‘Better not to go there.’
‘I agree.’
We all live in glass houses.
‘When did you stop suspecting them?’ Rafael returned to the subject.
‘When the girls disappeared in 1983.’
‘Emanuela and Mirella? Is that who we’re talking about?’ Rafael asked. There couldn’t be mistakes.
‘Affirmative.’
The wrinkled one, who a little while ago carried an AK-47, came into the room with a tray filled with four cups and a teapot, a sign the meeting was friendly… or not.
‘Who are those girls?’
The two men looked at Sarah with condescension. She couldn’t stand not asking. She’d heard of the girls. Phelps had called them girls but didn’t know who they were…
The wrinkled one put the tray on the table and left. Ivanovsky passed the cups around and served the steaming orange tea to everyone.
‘Mirella and Emanuela were two teenagers who disappeared in Rome in 1983. They were kidnapped by the same man at Marcinkus’s orders.’
‘Why?’ Sarah couldn’t believe it.
Phelps picked up his cup to drink the tea, but Rafael, without taking his eyes off Ivanovsky, placed his hand over Phelps’s cup.
‘The Vatican received three calls from a man who identified himself as “The American” and demanded the immediate release of the Turk in exchange for Emanuela’s liberty.’
‘And the Vatican didn’t give in?’ Sarah joined the conversation definitively.
‘The Vatican couldn’t do anything. The Turk was in Italian custody,’ the barber explained while sipping a little of his tea. ‘But that’s when we realized the attack could have been an inside job. That and other things we discovered later.’
Rafael lifted his hand from Phelps’s cup, permitting him to drink.
‘And he killed them?’ she asked.
The Russian looked uncomfortably at Rafael, a request for help the other understood.
‘They were already dead before the call,’ Rafael finally said.
‘How is that possible? Weren’t they the price of exchange for the freedom of the Turk?’
A new, heavy silence.
‘Let’s say they served other purposes and let’s not talk about it again,’ Rafael concluded peremptorily. He changed the subject. ‘Let’s talk about now. What was your man doing in London?’
‘Which man?’ the other asked evasively.
‘Grigori Nikolaievitch Nestov.’
Ivanovsky squirmed in his chair, disguising his unease.
‘I don’t understand,’ he stammered.
‘We’re past that phase, Ivanovsky,’ Rafael scolded him without altering his tone.
He took his first sip of tea, showing confidence. Every gesture counted. He let the silence spread through the room as the hot liquid went down his throat.
‘Grigori Nikolaievitch Nestov,’ Rafael repeated.
‘He was a good man. And a good friend,’ Ivanovsky confessed at last, his eyes looking into space and his memory providing vivid images of the dead man. ‘Tell me, have you heard of Abu Rashid?’
‘The name’s not unfamiliar.’
‘Who’s he?’ Phelps asked, wrapped up in everything being said.
‘Abu Rashid is a Muslim who lives in Jerusalem and sees the Virgin Mary.’
‘What?’ Phelps was scandalized.
‘It’s true,’ Ivanovsky confirmed.
‘Nonsense. I’ve never heard of such a thing,’ Phelps insisted.
‘It’s more common than you might think. Perhaps your friend from the Vatican can confirm it.’ The barber pointed an accusing finger at Rafael.
Rafael nodded.
Phelps and Sarah were shocked.
‘It can’t be.’
‘There are countless stories of similar things. But as fast as they appear, they disappear.’
‘What do you mean by that?’ Phelps asked.
‘Every time a case is identified, the subject disappears. We can go back more than three hundred years and the result is always the same,’ the barber said. ‘The same thing happened with this one.’
‘And what does Nestov have to do with Abu Rashid?’ Rafael wanted to know.
‘Nestov went to see Abu Rashid,’ the Russian barber explained, ‘in Jerusalem. We needed to confirm the veracity of the visions.’
‘And were they real?’ Sarah and Phelps asked, avid with curiosity.
‘We think so.’
‘You think so? You’re not certain?’ Sarah’s professional side awakened. Wrap up the interview.
‘We never saw each other after he went to Israel. We spoke on the phone. We know he met Abu Rashid and was disturbed by him.’
‘In what way?’ Another question from Sarah.
Ivanovsky ignored her and continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted.
‘He spoke about the visions. About London. A woman in London.’
Sarah swallowed saliva. She had to put her hands on the table to stop a slight trembling.
‘What woman was that?’ Rafael inquired. He didn’t want to lose momentum.
‘The name he gave was Sarah Monteiro,’ he revealed under pressure. It was an uncomfortable subject for the barber.
‘And what did that woman have?’ Rafael pursued.
‘He said she was keeping a secret that would answer our questions.’
Ivanovsky lowered his eyes, thinking about that moment.
They talked as if Sarah weren’t there.
‘And what are your questions?’
Ivanovsky turned around in his seat. ‘The main question is how did we get to this situation? Who were our enemies, and what part did they play in the whole disaster?’
‘The answer is yourselves,’ Rafael answered provocatively. ‘You can’t blame your enemies for your own faults.’
‘We had our faults, sure. Serious ones. More than anyone could imagine, but our enemies played the main role in the fall of our regime. And your pope was in it up to his eyeballs.’
‘Which one?’
‘The pope at that time. He didn’t care whether communism lasted, as long as national socialism was avenged.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Rafael protested. ‘Benedict the Sixteenth loved Hitler’s policies like a rat loves laboratory experiments.’
‘I have my doubts.’
‘I have my doubts about this democracy you’re living in today,’ Rafael answered.
‘Don’t we all. But, do you know what I say?’ The question was rhetorical. He didn’t wait for a reply. He answered his own question right away. ‘We’ve adopted the following phase of democracy. That of hidden totalitarianism. An illusory democracy that doesn’t even exist. It just seems to.’
‘I don’t question that. That’s obviously the road you’re taking. Don’t forget I know no other regime than a totalitarian one.’
‘Ah, yes. How could I forget. The clergy is stuck in the Middle Ages. It suits you.’
‘Putin is no daisy, either.’
‘I have no comment. He’s my president.’
‘Did Abu Rashid say anything else?’
It was better to avoid provocations. Let’s not get off track.
‘He said the temptation was great, but Nestov shouldn’t go to London under any pretext. He would not return-’
‘-alive.’ Sarah completed his sentence, astonished.
Ivanovsky shut his eyes.
‘Rafael knows we’re pragmatic men.’
‘Of course.’
‘Rationalizations. If we have a clue, we don’t think twice. Besides, it wasn’t really a threat, more a suggestion.’
‘What is certain is that Rashid was right. We don’t know if it was coincidence or certainty.’
Silence settled over the room as an homage to Nestov’s soul and respect for the Muslim’s prophetic gift.
‘I don’t believe the prophet was referring to the secret that marked the end of the communist regime,’ Rafael declared after a little.
‘No?’ The Russian was amazed.
‘No.’
‘What are we talking about then?’
‘Of the total rehabilitation of the old Soviet Union in relation to planning and executing the attempted assassination in 1981,’ the Italian recited.
‘We know what we did and didn’t do.’
‘But the world doesn’t. Seventy percent of Catholics believe that you, the Bulgarians, Poles, and East Germans were responsible for the failed attempt. And the Italian Mitrokhin commission didn’t help.’