THE ROAD TO GANDOLFO
by
Robert Ludlum
Bantam Books by Robert Ludlum
Ask your bookseller for the hooks you have
missed
THE BOURNE IDENTITY
THE CHANCELLOR MANUSCRIPT
THE HOLCROFT COVENANT
THE MATARESE CIRCLE
THE OSTERMAN WEEKEND
THE- ROAD TO GANDOLFO
THE SCARLATTI INHERITANCE
The Road to
Gandolfo
Robert Ludlum
~
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THE ROAD TO GANDOLFO
A Bantam Book I published by arrangement with
the Author
Bantam Export editionlApril /982
Bantam edition I June /982
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7 ~
For John Patrick
A distinguished writer and an
honored man whose idea this was.
, .
A WORD FROM THE
AUTHOR
The Road to Candolfo
is one of those rare
if insane accidents
that can happen to a
writer perhaps once or
twice in his lifetime.
Through divine or
demonic providence a
concept is presented
that fuels the fires
of his imagination. He
is convinced it is
truly a staggering
premise which will
serve as the spine of
a truly staggering
tale. Visions of one
powerful scene after
another parade across
his inner screen, each
exploding with drama
and meaning and. . .
well, damn it, they're
just plain staggering!
Out come reams of
paper. The typewriter
is dusted and pencils
are sharpened; doors
are closed and heady
music is played to
drown out the sounds
of man and nature
beyond the cell of
staggering creation.
Fury takes over. The
premise which will be
the spinal thunderbolt
of an incredible tale
begins to take on
substance as
characters emerge with
faces and bodies,
personalities and
conflicts. The plot
surges forward,
complex gears mesh and
strip and make a hell
of a lot of
noise drowning out the
work of true masters
like that Mozart
fellow and
what's-his-name
Handel.
But suddenly something
is wrong. I mean
wrongl
The author is
giggling. He can't
stop giggling.
That's horrible!
Staggering premises
should be accorded
awed respect. . .
heaven knows not
chuckles!
But try as he may the
poor fool telling the
tale is trapped,
bombarded by a fugue
of voices all
repeating an old ars
antigua phrase.
You've-got-to-be-kidd
ing.
Poor fool looks to
his muses. Why are
they winking? Is that
The Messiah he's
hearing or is it
Mairzy-Dotes? What
happened to the
staggering
thunderbolt? Why is it
spiraling
out of whack in a clear blue sky,
hiccuping its way to a diminished. .
. giggle?
Poor fool is bewildered; he gives
up. Or rather, he gives in because by
now he's having a lot of fun. After
all, it was the time of Watergate, and
nobody could invent that scenario! I
mean it simply wouldn't play in
Peoria. At that point-in-time, that
is.
So poor fool plunges along, enjoying
himself immensely, vaguely wondering
who will sign the commitment papers,
figuring his wife will stop them
because the oaf does the dishes now
and then and makes a damn good
martini.
The ocavre is finally presented and,
most gratefully for poor fool, the
closeted sound of laughter is heard.
Followed by screams of revolt and
threats of beyond-salvage termination
with extreme-prejudice.
'Not under your namer"
Time mandates change, and change is
cleansing.
Now it's under my name, and I hope
you enjoy. I did have a lot of fun.
Robert
Radium Connecticut Shore, 19~32
A LARGE PART OF THIS STORY TOOK
PLACE A WHILE BACK. AND QUITE A BIT OF IT TOMORROW.
SUCH IS THE POETIC LICENSE OF
LITURGICAL DRAMA.
pa
Behind each corporation
must be the singular
force, or motive, that
sets it apart from any
other corporate
structure and gives it
its particular identity.
Shepherd s Laws of Economies:
Book XXXII, Chapter 12
..
PROLOGUE
The crowds gathered in
St. Peter's Square.
Thousands upon
thousands of the
faithful waited in
hushed anticipation
for the pontiff to
emerge on the -balcony
and raise his hands in
benediction. The
fasting and the
prayers were over, the
Feast of San Genarro
would be ushered in
with the pealing of
the twilight Angelus
echoing throughout the
Vatican. And the bells
would be heard
throughout all Rome,
heralding merriment
and good feeling. The
blessing of Pope
Francesco the First
would be the signal to
begin.
There would be
dancing in the
streets, and torches
and candlelight and
music and wine. In the
Piazza Navonna, the
Trevi, even sections
of the Palatine, long
tables were heaped
with pasta and fruit
and all manner of
For had not this
pontiff, the beloved
Francesco, given the
lesson? Open your
hearts and your
cupboards to your
neighbor. And his to
you. Let all men high
and low understand
that we are one
family. In these times
of hardship and chaos
and high prices, what
better way to overcome
but to enter into the
spirit of the Lord and
truly show love for
thy neighbor?
For a few days let
rancors subside and
divisions be healed.
Let the word go forth
that all men are
brothers, all women
sisters; and all
together brothers and
sisters and very much
each others' keepers.
For but a few days let
charity and grace and
concern rule the
hearts of everyone,
sharing the sweet and
the sad, for there is
no evil that can
withstand the force of
good.
Embrace, raise the
wine; show laughter
and tears and accept
one another in
expressions of love.
Let the world 3
~..
see there is no shame-in the
exultation of the spirit. And once
having touched, having heard the
voices of brother and sister, carry
forth the sweet memories beyond the
Feast of San Genarro, and let life be
guided by the principles of Christian
benevolence. The earth can be a better
place; it is up to the living to make
it so. That was the lesson of
Francesco 1.
A hush fell over the tens of
thousands in St. Peter's Square. Any
second now the figure of the beloved
Papa would walk with strength and
dignity and great love onto the
balcony and raise his hands in
benediction. And for the Angelus to
begin.
Within the high-ceilinged Vatican
chambers above the square, cardinals,
monsignors, and priests talked among
themselves in groups, their eyes
continuously straying to the figure of
the pontiff seated in the corner. The
room was resplendent with vivid
colors: scarlets, purples, immaculate
whites. Robes and cassocks and head
pieces symbols of the highest offices
in the Church swayed and were turned,
giving the illusion of a constantly
moving fresco.
And in the corner, seated in a wing
chair of ivory and blue velvet, was
the Vicar of Christ, Pope Francesco 1.
He was a plain man of wide girth, and
the strong yet gentle features of a
campagnuolo, a man of the earth.
Standing beside him was his personal
secretary, a young Black priest from
America, from the archdiocese of New
York. It was like Francesco to have
such a papal aide.
The two were talking quietly, the
pontiff turning his enormous head, his
huge, soft brown eyes looking up at
the young priest in serene composure.
"Mannaggi'!" whispered Francesco,
his large peasant hand covering his
lips. "This is crazyl The entire city
will be drunk for a weekl Everyone
will be making love in the streets.
Are you sure we have it right?"
''1 double-checked. Do you want to
argue with him?" replied the Black,
bending down in tranquil
solicitousness.
"My God, not He was always the
smartest one in the villages!"
A cardinal approached the pontiffss
chair ard leaned
4
forward. "Holy Father, it is time. The
multitudes await you," he said softly.
"Who ? Yes, of course. In a minute, my
good friend."
The cardinal smiled under his
with adoration. Francesco always
called him his good friend. "Thank
you, Your Holiness." The cardinal
backed away.
The Vicar of Christ began humming.
Then words emerged. "she
gelida...manina...a rigido
esanime...ah, la, la-laa tra-la, la,
la-laaa...."
"What are you doing?" The young
papal aide from the archdiocese of New
York, Harlem district, was visibly
upset.
"Rodolfo's aria. Ah, that Puccini!
It helps me to sing when I am
nervous."
"Well, cut it out, man! Or pick a
Gregorian chant. At least a litany."
"I don't know any. Your Italian's
getting better, but it's still not so
good."
"I'm trying, brother. You're not the
easiest to learn with. Come on, now.
Let's go. Out to the balcony."
"Don't push! I go. Let's see, I
raise the hand, then up and down and
right to left "
"Left to right!" whispered the
priest harshly. "Don't you listen? If
we're going on with this honkey
charade, for God's sake learn the
fundamentals!"
"I thought if I was standing,
giving not taking I should reverse it.
"Don't mess. Just do what's natural."
"Then I sing."
"Not that natural! Come on."
"All right, all right." The pontiff
rose from his chair and smiled
benignly at all in the room. He turned
once again to his aide and spoke
softly so that none could hear. "In
case anyone should ask, which one is
San Genarro?"
"Nobody will ask. If someone does,
use your standard reply."
"Ah, yes. 'Study the scriptures, my
son.' You know, this is all crazy!"
"Walk slowly and stand up straight.
And smile, for God's sake! You're
happy."
5
"I'm miserable, you African!"
Pope Francesco I, Vicar of Christ,
walked through the enormous doors out
onto the balcony to be greeted by a
thunderous roar that shook the very
foundations of St. Peter's. Thousands
upon thousands of the faithful raised
their voices in exultation of the
spirit.
"11 Papa! 11 Papa!
11 Papa!"
And as the Holy Father walked out
into the myriad reflections of the
orange sun setting in the west, there
were many in the chambers who heard
the muted strains of the chant
emerging from the holy lips. Each
believed it had to be some obscure
early musical work, unknown to all but
the most scholarly. For such was the
knowledge of the erudite, Pope
Francesco.
"she . . . gelida . . . marina . . .
a rigido esanimeee . . . ah', la,
la-laaa . . .tra-la, la, la . . .
Ia-la-laaa . . ."
CHATTIER
"That son of a bitch!" Brigadier
General Arnold Symington brought the
paperweight down on the thick layer of
glass on his Pentagon desk. The glass
shattered; fragments shot through the
air in all directions. "He couldn't!"
"He did, sir," replied the frightened
lieutenant, shielding his eyes from the
office shrapnel. "The Chinese are very
upset. The premier himself dictated the
complaint to the diplomatic mission.
They're running editorials in the Red
Star and broadcasting them over Radio
Peking."
"How the hell can they?" Symington
removed a piece of glass from his
little finger. "What the hell are they
saying? 'We interrupt this program to
announce that the American military
representative, General MacKenzie
Hawkins, shot the balls off a ten-foot
jade statue in Son Tai Square'.P
Bullshit! Peking wouldn't allow that;
it's too goddamned undignified.""
"They're phrasing it a bit
differently, sir. They say he destroyed
an historic monument of precious stone
in the Forbidden City. They say it's as
though someone blew up the Lincoln
Memorial."
- "It's a different kind of statue!