Текст книги "The Book of Q"

Автор книги: Jonathan Rabb

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Текущая страница: 27 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

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?”

“ Knowinghow to find it was far different from actually findingit.”

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?”

“So Ruini found the scroll, and you killed him.”

“Von Neurath’s people did that. We knew they would. It’s why I was sent. To bring you in.” Another long breath. “I suppose, for a time, he thought I might be able to handle it on my own. But then I didn’t have the training for the scrolls that you did. Plus, there was always the outside chance von Neurath might be able to link me with Blaney. Your connection was far more remote. We knew it would take them at least a week to discover it. By then, you’d be back. Or dead.” He turned back to the window. “At least now I never have to hear about baseball again.”

“The sacrifices we make,” said Pearse.

“Yes.”

Unable to look at the smirk any longer, he stood. “So Blaney went through all of this just to keep von Neurath in line?”

“He did it to make sure that the power of Mani’s Word would remain pure.”

“Purity at its finest.”

Cesare waited. “I’m surprised. I’d have thought after reading the ‘Hodoporia,’ you’d be less hostile. You really think we’re some group of fanatics, don’t you? I find that very … odd.”

“Why should I think that?” he said, turning to Cesare, his tone now matching the monk’s apparent indifference. “The church bombings, the Vatican, the bank, the hysteria over Islamic fundamentalism. Am I missing anything? Oh, and of course the one true and holy church for the initiated. Do we all get to be Manichaeans now, guided by those of you with the gnosis? No, that doesn’t sound like fanaticism at all, does it, Dante?”

“Ten million Manichaeans is more than enough.”

“Impressive.”

“We’ve no interest in converting the masses.”

“Just leading them around by their noses.”

Something seemed to change in Cesare. He turned to Pearse, a decided contempt in his eyes. “Unlike the Catholic church, Father?” He didn’t wait for a response. “What if I told you we’ve got child-welfare initiatives, drug-abuse programs, planned-parenting centers, all set up by the hundreds, both here in Europe and in the States? Would you think differently? We’re simply removing the darkness to free the light. In the abstract, I suppose it does sound like fanaticism. But not when it has a practical face to it. We’ve pumped millions of dollars into those areas and others so as to establish the base we need to put our cells to proper use. The Catholic church isn’t capable of making that kind of difference now. You’re an outdated and impotent monolith. You won’t even go near half those areas because of ancient doctrine. Well, we’re going into them and doing something about it. Fifteen hundred years ago, we wanted to destroy you because of the corruption of certain theological truths. Now, we simply want to put you out of your misery, turn the church into something that has real power, and that can make the world whole again.”

“Those are two very different objectives.”

“Not if you understand what we’re trying to do.”

“You mean like creating raw panic? I guess there’s nothing more practical than that. I’m not sure that’s what the ‘Hodoporia’ has in mind.”

“I agree. And it’s not what we have in mind, either.”

“Not from what I’ve seen.”

Cesare seemed ready to press on. Instead, he stopped. The lazy smile reappeared. His gaze drifted out the window. “That will all be corrected.”

“Oh.” Pearse nodded. “I get it. Blaney’s the good Manichaean with all the programs. It’s von Neurath who’s been the rogue all along.” When Cesare didn’t answer, Pearse continued. “You really expect me to believe that Blaney had no idea what von Neurath was doing? Do youactually believe that? Unless I’ve missed something, you need to eliminate every other church out there before your true and holy one can make its appearance. Which means von Neurath is every bit the committed Manichaean Blaney is, and every bit as crucial. Maybe more so. Blaney needs this violence and hysteria just as much as von Neurath does.”

Cesare looked again at Pearse. “He needs the ‘Hodoporia’ for the reason you’ve just pointed out. Are you that dense that you think there haven’t been Manichaean Popes before now? Benedict the Ninth, Celestine the Fifth-but they were as devoted to the ‘Hodoporia’ as we are. And not just to its destructive force as von Neurath is. They refused to do anything-in fact, they knew they couldn’tdo anything-because the promise of the ‘Hodoporia’ isn’t just about destruction. It’s about rebirth. You more than anyone know that it explains what the unity is meant to look like beyond the corrupted church. Without the ‘Hodoporia’ and its full promise, those Popes had no choice but to keep their power in check while they served a corrupted church. A man like von Neurath doesn’t understand that.”

“Really? Or maybe those Popes realized the greater paradox. That in order to achieve the triumph here on earth-your one pure church-they had to unleash a darkness that would have tainted any consequent light, no matter how pure. Blaney’s just convinced himself that the ‘Hodoporia’ can rise above that. How convenient.”

Cesare had lost the smile. “You really didn’t understand it at all, did you?”

“I guess not.”

Silence. Cesare again turned to the window. “Well, then, you’ve missed your opportunity now that Blaney has it.”

“Oh, he doesn’t have it.”

Pearse thought he saw the slightest crack in Cesare’s expression. Just as quickly, the monk regained his composure.

“Then he will soon enough.” He slowly turned to Pearse. “How’s the boy? I meant to ask. He has such a good mind for the prayers.”

The two men stared at each other. Cesare then returned his gaze to the window. “Such a lovely little soprano.”

Pearse stood there, his eyes fixed on Cesare. Once again, he felt a rush of violence. With every ounce of restraint he had, he slowly turned and headed for the door.

“Good-bye, Ian.”

Half a minute later, Pearse watched Angeli rise from her chair as he walked back into the library. “Well?” she said.

Pearse said nothing as he moved toward them.

Angeli sensed something. “What is it, Ian?”

“Did he tell you anything?” asked Peretti, once again seated behind the desk.

Pearse drew up to them. He continued to hold Peretti’s gaze. Finally, he spoke. “I can’t give you the scroll.”

The cardinal leaned forward. “You have to believe me that we’re not involved-”

“That’s not the reason,” said Pearse.

“Then it’s the scroll itself, isn’t it?” said Angeli. Pearse started to shake his head, but she was already taking off. “I knew it. What’s in there, Ian?” The glint was back. “Why all the fuss?”

He started to explain; again she pressed.

“What have they been hiding all these years?”

Pearse saw the anticipation in her eyes. He knew she wouldn’t let it go. Very quietly, he finally said, “Q.”

“Q!” Her knees nearly buckled. “You mean to say it’s … Of course.”

Ten minutes later, she was pacing the middle of the room, a cigarette in one hand, waving wildly as she spoke. “That’s remarkable. Unbelievable. The Resurrection bits alone …” She stopped and looked at the two of them. “No wonder the Manichaeans wanted to get their hands on it. Out with the old church, in with the new. It’s perfect. This whole Islam business finally makes sense.”

Angeli’s enthusiasm was having a very different effect on Peretti. The lines on his face seemed to deepen as he spoke. “Something like that would be dangerous in anyone’s hands. I can understand your hesitation.”

“No, you can’t,” said Pearse, now seated in the lip of the desk. Again, with no emotion in his voice, he said, “I’m giving it to Blaney.”

“What?” Angeli blurted out. “Giving it to … If those passages are in there-”

“I know,” said Pearse. “I don’t have a choice.”

“I’m afraid it’s not your choice to make,” said Peretti.

“I think it is.” Pearse waited before continuing. “My son’s life depends on it.”

The room fell silent.

After several uncomfortable moments Angeli said, “I … had no idea.”

“Neither did I,” said Pearse, again no emotion.

“How did-”

“In Bosnia, during the war. Before I took the cloth.”

After a long silence, Peretti finally spoke. “So you never knew about the boy?”

Pearse shook his head.

“But why would Blaney have him?”

“Because he’s known about him from the beginning. He made sure that he was raised as a Manichaean. And then made equally certain that I never found out. Probably with this very moment in mind.” Pearse waited, then said, “He has the mother, as well.” He saw the look in Peretti’s eyes. “No. She’s not one of them. She was as much in the dark as I was.”

“You’re certain of that?” he asked. Pearse continued to stare at him. Peretti nodded. “I’m not sure that changes anything.”

“I think it does,” said Pearse. “I have the scroll.”

“You can’t be serious,” said Peretti.

Pearse stared back at him.

“Actually … I think he can,” said Angeli. It was clear her wheels were spinning. “You say the scroll is unambiguous about the Resurrection business?” Pearse nodded. “But you also say it’s equally clear on individual responsibility, autonomy, and women?” Again, he nodded. She looked at Peretti. “That could be very helpful to the church right now, Eminence.”

“Where are you going with this, Professor?”

“I think that’s pretty clear, isn’t it?”

Peretti shook his head. “No. You can’t have one without the other.”

“Why not?” she said.

“You can’t simply write out the things you don’t like.”

“Why?” It was Pearse who now asked.

“‘Why?’” Peretti seemed surprised that it was Pearse who had asked. “Because, Father, we’re talking about the Holy Word of Christ. You can’t overlook that.”

“The Gospel writers did,” said Pearse. “They had Q and chose to take what they wanted from it.” He waited. “Maybe that’s what the church needs now in order to survive in the next millennium. Another dose of selective editing.”

Peretti stared at him for a moment. “From what the professor tells me, Father, you’re the last person I would have expected to hear that from.”

“Things change.” Pearse waited. “Look, my own reasons for you to do this aside, without those forty lines of Resurrection text, you’d have a very powerful document, something to take us beyond the brick wall we’ve all been running into since Vatican Two. Modernize the church without losing touch with the Christ we’ve always known. Q might just be the answer.”

“It’s the Word of Christ.” Peretti let the phrase settle. “I can’t permit that. And neither can you. You know that.”

Angeli jumped in. “I’ve worked with hundreds of scrolls, Eminence. None I’ve seen has ever come close to the one he’s describing. We’re lucky if we find a few strands of parchment here and there. The fact that this one hasn’t disintegrated makes it seem almost … unreal. You might have to lose a few bits just to make sure it looks authentic.” She stopped him before he could respond. “All right, I’m being a little facetious, but you do understand the point. It might be the one time when you can have your liturgical cake and eat it, too.”

Peretti slowly began to shake his head. “It would raise too many problems with the canon, even from the little you’ve said. The Eucharist is the liturgy. A document like that would have to confirm its pivotal role.”

“Not if those were the sections that were missing,” she answered. “I have a rather nice reputation when it comes to filling in gaps in scrolls like this. As long as the incisions are made with a bit of finesse, I don’t think it would be all that difficult to leave the right sorts of holes, ones that would clearly imply the existence of whatever liturgy you felt was essential.”

Peretti thought for a moment; again he shook his head. “What you’re asking-”

“What other options do you have?” said Pearse. “Keep it hidden? Who would be overlooking the Word of Christ, then?”

From Peretti’s expression, Pearse had hit a nerve.

“You’re both missing the point,” said Angeli. “Without the Resurrection passages, Q would be the very thing to pull the rug out from under the Manichaeans.” She had retrieved her cigarette and was taking two quick puffs before crushing it out in the ashtray. “Q is their grail, correct? It’s at the core of everything they believe in. I assume Blaney and this monk believe in it that strongly, too?”

Pearse thought for a moment, then nodded.

“Well, here you have a chance to tarnish the grail and place it in their hands. Show them that it’s no threat to the church, that it would actually strengthen her. A thousand years searching for it, and their one great hope turns out to be an empty promise. Whose foundations would be shaken then?”

“Somehow, I don’t think Erich von Neurath needs a grail to sate his ambition,” said Peretti.

“Fine,” said Pearse, an ultimatum in his tone. “Then it goes to Blaney, as is.”

Again, Peretti waited before answering. “You know I can’t let you do that.”

Pearse looked directly into his eyes. “Then you have a problem. Because if I don’t pick it up by tonight, it goes to Blaney anyway. Instructions in the package. It seemed the logical choice at the time.”

Peretti continued to stare at Pearse. “You really think Blaney would make that exchange and then let you go?”

“Yes.” No hesitation. “He owes me that much. And he knows it.”

Peretti was about to answer, when the phone rang. He picked up.

“Yes.” For several seconds, he listened intently, unable to mask a moment of surprise. “We’re sure on this?” Several nods. “Do we know who she is? … All right, fine … good.” Still listening, he looked across at Pearse as he spoke into the phone. “No, I think we can do better than that. Wait for my call.” He hung up. Finally, he said, “Von Neurath is dead.” Slowly, he shifted his gaze to Angeli. “How long would you need to … revise the scroll?”

She thought for a moment, then said, “I don’t know. Two, three hours. It depends on the-”

“Then do it.” He looked at Pearse. “When you’re done, you’ll call Blaney. By then, I’ll know where I want you to make the exchange. Acceptable, Father?”

Pearse simply nodded.

The Villa Borghese at dusk has an almost ethereal quality to it, especially in the Pincio Gardens, the area just above Piazza del Popolo, where the long promenades-most named for saints and Popes-lie under vaulted rows of pine and oak, each dotted with benches and lampposts. The sounds of Rome disappear, replaced by the occasional footstep on gravel, fewer and fewer of them as the sun dips down and the glow of lamplight begins to make itself known.

Pearse listened to his own footfall as he made his way along one of the wider walkways, Viale Leone IX his destination. As ever, Angeli had been spot-on-two and a half hours to alter the scroll, the offending passages removed with expert precision. It was only when it had come to disposing of the unwanted pieces that her hand had hesitated. Both of them had looked at the strands lying in the small bowl on the table. It was Pearse who had produced the box of matches.

The conversation with Peretti had been short. The location and time. The call to Blaney hadn’t been as easy, although it was clear he’d been expecting it. Pearse would be coming alone? Yes. Who had helped him? All he wanted was the boy and the woman. Blaney had to trust him on that. An hour.

He had then spoken with Petra and Ivo. She had promised she was up to it. Ivo had just liked the idea of another adventure.

He saw Blaney seated on a bench halfway down the path as he turned onto Leone IX. Another fifteen yards on stood Mendravic, Ivo by his side, Petra in a wheelchair. No one else. Pearse continued to approach. Five yards from Blaney, he stopped.

“Can she walk?” he asked.

“Yes,” answered Blaney.

“Then tell them to come over to me.”

“Let me see the ‘Hodoporia.’”

Pearse opened the box in his hands. He tilted it toward Blaney so he could see the scroll inside.

“How do I know it’s the ‘Hodoporia’?”

“Send them over.”

Blaney waited. “Hand me the box.”

Pearse remained where he was, box in hand. “You know, von Neurath’s dead.”

Blaney showed no reaction. “Yes. And no, it wasn’t me, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Send them over,” said Pearse.

Blaney waited, then looked at Mendravic. He nodded. At once, the Croat moved out to help Petra from her chair. She refused. Very slowly, she stood. She took Ivo’s hand.

“All right,” said Blaney. “Now give me the box.”

“We’ll wait until they’re past me.” Blaney looked as if he might say something. Instead, he took in a deep breath, then nodded again to Mendravic. Petra and Ivo slowly started out. Both men watched as the pair drew nearer.

“Am I right in thinking it was Daly who was trying to help you?” asked Blaney. “Kukes, this afternoon?”

“Peretti,” answered Pearse. “Cesare sends his regards.”

Again, no reaction. “A little more obvious, but it had to be one or the other. One of them will no doubt be the next Pope.” Pearse had never heard Blaney’s smug side. “I assume he has men scattered about the park.”

“I said I’d come alone.”

“Somehow, I doubt that.”

Pearse remained silent.

Petra and Ivo moved past Blaney and drew up to Pearse. She grabbed ahold of his arm. He immediately held her at his side. Ivo gave him a quick wave.

“Hi, Ian.”

“Hey, Ivi.”

Under his breath, Pearse said to Petra, “I need you to keep going. The bench across from us. Can you make that?”

She nodded once and took Ivo’s hand.

When they were far enough off, Pearse turned back to Blaney. Without any prompting, he moved to the bench and sat. “There’s no one else here, John. I took you at your word.”

“Then you’re more naive than I thought.”

“Maybe,” said Pearse. “Maybe not.” He handed him the box.

“You should go,” said Blaney, his fingers busy with the straps. “You have the woman and the boy.”

“Still protecting me?”

“More than you realize.”

“And how’s that, John?”

Old fingers were having trouble with the knot. “Several of von Neurath’s men are here,” he said. “Not my choice. They’ve been at a loss for what to do for the last few hours. They weren’t that keen on this exchange.”

Pearse let his eyes wander casually to the surrounding trees, seemingly unaffected by the news. “So why the charade?” he asked. “Why didn’t they just take it from me when I got here?”

“Because I’m sure several of Peretti’s men are also here. No reason for anyone to do something foolish. I’m not sure, however, how long they’ll wait. I don’t have quite the same sway over them as Erich did. You should go. Now.”

“No,” said Pearse, eyes still on the trees, “I think I’d like to see you read through some of it.”

“And why is that?”

“It might not be everything you thought it was.”

“I see.” Blaney nodded. He was finally making progress with the knot. “Then you obviously didn’t know how to read it.”

For the briefest of moments, Pearse thought that perhaps he’d let himself forget the fundamental rule with the Manichaeans. Hidden knowledge. Had he missed something in the verses, something even more profound than the Resurrection segments? Was there a final word game that he had somehow overlooked? He quickly remembered that there couldn’t be. Q had been written by Menippus, a first-century Greek Cynic, two hundred years before Mani’s birth. Even the Manichaeans didn’t reach that far back.

“There are breaks in the text,” said Pearse. “I can tell you what’s no longer there.”

Blaney was starting to roll back the parchment. He stopped and looked over at Pearse. “What?”

“The missing text. The stuff to threaten the church. It isn’t there anymore.”

Blaney started to answer, then stopped. He went back to the scroll. “You wouldn’t have done that. I know you, Ian.” Blaney had reached the first gap in the text.

“That doesn’t look like natural decay, does it, John?”

Blaney scanned the sheet of parchment, his expression more and more uncertain.

“Don’t worry,” added Pearse. “Angeli tells me she’ll have it looking authentic enough by the time Peretti presents it to the Biblical Commission.”

Blaney rolled deeper into the scroll. He found another gap. Again, he stared down at it. Almost in a whisper, he said. “Why?” His face was etched with confusion. “Why would you do this?” He slowly turned to Pearse. “You always believed in the sanctity of the Word. I taughtyou to believe in the sanctity of the Word. How could you have done this?”

Pearse continued to gaze out. “If you had time to read the entire scroll, you’d see it’s not a threat at all. In fact, it’s-what did Dante call it? – a rebirth. It’s all in there. Except it’s the Catholic church that will be using it now. Peretti wanted me to pass on his thanks.”

Blaney stared at Pearse a moment longer, then looked back at the scroll. His fingers began to trace over the gaps. It was as if he were caressing a wound. “It’s the Word of Christ. Who are you to say what can be taken out? I chose you because of your faith in the Word. In the Word.”

“It’s the denial of the bodily Resurrection,” Pearse said offhandedly. “That’s what’s missing.” He turned to Blaney. “Dangerous stuff.” He watched as Blaney stared at the scroll, only a slight shaking of his head. The rest of him seemed frozen. “It looks like you have a choice, John. You can either let Peretti get his hands on the scroll and use it to inject new life into the church. Or, you can destroy it, and hope that the church eventually runs itself into the ground. The problem is, if you dodestroy it now, you won’t have the ‘Hodoporia’ to guide you at that point. You won’t have the one piece of scripture that every good Manichaean looks to as his ultimate guide.” He waited. “I guess that’s not really much of a choice, is it?”

Blaney began to roll the scroll again, his eyes darting back and forth, searching for something to tell him Pearse was wrong.

“You won’t find anything,” said Pearse. “We made sure of that. Trust me.”

Blaney’s arm began to shake, his grip on the scroll weakening. His head suddenly spasmed, a jolt that forced Pearse to reach over and take the scroll from him.

“John?” Blaney’s entire body began to shake. “John-”

He started to gag violently. Pearse had wanted a reaction, needed it, but not this.

At once, Salko was moving toward them. Pearse dropped the scroll and reached out for Blaney. Instantly, six men appeared from the trees some twenty yards off, one of them the titan Pearse remembered from his escape from the Vatican, all of them descending on the bench, guns drawn. The first shot rang out.

But not from the men racing at him.

Utterly confused, Pearse spun around. It was then that he saw Peretti’s men emerging from another group of trees, guns firing, the clipped sounds of volley and return. Pearse dropped to the gravel, pulling Blaney down with him. The old priest had stopped shaking. In fact, he had stopped moving entirely. Pearse lifted the head and looked into his eyes. Blaney was gone.

Only then did he hear Petra’s scream.

“Ivo! No!”

Pearse spun around. She was forcing herself up from the bench, trying to pull Ivo back. But he was too well trained, too intent, the sound of the shots telling him to find an open space, lie facedown. Pearse watched as his little arms pumped in the air.

Everything seemed to slow, Pearse dropping Blaney to the ground, grabbing at the gravel to force himself up, Ivo too far from him, endless shots ringing out. All around him, men were falling, and still Ivo ran. From the corner of his eye, Pearse saw the last of von Neurath’s men nearing, firing wildly, the gun aimed directly at the boy. Pearse leapt out, a sudden tearing pain in his own leg forcing him to the ground. For an instant, he couldn’t see a thing. Only the gravel, images of Ivo, his son, once again unable to protect him, the chance to lose him now. Again.

A final shot. Ivo screamed.

Pearse looked up.

There, lying in front of the boy, was Mendravic, his chest covered in blood. Ivo was crying wildly as he pulled at Mendravic’s arm.

“Get up, Salko! Get up!”

Unscathed. Perfect. Pearse breathed again as he saw his little man standing over Mendravic’s shattered body.

Even so, the Croat was doing all he could to calm the boy. Pearse pulled himself to his feet and hobbled over. Petra already held Ivo close to her chest as he continued to scream. Now at her side, Pearse took them both in his arms for several moments before turning and dropping to Mendravic’s side.

The sound of Ivo’s cries seemed to vanish as Pearse took Mendravic’s head in his hands. Barely focusing, Mendravic looked up at him.

His breathing was erratic as he spoke: “I taught him how to run out like that.” He coughed several times. “‘Out in the open, Ivi. Out in the open.’” His neck arched for a moment. “He’s all right, yes?”

Pearse nodded. “Yes.”

“Good … that’s good.” He tried to swallow. “I never meant to …” He squeezed Pearse’s arm, the grip powerful. “You have to know that, Ian.”

Pearse nodded, tears beginning to roll down his cheeks. A final act of redemption. “I do.”

Mendravic tried to nod, but his back suddenly constricted. He stared up at Pearse, an instant of clarity in the eyes. His grip then released. And he became still.

Pearse held him there, gently pressing Mendravic’s head to his own, unwilling, for the moment, to let go. His body began to shake, tears flowing for the man he had known. The man he would always know.

Slowly, he laid Mendravic’s head on the gravel. He brushed away his own tears, shut the Croat’s eyes, and made the sign of the cross. Then, as best he could, he made his way back to Petra and Ivo.

Four men lay dead, the rest in the hands of Peretti’s men. The scroll was where it had fallen, Blaney’s arm cast awkwardly over it.

None of it mattered, though. Not as he reached Petra and Ivo and wrapped his arms around them. Again he cried. They pressed into him, all three quietly cocooned within themselves.

Two hours later, Pearse was still holding Petra’s hand, Ivo on her lap, the three of them seated across from Peretti in his library. The stars outside the oriel windows were holding Ivo’s gaze, the first time since the Pincio that he’d stopped shaking. Angeli sat as well, the scroll in its box at her feet.

The doctor had left twenty minutes ago, Pearse’s flesh wound handled easily, more attention for Petra’s side. She was doing fine. A little less activity would be good. She had refused the sedative for Ivo.

“And I can’t convince you otherwise?” said Peretti.

“I don’t think so, Eminence,” Pearse answered.

“It’s an extraordinary opportunity, Ian,” said Angeli, no small degree of hope in her voice. “And I could use the help.”

Pearse shook his head.

“It’s not because you’re worried about the instability in the church, is it?” asked Peretti. “Because if that’s it, you might want to know that we’ve decided to make von Neurath a martyr in all of this.” He saw Pearse’s reaction. “Oh, yes. The woman who killed him has an interesting enough background to make her and Blaney the perfect models for a fanatical movement within the church.”

“Hard to believe,” said Angeli somewhat playfully, “but they were actually going to destroy a recently discovered parchment, a very sacred scroll that, some say, may shed light on a whole new, liberalized church. Can you imagine that?” She smiled. “Luckily, we caught them in time.”

“Sounds reasonable enough, doesn’t it?” asked Peretti.

“So no Manichaeans,” said Pearse.

“No,” answered Peretti. “Something that well entrenched wouldn’t blow over so quickly. This way, we defuse the current situation much more effectively.”

“And then?” asked Pearse.

“Then …” Peretti bobbed his head from side to side. “Then we publish Q and tell the world that it’s actually something called the ‘Hagia Hodoporia.’ That should send a shock wave through the Manichaean cells. Impotence has a tendency to undermine even the most powerful of heresies. I imagine it might even make your friend Cesare a little more talkative.”