"Not on board his helicopter. There are two machines. The second one is carrying an Italian army unit. Paris has cleared the flight, but it will not be landing. The instant the Holy Father is on the ground his security is in your hands, Major."
Louviers picked up his radio again and asked for an update. "Has Wilcox been in touch with the battery manufacturers?" He relayed the reply to the Archbishop. "Japanese batteries. The batch number is only sold on the British market." He switched to standby. "I think we can safely assume that those bugs have been in place for at least four weeks."
"Does that help?"
"It ought to. How long ago did anyone first mention the Holy Father's visit?"
"A month. Perhaps a little less. Dr. Kappa has written several letters to the Vatican. There have been visits here by Vatican staff since the Holy Father became ill, myself included. Final arrangements have only been discussed within the past few days."
"Who would know that the Holy Father is coming?"
Valdieri thought for a moment. "It is still a closely guarded secret in Rome. I cannot say what has been happening at this end."
Louviers put his finger on the transmit button. "Somehow I think you and I are going to get on fine, Your Excellency. It is just unfortunate that Monsieur Wilcox is in our way."
"A belief I share with you, Major."
Louviers winked at Valdieri as he spoke into the radio. "Captain, tell Monsieur Wilcox to get onto the battery manufacturers and find out exactly when that batch was first on the market ... Yes, I know they're Japanese, but this is a priority. Tell him I want the answer before he goes to bed." Louviers switched the radio to standby. "That should ensure the local boy is nicely out of the way when the Pope's helicopter arrives. Excuse the crudity, Your Excellency, but the last thing you and I need is a smart-ass out there trying to run the show."
Chapter Thirty-Five
Avignon
"YOU ARE good friends to me. I only wish we had met while Leanne was still alive."
"We want to make sure you are all right." Zoé sounded concerned.
Alain had opened the door of his house cautiously, and now invited them to come inside. A woman stood self-consciously in the room.
"I'm Mazie Meyran," she explained somewhat bashfully in passable French. "I'm a nurse at the clinic. Leanne and I were friends."
Matt shook hands while Zoé and the nurse kissed briefly. The kitchen that doubled as a living room was a scene frozen in time. Matt noticed the drooping flowers in the blue vase on the windowsill and he felt a sudden pain in his throat. Leanne had probably put them there herself.
As soon as Mazie realized Matt and Zoé spoke English she did the same.
"You're from New Mexico," said Matt. "Leanne mentioned you when we met her in Avignon."
Mazie smiled. "Sure, we both grew up in New Mexico. Leanne came from Albuquerque, I come from Silver City. But when you're in France that makes us almost neighbors. I traveled here to trace my great granddad's roots, and liked the place so much I took a job at the clinic." She blushed. "I've even learned to speak the French lingo."
"Did you find your roots?"
She shook her head. "Still looking. Some place south of here I reckon. Perhaps one day."
Matt sensed that Mazie Meyran and Alain were embarrassed to have been found together in the house, though it was no business of his. Maybe his work had made him suspicious of extra-marital affairs. Anyway, Mazie's visit was probably innocent; the caring act of a good friend.
As soon as Mazie had gone, Alain coughed, as though it would clear things up. "Leanne's family are flying from New Mexico for the funeral service next Thursday. They want the burial to be in Albuquerque, but I told them Leanne belongs in France, to me. You think I am right?"
"Of course you are," said Matt.
"There are bad people at the clinic," said Alain unexpectedly.
Zoé moved to his side. "Alain," she said quietly, "I want to know exactly what Leanne told you."
The muscular mechanic's shoulders rose and then dropped slowly. "I do not know what to do. I do not want to stay here in the house. You have your car?"
Matt nodded.
"I would like to go back to Tourvillon, to be near where Leanne died."
"You need to rest," insisted Zoé.
"When I am here by myself I cry all the time. I want you to help me uncover the truth."
Matt jiggled the car keys in his hand. "We could drive up to Tourvillon and have something to eat in the village. But no more alcohol. And you can tell us everything you know about Leanne's work."
*
FIFTEEN MINUTES later they were driving the Mini through the narrow village streets, the bodywork thumping on its small wheels and rock-hard suspension. The residents of the old buildings had flung open the shutters, allowing the cool breeze from the hills to replace the hot air that had crept through the closed windows during the afternoon.
As they came into the small square Alain reached across and put a hand on the steering wheel. "We will go no further," he said slowly. "You were right, my friends, it is too painful. Too many memories of Leanne working here. What have you done with the samples she gave you?"
"We sent them to London," said Zoé. "More than half were healthy tissue."
"Then that is good." Alain climbed slowly from the Mini and stretched his arms. "Good for those patients who are clear. They are the lucky ones, eh?"
"That's what I told Zoé," said Matt.
"You are forgetting the labels." Zoé walked across the village square towards the iron pump in the ornate stone water fountain. Matt and Alain followed. "The labels said the diagnosis was positive for cancer cells in every case. Dr. Kappa had signed them."
"Perhaps a mistake by your laboratory?" Alain shrugged his shoulders. Under the trees a group of men played pétanque, the dust rising in the still air as the shiny metal balls landed heavily on the uneven pitch. There were no spectators to the game.
"I know the laboratory where Ken went," said Zoé. "Their results are provisional but they would never get it wrong."
Alain said nothing and went on ahead, past the fountain and up the main street towards the clinic. The sudden appearance of a green military helicopter swooping over the hill made him stop. A white helicopter followed close behind. The leading craft stayed over the building, leaving the white machine to continue downwards, hugging the contour of the slope so closely that it seemed to be having difficulty stopping as it descended on the clinic. The pilot let the machine overrun and pass over the village. Or maybe he was checking out the area for a safe landing. The rotors beat the air with a heavy throb that echoed through the cobbled streets.
"More wealthy guests for the clinic." Alain had his hand to his eyes as a shield against the bright sky. "And they will survive. Everyone survives, except my Leanne."
As the machine banked low over the rooftops, the faces of two passengers peered down into the village square.
Alain gripped Zoé firmly by the arm. "Mon dieu, c'est incroyable!"
The white helicopter pulled round in a circle and was soon touching down out of sight behind the clinic. The massive military machine hovered overhead like a mother bird guarding her young.
Alain kept his grip firmly on Zoé as the military helicopter rose and headed south. The beat of rotors from the white machine behind the clinic was already slowing, the sound being carried clearly in the evening air.
Alain seemed stunned. "That, mes amis, was le Pape, the Pope." He crossed himself twice with his free hand.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Clinic of the Little Sisters of Tourvillon
THERE WAS no doubt in his mind, the surgeon had not stood up to the questions well.
Valdieri paused in his writing, his pen of rolled gold and red lacquer pressed against his cheek as the sound of the helicopters shattered the silence of his private suite. Another five minutes and he would have finished.
Quickly he ran his eye down the page. An email might not be se
cure. For security he would have to transmit the handwritten sheet directly from his personal fax machine. Umberto would take the necessary action at the other end.
MEMO FROM ARCHBISHOP STEPHEN VALDIERI
My dear Umberto,
I have spoken again with Dr. Kappa and Dr. Bernetti, the two senior surgeons here at the Clinic of the Little Sisters of Tourvillon. Although I can confirm my suspicions of their involvement with the Knights of the Holy Succession, I refuse to believe that the Holy Father is in danger from such an organization. However, one of the Sisters at the Convent claims to have overheard....
He left the line unfinished for the moment. It was vital to get the wording right before transmission. K7 had a membership that ran like tentacles through the Church, like a fatal cancer through a body. The surgeon's involvement was probably the tip of an iceberg of corruption. Apart from Umberto, who else in the Vatican would see this sheet? He continued to read the first draft.
It is essential that I gain the confidence of Sister Angela. She has recently experienced a traumatic event but is unwilling to divulge sufficient details for me to judge its significance. I want you to make confidential inquiries for me in Rome concerning an incident that took place several years ago in the Gemelli Hospital when....
He stopped and shook his head. No, he must not falter at this stage. He must name the disgraceful incident -- and name the man he suspected of culpability. If his own life was forfeited in the search for truth, his successor must know the reason.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Tourvillon Village
"NO WONDER they're having a security exercise." Matt stayed ahead as they walked forward, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Pope walking in the grounds. "Those must have been his guards on the bus."
"If the Holy Father is here for treatment, I am worried for him." Zoé stopped to shake a small stone from her shoe. "Me, I would not trust the clinic with a sick bluebottle."
"Perhaps he is only here to visit the Little Sisters," suggested Alain.
"Is the Pope ill?" asked Matt. "You should know, Alain; your brother is a priest."
Alain shrugged. "There are things we do not hear in church. Yes, maybe the Holy Father has not been well lately. The Vatican cancelled his visit to Germany last month."
"I would love to go through the clinic records," said Zoé.
The road up to the clinic became open, with only the large outcrop of rock for cover.
"Leanne said they were doing something bad." Alain shrugged. "I do not trust them either."
The rotors began their loud beat once more, and the white craft rose quickly from behind the main building. It dropped towards the valley and took a southerly course.
"They have frightened my black kites," complained Zoé. "Well, Matt, are you going in?"
"I said I'd look."
"And?"
"I've looked. There are men up there with submachine guns." He had not taken his eyes off the grounds. "Two of them ran between those buildings. I bet they thought everyone would be watching the chopper."
"Armed men? In that case, Matt, you are not cutting your way through the wire."
"That's what I've been trying to tell you," he responded tersely.
Zoé caught him by the shoulder. "I tell you there is evidence about Leanne in their records, but you do not listen."
Matt turned to face Zoé and pulled her hands away. "Tell us again."
Zoé spread her hands in a typical geste gallique. She glanced at Alain. "We know Leanne was investigating the clinic, and suddenly she is dead."
"That's hardly proof." Matt couldn't make sense of Zoé's line of reasoning, especially as she was talking in French for Alain's sake. "Are the patients in need of surgery or not?"
"Perhaps you get a stomach ache," said Zoé, sitting on the sun-scorched grass by the side of the road to empty her shoe yet again. "What do you think, Matt?"
"I think maybe I ate something bad."
"But you get it a few times."
"Okay, I start to worry."
"And then?"
"If I've got any sense I go to the doctor."
"And what does he say?"
"What's this, a game of consequences?"
Zoé put her shoe back on. "Just think it through, Matt."
"Okay, the doctor says not to worry. So I stop worrying, and the pain gets better."
"But maybe it gets worse."
"Right," agreed Matt. "It gets worse."
"So the doctor sends you to a specialist." Zoé shook her other shoe upside down. "So what is running through your mind?"
"You nurses always think the worst. Yes, maybe I think the worst too."
"And you would go for surgery?"
"If the specialist advised it, of course I'd go. The sooner the better."
"And the expense would not be spared?"
"Not if I could afford private treatment." Matt ran his fingers through his hair before feeling his stomach. Imagination was a powerful thing.
Zoé nodded. "Wealthy people are prepared to spend a fortune when their life is at stake."
"Now hang on." It was a huge leap in logic, but Matt could see what Zoé was driving at. He got quickly to his feet and brushed the brown dust from his jeans. "Are you suggesting the Clinic of the Little Sisters of Tourvillon is only treating make-believe conditions?"
Zoé held her hands out. "Of course not. Let us say that most of the patients of Dr. Kappa are being treated for serious ailments."
Alain looked at Matt. "Leanne thought some of the people were not ill, but I told her she was imagining things."
Zoé nodded. "Try to remember what Leanne said."
Alain shook his head slowly. "I am sorry, I think I will never get over Leanne's death. We loved each other very much."
Matt waited a moment before turning to Zoé. "Those samples. You say four out of six were the wrong results? On that basis two thirds of the patients are healthy. Their surgery is unnecessary."
"Ah, but those were the samples that made Leanne suspicious," said Zoé. "I am not suggesting that over half the operations are unnecessary, but I would love to go in there and confront Dr. Kappa with this evidence."
"Forget it. If we want to blow the whistle, we don't go inside to do it."
"Then how?"
"I think Leanne underestimated the power of K7."
"We have to help the patients," insisted Zoé.
Matt shrugged. "Are they complaining? If you're right, all they're losing is their money. I'm not going to mess around in there to save rich people a few thousand dollars."
"Perhaps they kill them for their money."
"That's absurd, Zoé. They're not dying. You said the clinic has a brilliant recovery record."
"They might be going to kill the Pope."
Matt sighed. "It may not have been the Pope in that helicopter."
"Oh come on!" Zoé gave Matt a push, anger in her eyes. "We hear the Pope being mentioned on Ken's little micro, and then he comes flying past."
"No, we didn't hear anything. You thought you heard his name, and Alain reckons he saw him. It's all a bit of a long shot."
"But if the Pope is definitely inside?" said Zoé.
"We're going back to the village for a coffee," said Matt firmly. "If there's anything on the news tonight about the Pope visiting Tourvillon I might, but only might, go to the local gendarmerie about Leanne's death. But I'm not going in."
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Clinic of the Little Sisters of Tourvillon
"HOLINESS?"
Stephen Valdieri reached out hesitantly to the bed, touching the sleeping figure in the white satin dressing gown. The Holy Father's eyes opened, making Valdieri jump.
"Is that you, Stephen?"
"Holiness, I have postponed the meeting tomorrow morning with Reverend Mother and Sister Angela. They want you to know that they pray constantly that you will swiftly be restored to full health."
"Everyone is so anxious for my well-being, Stephen." The
Pontiff forced a smile as he turned slightly in the bed, and for a moment his legs kicked as though out of control. "I feel considerably more comfortable than I did after the flight, although it was pleasing to be helped to sit upright in time to see Avignon from the air. I can understand why the area attracted the papacy in mediaeval times."
"I believe political pressures provided a greater driving force than a love of French scenery," said Valdieri dryly.
The Holy Father smiled. "Indeed, those were hard times for the Church." He looked down at his legs which had now become still. "Tell me bluntly, Stephen, am I so ill that everyone will be glad to see the back of me?" The twinkle in his eyes outshone the forced upward turn of the pale lips.
"Holiness!" Valdieri was unable to conceal his sense of shock. "You are here because the Clinic of the Little Sisters of Tourvillon has an envious record of healing."
"Miracles, Stephen? Perhaps I should have taken more time to verify the visions before making my way here." The sense of humor seemed to be unimpaired. "I apologize if you found me asleep."
Valdieri checked that the shutters were firmly locked. "A mild sedative has been administered, Holiness. It will soon be dark, and the nursing staff will settle you down for a comfortable night's sleep." The Holy Father would never know, but stationed below the window was an armed guard, with another standing outside the door. SMGs, handguns, and stun grenades.
"Stephen." The Pope raised himself on one elbow and his voice sounded calm as he called. Valdieri went closer to the bed. "Stephen, I want you to know that I feel no fear for what lies ahead."
"I understand, Holiness."
"This clinic is built on holy ground."
"The visions?"
"I feel a great peace in my body. Perhaps it is the centuries of prayer on this hill by the Little Sisters." He pointed to the clinic's brochure on the bedside cabinet. "The Order has suffered much over the years. I do not wish to postpone our meeting with the Sisters."
"But, Holiness, your medical examination has to take priority."
The Pope lay back. The sedative was more than mild. "Stephen, I ... I feel so sleepy."
Valdieri bent down to pull the pillow to the back of the bed, allowing the Pontiff's head to rest more comfortably. The involuntary body movements had become more pronounced over the past few days, in spite of the advanced drugs that were now being administered.
"The nurses, Stephen." There was some agitation in the Holy Father's voice. "I do not understand. Why are there no Sisters here in the clinic?"
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