Read the Third Secret (2005) for Free Online Page B

he took a few steps back, deeper into the shadow of the colonnade. He caught a glimpse of Michelangelo’s dome atop St. Peter’s Basilica being dried by a brightening midautumn sun.
    “I see you still have a talent for evading questions,” he pointed out.
    “I’m here because Tom Kealy asked me to come. He’s no fool. He knows what that tribunal is going to do.”
    “Who are you writing for?”
    “Freelance. A book he and I are putting together.”
    She was a good writer, especially of poetry. He’d always envied her ability, and he actually wanted to know more about what happened to her after Munich. He was aware of bits and pieces. Her stints at a few European newspapers, never long, even a job in America. He occasionally saw her byline—nothing heavy or weighty, mainly religious essays. Several times he’d almost tracked her down, longing to share a coffee, but he knew that was impossible. He’d made his choice and there was no going back.
    “I wasn’t surprised when I read of your papal appointment,” she said. “I figured when Volkner was elected pope, he wouldn’t let you go.”
    He caught the look in her emerald eyes and saw she was struggling with her emotions, just as she had fifteen years ago. Then, he was a priest working on a law degree, anxious and ambitious, tied to the fortunes of a German bishop whom many were saying could one day be a cardinal. Now there was talk of his own elevation to the Sacred College. It was not unheard of that papal secretaries moved directly from the Apostolic Palace into a scarlet hat. He wanted to be a prince of the Church, to be part of the next conclave in the Sistine Chapel, beneath the frescoes of Michelangelo and Botticelli, with a voice and a vote.
    “Clement is a good man,” he said.
    “He’s a fool,” she quietly stated. “Just somebody the good cardinals put on the throne until one of them can muster enough support.”
    “What makes you such an authority?”
    “Am I wrong?”
    He turned from her, allowing his temper to cool, and watched a group of souvenir peddlers at the square’s perimeter. Her surly attitude was still there, her words as biting and bitter as he remembered. She was pushing forty, but maturity had done little to abate her consuming passions. It was one of the things he’d never liked about her, and one of the things he missed. In his world, frankness was unknown. He was surrounded by people who could say with conviction what they never meant, so there was something to be said for truth. At least you knew exactly where you stood. Solid ground. Not the perpetual quicksand he’d grown accustomed to dealing with.
    “Clement is a good man charged with a nearly impossible task,” he said.
    “Of course if the dear mother Church would bend a little, things might not be so difficult. Pretty hard to govern a billion when everyone has to accept that the pope is the only man on earth who can’t make a mistake.”
    He didn’t want to debate dogma with her, especially in the middle of St. Peter’s Square. Two Swiss guards, plumed and helmeted, their halberds held high, marched past a few feet away. He watched them advance toward the basilica’s main entrance. The six massive bells high in the dome were silent, but he realized the time was not that far off when they would toll at Clement XV’s death. Which made Katerina’s insolence all the more infuriating. Going to the tribunal earlier and talking with her now were mistakes. He knew what he had to do. “It’s been nice seeing you again, Kate.” He turned to leave.
    “Bastard.”
    She spit out the insult just loud enough for him to hear.
    He turned back, wondering if she truly meant it. Conflict clouded her face. He stepped close and kept his voice down. “We haven’t spoken in years and all you want to do is tell me how evil the Church is. If you despise it so much, why waste your time writing about it? Go write that novel you always said you would. I thought maybe, just maybe,