"Father Donati was horrified," the Pope said. "He believed that the Holy Spirit had chosen me for a reason, and that reason was to confess the secret of the Garda covenant and cleanse the Church.
But Father Donati is a very clever man and a skilled operative. He knew the secret had to be revealed in such a way that it would not destroy my papacy in its infancy."
"It had to be revealed by someone other than you."
The Pope nodded. Indeed.
Father Donati went looking for Sister Regina Carcassi. In retrospect, it was probably Father Donati's relentless search of Church records that alerted the hounds of Crux Vera. He found her living alone in a village in the north. He asked about her memories of that night in 1942, and she gave him a copy of a letter--a letter she had written the night before her wedding. Father Donati then asked whether she would be willing to speak publicly. Enough time had passed, Regina Carcassi said. She would do whatever Father Donati asked.
As powerful as Sister Regina's letter was, Father Donati knew he needed more. There had been rumors inside the Curia for years that the KGB had been in possession of a document that had the power to inflict serious damage on the Church. According to the rumor mill, the document was almost leaked during the showdown with the Polish pope, but calmer heads inside the KGB prevailed, and it remained buried in the KGB archives. Father Donati traveled secretly to Moscow and met with the chief of the KGB's successor, the Russian Foreign Intelligence Service. After three days of negotiation, he took possession of the document. Captured by advancing Russian forces in the final days of the war, it was a memorandum written by Martin Luther to Adolf Eichmann about a meeting at a convent on Lake Garda.
"When I read it, I knew the battle that lay ahead would be a difficult one," the Pope said. "You see, the document contained two ominous words."
"Crux Vera," said Gabriel, and the Pope nodded in agreement. Crux Vera.
Father Donati began searching for the right man to bring these documents to the attention of the world. A man of passion. A man whose past work made him above reproach. Father Donati settled on an Israeli Holocaust historian attached to Ludwig-Maximilian University in Munich: Professor Benjamin Stern. Father Donati traveled to Munich and met with him secretly at his flat on the Adalbert-strasse. He showed Professor Stem the documents and promised full cooperation. Senior Vatican officials, who for obvious reasons could not be named, would attest to their authenticity. At the time of publication, the Vatican would refrain from public attacks on the book. Professor Stern accepted the offer and took possession of the documents. He secured a contract for the work from his publisher in New York and a leave of absence from his department at Ludwig-Maximilian. Then he began his work. At Father Donati's suggestion, he did so under the utmost secrecy.
Three months later, the trouble began. Father Cesare Felici disappeared. Two days after that, Father Manzini vanished. Father Donati tried to warn Regina Carcassi, but it was too late. She too disappeared. He traveled to Munich to meet with Benjamin Stern and warn him that his life was in grave danger. Professor Stern promised to take precautions. Father Donati feared for the professor's life and for his own stratagem. Skilled operative that he was, he began to prepare a backup plan.
"And then they killed Benjamin," Gabriel said. "It was a terrible blow. Needless to say, I felt responsible for his death."
Father Donati was outraged by the murder, the Pope resumed. He vowed to use the secret of the Garda covenant to destroy Crux
Vera--or, better still, to force Crux Vera to destroy itself. He hastily scheduled the appearance at the synagogue. He whispered secrets into the ears of known Crux Vera members--secrets he knew would eventually reach Carlo Casagrande and Cardinal Brindisi. He enlisted Benedetto Fó
of La Repubblica to ask questions about the Pope's childhood at the press office, which was run by Rudolf Gertz, a member of the society.
"Father Donati was waving a red flag in front of the bull," Gabriel said. "And you were the red flag."
"That's right," the Pope replied. "He was hoping he could goad Crux Vera into an act so repulsive that he could use it as justification to destroy them once and for all, and purge the group's influence from the Curia."
"A tale as old as time," Gabriel said. "A Vatican intrigue, with your life hanging in the balance. And it worked out better than Father Donati could have hoped. Carlo Casagrande sent his assassin against Cardinal Brindisi and then killed himself. Then Father Donati rewarded Benedetto Fó
by giving him the dirt on Crux Vera. The group is discredited and disgraced."
"And the Curia is free of its poisonous influence, at least for the moment." The Pope took hold of Gabriel's hand and looked directly into his eyes. "And now I have a question for you. Will you grant me forgiveness for the murder of your friend?"
"It's not mine to give, Holiness."
The Pope lifted his gaze toward the river. "Some nights, when the wind is right, I swear I can still hear it. The rumble of the German trucks. The pleading for the Pope to do something. Sometimes now, when I look at my hands, I see blood. The blood of Benjamin. We used him to do our dirty work. It is because of us that he is
dead." He turned and looked at Gabriel. "I need your forgiveness. I need to sleep."
Gabriel looked into his eyes for a moment, then nodded slowly. The Pope raised his right hand, fingers extended, but stopped himself. He placed his palms on Gabriel's shoulders and pulled him to his breast.
Father Donati saw him out. At the Bronze Doors, he handed Gabriel an envelope. "Somehow, the Leopard managed to get into the papal study before he killed Cardinal Brindisi. He left this on the Pope's desk. I thought you might like to see it."
Then he shook Gabriel's hand and disappeared into the palace once more. Gabriel crossed the deserted expanse of St. Peter's Square as the bells of the Basilica tolled nine o'clock. An Office car was waiting near St. Anne's Gate. There was still time to catch the night train for Venice.
He opened the envelope. The short, handwritten note was a photocopy. The nine-millimeter bullet was not.
This could have been yours, Holiness.
Gabriel crushed the note into a tight ball. A moment later, crossing the Tiber, he tossed it into the black water. The bullet he slipped into his jacket pocket.
GRINDELWALD, SWITZERLAND
Five months later the snows had come EARLY. overnight, a November gale had swept over the spires of the Eiger and the Jungfrau and left a half-meter of downy powder on the slopes below Kleine Scheidegg. Eric Lange pushed himself clear of the chairlift, the last of the day, and floated gracefully down the slope through the lengthening shadows of late afternoon.
At the bottom of the slope, he turned off the trail and entered a stand of pine. The sun had slipped behind the massif, and the grove was deep in shadow. Lange navigated by memory, picking his way effortlessly between the trees.
His chalet appeared, perched at the edge of the wood, staring out over the valley toward Grindelwald. He skied to the back entrance, removed his gloves, and punched the security code into the keypad located next to the door.
He heard a sound. Footfalls on new snow. He turned and saw a man walking toward him. Dark-blue anorak, short hair, gray at the temples. Sunglasses. Lange ripped open his ski jacket and reached inside for his Stechkin. It was too late. The man in the blue anorak already had a Beretta aimed at Lange's chest, and he was walking faster now.
The Israeli. . . Lange was sure of it. He knew the way they were trained to kill. Advance on the target while shooting. Keep shooting until the target is dead.