“No. In the Guard.”
“In the Guard? Holy shit. Any idea who it could be?”
The old man nodded, “He has revealed his identity.”
“Who is it?” the assistant asked anxiously. “I’ll kill him with my bare hands. And first I’ll make sure he knows why I’m sending him to hell.”
“Jack,” the old man answered coldly.
“Jack? Jack who?”
“Jack Payne,” the Master added, and kept silent for a few moments, letting the assistant absorb the information.
“And who is he, really?”
“I’ve ordered an investigation, but it won’t go anywhere. His true identity must be well covered up.”
“It must be. Or else we’d already have discovered him.”
The old man sighed again.
“This is unexpected, but we have to act fast.”
The assistant got up, still recovering from the shocking news. He felt it was time to make coolheaded decisions.
“Anyway, we should first focus on eliminating the target, as planned. How’s that going?”
“You don’t really understand. She’s with him. If we get one, we’ll get the other one, too,” the old man said, standing up.
“Do you think this calls for a trip to London?”
“I don’t think that’s necessary. Let’s stay close to the plan but on maximum alert. An infiltrator might bring surprises. Sooner or later, the CIA will catch them.”
“That may take some time.”
“Anyway, a trip to London will only put more pressure on Barnes and make him nervous.”
“What do you suggest, then?”
“Get the plane ready for the trip we planned. We’re going to let Barnes do his job. Don’t worry, they’ll be caught. No one can live without leaving some clues.”
“Especially in London. But let’s not forget she’s with someone who knows how to evade us.”
“Yes, I know. But if you know Jack as well as I do, you’ll know that even if he’s switched sides, he’s not the kind of man to avoid a fight. I don’t think he’d want to become a fugitive for life.”
“I’ll give orders to the crew.”
As his protégé was leaving the room, the sound of an incoming fax started. The machine swallowed a white sheet, spitting it out the other end, with a text and a photo. The old man took it and looked at the image of Jack Payne, the same man who called himself Rafael. At the bottom of the sheet, a phrase in all capitals appeared.
NO DATA AVAILABLE
Clenching his fist, the old man crumpled the paper, but after a moment his initial anger returned.
“You won’t get away, Jack,” he promised. Leaning on the cane that supported his bad leg, he got up and left the room. There were other things to take care of. He looked again at the crumpled piece of paper and, before throwing it away, muttered: “She’ll bring you back to me.”
22
The British Museum, custodian of great and important pieces of human history and world cultures, loomed imposingly in front of them. It housed more than seven million artifacts that witnessed the passing of the human race over the face of the earth.
The Jaguar quietly parked in front of the enormous building on Great Russell Street. Rafael and Sarah headed for the tall wrought-iron gate, crowned with golden arrows. The man went up to a small door next to the big gate. There was a guard and a sentry box.
“Good evening,” Rafael greeted him.
“Good evening,” the guard answered, chewing gum.
“I’d like to speak with Professor Joseph Margulies, please.”
“Professor Joseph Margulies?” the guard repeated, curtly.
“Yes. He’s expecting us.”
“Just a moment.” The man made a phone call from the sentry box. Sarah seemed to catch his attention.
Rafael had already phoned the professor from the car to tell him he needed to see him urgently. Though the scientist was somewhat reluctant at first, he finally agreed. Since he was working day and night at the British Museum on a temporary exhibit, they could see him there.
For Sarah, the silent wait brought up painful suspicions. There was a difficult but inescapable matter to bring up.
“Tell me, how does my father fit into all of this? What’s his position in the organization?”
“He should tell you that, not I.”
The dutiful guard confirmed the appointment and let them in.
“Professor Margulies will come for you presently.”
“Much obliged.”
“This isn’t the first time you’ve come to see him, right?”
“No. But never at such an ungodly hour,” Rafael answered, feigning a shy smile. The guard had changed his initial hostility, which he probably considered his duty, to a much more open attitude.
They all walked toward the center, to the main entrance. The sides jutted out, giving the building a squared U shape. Forty-five Corinthian columns adorned the facade, adding an imperial air. Several female figures supported the triangular pediment of the majestic entrance. Sarah stumbled on the steps leading to the ample landing.
“If this were a secret mission, our presence would already be revealed,” Rafael said seriously, though he couldn’t hide his amusement.
“If this were a secret mission, we wouldn’t have approached the guard, or used the main entrance.”
“You’re right.”
“And the pope, Albino Luciani, what part does he play in all this?”
“He’s the catalyst.”
“Catalyst? What do you mean?”
“That list you received was in his hands the night of his death. It was sent to him by an important member of the P2, a lawyer and journalist named Carmine Pecorelli.
“Pecorelli published a weekly bulletin, kind of a muckraker rag that exposed all sorts of scandals. The network of favors and allegiances was so complex,” Rafael added, “that a publication of this kind, his Osservatorio Politico, was in fact financed by a former prime minister, a close friend of Licio Gelli, the one who really promoted the P2 during the sixties and seventies.
“The Grand Master was a real chameleon, a manipulator who wasn’t exactly known for his principles. He’d support the extreme Right or the extreme Left, whichever best served his interests. People said he had connections with all the political parties, according to his convenience and the situation of the moment. For example, in theory, the P2 Lodge was supposed to combat all the initiatives of the Left, and yet Gelli contributed to the founding of a terrorist group, called the Red Brigades.”
“Okay. But then why did this Pecorelli send the list to the pope?” Sarah didn’t quite understand all this juggling of names, time spans, and obscure interests.
“You’re not going to believe this,” Rafael replied, “but it was to make money. It was his way of blackmailing Gelli.
“It was all about ambition and greed. In principle, the Osservatorio Politico served Gelli’s interests, but at some point Pecorelli realized that his own boss could be blackmailed. Gelli didn’t realize that Pecorelli was a man who, if he could, would serve only his own interests. And he knew a lot of potentially harmful facts about Gelli, particularly involving financial scandals. Finally, Pecorelli published a partial list of the members of the P2, but he probably had another list, even more dangerous and compromising.”
As far as Rafael knew, that ominous list was formerly in the hands of Paul VI and, if it didn’t cause a huge problem then, it was only because the pontiff was very sick and surely lacked stamina to attack the disease that had thoroughly contaminated the very core of the Holy See.
When John Paul I came to occupy Saint Peter’s throne, at some point he had the list of the P2 in his office. He made the appropriate inquiries to verify the information, and it seemed he was ready to make a clean sweep. It was a well-known fact that ecclesiastical offices were incompatible with membership in secret societies alien to the Church, and especially organizations connected with Masonry. When they found Albino Luciani, he was already dead and he had the list of the P2 in his hands.