross or other sign of his rank in the Church.
    “It's my five-year ad limina visit.” Diefenbacher looked at Visconti and rolled his eyes in mock aggravation. “Every five years, the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith sifts through a bishop's statements on faith and morals to see if he's still orthodox. I have passed the test, but just barely. My interrogators looked concerned.” Diefenbacher made a dismissive gesture. “I'm now waiting for my audience with the Holy Father.”
    Visconti bowed to the two cardinals. “If you would excuse me. I'll let you two catch up on Church politics. Until this afternoon, Cardinal Barbo.”
    “Yes, at five.”
    As Visconti left, Diefenbacher took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. “Francesco, be honest with me. I have not been able to schedule an audience with the Holy Father for two weeks. How is the pope's health?”
    From years of diplomatic training, Barbo was skilled at answering one question by asking another. “If you were ultimately responsible for getting the hostages out of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, Hans, wouldn't you be preoccupied? The pontiff thinks of nothing else.”
    A photographer pushed his way through the crowded salon and approached the cardinals for a picture.
    Diefenbacher looked uncomfortable. “Not with this in my hand.” He gave his glass to a waiter. “Some in my diocese would not approve.”
    As the picture was taken, there was a flourish of trumpets and the president of Italy stepped up to the podium to speak. The two cardinals turned their attention to the president's remarks.

    When Barbo returned from the luncheon reception at the Quirinal Palace, Roger Hendricks was waiting in his outer office.
    “Francesco, bad news.”
    “What?”
    “I faxed the pope's medical records to Bentzel and Souvenne and asked for an immediate response. I told them the patient was the CEO of a multinational corporation.”
    “And?” Barbo tensed.
    “They both think that, given the patient's failure to respond to medication, his pace of deterioration will increase rapidly. Like me, they think the pressure of the office may be speeding his deterioration.”
    “We've tried to relieve Benedict of most of his day-to-day papal responsibilities.”
    “But you can't relieve him of everything, Francesco. This Hamas crisis is literally killing him.”
    “So the three of you agree that staying in office worsens his condition.”
    “Yes. Stress has a known synergistic effect on