"It is my duty," Yves Saulnier said in a hard voice, "to protest in the strongest possible terms what can only be considered a slander on the part of the Church."
Monsignor Gaus looked straight at Saulnier and paused a long time before responding, as if he too had fallen asleep, like his lawyer.
"You may not know," he said when he woke up, "but it is not slanderous. It's an accusation based on evidence."
"We're prepared to take this to court," said the Vatican lawyer, emerging from sleep, "as far as we have to go." And he returned to his Nirvana-like state.
"Where is this evidence?"
"If Mr. Pierre Grossman doesn't want to settle, the evidence will go to court."
Saulnier leapt from his seat, indignant.
"You're bluffing!"
Monsignor Gaus stood up, imitating the other's outburst.
"Fine, we'll take it to court." Coldly, "Gentlemen…"
"1'm not authorized to…" On his feet, Saulnier wanted more time. "1 need proof that you're not lying to me."
Monsignor Gaus thought for a few seconds. He picked up a piece of paper and wrote a few words on it with his fountain pen. He blew lightly on the paper, folded it and handed it to the person next to him. The paper went from hand to hand, carefully folded, until it got to Saulnier. He sat down, unfolded the paper, read it and looked down the table, perplexed. Monsignor Gaus was amused by his expression. He answered the question that Saulnier hadn't yet asked.
"Monsieur Piere Grossman will understand it."
"1 should…," said Saulnier, looking from side to side.
Monsignor Gaus lifted his anointed hands in a very liturgical gesture that meant, Go right ahead, feel free. He pressed a button and immediately an attendant came in to usher Saulnier and his two lawyers through a side door that led to a discreet office. The two monsignors and the laconic lawyer were silent, motionless, prepared to wait. All of a sudden, Monsignor Gaus pointed to the telephone.
"1 want to hear the conversation with Grossman."
They're not that stupid," answered Monsignor Walzer. "They'll use their cell phones."
"Maybe not." Authoritarian: "Let's see."
Monsignor Walzer got up somewhat unwillingly and went to the telephone. He pressed a button and said in a low, cautious voice, "See if you can connect me with the outside office. Just to listen."
In a few seconds he hung up and turned to his superior without trying to hide his satisfaction.
"They're not using the Vatican phones."
"Grossman won't agree to anything by phone," said Lambertini, opening his eyes and looking at one of the empty chairs. "He'll only say yes or no.
"He'll say yes," said Monsignor Gaus.
Walzer couldn't keep from saying, "What did you write on that paper?"
Monsignor smiled and acted as if he hadn't noticed his subordinate's impertinence. To get out of an uncomfortable situation, Walzer went on the attack.
"It seems that you'd rather negotiate with criminals than turn them in."
"It seems that it's not a good idea to have enemies."
Neither of them saw the lawyer, who seemed to be in a world of his own, assent with an imperceptible nod of his head.
"Negotiating with thieves is stealing," insisted Walzer.
"Monsignor Walzer…" Now Gaus looked him in the eye as coldly as he could. "Enough of that tone, we're not children."
The impassive lawyer made a minimal gesture that meant he'd liked the response. Walzer, in contrast, was motionless, his mouth open in surprise. He continued in the same tone.
"If you've found some weak spot, whatever it is, now is the time to destroy them. As you did with Umberto de Luca."
"Umberto wasn't an enemy."
"But you ruined him."
"To avoid a major scandal."
Lambertini had nodded off again. Monsignor Walzer raised a finger in vindication.
"Fine, l agree. But these people are enemies."
"If you crowd your prey, you'll get hurt when they try to run."
"How can you let criminals go free?" And as if he couldn't think of a better argument: "Render unto Caesar that which is Caesar's and unto God…"
"Monsignor," Monsignor Gaus cut him off, curt, harsh, fed up, "if you want to learn how to negotiate when there are millions at stake, keep your mouth shut and your morality up your ass."
Bright red, Monsignor Walzer opened his briefcase and started to rummage around in it as if searching for his lost principles.
After six minutes of leaden silence, the three negotiators came back into the room. Saulnier, struggling to seem relaxed, sat down and said, "All right. Monsieur Grossman agrees to negotiate."
"So now you call yourself Yves Saulnier."
"And you, Monsignor."
"Don't forget that I'm a bishop."
"I don't control this thing. 1 swear by your holy balls that I'm not in charge here."
"1'm sorry, but I have to do my duty."
"I would have killed you"
"What kind of mess have you gotten yourself into, Monsieur Saulnier?"
They stopped talking because the waiter was taking away their plates after having looked first at one of them and then at the other.
"What do zero, one, two and three mean?"
"If you think I'm going to explain that to you now, you're crazy."
"How do you expect me to… 1 heve no power to negotiate if 1 don't know the reason why Grossman…"
"The only thing you have to negotiate with me is how you're going to give the stolen paintings back to the Church."
Saulnier smiled at the waiter who was serving hake and potatoes, which looked excellent. When he'd gone away, Saulnier leaned over his plate and said quietly, "If I'm the one to blame for coming out on the losing end of these conversations, 1 could be killed."
Silence. The hake was getting cold. Hake with spring garlic and perfect tiny potatoes that smelled delicious. Now they didn't look at one another. A lot of time's gone by, there's a lot of distance between us, and you're in a business where you have to risk your neck.
Yves Saulnier gestured to the monsignor to begin. He set a good example by starting to eat, as if he hadn't just said, 1 could be killed. But the monsignor had lost his appetite. He put down his silverware and looked at the other man.
"You're going to lose. But I'm sure you'll land on your feet."
"What does zero, one, two, three mean?"
"1 can't tell you."
"That's shit. You can tell me everything."
"We're playing on opposite teams. How is it that of the twentysix paintings in the traveling show, the thieves took only the three that the Church had in storage in Oslo?"
"That's obvious. They were far and away the most valuable."
The monsignor took a bite of fish and chewed it unenthusiastically.
"Would they really kill you?"
"We can help each other. What does zero, one, two, three mean?"
"You want Grossman by the balls, don't you?"
Saulnier smiled, his fork in the air. He went back to eating. Monsignor Gaus made sure there was no waiter hanging around and took an envelope out of the pocket of his jacket. He put it in front of Saulnier, who wiped his lips with his napkin, put it on the table, and extended his fingers towards the envelope. He opened it and took out some photos. Four photos. When he realized what they showed, he quickly put them back in the envelope so that no wandering eye could see what it shouldn't see. it seemed to Monsignor Gaus that Saulnier had turned a little pale. Saulnier put the envelope in his pocket. He let a few seconds go by. Obviously, he was impressed by what he'd seen. A thousand centuries later, tapping his pocket, he said, "How do you know? How do you know that's him?"