"Do we know what Leanne Corbin was talking about with this man and woman?"
"I doubt if we even know their names. We wouldn't normally follow this one up. Want me to find out more?"
"See if you can find out what the Internet search was about." But Kappa found his mind turning to the imminent surgery. Steve Michener was famous. He was also wealthy.
Maxwell looked up quickly. "A man and a woman came to the main gate earlier this morning. They wanted a brochure on the clinic. They had an old English Mini. You know, a little sedan. As far as I know they went away when we told them to write."
"As far as you know?" Kappa broke off his mental preparation for the delicate surgery. As Senior Consultant he expected to be kept informed of everything suspicious. "I'm paranoid about my staff getting involved with journalists. There are times when you disappoint me, Maxwell; I want you to know that."
"Sure thing, Jim." Maxwell Wilcox nodded thoughtfully.
Kappa frowned. "The last thing we need is a member of staff who can't keep her mouth shut."
*
ARCHBISHOP VALDIERI looked up from the final draft of the schedule for the urgent relocation of the Pontiff. The Vatican buildings seemed unusually quiet.
The plan in front of him was so confidential that he could not even consult with the heads of other departments. Reporters were always watching the movements of Vatican personnel, and already there was speculation in the press concerning the Holy Father's health.
The Holy Father could hardly leave Rome with no one knowing, which was why the media had to be given a convincing but misleading reason. So far no one had been able to think of one persuasive enough.
The dry air in the Vatican made his eyes run. Valdieri blew his nose with a strong paper tissue. The papacy could be on its way back to Avignon; but this time, God willing, only for a matter of weeks, not a century.
He smiled as he considered the opportunity that lay ahead. With the French national security forces, the GIGN, guarding the site, he'd end up at Kappa's clinic with time on his hands. He had long suspected that there was another secret at Tourvillon. This was his opportunity to gain glory. He signed the final document. The visit was going ahead. Now all he needed was a cover story to account for the Holy Father's visit.
*
THE MOTHER superior leaned forward, conscious that her performance might be perceived as a rather forced act of servitude.
"You must try and be at peace, Sister Angela." She wiped the salty drops from the elderly Sister's cheek with the corner of a spotless hanky, while stooping so as not to appear overbearing. The reddened rims to the small eyes indicated that Sister Angela had been crying for some time.
"It used to be so lovely here, Reverend Mother."
The Mother Superior shook her head. Could she really offer comfort? How did the Sisters see her? As imperious? She believed that some said so. She took comfort that her thin face and gently hooked nose gave the essential look of inbred authority, while her pale olive skin surely toned down the severity of her face. Some of the Sisters whispered that she was of noble Italian birth but they never asked her outright about her background. Perhaps they knew. Did it matter? Many noteworthy people came from misbegotten sexual relationships.
"Nurse Leanne Corbin is coming here to see you again, Sister."
The elderly Sister's eyes gleamed, the beads of the rosary temporarily neglected. "Oh, I am so pleased." In the stance of a little child, Sister Angela clutched her hands to her chest. "When is she coming, Reverend Mother?"
"Soon, Sister. She is helping on an exceptionally complicated operation. We must continue to pray for the patient's healing. But as soon as Dr. Kappa has finished he will allow Nurse Leanne to come across." She stood erect now. It was the only way to make the point. "I was helping in the clinic office yesterday. Dr. Kappa told me you were seen walking around the clinic again, Sister Angela. Please remember that times are difficult for all of us." She nodded towards the door. "I had so hoped we could dispense with the lock."
Sister Angela ignored the reprimand. "Did Nurse Leanne ask to see me?"
"I believe she enjoys your company, Sister. You must endeavor to stay strong in the spirit, my child. Pray to the Lord Jesus constantly. One day we will all meet with Him, for good or bad."
The thought of Heaven seemed to bring peace to the frail figure. "It is a blessed thought, Reverend Mother, for I know for certain that Jesus is my Savior."
The Mother Superior nodded in agreement as she pulled gently at the Sister's large wimple of white linen to straighten it. "You must never neglect the appearance of your habit, Sister Angela."
"No, Reverend Mother."
"Care in the wearing of our Lord's apparel must not be confused with pride, Sister Angela. It is important to learn that."
The aged head nodded faintly. "Is it permitted for Nurse Leanne to walk with me in the gardens, Reverend Mother?"
The Mother Superior smiled at the innocence. "The day is warm, and we will see. You are much stronger now but you must be sure to take your medicine. Dr. Kappa is concerned for your health."
"Perhaps I have been too long in this world, Reverend Mother."
"Who is to know the answer to that, Sister Angela? It is not for us to decide when we have fulfilled our allotted span in life."
"No, Reverend Mother, that decision rests in the hands of another."
"It does indeed, Sister Angela."
Chapter Thirteen
Avignon
ON THURSDAY afternoon high clouds drifted in from the north. By evening a cool breeze gave some relief from the heat as Matt and Zoé drove back from exploring the hill villages of Provence. Zoé reminded Matt that they were still waiting for news from Ken about K7.
Matt drew into a parking space in the center of town and pulled the handbrake on hard. "Do you remember how Leanne Corbin asked us about Russian icons? Let's find an Internet café and do a search for her. Then I'll phone Ken."
"Ask him to send us some bugs."
"Just because Leanne asked about bugs, don't get thinking I'm breaking in." Matt checked that the gear stick was in first. The Mini tended to roll back rather easily when parked facing uphill, even on a gentle slope like this. "I think we should forget about the clinic."
"And forget about Leanne Corbin?"
Matt sighed. "I'll get some bugs sent over, but I'm not using them."
"We will see."
There were at least two cyber cafés in town, and no way of knowing which one Leanne had used. Not that it mattered, they were only after information on the Internet. Matt paid for half an hour online and typed Russia and icon into a search engine. The first site gave a series of full color pictures with details of famous icons ranging in height from a few inches to well over four feet. So Leanne was right. They continued their search, reading the details from each hit.
Matt sat back and rested his fingers. "There doesn't seem to have been much love lost between Catholics and Orthodox Christians over their icons."
"All icons look the same to me," said Zoé.
"And me." Matt tapped the screen. "According to this, a couple of hundred years ago an Orthodox Christian caught with a Catholic icon would have been in big trouble."
"They did not like each other, I think."
Matt leaned forward. "I'm not surprised. It says here that the Fourth Crusade took a left turn on its way to Jerusalem in 1204, smashed up Constantinople, and more or less put an end to the Byzantine Empire."
"Pourquoi?"
"The Catholics thought the Orthodox Christians were softies who read books and took baths."
"That is all?"
"Isn't it enough?"
"There was also a big religious disagreement, I think."
"You're right. The Christians in the East wouldn't acknowledge the pope as the head of their Church. The Eastern and Western Church started to split in..." Matt checked the date again. "In the fourth century. They finally broke apart in the eleventh."
"Ah.
"
"What does that mean?"
"It means ... it is sad. They should all be on the same side."
"Perhaps they are now."
"Ah," repeated Zoé shaking her head.
"Anyway," Matt continued to read, "the Byzantine artists fled north and developed a new style of icon painting in Russia."
"Even though they all look the same," repeated Zoé.
"They do to us. That's because we're not experts. Well, that's enough culture for me. No point in overloading my brain." Matt clicked on the History button, found his Internet search sites and deleted all entries, including the previous user's interest in edible fungi. "I'd feel happier if Leanne had taken the same precautions." He logged off and pushed his chair back noisily.
Zoé looked around the small café. Two young men shared a computer, but otherwise the place was empty.
They walked through to the Place des Papes, the vast square with the Papal Palace on one side, and stores and restaurants on the other.
"So now we know all about Russian icons," said Zoé.
"Enough to know that they're incredibly valuable. Let's hope Leanne Corbin tells us more about her worries when we meet again on Sunday."
Zoé pointed to the huge Palace. "I think it looks like concrete. Are you sure it is old?"
"You're a peasant," said Matt in disgust. "I've been reading the guidebook. The Palace des Papes was the center of the papacy in mediaeval times. The papacy moved out of the Vatican because Italy was too dangerous. When it was safe to return, the pope here didn't want to go back. So the Church had to elect another one in Rome. They ended up with two popes at the same time for the next hundred years. Popes and anti-popes. It got very confusing."
"Me, I am confused also."
Matt shrugged. "It's hard to believe they tortured people in that place."
"Yes, that I think is what I am afraid of. Forget it, Matt. Please get in touch with Ken and ask what he has found about K7."
"What makes you think he's going to come up with anything sensible? You say Ken's always jumping to the wrong conclusions."
Zoé laughed. "Like when my highlights came out all blond by mistake?"
"And then Ken saw us out together and refused to speak to me for a couple of days. He thought I was seeing another woman on the side." He took hold of Zoé's arm as they stood in the doorway of a souvenir store and let a group of elderly tourists go past. "Ken's very prim and proper in a way, although you wouldn't think it to hear him talking. He was embarrassed by my old Triumph sports car when I started working for him. He thought the long bonnet was a phallic symbol."
Zoé laughed and hit Matt on the back. "You are serious? Un symbole phallique?"
Matt realized that several of the old people were now looking at Zoé in amusement. "He may not pay me much, but Ken's looked after me since I left the police."
"He reminds me of my Uncle René. But I do not like it when Ken gives you all the worst jobs."
Matt looked at his watch. "He'll still be at the office. He always stays late when I'm away."
"It is probably more peaceful when you are not there."
Matt shook his head. "He probably can't cope without me. There's a phone box." He pushed the folding doors open, inserted his French phone card and dialed Habgood Securities.
Ken answered immediately. "I've been waiting for you to ring, kiddo. I've found the newspaper and made a photocopy of the article you want. K7 are an extremely wealthy fraternity."
"Like your Freemasons?"
There was a pause. "My Freemasons? I can't comment there."
Matt signaled to Zoé to come inside the cubicle. He pointed to her purse and asked for a pen, but she shook her head as she rummaged through the contents.
"Mon stylo is in the car, Matt."
Ken's voice interrupted the conversation. "It's a couple of A4 pages."
"Can you fax it to the bar we used at the beginning of the week? Their number should be on the top of the fax I sent you. Got it? You'll need to add the International code for France."
Zoé squeezed his arm. "Les micros," she whispered urgently.
Matt nodded. "You still there, Ken? I'm going to give you our holiday address. I'd like a few tricks sent over. I think Zoé's becoming hooked on our trade." He smiled reassuringly at Zoé. "A telephone probe and a couple of low power transmitters. Nothing too expensive. Zoé wants to see them in action."
"You're up to something, kiddo." Ken's voice rose in pitch. "You're not going to use them at the clinic?"
Matt winked at Zoé. "Would it help if I said I'm not going to do it, I'm only messing around?"
"As the young man said to the fair maiden. I wish I could believe you. Look, Matt, K7 are big, and you're always rushing into trouble. Wait till you see what's on the fax. I suggest you get round there now and take the pages from the machine yourself."
Matt pulled a face. "You're over-reacting, Ken, but Zoé's good at bribing waiters."
"I'm switching my fax identity off. I don't want anything traced back here. Mustn't upset the apple cart. I might be invited to join K7 one day. And watch where you leave those bugs. If you're messing with the big boys you could be playing with fire."
"It's my holiday, Ken."
"By the way, I've had your bill for the rear window of my BMW."
"I expect it cost more than your car's worth. Stick it on the fax too." Matt put the phone down and retrieved his télécarte from the slot. "Good old Ken Habgood."
"What did he say?"
"He wants me to pay for his rear window. But I think it's only his idea of a joke."
"No, he was warning you about something."
"He was just being silly. I expect he's upset because K7 haven't invited him to join."
"You said you are only messing around."
"Look, I thought I'd made it clear that I'm not breaking into the clinic. There's a fax coming through to the bar, and Ken seems to think it contains things K7 would kill for. You can entertain your waiter friend again. Ken says I have to stand by the machine to snatch the pages the moment they drop out."
Zoé gave him a hug, pecking his cheek with a kiss. "Entertain my waiter? Now that is an offer impossible to refuse. You PIs lead a life so exciting. I did not realize espionage could be so much fun."
Chapter Fourteen
The Vatican
THE TWO cardinals stopped to talk on the corner below Archbishop Valdieri's apartments, across the cobbles from the Sistine Chapel. Pietro Uffizi realized Carlo Presti was holding something behind his back, but Presti's flowing black cassock trimmed with crimson protected it from his curious gaze. The suspicious stance of his colleague reminded Ufizzi of a guilty schoolboy.
"I hear the Holy Father is very poorly today," Pietro Ufizzi said as they stood in the warm light of the evening sun. At this time of the day the sun was uncommonly pleasant. "They say his condition is worsening."
Carlo Presti shrugged his broad shoulders. "I fear you are correct, Pietro. The Holy Father did not lead the prayers this morning. Perhaps it is time for the Church to make a statement on the Pontiff's health."
Ufizzi moved slightly to his left, hoping to see what was concealed behind the pompous Presti's back. "The Sisters of Maria Bambina are whispering about his fitness for current duties."
"We are all concerned, Brother Pietro." The hands came from behind the black cassock in a gesture of despair, divulging a cheap camera of gaudy green plastic. The figure in black paused for a moment, then continued with his observations as though his hands were empty. "You know he is unwilling to go into hospital. He fears adverse speculation in the press."
Cardinal Ufizzi found his eyes transfixed by the trashy toy. "Are you taking up photography, Brother Carlo?"
The eminent figure now tried to hide his embarrassment. "For my nephew. I promised to send him pictures of the Vatican where his uncle works. You may peek through the viewfinder. I bought just now it in the Via della Reconcillioni."
Pietro Ufizzi raised the
fluorescent green camera to his eye and aimed it at the sky, careful that his crimson skullcap should not be displaced. A slightly blurred picture of the front of Saint Peter's Basilica filled the viewfinder, tinted to an unnaturally deep orange.
"Push the top," said Presti, reaching forward.
Ufizzi pressed the small lever and the picture changed. "Yes, I see the interior of the Basilica. It is exceedingly clever. Perhaps I will get one for each of my nieces."
Presti guffawed. "Can you afford the expense? You have twenty nieces, I believe."
Ufizzi smiled. "Twenty-one. It was twenty last week."
Cardinal Presti lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "They say you must be careful where you buy such things, Brother Pietro." He retrieved the camera from Ufizzi. "There are stalls in the vicinity that sell salacious photographs."
Pietro Ufizzi attempted to look at his colleague in disdain, but his memory of their schooldays was too good to sustain the pretence. "Like we traded with each other at the convent school?" And he began to laugh. Presti joined in, slapping his brother cardinal on the back. "You remember then?"
The two members of the Catholic hierarchy began to laugh loudly.
*
FROM THE TALL window behind the brown shutters of his apartment, Archbishop Valdieri looked down on the two cardinals giggling like a couple of silly girls. He sighed and shook his head. Clerics had never behaved like this in New York. Novices perhaps, but not senior churchmen.
Laughter was a sorry sound with the Holy Father suffering so severely. The pains were increasing and the diagnosis looked grim. The Holy Father was resting this evening, lying in a darkened room while two of his cardinals stood outside laughing. Regrettably the clergy had not been fully briefed, which perhaps made a limited excuse for this appalling display of merriment.
Stephen Valdieri reflected on his work with the Vatican Security Services. Promotion had come quickly after his move from the States, but not through finding the Smolensk icons. They were as lost as ever, but always on his mind. One day ... Yes, one day. Every year he watched his face become increasingly lined from the responsibilities of his work. But his heavy lips would sometimes break into a singular smile, intended to alarm the guilty but comfort the innocent.
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