The Book of Q (58 page)

“Don’t make this mistake.” He pressed a button on the side of the desk.

“Too many of them have already been made. I’m just here to clean up the mess.”

“You know we’ll never have an opportunity like this again.”

“No,
you’ll
never have an opportunity like this. The rest of us have always been very good at waiting for the right moment. It’s making sure
we get beyond the surprises along the way. The loss of focus.” She paused. “And the sacrifices.”

The door to the room opened. A guard entered, his gun out.

The contessa aimed and fired.

“This way, Father.” A man stood waiting at the open car door. Pearse had no choice but to step out. Forty-five minutes in darkened silence to arrive inside a garage, five identical cars in a row, the smell of gasoline and oil. He glanced through what few windows there were—trees, a drive disappearing into the hillside—as he was led to a door at the far wall, a second escort now behind him. Neither said a word.

When they reached the door, the first man turned and started patting Pearse down, arms and legs, a flat palm across his back and chest. He then produced a small box from his jacket pocket, flipped a switch, and ran it the length of Pearse’s body. The box remained silent. He turned and opened the door. A staircase. They headed up.

Two minutes later, Pearse sat in a rather formal library, a fuller view of the countryside through two high oriel windows. Everywhere else, bookshelves and paintings climbed to the ceiling some two stories above, a narrow balcony extending along three of the four walls. Access to the books. Except for the somewhat modern desk situated between the two windows, the room might have passed for a Vatican gallery. The men waited by the door. Still, no word of explanation.

Pearse sat patiently. He was long past even a mild apprehension. It wasn’t quite resignation. He knew that. But the mechanism to shock had shorted out sometime in the last hour. In its place, he’d found a numbing fatigue, a kind of heaviness he couldn’t quite shake. But also a calm, a token gift from a psyche beyond the saturation point. It had been over thirty hours since he’d last slept, but he knew that wasn’t it, either. He placed his hands in his lap, his head against the soft cushion of the chair, and stared out at the trees. And waited.

When the door finally opened, he didn’t bother to look around. Only when Cardinal Peretti took a seat behind the desk did Pearse shift his focus.

Peretti looked much older than he had on television, older than Pearse recalled from the one or two times they had met over the past few years, large functions, little chance to remember a young priest. He was dressed in simple clericals, only the purple shirt beneath to distinguish
his office. Pearse saw a kind face, gentle features, olive skin with a hint of a tan. The eyes alone betrayed the strain he was under.

“I’m sorry for all the precautions,” Peretti began, “but we had to make sure that you hadn’t been forced to wear a wire, that sort of thing. You understand. There’s so much going on right now.”

Pearse continued to stare at him.

Peretti nodded, then said, “Something to drink, Father? Or eat?”

Pearse shook his head slowly.

Peretti let out a long breath. “You’re wondering what’s going on.” He waited, then said, “Maybe I’m not the best person to do that.” He looked past Pearse to one of the men at the door. A quick nod. Pearse heard the door open, then close. Peretti tried a smile. “You’ve been put through a great deal in the last week. I know. I wish …” He seemed genuinely concerned. “I wish I could have stepped in earlier. But until I knew you had the scroll—”

“I’m going to give it to Blaney,” said Pearse, no emotion in his voice. “I thought you might want to know that. I don’t really care what he does with it after that.”

“Yes, you do.”

The voice came from behind him. Pearse turned.

There, in the middle of the room, stood Cecilia Angeli.

“You know you do, Ian,” she continued.

Without thinking, Pearse stood and moved to her, their embrace immediate, her viselike grip around his back enough to begin to shake some life into him.

“It’s good to see you, too, Ian,” she said.

Pearse spoke. “I wasn’t sure if you—”

“For a little while there, neither was I.” Letting go of her, he returned to his chair, while she sat on the edge of the desk, arms folded at her chest. Same old Angeli. “The cardinal was nice enough to come and get me.” Before Pearse could ask, she pressed on. “Actually, the men at my flat were quite pleasant. A little threatening at first, but after that—or at least after you called—they let me get down to my work without too many distractions. Having them there actually forced me to take the time to finish that piece for the English journal. I really should thank them. Of course, I wasn’t allowed to leave, but I sometimes stay in for days anyway. It was rather nice to have someone to cook for.” She looked at Peretti. “Of course, there’s still the matter of those broken windows. And I’m going to need an entirely new front door.”

“Yes. I know,” answered Peretti. “As I said … we’ll take care of all of that, Professor.” He leaned across to Pearse. “So I take it Blaney doesn’t have it.”

“Of course he doesn’t have it,” answered Angeli, waving her hand to quiet Peretti, her eyes on Pearse. “Ian’s too smart for that.” The glint in her eyes was growing. “So … what is it?”

Pearse’s gaze, however, remained on Peretti: “How did you know to find me at Blaney’s?” he asked.

“Trieste,” he answered. “That’s where we caught up with you.”

“You were at the airport?” Pearse said, his head clearing. “Then why didn’t you just pick me up? You could have gotten your hands on the scroll then and there.”

“Yes, but we wanted to see where you were going, whom you were getting in touch with. We needed to know who was involved.”

“And if
I
had been involved, I would have been delivering it to them.”

“By that point, we knew you weren’t.”

“‘By that point?’” Pearse repeated.

“About three days ago, we began to link you to what was going on: a priest missing from the Vatican, his name on a ferry manifest to Greece a day before the theft on Athos, then at a camp in Kosovo. We tracked down your friend Andrakos a day later. He was rather surprised to hear you were a priest.”

“I’m sure he was.”

“He told us about the professor, whom we found two days ago and brought here. It was only then that we realized the extent to which you had been involved. Even then—”

“You thought I was one of them.”

Reluctantly, Peretti nodded. “You never answered the notices we placed in the newspapers. And, given the way you handled the men at Kukes—men who we’d sent to help you—yes.”

Pearse thought for a moment. “The boys with the yellow boots.”

Peretti nodded.

“Salko must have known,” he said to himself.

“What?”

Pearse looked back at Peretti. “Nothing.”

“Not to mention,” Peretti added, “we’d pieced together your connection with Blaney back in the States.”

“So you knew he was involved?”

“Yes and no. We had our suspicions. We knew von Neurath and Ludovisi were meeting a great deal.”

“Who?” asked Pearse.

“The link to the Vatican Bank. Blaney’s name had come up as well, but there was nothing substantial.”

“So you must have known about the Manichaean connection?”

“To tell the truth, no. The most we knew was that the ‘Perfect Light’ prayer was floating around, but we had no idea what it meant. That information, unfortunately, died with Boniface. At first, we assumed it had to do with the bank. We thought that maybe von Neurath was using the specter of the Manichaeans as some sort of diversion while he ferreted away the funds to ensure his election. We had no idea that this was something far more … I don’t even know the right word to use.”

“Mind-blowing?” offered Angeli. “I’ve added that one to my list, along with ‘minor-league’ and ‘boonies.’”

Peretti nodded somewhat distractedly, then turned back to Pearse. “Your visit to Blaney was the confirmation we needed.”

“But I didn’t know Blaney was connected until I got there,” said Pearse. “I went to him for help, and I didn’t take the scroll in order to protect
him
.”

“We took the chance that you wouldn’t have left yourself that vulnerable coming back to Rome.”

“That was quite a chance.”

Peretti looked at Angeli. “The professor can be quite persuasive.”

Pearse seemed ready to accept the answer. Instead, he began to shake his head. “That still doesn’t explain how Blaney knew it would land in my lap?”

“How what would land in your lap?” asked Angeli.

“The ‘Perfect Light.’ None of this happens unless I get hold of that first scroll.”

Angeli slowly looked over at Peretti. The two of them shared a glance before she spoke: “He might talk to Ian, help us understand the scope of this thing.”

Peretti said nothing.

“Who might talk to me?” Pearse asked.

Peretti continued to look at her; he then turned to Pearse. “There was … an inconsistency in everything the professor told us.”

“I don’t understand,” said Pearse.

Again, Peretti looked at Angeli. “It’s worth a shot, I suppose.” He nodded, then stood. “Why don’t you come with me.” Before Pearse could ask, Peretti was out from behind the desk and headed for the door. Pearse had no choice but to follow, Angeli at once behind him.

They made their way along the corridor and up a short flight of steps at its end. A single door awaited them at the top. Peretti removed a key, unlocked the door, and opened it. He led the way in.

There, by the window, sat Dante Cesare. He continued to stare out as they stepped inside.

“The one inconsistency,” said Peretti.

Pearse stood dumbfounded. “I … don’t understand. You saved him?”

“Hardly,” said Peretti. “We were equally surprised that the ‘Perfect Light’ scroll had conveniently fallen into your hands, so we decided to check on that. The professor said that you had told her that the men from Vatican security had visited Cesare, and that they had spoken with his abbot. Imagine our surprise when we found out that the time sequencing you had described wasn’t quite right. According to the abbot, the Vatican men had visited Cesare, but only
after
Ruini’s funeral, not before.”

Pearse stared at Cesare. “After?”

“Which meant,” said Angeli, “that everything he’d told you was pure fabrication.”

Pearse needed a moment to respond. He moved closer to the monk. “He wasn’t in any kind of danger?”

“Not in the least,” said Peretti. “We found him digging away at San Clemente. He’s refused to say anything.”

Pearse turned to the cardinal. “But I thought von Neurath’s men—”

Cesare quietly laughed to himself as he gazed out the window.

Pearse stared at the monk, then turned again to Peretti. “I want to talk to him. Alone.”

Peretti waited. “All right, but I’m not sure you’ll get any response. My men will be outside.” He took one last look at Cesare, then followed Angeli out into the corridor.

Pearse waited for the door to close before moving to the bed. He sat. It was only then that he saw the handcuffs attached to a rail on the wall.

“Don’t worry,” said Cesare, rattling the metal, “they’ve taken every precaution.”

“I thought you weren’t speaking to anyone.”

“None of them have read the ‘Hodoporia.’ I’m assuming you have. I envy you that. Which means you understand what we’re trying to do.”

Pearse continued to stare. “You were with Blaney all along.”

“Very good.”

“No chance meeting in the park.”

“No.”

Pearse nodded slowly. “Amazing performance.”

“You missed a better one that last night for von Neurath’s men.”

“I’m surprised they didn’t kill you.”

Another smile. “The Father took care of that. You became far more interesting to the cardinal rather quickly. Blaney saw to that, as well.”

“He told me he was trying to protect me.”

“Oh, he was. But he also knew a little fire under your feet would get you to the ‘Hodoporia’ all the faster. As long as von Neurath’s men were always a few steps behind, no need to worry.”

Pearse waited. “If Blaney knew how to find the ‘Perfect Light’ scroll, why use me at all? Why not send you?”

“
Knowing
how to find it was far different from actually
finding
it.”

Pearse needed a moment. “Ruini.”

“Funny little man.” Cesare’s gaze dipped for just a moment. “Boniface had him off looking for something entirely different, and he stumbles across the ‘Perfect Light.’” Again, he laughed to himself. “Talk about bad luck. For everyone.” He waited. “Once Ruini had the scroll, we knew von Neurath would do whatever was necessary to get it from him. And we knew the cardinal was going to be the next Pope.” Cesare finally looked at Pearse, eyes devoid of all emotion. “Now do you understand?” When Pearse didn’t answer, Cesare turned back to the window. He let out a long breath. “Allowing von Neurath to get his hands on the ‘Hodoporia’ would have made him uncontrollable. Who knows what he would have done with it? He’s never trusted the Word. He doesn’t understand its power. So Blaney needed someone who wasn’t part of this, someone von Neurath wouldn’t know, someone to find it for him first. Keep the balance. It’s what Mani had prepared you for.” Again he turned. “Any clearer?”