Silence. Thunder suddenly rumbled across the hills of the city, and the cardinal seemed startled. He rose and went to the window and closed the glass and locked the frame. The room was still for a moment, and then thunder insisted again. Cardinal Ludovico looked down at the Borgo, at the traffic, at the people hurrying along the walk to get to their destination before the rain.
“Michael was recommended to us by Central Intelligence a long time ago.”
The words were quiet. The cardinal did not turn to look at the American agent.
“Do not believe that Michael was our agent. He was a translator and interpreter. He knew the congregation was an intelligence apparatus in the church, but he was not our agent. He was our eyes and ears.”
“Until he heard too much.”
The cardinal stared at his fingers. His hands trembled on his lap.
Devereaux said, “What is the relationship of the congregation to the CIA?”
Ludovico finally looked at him. “We have no… relationship. The Central Intelligence Agency is aware of our existence only, as we are aware of theirs.”
“That isn’t true, priest,” Devereaux said. He said it as though he was not guessing this time. “You sent Michael Hampton to a naval conference in Malmö with expectations. The church has no navy. What did you expect?”
The cardinal opened his hands to show his honesty. “Intelligence is to be gotten in unlikely places at unlikely times.”
“You commissioned him. He called you seven times in five days. Someone at the conference gave him the tape, even if he might have been reluctant to have it. Someone knew he would take the train home to Stockholm. It’s a long trip across Sweden. He would listen to the tape at some point, and as soon as he knew the contents, he would know he had to get the tape to you… for his own safety. It was a very cynical plan and you were part of it.” Devereaux paused. “And it cost Michael’s life.”
The old man pressed thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose. He squeezed his eyes shut so that he would not cry for Michael. When he opened his eyes, the American was sitting still, staring at him.
“I did not wish the death of Michael.”
“It doesn’t matter what you wished. You were part of the maneuvering. But what had to come to you, what information could you use that would benefit the CIA?”
Thunder rattled the windows. It startled both men.
“I cannot remember so much rain in November,” Cardinal Ludovico said.
“Perhaps it’s the deluge,” Devereaux said.
“God promised never to flood the world again.”
“Perhaps God was joking.”
The two men stared at each other. Then Devereaux shifted in his chair and sighed. He pressed the play button, and the silence of the room was filled with the clear, concise voice of the American secretary of state, reading from a memorandum. The secret agenda of Malmö was laid before both men.
There were four points, all interconnected.
First, the Soviet Union agreed to lend to the United States the antiterror computer program called Skarda, which would insure that records kept by secret agencies would be “immune” from outside viruses, that “hackers” would not be able to imperil the ability of the United States to keep its programs and memories secret. This was in the interest of the Soviet Union because a blinded American government, stripped of memory in records, would become a dangerous American government, suspicious and impotent against world order at the same time. The Soviets wanted to deal with a strong United States.
The second part of the agreement said the United States, in return for the gift of the program called Skarda, would back down on its research into the Strategic Defense Initiative. Specifically, $200 million already targeted for missile testing research would be rescinded.
Third, the Soviet Union, in the spirit of glasnost, would enable ninety thousand Soviet Jews and other dissidents to have visas issued them in the coming calendar year.
Finally, in the same spirit of openness between the great powers, the United States agreed that continued funding of the Lithuanian dissident movement through the CIA would be halted.
Devereaux listened to the secretary’s words and watched Ludovico through it all. Only at the last point did he see the cardinal make a movement. It was involuntary. The cardinal’s right hand started to tremble. And Devereaux thought he began to understand.
He switched off the tape at the sound of the Russian voice. The Soviet foreign secretary was repeating the memorandum of agreement just read by the American secretary of state.
Silence for a long moment and then thunder again. The rumble filled the room for a moment, and then there was another dead silence.
“Hardly enough to kill a man,” Devereaux said.
Ludovico looked at Devereaux. “You do not understand, Mr. Devereaux. Lithuania is important. To the West and to the church.”
“So that’s the CIA connection,” Devereaux said.
“I don’t understand.”
“You understand everything, priest. The church was the connection to Lithuania. The conduit for the CIA funds. The funds are drying up, and in exchange, the Russians will let some of its dissidents go.”
“Networks. Agents. Dozens of networks in Vilnius, throughout Lithuania. Set up by patriots willing to risk their lives, and all of it washed away in a stroke by a secret agreement. Last year, forty-nine thousand Soviet Jews were let free. This year, ninety thousand. I am glad they will be free.… But at the cost of Lithuania’s freedom?”
“The church was funding the movement in Lithuania. With CIA monies. Is that it? Is that why CIA arranged to get the tape to you, so that you could make it public? And making it public, kill the deal. And Michael was the innocent in all this,” Devereaux said. He stood up and put the tape in his pocket.
“What are you going to do?”
“Not pray,” Devereaux said.
Ludovico shook his head. “I grieve for Michael.”
“Tears are easy at the end. You grieve for the loss of this tape. You were going to make it public, Ludovico, sabotage the agreement.”
“They have no right… to agree to disarm Lithuania, to destroy the movement for freedom.…”
Devereaux stared at him another moment. “It’s their money, Cardinal. Not yours. Not the CIA’s.”
“It is more than ending something that exists. There are lives involved, more lives than Michael’s or that girl’s. Is all this to be done for… for a computer system?”
“You were the man removed,” Devereaux said. “You could reveal the secret tape as long as the Soviets and the Americans were convinced that Michael stole it for you. Michael was set up from the first moment in Malmö. Even before Malmö, when you agreed to send him there. Who told you to send him to Malmö?”
“I sent him… for intelligence—”
“Both sides would officially believe that this was the act of a third party, the Congregation for the Protection of the Faith. But it was directed by you, Cardinal, and you got your marching orders from someone. Who was it?”
“I cannot say—”
“Someone in Central Intelligence.”
“I cannot say.”
“Who do I blame this on, Cardinal Ludovico?”
“Please.” He held up his hand. “Before you turn this tape over to the Soviets, at least you must contact your superiors. At least you must contact the CIA—”
Devereaux said, “Who do I ask for?”
“You must… contact…” The old man wiped his forehead and was surprised he was sweating. Rain drummed at the windowpanes. So much rain, it was unbelievable. The days were all full of gloom now.
“You must contact Mr. Vaughn Reuben,” the old man said.