The in Vitro Madonna

By Ray Johnson

Josh Donner is the American attorney. Cardinal Mondial, a Brazilian, is the ambitious Prince of the Church. Mei Chan is the exquisite and mysterious Chinese assassin. Three diametrically dissimilar people, from three different continents, all focused like powerful lasers on a central locus. The object of their intense interest in Strella, a beautiful novice who resides in a convent in Sao Paulo, Brazil. Strella is both a virgin and pregnant, and impossible dichotomy. Strella was left on the convent steps when only hours old. Raised as a child of the Church, her sheltered life within the ivy-covered walls of the convent is about to be disrupted by tidal forces powerful enough to change the course of history. In the wrong hands, controlled by unscrupulous people, Strella and her virgin-born child could easily shift the balance of power in the modern world.

The In Vitro Madonna was originally published in Europe. Ray Johnson likes to refer to his books as verbal movies. Like his two previous novels, The Jericho Compact and The Great Everlasting, The In Vitro Madonna carries the reader along a swift river of mystery and intrigue. A good novel, like a vintage wine, is to be savored and enjoyed at leisure, hopefully in front of the fireplace of life. A novel should leave a pleasing aftertaste on the palate of ones soul. Ray Johnson was a military officer and law enforcement officer and draws upon life experiences to weave credence into his spellbinding novels. His stated goal is to keep his readers wondering until the final paragraph on the final page. He achieves that goal in The In Vitro Madonna.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 8, 2003
• ISBN: 9781462838998

Book preview

The In Vitro

Madonna

Ray Johnson

Copyright © 2003 by Ray Johnson.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any

form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording,

or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing

from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to

any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

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Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one

Chapter Thirty-two

Chapter Thirty-three

Chapter Thirty-four

Chapter Thirty-five

Chapter Thirty-six

Chapter Thirty-seven

Chapter Thirty-eight

Chapter Thirty-nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-one

Chapter Forty-two

Chapter Forty-three

Chapter Forty-four

Chapter Forty-five

Chapter Forty-six

Chapter Forty-seven

Chapter Forty-eight

Chapter Forty-nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-one

Chapter Fifty-two

Chapter Fifty-three

Chapter Fifty-four

Chapter Fifty-five

Chapter Fifty-six

Chapter Fifty-seven

Chapter Fifty-eight

Chapter Fifty-nine

Chapter Sixty

Chapter Sixty-one

Chapter Sixty-two

Chapter Sixty-three

Chapter Sixty-four

Chapter Sixty-five

Chapter Sixty-six

Chapter Sixty-seven

Chapter Sixty-eight

Chapter Sixty-nine

Chapter Seventy

Chapter Seventy-one

Chapter Seventy-two

Josh Donner was a talented attorney, a man with special qualifications. Fortune had smiled upon him, liberally dispensing well-deserved largess. He was tall and handsome, successful and popular. For some unknown reason Fate challenged Fortune. Fate assumed the role of the unsmiling croupier and Josh was to become the white ball, about to be spun on the perilous roulette wheel of life. Would Josh land on the red or the black? A powerful member of the red was attempting a coup de maitre, a brilliant masterstroke. A beautiful woman of the black was about to be victimized, although innocent. Josh’s life was about to change.

Chapter One

Palencia, Spain

The harried police in Palencia were confronted with a delicate situation, one complicated by religion. A beautiful young woman had committed suicide, a fact that her deeply religious parents could not and would not accept. The anguished mother and father were fighting the police at every turn, demanding a murder investigation. The death wound was obviously self-inflicted. Even the most inexperienced investigator would have arrived at the logical conclusion.

The weapon, a 9mm Star semi-automatic pistol, was still clutched in her right hand when the body was discovered. Powder burns to the right temple indicated the weapon had been fired at close range. No prints were found on the pistol, other than those of the young woman. Extensive testing also revealed gunpowder residue on the young woman’s hand, further strengthening the suicide hypothesis.

The autopsy confirmed what the police already knew to be true. The young woman died from the single gunshot wound to the head, presumably self-imposed. Faced with overwhelming evidence, the grieving parents finally, albeit reluctantly, acknowledged the inevitable. Their beloved daughter, who had everything to live for, had taken her own life. The religious burial they sought, with the blessings of the Church, was no longer possible.

Near the Spanish/Portuguese border

Any traffic death is a tragedy, this one particularly so. A young Spanish Army captain crashed his Ferrari 550 Maranello on a winding road outside of Badajoz, in Extremadura. It was a single-vehicle smashup. Apparently the captain attempted to negotiate a tight turn at a high rate of speed and lost control of the vehicle. The swift Ferrari slammed into a massive oak tree and the officer was killed upon impact.

The captain was highly regarded by the military establishment and his untimely demise would be mourned throughout the Spanish Army. He was the scion of a wealthy, politically connected family, but death is no respecter of rank or station. An autopsy revealed that his death was caused by extensive damage to the ascending frontal convolution area of the brain, incurred during the high-speed crash.

Madrid, Spain

Two days later, in Madrid, robbers killed a Spanish doctor as he prepared to leave his clinic. The motive appeared to be both monetary and drug related, since his wallet, valuables and narcotics were missing. The Madrid police surmised that desperate drug users probably perpetrated the robbery and murder. The assailants fired four .380 caliber bullets into the doctor’s stomach and chest and then ransacked the clinic for narcotics, syringes, and needles. The police regretfully informed the media that there were no suspects.

The doctor was a well-known specialist, held in high esteem by his medical colleagues. The autopsy listed the cause of death as massive internal injuries to the spleen, liver, and lungs, caused by the .380 caliber bullet wounds.

Los Angeles, California

As the autopsy was being performed on the Spanish doctor, a thirty-four year old attorney in Los Angeles had just won an acquittal for his client on charges of grand theft. The attorney had established an enviable record for acquittals in the smoggy, crime-ridden areas of the Los Angeles basin. His remarkable ability to outmaneuver the prosecution, plus an extraordinary knowledge of the inner workings of law enforcement, caused his services to be in constant demand.

He would soon be engaged in an attempt to unravel the mysteries surrounding the three seemingly unrelated Spanish deaths. He would be retained by powerful men with instructions to seek out those events that gave rise to the untimely Iberian expirations. The attorney was Josh Donner. The croupier had spun the wheel and sent Josh whirling in the opposite direction. Red or Black?

Chapter Two

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

Doctor, is it possible, hypothetically of course, for a woman who’s a virgin to have an in vitro fertilization that would result in childbirth?

The man asking the new-frontier question was of medium build and stood five feet, ten inches tall. He was Brazilian, but could have easily passed for either European or North American. His English was excellent and the doctor had the feeling he was fluent in many languages. He wore an expensive suit, but seemed somewhat ill at ease in the finely tailored garment.

His bearing and demeanor caused him to seem taller than his actual height. He was one of five men in the doctor’s private office. Of the five, he commanded the most attention. Even without fawning assistants, one could sense that he was a prince of some important kingdom, probably financial. He was fifty-five years old, handsome, distinguished looking, with threads of gray beginning to ease up his sideburns and into his dark brown mane. The deep tan was either his by birth or the result of many hours at Ipanema or Leblon, the physician could not tell which. The doctor preferred a natural tan, by birth, rather than from hours in the sun, which could cause skin cancer.

The doctor paused a moment before he answered the in vitro question. He was Brazil’s foremost authority on in vitro fertilization. The rich and famous of the world, those who were unable to produce progeny to inherit their vast fortunes and financial realms, flocked to his clinic in Rio de Janeiro for solace and relief. The saying went, If Dr. Ambroselli cannot make you with child, you are truly barren. He once caused a rock to give birth to a pebble. His supporters were legion.

The doctor was short, at least he thought so. He was five feet six inches tall and hated being the shortest person in the room, any room. At forty-eight he had already lost the hair on top of his head, another physical condition that pained him greatly. Some medical miracles were beyond his considerable skills. He sported a thin, dapper mustache that flared beneath a Roman nose. Ancestors on both sides were Italian.

He agreed to this unusual meeting because of a phone call from a trusted colleague. All he knew about these men was that they were rich and powerful, nothing more. His original assumption was that they represented either a foreign government or perhaps a small kingdom or principality. He further assumed that someone, either a head of state or a king, wanted an heir and normal methods were not working.

The question concerning in vitro fertilization of a virgin caught him off guard. Being vain, he did not want to swallow or give any outward sign that a mere question could disrupt his professional calm. Instead he paused, appearing to be formulating his answer. He rubbed the palms of his hands together, as if in deep thought.

Yes, it’s possible. Obviously it’s very rare. There are cases where women of alternate lifestyles wish to deliver a child, but have no desire to take a man into their life. He folded his hands in front of his chin, waiting for an explanation for the unusual query.

The conversation was in English, since there were four separate language groups represented by those present. As a matter of convenience, English became the lingua franca.

The doctor’s private office gave the impression of virtue and respectability. The walls were snow white, with only his impressive degrees to break the alabaster motif. The white leather and chrome chairs further enhanced the illusion of purity and uncorrupted professionalism. A large vault was built into the far wall, guarding the precious secrets of Dr. Ambroselli’s clients. His patients were guaranteed absolute anonymity. No one knew what procedures took place inside the clinic, except for the incorruptible doctor and his equally tight-lipped staff.

Would it affect the delivery process in any way?

The man with the regal bearing continued to ask questions for the other three. Another shock wave query from the articulate gentleman with the dark, piercing eyes. His silent associates were all wealthy businessmen: one Japanese, one American, and an older Chinese gentleman.

The delivery would be somewhat more difficult. A normal birth is proceeded by the usual amount of sexual activity that both strengthens and tones the muscles used during delivery. This could possibly be offset by a regimen of birthing exercises and careful monitoring. He mused, Who are these men and what are they really asking?

The doctor, being a genius in his field, had little time for other disciplines. His readings rarely strayed beyond the confines of current medical journals. On those rare occasions when he deviated, he involved himself in matters that pertained to his only true vice, coin collecting. So he could not be faulted for his lack of recognition. In reality, very few people would have been familiar with all four members of the mysterious quartet.

Three of the gentlemen shunned publicity like albinos avoiding the noonday sun. The gentleman wearing the trappings of leadership, the man asking the medical questions, was Cardinal Mondial of Sao Paulo, having forsaken his regal Cardinal’s raiment for an Armani suit. The distinguished looking American was the CEO of Inter-Coastal Oil and Gas Ltd. The small Japanese man was the independently wealthy owner of Shikata Heavy Industries. The Chinese gentleman, at seventy, the oldest of the cabal, was the Minister of Foreign Commerce for the PRC Government. He was also an affluent entrepreneur in his own right, an embarrassing anomaly that was conveniently overlooked by his government.

The Cardinal glanced at his associates, all of whom motioned guarded affirmation. Their innocuous nods confirmed the Cardinal’s choice of a doctor for their clandestine project.

Doctor, you must forgive us for our appearance of secrecy. Our actions, in reality, are a desire to protect the reputation of our client. With designer dark glasses, plus the unusual circumstances, the Cardinal had gone unrecognized by even the staff of the private clinic.

Dr. Ambroselli nodded slowly, signaling that he understood their caution, but said nothing. He felt it was a given that anything conveyed during the meeting would go no further.

Our client is an important political figure who’s in need of an heir. Both as a recipient of his vast wealth and as a symbol to his people that he’s still virile and in firm command of the reins of government.

I understand. Hallelujah. They were finally coming to the point. Dr. Ambroselli hated the unknown. He had no patience with political formalities, even though he fully understood the need. In his view, politics and medicine mixed no better than oil and water.

Our problem lies in the fact that our client is no longer physically capable of performing the duties required to sire an offspring. The Cardinal leaned forward and spoke in confidence, as if the walls might have ears.

Dr. Ambroselli smiled for the first time, a razor-thin smile, but still a smile. At long last, something that he could sink his teeth into, a fertilization problem to be solved.

These situations are difficult, but certainly not insurmountable.

Excellent. The Cardinal smiled broadly.

Your client more than likely is too old to produce a suitable offspring with his own sperm.

Our feelings exactly, Doctor.

It’s a rather simple matter to locate a donor with the same physical characteristics your client possessed as a young man. But, as to the . . .

The Cardinal anticipated the question and interrupted. The new wife is both young and a virgin. It wouldn’t augur well if our client’s loyal subjects were to discover that this marriage of state, where the union involves two powerful political groups, had not been consummated.

I see. Dr. Ambroselli nodded slowly, evaluating the delicate matter. These unusual circumstances will make the process somewhat more expensive. He hated to discuss monetary matters, feeling it demeaned his professionalism. He preferred leaving financial arrangements to his assistant. But these were not the types of men to be shunted to an underling.

Cost is not one of our considerations, Doctor. Success is what our client seeks. Our sources tell us that you’re the most respected man in your field. We willingly put ourselves in your hands.

I appreciate your comments and your trust. I’m certain that my staff and I will be able to help your client. The young woman, she is . . . how shall I phrase this . . .

She’s very politically aware, Doctor. She understands her duties and responsibilities to both her legendary husband and to her nation. She’s quite amenable to this process.

That being the case, and assuming she’s in good health, I don’t foresee any problems that we can’t overcome.

That’s good news indeed, Doctor. We’ve taken the liberty of bringing a cashier’s check for twenty-five thousand American dollars, as a down payment, so to speak. The Cardinal handed the check to the doctor.

Dr. Ambroselli accepted the check, noting that it was already made out in his name, purchased two days previously. A slight frown slipped across his face. You must have felt certain that I’d be able to help you.

You’re the finest in your field, Doctor. Our client instructed us to deal with only the most professional physician available. We sincerely hoped you’d be able to solve our minor difficulty, while keeping the details in strictest confidence. The Cardinal rose, signaling he had accomplished his goal. Control had remained in his hands throughout the entire meeting. He viewed controlling a meeting like controlling a spirited horse; one must always keep a tight rein.

We go to great lengths to protect the identities and reputations of our patients. My secretary will give you a booklet outlining the procedures and what we’ll need from your client. I assume you’ll contact us when you’re ready?

It will be soon, Doctor. Our client wants to strike while the iron is hot. His body may be old, but his mind is razor sharp. This latest union means a great deal to him, and to his country. Thank you for your time and knowledge, Doctor. The Cardinal offered his hand.

I’ll wait for your contact. The doctor shook his hand firmly.

Thus ended the initial encounter between the world-renowned Brazilian fertility doctor and the strange four-member coterie that encompassed both church and commerce, both sacred and secular.

Chapter Three

The powerful tetrad flew in a sleek Learjet 60 back to Sao Paulo and retired to the Cardinal’s office. They had flown to Rio that morning to meet with Dr. Ambroselli in the same corporate jet. The meeting had been private. The subject matter was private. These were intensely private men on an extremely private mission.

They were now alone in the office of Cardinal Mondial. The furnishings were elegant, yet still utilitarian. A prince of the church should not appear too ostentatious.

You are certain we may speak freely? Few places are truly secure. The elderly Chinese gentleman glanced at the priceless paintings that graced the walls, fearing a bugging device might lurk behind any one of the masterpieces.

Many of the paintings had been given to the Cardinal by admiring friends. Others were bequeathed by people not quite so admiring, some feeling the need of securing divine intervention to compensate for past or future transgressions.

This is Brazil, Minister, not China. Besides, we’re on church ground. No one would dare eavesdrop on us here. The Cardinal brushed aside the concerns of the Chinese Minister of Commerce.

Can we trust this doctor? The American did not want to dance around the subject, as Oriental’s are wont. He attacked each problem like a linebacker, tackling them head on.

Cardinal Mondial cleaned his glasses before he answered. He now wore his robes of office and looked even more confident, as if some of his inner strength and character came from the crimson garments.

"Can we trust him to do a professional job on our young woman? Yes, of course. He’s the finest money can buy. Apparently he’s unique in his ability to work with a fertilized egg. Can we trust him not to divulge what transpired, once he discovers the eventual outcome? Of course not. He’d tell everything he knows, and then justify his actions as a matter of national security, or on moral grounds, or some other equally self-serving excuse. Doctor/ patient privilege be damned."

Then he must be silenced, once he has completed his usefulness. The rail-thin Japanese member of the mysterious foursome stated the undeniable, at least in his eyes.

Obviously, Cardinal Mondial nodded qualified agreement. But my overriding concern today is to reach a final accord on the choice of a young woman. We all have differing views on the matter. But I don’t want to leave this room until we’re in agreement concerning her race.

There are many considerations to be weighed, Cardinal. The American was not certain that such an important decision could be hammered out in a single session. As you’re fully aware, I represent not only North American business interests, but also the East Coast Italians, and their vast holdings. He made veiled reference to the American Mafia.

Certainly, but you also have the authority to speak for them. Our Japanese colleague represents Japanese business interests and also the Yakusa and the Korean businessmen. Our Chinese brother speaks for the government of China, the Four Tigers, the Triad, and the offshore Chinese Consortium. I, in turn, represent certain religious interests, the EC and the Russians. We eventually must come to a decision and I want it to be today. Each time we go back to our vested groups we run the risk of our plan becoming public knowledge. Time grows short. We must finalize this today.

The other three glanced at each other. They all suffered the same uncertain inner feelings, qualms that can cause the stomach to churn and roil. Making their own decision was a simple matter, but the organizations they represented were sanguinary and would extend no mercy to anyone who failed.

Perhaps if we met again in a month . . .

Foolishness, the Cardinal interrupted him with an upraised hand. We’re all men of action. We didn’t get to this level by shirking difficult decisions. We’ll complete the plans today. The Cardinal became as unyielding as the Rock of Gibraltar.

The undecided three wavered. The Cardinal was the strongest personality of the four and the others secretly admired him. They were villainous and devious men in a thieving and evil world. The Cardinal was equally despicable, yet still maintained all the accouterments of honor and integrity, a unique quality that fascinated them. Anyone could fool all of the people some of the time. Conversely, a wily man could fool some of the people all of the time. But Cardinal Mondial seemed to beguile all the people all the time. A true gift in their minds.

The Japanese member of the group felt if the decision were to be made today, then he must advance his own position early on, hoping for an advantage, with any luck an unfair one.

I feel the woman should be Oriental, preferably Japanese. The Orient comprises the largest population base on the planet.

True, as far as population numbers. The Cardinal folded his hands, as if in prayer. In reality he was only pretending to weigh the proposition. "Unfortunately, you have very few Christians. Buddhist and Shintoist will be of no value to us. Plus, you already control your own markets. It’s the new markets we’re seeking."

The Cardinal is correct. The Chinese minister chimed in on the Cardinal’s side. Japan in not the ideal source for our young woman. It would be better if she were from China. We have the world’s largest population and a burgeoning market. Our people would quickly rally behind a Han woman. He would tolerate nothing less than a Han woman, no Chinese minorities or a woman from beyond the Willow Palisade.

Cardinal Mondial shook his head and countered, Your government’s policies over the past five decades have left your country bereft of believers. It’ll take another fifty years for the church to regain all its losses on the mainland. Even now you’re hounding and rounding up Fa lun Gong members and that’s not even a religion. Remember, we must have ardent believers.

The logical answer was apparent to the businessman from the U.S. The woman should be North American, preferably from the United States. He expounded his subjective view. The most powerful political muscle and economic leverage is in the United States. That’s where we should look for our young woman.

The Cardinal smiled, amused by this final veiled attempt to influence him. A very wise observation, as were all the others. But your probing press would immediately attempt to discredit our young woman. We don’t want the American media to get their hands on her until it’d be politically incorrect to question her virtue. Your liberals desperately need the Black and Hispanic vote. Once those two groups accept her, the media will protect her, no matter the reality. Consider this, the largest untapped markets are in Africa and South America. The greatest single block of believers is in Central America and South America.

A hush fell over the room.

The Japanese member finally broke the silence. Stop me, if I stray from the path. You are suggesting that the woman should come from Latin America?

The Cardinal nodded confidently.

You feel these people would more readily take her to their bosom and accept everything we present as reality?

The Cardinal nodded again. Latin America is populated by millions of simple people, believers who are looking for just such a miracle. The acceptance would be so overwhelmingly positive in this hemisphere that the media would be afraid to question the event, for fear of alienating a huge buying and voting segment of the population.

What about the military? They’d fight us, just like they do the church. The American had dealt with enough Latin American generals to know how hostile they were towards organized religions.

Not if one of our primary messages is ‘slaves, submit to your masters.’ They’ll welcome us with open arms. The Cardinal touched the magnificent gold cross that hung on a chain around his neck, relishing the thought of vast amounts of the precious metal soon to be his for the taking.

The gentleman from China nodded thoughtfully. So would the dictators of Southeast Asia. It would give them the unbridled control they now lack.

The American stroked his chin and muttered quietly, Don’t fight the system. A better day is coming.

Precisely. The Cardinal leaned forward and proceeded. We’d be so deeply entrenched on two continents that no one could dislodge our base.

Africa is certainly a desirable market, but believers are few and far between. The man from Japan pointed out that the tree of the church had grown poorly in the hot, arid climates of sub-Saharan Africa.

That’s why our virgin will be Black. Cardinal Mondial dropped his bombshell and then settled back and waited for the predictable firestorm.

Black? The Chinese representative was stunned and grabbed at his chest. He detested Blacks, even more than Tibetans.

Black. The Cardinal remained firm.

Only eight percent of the world population is Black. The Japanese leader was just as dumfounded by the suggestion.

Closer to ten percent, and the entire ten percent has yet to be exploited. Step one; they overthrew their colonial masters. Step two; they were brutally subjugated by their own generals and politicians. One man, one vote, one time. Step three; they’re brought under our benevolent wing and exploited properly. They have the natural resources, we have the expertise. The Cardinal paused, waiting for his latest wisdom to take effect.

More silence.

My people . . . the man from China looked troubled, would never follow a Black.

Nor mine. The Japanese gentleman voiced his disapproval.

The Cardinal had a knowing smile. Neither would mine, gentlemen.

Silence again, as the other three pondered the Cardinal’s labyrinthine plotting.

It was the American who first grasped what the Cardinal was actually advocating. A wicked smile curled his lips. So you’re saying that the child will not be . . .

Precisely. It will only add to the miracle. The Cardinal acknowledged with a wink that his American conspirator had come to the correct conclusion.

Everyone again paused in rapt contemplation. The metallic ticking of the tall grandfather clock seemed loud in the ensuing silence.

What race should the child be? The Japanese representative was yielding to the Cardinal in matters of molding people to the faith. His specialty was in bending steel and government officials by force. Coercion and subterfuge were new and foreign to him, very Western, very time consuming.

If the mother is Black, we’ll have access to the entire continent of Africa and the offshore Africans. If the child is . . . he paused to heighten the anticipation, is a handsome Castilian, we’ll have entrée to everything south of the Rio Grande River in the Western Hemisphere, the entire Iberian Peninsula, and the Spanish speaking isles of the Caribbean. One billion, two hundred and fifty million people. One fourth of the world’s population. More important, the fourth that’s ready to be plucked.

The other three ruminated about their impending profits in silence, their nimble minds already tabulating the financial possibilities.

Gold, silver, timber, uranium . . . the Cardinal knavishly whetted their avarice.

Oil and natural gas. The American added to the profitable

list.

Whales, tuna, drift nets full of cod and haddock for the taking. The Japanese gentleman was close to salivating.

Emeralds, diamonds, chrome, the prospects are endless. The Chinese minister augmented the plentitude of natural resources that would soon be available to them.

For you, and those you represent, the riches of the world for the taking, no longer fettered by the mundane constraints of fainthearted governments and their petty regulations. The Cardinal verbally tied up his offer with yellow and green ribbons, the color of money and gold.

And for you, Cardinal? The minister from China already knew the ultimate goal of the Cardinal, but wanted to hear it again. It made his own greed seem less contemptible.

A fair share of this grand wealth, for those I represent, of course. And, as a reward for being a faithful regent, perhaps the Bishop of Rome for myself.

Your Holiness. The American crossed himself facetiously, even though thoroughly supporting the Cardinal’s lofty ambitions. Friends in high places are a valuable asset.

Holiness. It does have a nice ring, doesn’t it? The Cardinal’s expansive smile was genuine. He alone sought dual riches, religious and secular.

With you ensconced in the Holy See, exploitation would be viewed as merely the wise use of national resources. The American liked what he heard. He had decided to vote with the Cardinal.

Correct. We wouldn’t be exploiting natural resources, we’d be putting the truly needy to work. The world economy would be vibrant, heating up like an old steam engine.

Bringing the backward of the world into the twenty-first century. The Japanese gentleman was also coming around to the Cardinal’s way of thinking. A pet mining project of his on Papua New Guinea had been stymied by piddling environmental concerns. He smiled inwardly at the thought of reviving the extremely profitable operation, free from the shackles of noisy protesters and restrictive land use laws.

History will read us poorly. A roguish grin slipped across the Chinese minister’s lined and timeworn face. Like the Cardinal, he also looked somewhat out of place in a business suit. He was far more comfortable in a baggy Mao tunic.

History reads everyone poorly, Minister. The brilliant Machiavelli has gone from sinner to saint, and back again, three different times in his own country. Our beloved Shakespeare is now a sexist and a racist, while the valiant Columbus has been turned into a money-grubbing despoiler of the New World. Each generation will see us in a different light, all through agenda-colored glasses of their own choosing.

Personally, the American never minced words, "I couldn’t care less what history thinks of me. Mussolini’s grandchildren are famous because of him, not in spite of. We’ll be long gone before the gutless scholars of the world decide to judge us. Besides, all we have to do to please the press is to periodically say something benevolent about the poor and downtrodden and the media will lavish us with praise."

Unfortunately, my friend, your biting observation is all too correct. Our Chinese associates are more interested in lasting reputations than we of the Western World. Some of our most illustrious Popes have been mistaken for scoundrels. I’m afraid it’s the secular here and now that’s important to the media. A sad commentary, but true.

The four digested the Cardinal’s pearls of wisdom in silence.

It was the Japanese representative who returned them to the mission at hand. Where will we find such a woman? Africa is a big continent.

You’re men of daring and courage in financial matters and I never question your valued judgment. But in matters of the faith, I’m rather well versed. Within a fortnight we’ll have our virtuous young lady.

How on earth can you move that rapidly? You will have to go to Africa, find her, that in itself will be a monumental task, and then locate the proper donor. Gather them up, transport them, guard them, the task will be cyclopean. The Japanese gentleman attempted to project himself into the Cardinal’s shoes. Seeking out such a woman in Japan, then accomplishing everything else that must be done in total secrecy, would be an incredible feat.

Have I ever mislead you gentlemen? The Cardinal held out his hands, palms up, asking them to validate his ability to carry out this ambitious task.

They all shook their heads. Still they felt that perhaps this time the talented Cardinal might have bitten off more than he could chew in the short timeframe.

Is our money still safe and intact? Once again the Cardinal sang his own praises, rather loudly.

They all readily agreed.

"Is there anyone in this room who honestly believes that he will net less than a hundred million dollars personally from our plan?

They glanced at each other and then acquiesced by slowly shaking their heads.

Good. Now we’ll meet back here in fourteen days. At that time I’ll introduce you to our virgin. Trust me, you’ll be impressed. The Cardinal folded his hands, a pious gesture, signifying that he would accomplish everything as promised.

The American rose with a wry comment. I’ll be back on the . . . he checked his diamond-encrusted Rolex President, on the 24th. If you’ve accomplished everything by then, I’ll kiss your ring and start believing in miracles.

Prepare yourself for some serious genuflecting, sir. You’re about to witness a supernatural wonder. The Cardinal smiled broadly, having bent all of them to his will, albeit in their best interest.

The Cardinal’s last comment engendered a chuckle from his three fellow conspirators. He had never failed them and they looked forward to their elaborate plan finally beginning to take shape and form. They all shook his hand warmly before leaving.

Once alone, the Cardinal fell into deep contemplation. The debilitating events of the day had been a heavy strain on him. He felt like a high-wire aerialist who had been juggling eggs, while working without a safety net. A few minutes later he was brought from his lonely reverie by a soft knock on the door.

Come in, he called out.

The man knocking was Monsignor Edwardo Valle, the Cardinal’s personal assistant. He entered and took a seat in one of the button-back leather chairs that faced his superior’s massive oak desk. At thirty-five he was a young monsignor on the fast track, headed for Rome, the seat of all power, at least in his world. He was not a handsome man. His face was craggy and hard. He had eyes like a peregrine falcon, always appearing ready to strike out against some unwary prey. He was the same height as the Cardinal, if not he would have stooped. His watchword, It’s never good to stand taller than your king. His hair was oily black, adding to the somewhat stark impression. He was slender, almost to a fault. Perhaps it was because he smoked too much. His lack of a powerful physique never seemed to hinder him as he stepped over the crushed bodies of both friends and enemies on the trouble-strewn road to ecclesiastical hegemony.

How did the meeting go? The monsignor’s voice was rather high pitched, or at least it seemed to be when compared to the Cardinal’s rich, deep tones.

Excellent. Dr. Ambroselli is more than willing to assist us. He took the check like a hungry fish going after a worm.

He accepted the story about the aging king?

Readily. I had the feeling that he’s handled many such problems before. Never a virgin, of course. But numerous powerful couples where the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. He revels in his work.

And the gifted doctor, can he be trusted? The monsignor lit a thin black cigarette, an expensive Moroccan brand.

No. He’s far too honest. After we’re certain our plan is in full bloom, so to speak, you’ll need to work your magic on the scrupulous doctor and convince him that it’s in his best interest to remain silent. By then you’ll have millions at your disposal. He waved his hand in front of his face, trying to dissipate the drifting smoke. Must you always smoke those infernal things? The Cardinal turned up his nose and pointed toward the offending cigarette.

They’re my only sin. Shall I put it out?

No need. But I’m certain you’re going to spend centuries in purgatory for vexing me with that evil habit. Why don’t you take up gambling or womanizing? They’re far less hazardous to one’s health.

The monsignor shrugged off the suggestion of an alternative vice. And the others, they agreed with your plan?

Yes, without demur. They trust me. God, I love being a Cardinal. He looked to the vaulted ceiling, as if expecting to see some miraculous sign, acclaiming both his virtue and leadership qualities.

Think how much more you’ll enjoy the Holy See.

And you, good Monsignor, what are your desires? The Cardinal’s eyes narrowed in anticipation. Edwardo was his trusted assistant and confidant, whose only true peccancy was that of ambition. Smoking could be curtailed, the lust for power knows no cure.

Perhaps the Prefect of the Pontifical Household. I could serve you best there. He bowed slightly toward his Cardinal, the source of his own power.

So you could keep an eye out for my enemies?

Both within and without, Eminence. The Army of Jesus and the Dominicans will be quite jealous.

Hmm, perhaps we’ll be forced into expanding the Swiss Guard.

A wise move. Business interests that have been left out will become dangerously vicious.

Everyone had an opportunity to get in on the ground floor. Some saw the wisdom of our plan, others did not.

The elaborate plan was the child of the Cardinal, but brought to fruition by his trusted monsignor. To buy into the tight-knit organization, each man had to accumulate a total of one hundred million American dollars. The share of the immense profits would be proportionate to the amount invested. One of the groups the Cardinal represented was the European Community. The EC had contributed fifty million dollars. Their apportionment of the spoils would be twice larger than those of the Japanese Yakusa, who had come in for twenty-five million.

The four hundred million was to cover the expenses of finding the virgin, the costs of her impending birth, controlling the media and bribing the necessary officials. The monsignor administered the funds from a numbered bank account in Zurich. He had also evolved into the enforcement arm of the organization. The Cardinal was far too softhearted for those demanding matters.

Do they know that you already have a virgin? the monsignor asked, while flicking an ash into a small silver ash box that he always carried in his pocket.

No. They’re expecting a miracle. They think I’m going to scour Africa, find a virgin that suits our needs, get her back here, then locate a donor, all in two weeks.

That would be a miraculous bit of work. Will there be any questions concerning your selection?

No, he shook his head with firm conviction. None of them could have come anywhere close to what I’ve accomplished. She’s perfect, and you’ve done your work well in Castile and Extremadura. Our young child will have the courage of Manolete, the charm of Eglesia, the looks of Juan Carlos, and the talents of Segovia. Most important, he’ll be ours to mold and manipulate.

The process was difficult, Eminence. The young woman was very religious and wanted no part of the medical procedure.

Thank God for business failures. The Cardinal crossed himself piously.

Very true. Had her parents not been teetering on the brink of financial disaster . . .

Which you conveniently arranged.

At great cost, I might add. Had her father not faced the loss of their ancestral home and lands, she would never have consented.

She has the beauty of Catherine and the brilliance and courage of Isabella. She was my first choice all along. The Cardinal looked at the young woman’s photo, which was encased in an elegant leather portfolio.

True. Plus the temperament of a wounded lioness.

Yes. She seems a tad spirited. And our Captain, the father of our wunderkind?

He turned the page, now viewing a large photo of a handsome Spanish military officer. He ran his fingers over the photo, trying to feel the personality of the man.

Equally brilliant and quite dashing. A rising star in the Spanish Army. He’s destined to become Spain’s youngest general. Strong as an Andalusian stallion, cunning as a hungry fox. As brave as a Miura bull, and tall, for someone from Extremadura.

He was not as difficult to deal with as our young lady?

No. The large amount of money was all that concerned him. He gambles heavily and supports an expensive mistress.

Excellent, a man of few scruples.

The Cardinal had begun his quest for two donors over a year previously. His clever monsignor had combed Spain for just the right woman. He found her in the daughter of a formerly prosperous landowner. She was twenty-one, incredibly beautiful, and the product of generations of good Castilian breeding.

The family had excellent bloodlines, dating back to the expulsion of the Moors. Unfortunately, cultural changes and rising labor costs had kept their holdings on the brink of grave financial difficulties. The canny monsignor had surreptitiously arranged for the father’s problems to increase tenfold, driving him to the very gates of bankruptcy. Miraculously, the amount of money he offered the young woman was just the sum needed to save her father from devastation.

Is there a possibility that our young woman from Palencia could come in contact with our army captain? The Cardinal wanted no stone left unturned.

None. They do not even know the other exists. Their paths have never crossed, nor will they ever. They are total opposites. He’s stationed in Extremadura and has no reason to go north.

Who does the young woman believe will be the recipient of her precious eggs? They had taken two, better to err on the side of caution.

I explained that a wealthy Portuguese gentleman has a wife, whom he loves dearly, a wife who is hopelessly barren. The story touched her heart. I also added that the woman has ovarian cancer and this would be her only chance for childbirth, thus providing her loving husband with an heir to share his grief at her passing.

Did she cry?

Of course. She’s difficult and contentious, but not heartless. I almost cried myself.

Oh, Monsignor, you’re such a devious scoundrel. He rubbed his hands gleefully.

Only in your service, Eminence. In all other matters I’m a man of virtue.

And a wonderful liar also. Even when you were just an altar boy, I could tell you had great potential.

The monsignor nodded, accepting the oblique compliment.

And our gallant Captain, where does he think his sperm is headed?

To a Maltese bride. Her husband is paralyzed from the waist down. He was injured in an automobile accident, on their honeymoon.

That leaves just the brilliant Spanish doctor. Who does he believe will be the repository for his handiwork?

A wealthy woman from Granada, who detests her husband, has been attempting to get pregnant by her lover for over three years.

And she’s been unable to conceive? The Cardinal loved the story.

Sad, isn’t it. So she decided to truly cuckold her husband, with the help of modern science.

And our doctor brought her and her lover together in a test tube?

The doctor is somewhat of a rake himself and seemed to enjoy the prospect.

Wonderful. And you’re positive our two donors will never meet?

The monsignor nodded slowly. He had decided against telling the Cardinal that the young woman and the captain, plus the doctor who had united them forever in the creation of a child, were all resting in freshly dug graves. Perhaps at some later date, at a more propitious moment, he would disclose their untimely demises. The Cardinal would never have approved the killings. Afterwards, when they were millionaires, the three deaths would seem less important.

There is one matter that does trouble me, Eminence.

The identity of our virgin? The Cardinal smiled, knowing his monsignor well.

Edwardo hated anyone having more knowledge about a critical situation than he had. And not knowing the identity of the virgin was eating at him like a caustic acid.

Yes. I’ve been deeply involved in every other phase. But in her selection I’ve been, how shall I phrase this . . .

Shut out?

An excellent choice of words, Eminence. Have I failed you somewhere? A frown took hold of his cragged face. He suspected that his Cardinal might be practicing good intelligence procedures, allowing no single person to have all the pieces to the clandestine puzzle, thus keeping the virgin’s name and location a closely guarded secret.

On the contrary, you’ve done yeoman’s service. Without you, none of this would be possible. But the selection of our young virgin was pre-ordained. She providentially fell into my hands some years ago when this plan was but a dim spark, deep within the far recesses of my brain. I’ve held her in readiness all this time, hoping for the day when this dream could come to fruition.

You’ve sequestered her with . . . with a friend or relative?

Even better.

A look of consternation replaced the frown.

She’s in a convent. The Cardinal let loose with a conspiratorial chortle.

A nun? The monsignor was astounded. The Cardinal had never so much as hinted that the recipient of their precious egg might be a sister.

Almost.

A novice?

Wonderful, isn’t it? The Cardinal again laughed heartily at the delicious irony.

Here, in Brazil? Will wonders never cease?

Better still.

Not in Sao Paulo?

Yes. Right under your ecclesiastical nose. This time he roared with laughter.

Which convent?

The Sisters of Holy Charity. He wiped the mirth from the corner of his eyes.

The young woman was a novice with the Sisters of Holy Charity and apparently well known to the Cardinal. She was indeed Black, or at least half Black. She had been abandoned on the front steps of the convent when only a few hours old. Originally the sisters thought she was pure Black. But it soon became evident that either the father or mother had been from some other racial group. It was generally accepted that she had either Portuguese or Spanish bloodlines also. Her hair grew long and straight and her skin was the color of cocoa, mixed with rich cream. Her ebon eyes had a slight, mysterious slant that hinted of Yoruba ancestry, from the mother continent. She was the recipient of the best of both racial worlds.

She blossomed into a beautiful adolescent and then further bloomed into an incredibly attractive young woman. Now, at twenty-three, after four years at the university, she was making preparations to become a sister. She had never actually received a call from God to serve with the sisters. Rather than a revelation, it had been more of a holy evolution. The sisters had taken her under their parochial wing as a baby and raised her as a child of the Church. She attended Catholic schools and a Catholic university and the next logical step seemed to be a cloistered life with the order. The sisters had guarded her virtue with a vengeance, thus unwittingly making her eligible for the Cardinal’s duplicitous plan.

She began helping among the poor and downtrodden of the Sao Paulo ghettos while still a teenager and was considered by many to be a saint in the making. Some thought she had a sixth sense, telling her that she herself had come from the poverty-riddled slums. She became a favorite of the mother superior and was tireless in her work with the needy.

What’s her name? The monsignor was still stunned, witnessed by a furrowed brow.

Estrella Maria, but the sisters call her Strella. The sister who found her on the front steps named her. The church has always been her home.

She was not placed in an orphanage?

No. Apparently some of the sisters fought long and hard and convinced the then-mother superior to let her stay with them. It would be impossible today because there are too many homeless children. But those were different times.

The Cardinal was correct, those were different days indeed, less crime, less poverty, fewer orphans. Cardinal Mondial explained that he had seen Strella when he was just a bishop and she had stuck in his mind as the perfect candidate for his future plans. He used his influence to keep her in Sao Paulo and had a guiding hand in her upbringing, albeit an unseen navigator. Now the time was ripe to implement his devious stratagem.

Will you wait until she has taken her vows?

I’m afraid to tarry. The Holy Father is aging. At this juncture he may be too old to fight off a schism. I can’t afford for him to die on me and the College then pick a younger, more aggressive Cardinal. With her still a novice, I might be able to create . . .

To create a division among the faithful? The monsignor attempted to hide a wicked smile with his hand.

There will be a faction . . . the Cardinal paused, testing the mind of his brilliant assistant.

A faction that says she must leave the church because she’s with child and therefore unfit.

While the other group will defend her. They’ll argue the child was not of her own doing, that she’s done nothing wrong.

Who will win?

If this were eight hundred years ago, she’d be burned as a witch, virgin or no virgin. But today, with much of the world condoning, even praising unmarried women, she’ll be championed by the many varied interests groups; some of which have never even seen the inside of a church. There’s yet another intriguing possibility.

The monsignor frowned, fearing that he must have missed something.

Some will even see it as a sign for women in the priesthood. Others will view her as a false prophet, come to confuse the faithful.

And her Cardinal?

Her Cardinal will accept the opinions of world-renowned medical experts and then stalwartly stand by her through thick and thin. The Cardinal smiled as he watched his wily plan unfold flawlessly in his mind.

And the Holy Father?

It’ll be a terrible time for him. As you know, he actually believes in miracles. He’ll be torn asunder. The conservatives will be after him to denounce her as a fraud. The liberals will press for compassion. Still others . . . again he paused, contemplating.

And the others?

Others will eagerly accept her story and all that medical science has to say. They’ll rally to her side like musketeers protecting their queen. It’ll be a vicious time. Most of the infighting will be within the Vatican walls, away from prying ears.

And the eventual outcome? The monsignor had cast his lot with the Cardinal and sincerely hoped he had not erred.

That . . . the Cardinal paused for effect, depends solely upon you and me. If we make every move correctly, we’ll both be incredibly wealthy. I’ll be elected, by inspiration, to the Bishop of Rome and you’ll be my faithful Prefect.

Elected by inspiration, not scrutiny?

"By inspiration. By acclamation, as the only possible choice.

Almost as if preordained. The child, through his virgin mother, will speak in my favor."

The two men fell silent as they mentally changed from their present robes into those of higher office. The Cardinal was standing in St. Peter’s, hands folded, while twelve new bishops prostrated themselves before him. The monsignor was gazing in awe at the magnificent ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, wondering if it would be possible to charge for the tours; perhaps sell tickets over the Internet.

The monsignor shook his head and blinked, leaving Rome and bringing himself back to Brazil. And you’re certain you can control this woman?

Better still, I control her mother superior. I’ve known her for years, even when she was a novice. She’s as loyal as yourself.

You’ve never mentioned . . .

Because always I’ve had this incredible plan, waiting for the perfect moment. To make it work I needed a faithful assistant . . .

Me?

You, and a mother superior I could trust. She’ll control the girl. I’ll control her.

And her reward? His eyes narrowed in distrust. Was she a threat to his position? Did she seek more influence over the Cardinal than he had? No one risks everything for nothing. What does she want?

Fear not, loyal Monsignor. She’ll become incredibly wealthy, like you and me, and go to Rome with us to share in our triumph.

The monsignor smiled and rubbed his hands in avaricious anticipation. As the head of her order?

Who better to serve me in the Holy City? But enough of this self-promotion. You have fourteen days of misery ahead of you.

The monsignor was taken back. What must be done? he asked apprehensively.

The doctor in Rio will want to examine the young woman before the actual implantation.

Don’t tell me . . .

Yes. You have to locate a substitute virgin for the examination. I’ve already learned that he doesn’t perform the pre-operation examinations himself. Apparently he has an assistant do the actual exam, a talented underling.

You can’t possibly mean . . .

Exactly. You have to find a Black woman, somewhere near twenty-three years old, who’s still a virgin. Here’s a picture of our real virgin. The Cardinal removed a photo from the center drawer of his desk.

The woman in the photo was in street clothing, but flanked by two sour-faced nuns. She was a beautiful young Black woman, actually a mulatto.

The monsignor studied the photo carefully. She’s magnificent. How on earth did they keep her a virgin?

Guns and Rottweilers. I told the mother superior that I’d send her to an outpost mission in Tierra del Fuego if she let this one get away.

So I’m supposed to find a virgin, at twenty-three, that in itself being almost impossible. Have her examined by the clinic, and then substitute this woman at the last minute? Perhaps the strain on the Cardinal had been too great. He was asking for the unattainable. Even the assignment in Spain was not this onerous.

The exam will not be that difficult. Height, weight, blood pressure, that sort of thing. Neither our in vitro doctor nor his anesthetist will see the woman you take as a substitute. Find one near the same height and weight, a gown will cover everything else. But I’m certain he’ll check to ascertain if she’s actually chaste, after we made such a point of it.

But a virgin, Eminence . . .

For God’s sake, man, Rio is full of people on the brink of starvation. You have a king’s ransom at your disposal. Spend whatever it takes to find someone close. Simply let the word out that you’ll pay handsomely for a true virgin.

Every prostitute in Rio will be at my door.

No! Make certain they understand that if they lie to you and bring you a whore—you’ll kill them. Take Antonio with you as an enforcer.

Antonio was the cardinal’s personal driver and bodyguard. He was as resolute as the monsignor, yet knew nothing of these clandestine papal plans. It would have made no difference even if he had. The Cardinal was his sovereign and he would do whatever was asked of him. The Cardinal often described Antonio as Devoted as a Doberman, yet not quite as smart.

The task is almost insurmountable, the monsignor lamented.

"Almost is the trigger word. Almost, but not quite. And while you’re at it, find yourself a woman. Your nerves are as ragged as the high Andes."

As you say, Eminence.

Now, what’s our schedule for the remainder of the afternoon?

The shaken monsignor went to his daily calendar. At four, we must receive the head of the Building Trades Union. A nasty fellow.

What does he want? Not absolution, I hope.

No, Eminence. He wants your influence on a union matter that’s coming before the city fathers. He’ll offer a substantial bribe, for the poor box, of course.

All right, I’ll be ready. I want to dispose of him quickly, so you can prepare for your adventure in Rio.

The monsignor bowed slightly. Yes, Eminence.

Cheer up, Edwardo. Soon you’ll be a powerful Prefect. Again the Cardinal laughed out loud, thoroughly enjoying the exasperated look on his monsignor’s face.

Chapter Four

Monsignor Valle rented a tumbledown shack in the favela, the worst slum section in the hills above Rio. In the favela, poverty and despair are the parents of the children, with robbery and hunger being their aunt and uncle. The shack, which served as a home for a poor and desperate family, was little more than a collection of discarded corrugated iron sheets and rotting lumber. Cardboard was used to patch the walls when boards could be neither purchased nor stolen. Hard-packed dirt