There was a knock at the door.
“Ready?” said O'Rourke. His bomber jacket was cracked and faded with use, and for the first time Kate noticed that the web of laugh lines around the priest's eyes contained small scars. “I figure we can get a light dinner here at the hotel and then go straight to the rendezvous.”
Kate took a deep breath, gathered up her coat, and slung her purse over her shoulder. “Ready,” she said.
They did not talk during the brief cab ride to Clark Adam Ter, the traffic circle at the west end of the Chain Bridge and just below the walls of Castle Hill. O'Rourke said nothing as they rode the funicular railway up the steep hillside to the ramparts of the Royal Palace itself.
“Let's sightsee,” he said softly as they stepped out of the cog railway. He took her arm and led her past glowing streetlamps toward a huge equestrian statue farther south along the terrace.
Kate knew from going over city maps that the Matthias church was in the opposite direction, and she had no urge whatsoever to sightsee, but she could tell from the tone of O'Rourke's voice and the tension in his hand on her arm that something was wrong. She followed without protest.
“This is Prince Eugene of Savoy,” he said as they circled the giant statue of a seventeenthcentury figure on horseback. The view beyond the balustrade was magnificent: it was not quite six-thirty in the evening, but the city of Pest was ablaze with lights and traffic, brightly lit boats moved slowly up and down the Danube, and the Chain Bridge was outlined with countless bulbs that made the river glow.
“That man near the steps is following us,” whispered O'Rourke as they moved into the lee of the statue. Kate turned slowly. Only a few other couples had braved the chill evening breeze. The man O'Rourke had indicated was standing near the steps to the terrace near the cog railway; Kate caught a glimpse of along, black leather jacket; glasses and beard beneath a Tyrolean hat. The man was studiously looking out over the railing at the view.
Kate pretended to consult her city map. “You're sure?” she said softly.
The priest rubbed his beard. “I think so. I saw him catch a cab behind us at the Novotel. He rushed to get in the car next to ours on the funicular.”
Kate walked to the broad railing and leaned on it. The autumn wind brought the scent of the river. and dying leaves and auto exhaust up to her. “Are there any others?”
O'Rourke shrugged. “I don't know. I'm a priest, not a spy. “ He inclined his head toward an elderly couple walking a dachshund near the palace. “They may be following us, too . . . I dunno.”
Kate smiled. “The dog too?”
A tug pushing a long barge .up the river saluted the city with three long hoots. Traffic whirled around Clark Adam Ter below with a cacophony of horns, then swept across the Chain Bridge, fail lights blending with the red neon on the buildings across the river.
Kate's smile faded. “What do we do?”
O'Rourke leaned on the railing with her and rubbed his hands. “Go on, I guess. Do you have any idea who might be following you?” .
Kate chewed a loose piece of skin on her lip. Her head ached less this evening, but her left arm itched under the short cast. She was so tired that concentrating was like driving a car on dark icea slow and skittish process. “Romanian Securitate?” she whispered. “The Gypsies? American FBI? Some Hungarian thug waiting to mug us? Why don't we go ask him?”
O'Rourke shrugged, smiled, and led her back toward the upper terrace. The man in black leather moved away from them slightly and continued to be absorbed by the view of Pest and the river.
They continued strolling, arminarmjust another tourist couple, Kate thought giddilypast the funicular station, across a wide space labeled Disz ter by the street sign, and down a street that O'Rourke said was named Tarnok utca. Small shops lined the cobble stoned way; most were closed on this Sunday evening, but a few showed yellow light through ornate panes. The gas streetlamps cast a soft glow.
“Here,” said O'Rourke, leading her to the right. Kate glanced over her shoulder, but if the man in black leather was following, he was concealed by shadows. Carriages were lined along the small square here and the sound of horses chewing on their bits and shifting their hooves seemed very clear in the chill air. Kate looked up at the neoGothic tower of the small cathedral as O'Rourke led her to a side door.
“Technically this place is named Buda St. Mary's Church,” he said, holding the massive door for her, “but everyone calls it the Matthias Church. Old King Matthias is more popular in legend than he probably ever was in real life. Shhh . . . “
Kate stepped into the nave of the cathedral as the organ music suddenly rose from silence to nearcrescendo. She paused and her breathing stopped for a second as the opening chords of Bach's “Tocatta and Fugue in Dminor” filled the incenserich darkness.
The interior of the old Matthias Church was illuminated only by a rack of votive candles to the right of the door and one large, redglowing candle on the altar. Kate had an impression of great age: sootstreaked stonealthough the soot may have been only shadowson the massive columns, a neoGothic stained glass window over the altar, its colors illuminated only by the bloodred candlelight, dark tapestries hanging vertically above the aisles, a massive pulpit to the left of the altar, and no more than ten or twelve people sitting silently in the shadowed pews as the music soared and echoed.
O'Rourke led the way across the open area in the rear of the church, down several stone steps, and stopped at the last row of pews in the shadows to the left and behind the seating area in the nave. Kate merely sat down; O'Rourke genuflected with practiced ease, crossed himself, and then sat next to her.
Bach's organ music continued to vibrate in the warm, incense laden air. After a moment, the priest leaned closer to her. “Do you know why Bach wrote `Tocatta and Fugue'?”
Kate shook her head. She assumed it was for the greater glory of God.
“It was a piece to test the pipes in new organs,” whispered O'Rourke.
Kate could see his smile in the dim, red light.
“Or old organs for that matter,” he went on. “If a bird had built a nest in one of the pipes, Bach knew that this piece would blast it out. “
At that second the music rose to the point that Kate could feel the vibrations in her teeth and bones. When it ended, she could only sit for a moment in the dimness, trying to catch her breath. The few others who had been there, all older people, rose, genuflected, and left by the side door. Kate watched over her shoulder as a whitebearded priest in a long, black cassock locked the door with the sliding of a heavy bolt.
O'Rourke touched her arm and they walked back to the rear of the nave. The whitebearded priest opened his arms, he and O'Rourke embraced, and Kate blinked at the two, the modem priest still in his bomber jacket and jeans, the older priest in a cassock that came to his shoetops, a heavy crucifix dangling around his neck.
“Father Janos,” said O'Rourke, “this is my dear friend Doctor Kate Neuman. Doctor Neuman, my old friend Father Janos Petofi.”
“Father,” said Kate.
Father Janos Petofi looked a bit like Santa Claus to Kate, with his trimmed white beard, pink cheeks, and bright eyes, but there was little of Santa Claus in the way the older man took her hand and bent over to kiss it. “Charmed to meet you, Mademoiselle.” His accent sounded more French than Hungarian.
Kate smiled, both at the kiss and the honorific that gave her the status of a young unmarried woman.
Father Janos clapped O'Rourke on the back. “Michael, our . . . ah . . . Romany friend is waiting.”