Текст книги "The Book of Q"

Автор книги: Jonathan Rabb

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Текущая страница: 26 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

“I was here last week.” No sign from the old man that Pearse was registering. “The priest … who fell asleep on-”

“Ah, yes.” A long, slow nod. “From Albuquerque.” Before Pearse could correct him, he said, “No, no, from …” He thought for a moment. “No collar. Of course. Come in, come in.”

Pearse stepped through. He waited until the priest had taken his seat behind the desk before pulling up one of the other chairs. He sat.

“Father, I need your help….”

Twenty minutes later, Pearse was at the front door of 31 Via Avigonesi. Gianetta answered and ushered him in, her hair, as ever, pulled back in a tight bun. At no more than five feet tall, and with a paper-thin figure beneath a dour black sweater and skirt, she needed a bit of effort to pull the thick oaken door closed behind him. She then led him across the foyer, stopping in front of what Pearse recalled as the door to the library. Equally imposing, it was situated at the foot of a narrow set of stairs leading up to the second floor. She knocked once.

A moment later, Pearse heard the familiar voice. “Si?”

“Padre Pearse, Padre.”Not waiting for an answer, she smiled and headed back to the kitchen.

From behind the door, Blaney bellowed. “Ian. Come in. Come in.”

Pearse opened the door and stepped inside. Blaney was seated by the empty fireplace, looking far older than when they’d last seen each other. Pearse guessed it was almost a year now.

“Hello, Ian. Hello. Please, come in.”

The large study was exactly as he remembered it-a college reading room replete with thick-stuffed maroon leather chairs and sofas amid wall-to-wall bookshelves. Blaney stood as Pearse drew toward him. The two men embraced.

“It’s good to see you, John J.” They sat.

“You look tired, Ian.”

Pearse smiled. “I’m fine, mom.”

“Just concerned, that’s all. But since you bring it up, how are they, mother and dad?”

“The same. I think they’re out on the Cape. End of summer. You were at the house once.”

“That’s right. I remember a very cold midnight swim. Less refreshing than advertised.”

“Family tradition.”

“Yes,” Blaney said. “So … you know I’m always delighted to see you, but your message … it didn’t sound like this was going to be a social visit. What’s wrong?”

“Actually, I’d love a glass of water.”

“I’m sorry. Of course.” Blaney pressed a button on the intercom next to him. “Gianetta. Puoi portarmi dell’ acqua e forse un po’ di frutta? Grazie.”He didn’t wait for a response. “They insisted I get this thing a few months ago. They’re very keen to make me feel as old as they can.”

“You look fine,” said Pearse.

“No, I don’t, and neither do you.” A look of playful concern crossed his eyes. “It’s not Ambrose, again, is it? You’re not in the midst of one of those binges without sleep? It’s not healthy, Ian.” Father as father. Pearse had gotten used to Blaney’s paternal instincts a long time ago. “You need to take a vacation once in a while. Lie on a beach. That sort of thing.”

“A few midnight swims?” Pearse was about to continue, when Gianetta appeared at the door.

“Eccellente,”said Blaney, indicating the table between the two men. “Va bene di la. Grazie.”

“Si, Padre.”She moved across the room, placed the tray on the table, and quickly poured out two glasses. She then retreated to the door.

Waiting until they were alone, Pearse inched out on his seat, taking a glass as he spoke. “I’ve found Q.”

Blaney was retrieving the other glass. He sat back and took a sip. “Q?”

“‘Quelle.’The Synoptic Problem. I’ve found the scroll.” It took Blaney a moment to respond. “That’s … remarkable. Where?”

“‘How?’ might be a better question. Or ‘Why?’”

“You’re sure it’s Q?”

Pearse nodded as he drank.

“And it’s a collection of Jesus’ sayings?”

Pearse thought he heard the slightest hint of disappointment in Blaney’s tone. “Yes. But in a context you won’t believe. It’s the lost years, John. Jesus from twelve to thirty.”

“‘Jesus from …’ Remarkable,” he repeated.

“And that’s only the tip of the iceberg. It turns out that the ‘Beloved Disciple’ was actually a Cynic teacher who wandered with Him. There are nonparable conversations with Jesus, transcriptions of early sermons He gave, a recounting of the two years He spent in Jaipur with a group of Buddhist monks. The Eastern and Cynic influences are unmistakable.”

“Cynic? You mean the teachings are …” Blaney had to think for a moment. “You’re not telling me we’re in danger of having to rethink the entire tradition, are you?”

“No. That’s what’s extraordinary. Q gives us the same Jesus, the same faith we’ve always known, except maybe with a little expansion here and there. It’s the way we’ll look at the churchthat’s going to change.”

“The church?” Blaney’s enthusiasm seemed to return. “You think it might cause problems.”

Pearse sat back. “I don’t know. That’s where it gets tricky. There are things in Q, things that could rock the foundations as we know them.”

“So there issomething dangerous.”

“Yes, but it’s not the real threat. That’s not why I came to you.” Again, he leaned forward. “Your connections at the Vatican are still-”

“Can I see it?” Blaney interrupted. He slowly placed his glass on the table.

“Q isn’t the problem, John. Trust me. You might find this hard to believe, but there’s a group of-”

“Still, I’d like to see it.”

Pearse hesitated, momentarily uneasy with Blaney’s insistence. “I don’t have it with me,” he said.

Now Blaney paused. “Why not?”

“It wouldn’t have been safe. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

“Where is it, Ian?”

“You don’t have to worry about the scroll, John.”

“The ‘Hagia Hodoporia.’” Blaney paused again. “Where is it, Ian?”

The two men stared at each other. For nearly half a minute, Pearse couldn’t move. Then, slowly, he sat back in his chair.

“I was hoping you’d just bring it to me,” said Blaney.

Pearse continued to stare.

“Not that you had too many other options, I imagine.” He waited for a response. When none came, he reached again for his glass. “Q. That’s a bit of a surprise. Although I suppose it does make sense.” He took a sip.

Another long silence. Finally, Pearse spoke. “How long?” No anger, no accusation. “Slitna? Chicago?”

Blaney held the glass in his lap. “It’s a bit more complicated than that.”

“How long?” repeated Pearse. “I’d like to know when I stopped making decisions for myself.”

“Don’t get dramatic, Ian. You’ve always made your own decisions.”

“All that talk about the ‘purity of the Word,’ ‘faith untethered.’ Only you weren’t talking about my faith, were you?”

“Faith in the Word is faith in the Word. It ultimately amounts to the same thing. Now, where is it?”

“When?” Pearse asked again, still no sign of emotion.

“That doesn’t really matter, does it?”

Pearse didn’t answer. The two men sat in silence.

“All right,” Blaney finally said. “About … a year and a half ago. When we found the last of the ‘Perfect Light’ packets. When I knew we were getting close.”

“A year and a half? I met Salko over eight years ago.”

“Yes, you did.” Blaney nodded. “And it was completely unrelated to all of this. I wanted you to come out of that war alive. I asked Mendravic to look after you. As a friend. Nothing more. That we unearthed one of the packets while you were there … Mani’s will, I suppose. You have to believe me.”

Now Pearse waited. “So, you and von Neurath-”

“Erich? No. He has no idea who you are. That was the whole point.”

“‘The whole point?’”

“There are things going on here you don’t understand.”

It took Pearse a moment to respond. “So youwere the one who sent the Austrian to the Vatican?”

“The Austrian?” Now Blaney needed a moment. “Ah,” he finally said.

“Herr Kleist.” He shook his head. “No. Not at all. In fact, it was my men who made sure you got out of there that night. Why do you think I sent Mendravic to Kukes? I’ve been trying to protect you all along.”

“Protect me?” The first hint of anger. “Did that make it necessary to involve the woman and the boy?”

“Von Neurath’s men would have tracked them down,” he answered, “used them as bait, or worse. They did it with your friend Angeli. That’s why Mendravic picked them up. Yes. In order to protect them.”

“So you knew about Angeli, and you just let her sit there.”

“Interfering would have shown my hand. I had no choice.”

“Protect me from what?” asked Pearse again. It slowly began to dawn on him. “Von Neurath?”He continued to stare at Blaney.

“Where is it, Ian?”

“Why?”

Blaney waited. “I need the scroll.”

“And how did you know the ‘Perfect Light’ prayer would fall into my hands?”

This time, Blaney said nothing.

“How?”

“Don’t put me in a difficult position, Ian. I need the ‘Hodoporia.’”

“And you think I’m actually going to give it to you?”

“Yes. I think you will.” Before Pearse could answer, Blaney pressed the intercom. “Puoi portarli dentro adesso, Gianetta.”He released the button and looked at Pearse.

“Did I tell you to go to seminary even when you were having doubts? No. Did I tell you to continue with the classics after seminary? The ancient puzzles? No. You made your own choices. That was Mani’s will, as well. I’m sure you can see that.”

The two sat silently.

A knock at the door, and Gianetta stood waiting. Blaney turned and nodded to her. She stepped aside. A moment later, Ivo’s little head appeared in the doorway.

For the second time in the last five minutes, Pearse slowly sat back, stunned.

With a little prodding, Ivo moved into the room, Mendravic directly behind him. Two guards remained by the door.

“The woman is upstairs,” said Blaney.

Pearse stared at the little face. Ivo looked slightly confused; as ever, though, he was holding his own.

“Hi, Ian,” he said.

Pearse tried to focus. “Hi, Ivi.”

“I took a plane trip,” said Ivo, his hand now locked in Mendravic’s.

Pearse nodded. “That sounds great.” He waited for the little nod. He then turned to Blaney. The words almost caught in his throat. “You knew all along, didn’t you? Even before I went back to seminary?” Blaney said nothing.

“You knew about them, and you said nothing.” Pearse had never felt such a rush of violence. “A year and a half? This goes back a lot further than that.”

“There are things going on here-”

“That I don’t understand. Yes. You’ve said that.”

“Did you want me to let von Neurath’s men find them?”

“You turned my son into one of you.” Pearse was having trouble stifling his anger. “What? You couldn’t find someone else who knew how to play with the scrolls? Who knew how to decipher the cryptograms? Or was it just that you knew you could use the two of them to keep me in line? Just in case.”

“Ian-”

“Let me see her,” said Pearse.

Blaney remained silent.

“I need to see that she’s okay.”

“When I have the ‘Hodoporia.’”

Pearse waited. “Still protecting me? Them?” He continued to stare at Blaney. He then stood. The guards inched farther into the room. Pearse ignored them. “You want your scroll, I’ll need half an hour.”

“I think we can send some of my men.”

Pearse shook his head. “I don’t need you ‘protecting’ the person who’s got it. You want the ‘Hodoporia,’ you let me go.” He glanced at Ivo, then back to Blaney. “You’ve made sure I’ll be coming back.”

Blaney thought for a moment. “All right. But you’ll take my men along with you. Just to make sure you come back alone.”

Rather than answering, Pearse stepped over to Ivo and crouched by his side.

He tried a smile. “Was the plane fun?”

“My ears hurt for a while.”

“That happens to me, too. A little gum usually helps.”

“Mommy doesn’t let me chew gum.”

“I guess I’ll have to talk to Mommy about that, won’t I?”

Ivo smiled. “Mommy said … she said it wasn’t my fault what happened yesterday.”

“And she was right, Ivi. None of that had anything to do with you. I promise.”

He nodded. Then, in a whisper, he added, “She said it wasn’t your fault, either.”

Pearse reached out and gently pulled Ivo in close. At once, the little arms squeezed around his shoulders, the tiny cheek buried in his neck. The boy released. It took Pearse a moment longer to let go. He turned to Blaney.

“I’ll bring it to you, but then the boy and the woman go with me. And you leave us alone. I don’t care what you do with it.”

“You know me better than that, Ian.”

“No, I don’t.” He stared for a moment, then turned to Ivo. “I have to go for a little while, Ivi, but I’ll be back soon. You take care of Mommy, okay?” Another nod. Pearse winked, then stood. He moved past Mendravic. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the man.

Without acknowledging either guard, Pearse stepped through the doorway.

Two minutes later, all three were on the street, making their way to a Jaguar parked at the curb. The first man reached out to open the door, Pearse ducking his head to get in.

He was halfway there when he was suddenly pushed to the floor of the car. He tried to get up but was held immobile for perhaps fifteen seconds before being pulled back, the grip on his arm unbelievably strong. Outside the car, he saw the guards lying flat on the pavement, unconscious, two men in yellow boots standing over them. The sound of screeching wheels brought his focus to the road as a sedan drew up behind the Jag. Before he knew what was happening, Pearse found himself shuttled into its backseat, thick tinted glass all around him. The door slammed shut. The car pulled away.

Alone, Pearse sat stunned.

“That still doesn’t explain why you’re here,” said von Neurath. “It’s not the best timing.”

Seated across from him, the contessa stared in silence. He was strangely less imposing tucked behind his desk, deep within his bunker. He seemed much smaller by contrast, a man in need of protection. Hardly the image of a Manichaean Pope with the “Hodoporia” at his fingertips. Or maybe that was just what she wanted to see.

The stark quality of the Gabbia’sprivate room-a few chairs, a sofa, a bed up against the far wall-mirrored what she had just witnessed on her drive in from the airport. The height of the tourist season, and she’d seen no one at the Colosseum, no crowds in the Piazza Venezia or along the Corso, Rome all but deserted. Most jarring, though, had been the barricade barring entry to St. Peter’s from every direction, a surreal backdrop to the detachment of regular army stationed on the Vatican wall. They had made the vigilanzaat the gate seem more than a little redundant.

The Catholic church at its most desperate, she had thought. Where was the accompanying titillation she had always expected?

“Watching Harris die and seeing Stefan pull the trigger?” she answered. “You don’t think that’s sufficient reason to pay you a visit?”

It was now von Neurath who took a moment. “I wasn’t aware you were there.”

“Well, then it looks like we’re all full of surprises, doesn’t it?”

He poured himself a glass of water. “You should know, the response has been extraordinary. Even in the last hour. Amazing how five hundred years of contention can melt away when the Devil himself makes an appearance.”

“I didn’t realize your aspirations were so high.”

He laughed. “You’ve got it backward, Contessa. I’m going to be their savior. The father of a new church that recognizes the need for a unified front against our common enemy. The message is already going out as we speak.”

“Everything according to plan.”

“Don’t sound so derisive. You’re hardly the innocent.”

“We’re not talking about me.”

For several seconds, von Neurath didn’t answer. “What are you really here about? I can’t imagine the loss of a lover would matter that much to a woman of your … stature. Or is it the fact that it was two in one day? My condolences.”

“Ever the gentleman, Erich. And no, it doesn’t matter to me in the slightest.”

“Then why come here? It only draws attention. As I said, not the best timing.”

“It might not be the best timing for many things.”

Silence. “Harris is already being touted as a martyr,” he continued. “He’s proving far more useful to us dead than alive. The ground swell is enormous. You made a very good choice there.”

“Did I?” She let the question sit. “I think we both know I didn’t have anything to do with that. At least not according to the late colonel. He wanted me to send on his congratulations, thank you for everything you’ve done.” She waited. “Was he meant to be some sort of distraction? Keep me preoccupied while you ascended the throne?”

“You have such a vivid imagination. I’ve always liked that about you.”

“Yes, I’m sure you have.” She watched as he placed his glass on the desk, slowly spinning it in a pool that was forming below it. “Was the fact that you had Arturo killed also part of my imagination?” Von Neurath looked up. “The distraction obviously worked. Blaney was much quicker on that than I was.”

He let go of the glass. “You two really have been spending entirely too much time together. John Joseph’s always been best when concentrating on his prayers. I wouldn’t put too much stock in anything else he has to say.”

“Why Stefan?”

“I don’t like betrayal.”

“To whom?”

Von Neurath started to answer, then stopped. “Did you enjoy the files he sent you?” The contessa remained silent. “I gave him the opportunity to make amends. He took it.” Again, she said nothing. “Blaney has the ‘Hodoporia.’ That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? Turns out the priest was an old friend of his. It took us a bit too long to figure that one out.” He waited. “Surprises all around.”

His response caught her off guard. Not a pleasant experience for a woman who had spent a lifetime making sure she knew exactly what was going on. It slowly dawned on her what he was talking about. “This has all been about jockeying for position, hasn’t it?” Before von Neurath could answer, she said, “My apologies. I’m usually much smarter than that. Neither of you really cares what the ‘Hodoporia’ has to say, do you?”

“Actually, that’s not true. To be fair to the good Father, I think he truly believes he’s preserving the ‘purity of the Word.’” He shook his head. “How many times have I heard that phrase? Rather endearing, don’t you think, if you let yourself forget everything we’re trying to accomplish.”

She stood and took a glass of her own. “And what exactly is that, Erich?”

Again he laughed. “You’re even beginning to sound like him.”

“I can almost accept the bombings. I’m not quite the idealist John J. is,” she said, pouring out the water. “But Arturo, Harris, Stefan … it’s hard for me to believe that they were sacrificed just to create greater panic. You can see how their deaths might look to someone like me, can’t you?”

“Rather threatening, I would imagine.”

“Interesting choice of words.”

“Yes.”

“Said the spider to the fly.” She took a sip, then looked around the room. “I like what you’ve done with the place. It has that cozy, insulated feel to it. One might even say … isolated.”

“We don’t have to do this, you know.”

“You never answered my question.” She looked back at him, placing her glass on the desk. “What is it, exactly, that we’re trying to accomplish here?”

“Why, our one true and holy church. Isn’t that right, Contessa?”

“Why does it sound so hollow when you say it, Erich?”

Von Neurath smiled. “More and more like John J. every minute.”

“He was right. The ‘Hodoporia’ means nothing to you.”

“That shows how little you understand.”

“No, I don’t think it does.”

For the first time, his composure seemed to dip. “What do you want?”

“Obviously, something you gave up a long time ago. I just never saw it until now.” She turned from him and reached up under her skirt. When she turned back, she was holding a revolver, barely the size of her palm.

Von Neurath didn’t flinch. “I won’t ask where you were keeping that toy.”

“Security’s rather tight for the Pope these days.” She waited. “It is a Manichaean Pope, isn’t it, Erich?”

“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’llnever 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 Ihad 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 afterRuini’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.”