“Very dramatic introduction, Dr. Hiccock. Before you proceed, may I have some water?”
“Sure.” Bill got up, brought the tray with the pitcher and glasses over to the table before them, and poured a glass for the man. “Here you go.”
“Merci beaucoup. Sorry I interrupted you; go on.”
“Yes. Well, the president would like you to convey to the Pope that the sovereignty of the United States will not be compromised by religious zealots and, in the last analysis, downright spies. The Vatican must immediately cease and disband the espionage network through which sensitive U.S. government intelligence is channeled to sects, who then perpetrate atrocities like the assassination of Professor Landau.”
“With all due respect, Professor, nothing of the sort has been orchestrated by the Vatican, and frankly, I take deep umbrage at your allegation…No! Your condemnation, of the Papacy.”
“Bishop, I assure you, we do not make these accusations without overwhelming proof, physical evidence of which is being amassed at this very moment for world exhibition if you fail to comply with the president’s wishes.”
“Threatening blackmail in the court of public opinion will not serve your end.”
“Not the public court sir, but the Supreme Court of the United States, as a prelude to declaring that surveillance of all Catholic churches and other property be considered as necessary to answer a clear and present danger to the United States.”
“That’s preposterous. American Catholics will not stand for such draconian measures. He will isolate himself and be more of a lame duck than he is already.”
“There’s more. Every church lease, every retreat, every Catholic university, rectory, and neighborhood bazaar will go right to the top of the IRS audit list. And the Justice Department will sweep through every Catholic archdiocese and very publicly arrest every priest who ever smiled at a kid sideways. Very public! When they’re finished, American Catholics will be converting to Protestantism — hell, Judaism, before the next Sunday.”
“This is madness, separation of church and state…”
“Don’t go there; the separation tradition does not serve as immediate immunity against all crimes or suspicion of illegality. A priest who commits a hit and run with his car is not covered under separation. He is, and will be tried as, a criminal. It’s the same for espionage — worse, because your guys really pissed off the president. Off the record?”
“Yes.”
“He wants whoever your spy is in the White House executed! His counsel has, of course, objected, but then the old man pushed for and got a mandatory life sentence without possibility of parole for the Vatican mole. Back on the record.”
“Doctor, your accusations and the measures you are proposing, are tantamount to a declaration of war. I am afraid I cannot take your word that such a drastic message is truly that of the president and not just your own prejudice as a disenchanted Catholic — a man of science as well.”
“I told him you’d say that, and the problem is, if he made this any more official, there would have to be a record of your crimes against America as well as his radical response. So in the interest of giving you and the Pope a way out, he has kept this only between himself and me. But I told him you wouldn’t believe me alone, so we came up with this idea.”
Bill got up, went to his desk and opened a locked drawer. He returned with a hammer and an iPhone. The old priest watched with curious intent as Bill placed the hammer on the table next to the water tray and moved the pitcher and glasses off the tray.
He touched and slid his finger over the iPhone and held it up for the bishop to see and hear. On the screen was a video of the President of the United States in the Oval Office. The picture was unsteady as it was being held by hand across the president’s desk. The bishop watched as the president’s eyes looked up and asked, “Is it going, Bill?”
Bill’s voice was heard, “Recording, sir.”
In the video, the president crossed his hands on the desk, nodded his head, and spoke. “Your Eminence, I have asked Dr. Hiccock to record this message to you because I know what he just told you is hard to imagine; but as God is my witness, this abomination of my country’s security and the personal oath and unquestioned loyalty I demand from my immediate staff will not stand.”
He pounded the desk as he spoke. “God damn it, I will not have the security of my government eroded by religious subtext. If the Vatican does not destroy this network, I will use everything in my power to put the entire Catholic Church in America on the same status as mosques and radical Muslim groups who enjoy such special attention by the Justice and Treasury departments, which, I may remind you, I run! Make no mistake, Cardinal, don’t fuck this up!”
The president then looked up to Bill, behind the camera, and said, “That’s all Bill, make sure he sees this,” and the video went off.
Bill saw the color drain from the man of God’s face; no one had ever spoken to him, much less the Pope, that way. Then Bill broke the stunned silence by saying, “Bishop, it was just the president and me in the room, and the Oval Office recording system was turned off. I made no copy and I recorded it right on this phone, which is, thankfully, not mine.” Bill then smashed the phone with repeated blows of the hammer until it was cracked and splintered on the water tray. All the man could do was stare at the carnage of the phone as the weight of the diplomatic dilemma that had fallen on his shoulders became apparent. Bill held up the hammer and admired it. “Plausible deniability, I think you diplomats call it.”
Then Bill just couldn’t resist, “When can I report to the President of the United States that we have hammered out a deal?”
On the flight over, Brooke reviewed the CIA world book information on Switzerland and found that the Federal Office of Police, or FedPol, as the Swiss called it, coordinated international operations for the twenty-six quasi-independent cantons of police organizations across the Alpine country, so that was their starting point. Brooke met Joey at their headquarters in Geneva. First order of business was a big hug.
“Brooke, glad to have you back, even if only for a little while.”
“I found my life in a holding pattern and your call was timed perfectly.”
“Nice work, really, back in New York,” Joey said as they released each other.
“Before I knew it, I was facing the perpetrator. I didn’t stop to think; I just wound up there.”
“Instinct. It’s hard to suppress. Gee, I guess Mush doesn’t know about it, huh?”
“I don’t see how he could.”
“You going to tell him about the free ring?” Joey asked, pointing his right index finger to the third finger of his left hand.
“If I don’t, somebody will, but call me crazy, I think he’s the kind of guy who would want to pay for the ring himself. Listen to me, will ya! I mean we haven’t even discussed marriage and here I am jumping to conclusions like a school girl in the lunchroom.”
“Brooke, love makes teenagers out of all of us!”
Brooke just smiled. He was right; she shouldn’t fight it. Risk had always been part of her job. To fall in love and risk that it might not turn out the way she wanted shouldn’t be more terrifying than facing bad guys and guns, but it was. “Thanks Joey. How’s Phyl?”
“Hates me being here, so the sooner we get going, the sooner I can get home.” He escorted her to a conference room.
Parnell was already there with Captain William Lustig, FedPol director. Joey made the introductions and then everybody sat down. Lustig started speaking in accented but flawless English. “Here are the records, cross-indexed to the leads Mr. Sicard was investigating. I have widened the time window on the search to twenty-four hours prior to and after the day Mr. Sicard was to arrive here from France. Each of these twenty-six folders contains the two-day crime reports from each of the cantons translated into English. I suggest that we focus on the cantons of Geneva and the surrounding area first, then increase the scope if we find nothing.”