The League of Night and Fog

by David Morrell

  Before coming here yesterday, Saul and Erika had scouted the Vatican’s perimeter. The city-state was enclosed by a high stone wall. An invader couldn’t climb over it unassisted, and anyone trying to scale it with a rope or a ladder would surely attract police intervention.

  But invasion was not the intention now. Escape was, and climbing over the Vatican wall from the inside wasn’t as difficult as doing so from the outside. Yesterday, Saul had noticed several places where the trees on the inside grew close to the wall.

  While Drew and Arlene carried the unconscious priest, Saul preceded them, hoping he’d find Erika. They reached the rear wall of the Vatican and searched along it till they came to a sturdy tree whose branches they could climb to the top of the wall.

  Hoisting the priest up through the branches wouldn’t be difficult. Getting the priest down the other side would be less easy, requiring two people to stand at the bottom while someone on top held the priest’s hands and lowered him as far as possible before letting him drop into waiting arms. As soon as they had him down, they had to assume they’d attract police attention. It was imperative that they leave the area at once.

  “I’ll go over first,” Saul said. “Erika and I left a rented car nearby. Give me twenty minutes to get back here with it. Then start climbing. Lift the priest to the top of the wall. Who knows? Maybe Erika’ll be at the car.”

  “What happens if it isn’t where you left it?” Drew asked.

  “I’ll steal one. No matter what, I’ll be back.”

  13

  Drew sank to the ground, his back to the wall, shivering from the dampness. Arlene slid down beside him. He worried that Father Dusseault might waken, feign unconsciousness, and attack when least expected. He tested the injured priest’s pulse. It was steady but weak, definitely not the heartbeat of an assassin mustering his reflexes.

  Arlene leaned close to his ear. “Do you trust him?”

  “Saul? Yes. I have no idea why, but I do.”

  Reassured, she eased against his shoulder. “What did you say to Father Dusseault to make him attack you?”

  “I’m not certain.” He had conflicting theories about the attack and needed time to think.

  Perhaps Father Dusseault had come to the late-night rendezvous with the same intention as Drew, to force answers.

  Or else the priest had reacted impulsively, suddenly threatened by Drew’s questions about the cardinal and the Nazis.

  But as Drew recalled the incident, he realized that Father Dusseault’s seemingly spontaneous attack had actually been quite calculated. The priest hadn’t thrust his knife toward vital organs, the throat for example, where the kill would be quick and sure, but instead had concentrated on wounding the chest and stomach, where death would take longer and in fact might not occur at all. He wanted to question me, Drew thought. To find out who I was and why I was so curious about the cardinal. After that, he’d have finished me off.

  I think I’ve found the man who killed Father Victor beside that fountain.

  But why would one member of the Fraternity want to kill another? Are Father Sebastian’s suspicions correct about someone in the Fraternity trying to destroy it? Is Father Dusseault the traitor?

  The answers would come soon enough, he thought. After Saul got back with the car.

  But what had Saul said? His wife’s father was missing? The disappearance had something to do with three priests, members of the Fraternity, who tried to kill Saul’s wife and himself?

  And now Saul’s wife too was missing. Drew began to suspect that Saul’s quest and his own were somehow related, that the answers to Saul’s questions would help to answer his own.

  He glanced at his watch. Twenty minutes had elapsed.

  Arlene anticipated him. “It’s time.”

  She went up the tree, bracing herself among branches, reaching down while Drew lifted Father Dusseault to her.

  14

  A Peugeot pulled up below them, its headlights gleaming. For a tense moment, Drew wondered if the car might belong to the police or the Fraternity. But Saul stepped out, and Drew relaxed. Arlene edged over the wall, landing smoothly. Drew lowered the priest to them, then went down as well. Seconds later, they were in the car.

  To Saul’s dismay, Erika had not been waiting at the car. “My wife and I rented a hotel room,” he said as he drove. “If she’s all right, if she had to run from somebody, the hotel’s where she’ll know she can get in touch with me.” He glanced toward Drew and Arlene in the back, the priest out of sight on the floor. “I suggest we take him there.”

  Saul exhaled with relief when he heard Drew answer, “Under the circumstances, it’s the only choice.”

  The layout of the hotel had been the reason for choosing it, Saul explained. Both the elevator and the fire stairs were down a corridor invisible from the lobby. A rear entrance, near the hotel’s parking garage, led into that corridor.

  At 3 A.M., no one paid attention to a priest helping another priest into the building, or to a nun who entered a few minutes later, or to the tall swarthy man who’d gone in ahead of them, carrying a suitcase.

  The suitcase contained the street clothes Drew and Arlene had worn before they dressed as a priest and nun. On the way to the hotel, Drew had retrieved it from a locker at the train station. They encountered no one in the elevator or along the corridor that led to Saul’s hotel room. Once inside, Drew and Arlene took turns using the bathroom to change back into their street clothes while Saul examined the unconscious priest where he lay on the bed.

  “His nose is broken.”

  “That was my intention,” Drew said. “The way he came at me, I tried my damnedest to discourage him. What about his jaw?”

  “The bones seem secure. He’ll be able to talk.”

  “But he’s awfully slow waking up,” Arlene said.

  “Yes, that worries me,” Saul said. “I checked his eyes. They respond to light. His reflexes work. We might want to put some ice on his nose.”

  “I’d prefer he stay in pain. He’ll answer questions more readily,” Drew said.

  “You don’t have chemicals to make him talk?”

  “No,” Drew said. “We were given IDs, weapons, and money. That’s all.”

  “What do you mean ‘given’? By whom?”

  “Someone in the Fraternity forced us to help him.”

  Saul’s eyes widened.

  “It’s a debt we’re paying off,” Drew said.

  “Believe us,” Arlene said, “we don’t feel loyal to them.”

  Saul studied them, reluctantly committing himself further. “All right. I’ve trusted you so far. Since you’re being honest, I’ll do the same. There’s a group I owe a favor as well.”

  “Who?”

  “I used to work for them. I don’t want anything more to do with them, but they manipulated me into cooperating.”

  “I asked you—”

  “The CIA.”

  “Dear God!”

  “I’d like to call them now,” Saul said. “We can kid ourselves about the priest’s condition, but the fact is he needs medical attention or he won’t be alert enough to respond to questions. You put him down good. For all we know, he’s got a concussion. We need a team with the proper facilities to bring him back up.”

  The room became silent.

  Arlene turned to Drew. “He’s got a point. By the time Father Dusseault’s fully conscious, we’ll have lost too much time.”

  “But the CIA,” Drew said. “You know how I feel about—”

  “The way you handle yourself,” Saul said, “I would have figured you were with them.”

  “Not with the Agency. With the State Department’s version of it. I want nothing to do with either.”

  “But you agreed to cooperate with the Fraternity,” Saul said.

  “There wasn’t a choice.”

  “Listen carefully. My wife is missing. That’s all I care about right now. But I think if I get some answers from this priest, I stand a good chanc
e of finding out where she is. I can get an expert team over here to help. I can do my best to guarantee the Agency doesn’t know about you. I’m asking you to let me make the call.”

  Drew stared at the floor.

  Arlene said, “If it helps to end this, tell him it’s okay.”

  Drew raised his eyes. “We’re getting in deeper.”

  “Tell him.”

  “All right”—Drew sighed—“make the call.”

  Saul grabbed the phone and dialed.

  A husky voice answered, repeating the number Drew had used.

  “This is Romulus. Tell Gallagher I have a reluctant source of information. I need a medical interrogation team. Now.”

  “What address?” the voice asked.

  “He knows where I’m staying.”

  Saul set the phone back onto its cradle, thinking, Where the hell is my wife?

  15

  A half hour later, Saul heard a knock on the door. He glanced through its peephole, expecting the man with the pockmarked face, surprised to see Gallagher himself out there. He made a warning gesture to Drew and Arlene, who took their suitcase and shut themselves into the bathroom. Then he opened the hallway door.

  Gallagher stepped in, his eyes puffy from lack of sleep. “ ‘A reluctant source of information’?”

  Saul shut the door and locked it.

  Gallagher kept talking. “Strictly speaking, I belong back in Austria. Our Zurich people didn’t object to my entering their jurisdiction. But our Rome people like to run their show themselves. If you’d just agree to let another station chief be your control …”

  “You wanted this relationship. Now you’re stuck with it,” Saul said. “I won’t risk trusting anyone else.”

  “It’s so nice to be popular. What have you got?”

  Saul led him down a short hallway into the bedroom.

  Gallagher blanched when he saw who was on the bed. “Good God, I don’t believe it! You kidnapped a priest! How the hell can I put this into a report? And look at his face! What did you do, run over him with a truck?”

  “He’s not just a priest. He’s a personal assistant to a cardinal in the Vatican’s Curia.”

  Gallagher’s mouth hung open. “I’ll get even with you for this! You’ve just made my life—!”

  “Before you start worrying about your job, take a look at this.” Saul showed him the ring Drew had taken from Father Dusseault.

  Gallagher studied it in surprise.

  “The details are starting to fit together. You already proved that the men who tried to kill me were funded through an office in the Vatican.” Saul pointed toward Father Dusseault. “Through his office. His boss is the cardinal who’s missing.” Saul raised the priest’s right arm and rolled up the coat sleeve, revealing the spring-loaded sheath. He handed Gallagher the knife Father Dusseault had used. “Just your basic standard equipment for a priest. Believe me, he knew how to use it.”

  “Keep going. You’re convincing me.”

  “Not only is there a network we never heard of, but I was right—it’s composed of priests,” Saul said. “They call themselves after the ruby on their ring. The Fraternity of the Stone.”

  Gallagher chuckled. “Romulus, you’re as good as you ever were. You’ve learned a lot.”

  “But not enough. I told your man on the phone. I want a medical interrogation team.”

  “They won’t know all the right questions to ask.”

  “But I do. As soon as he’s ready, I want to be alerted. I’ll do the questioning. I intend to squeeze this priest for everything he knows.”

  “What’s wrong? Has something happened to you? Your voice sounds—”

  “My wife’s disappeared.”

  “What?”

  “She was with me when we staked out the priest’s apartment. He left the building. We followed him separately, to avoid attracting attention.” Conscious of Drew and Arlene in the bathroom, Saul omitted their part in the night’s events. “After I got my hands on him, I looked for Erika.” His throat squeezed shut; he had difficulty continuing. “She vanished. I searched everywhere. She’s gone. If this priest knows anything about why she disappeared, by God he’s going to tell me. If anything’s happened to her, whoever did it is going to die.”

  Gallagher stepped backward.

  The phone rang. Saul lunged for it. “Erika?”

  But a man’s voice said, “Put Gallagher on.”

  Saul closed his eyes, trying to control his disappointment. He handed the phone to Gallagher.

  “Yes, come up,” Gallagher said into the phone and set it back on its cradle. He turned to Saul. “That was the team. They’re down the block. I didn’t want to send them here till I understood what was happening.”

  “And now you’re satisfied?”

  “Take it easy. Remember, I’m on your side.”

  “Are you? Fair warning, Gallagher. Just tell your team to prep the priest. Then he’s mine.”

  “Under other circumstances”—Gallagher squinted—“I wouldn’t put up with your tone.” His glance diminished. “But I guess you’re entitled. Get some sleep. You’d better eat something. You look awful.”

  “Sleep? Eat? How the hell, when Erika’s—?”

  “Do it, Romulus. You’re not good to her or anyone else if you mess yourself up.”

  Saul suddenly realized how close to the edge he was. He took a deep breath. “You’re right … I’m sorry.”

  “For what? In your place, I’d be climbing the walls. Count on me. I’ll do everything I can to help.”

  Saul smiled in gratitude.

  Five minutes later, three men arrived. One was slight and wore glasses. He pursed his lips when he saw the priest’s battered face. He checked the priest’s vital signs, then turned to Gallagher. “It’s safe to move him.”

  Gallagher nodded.

  The two other men stepped forward. Both were well built. “Where do we take him? Back to the shop or—?”

  “Can you do it here?” Gallagher asked. “In another room in the hotel?”

  “Sooner or later we’ll have to take a skull X-ray, but I didn’t see any swelling behind his eyes, so I’m probably being overcautious. His blood pressure checks out. Yes, I guess I can do it here in the hotel.”

  “I already phoned down for a reservation. They had a room at the end of this floor.” Gallagher motioned to one of the well-built men. “Go down and check in. Bring the key.”

  Ten minutes later, the team was ready to leave with the priest.

  “I’ll need some equipment from the van,” the man who wore glasses said.

  “Whatever you want,” Gallagher said, “I’ll see you get.”

  They checked the hallway outside. It was empty. The well-built men braced the priest between them. Holding his arms around their necks, they walked him down the hall. The man who wore glasses followed. No one saw them.

  Gallagher turned from where he’d been watching at Saul’s open doorway. “Remember, get some rest. I’ll phone when he’s ready.”

  Saul leaned against a wall, his knees weak from exhaustion. “I’ll be waiting.” He locked the door.

  16

  The bathroom door came open.

  “You,” Arlene told Saul, “are going to take Gallagher’s advice. I’m calling for room service.”

  “She thinks she’s Florence Nightingale. She gets mean when her patients don’t let her help,” Drew said.

  Saul smiled. Fatigue made him slump toward a chair.

  Arlene picked up the phone. “My friend here seldom eats meat,” she told Saul. “How about scrambled eggs, rolls, and coffee?”

  “I’m too tense already,” Saul said. “No coffee.”

  “Milk,” Drew said, “and fruit. Lots of fruit.”

  Arlene made the call to room service. Saul watched her. She was tall and lithe, reminding him of Erika. But there the similarity ended. Arlene’s hair wasn’t as dark and long. Her face, though beautiful, was more oval. Her skin, though tanned, wasn’t
naturally swarthy as Erika’s was. The big difference was in the eyes. Arlene’s were green while Erika’s were brown.

  Erika.

  To distract himself, he shifted his attention toward Drew and again was reminded of Chris. “You still haven’t told me whether you’re really a priest.”

  “No.” Drew sounded wistful. “I was once a brother, though.”

  The reference caught Saul by surprise. “Brother? You mean like—?”

  “I’m a Roman Catholic. I used to be a monk.”

  Saul strained to sound casual. “I had an extremely close friend, a foster brother you might say, who was Roman Catholic. Irish.”

  “I’m Scottish.”

  “My friend joined a Cistercian monastery and stayed there for six years,” Saul said.

  “Really? That’s quite a coincidence.”

  “Oh?” Saul’s nerves quivered. “How’s that?”

  “I was in the monastery almost as long. But I was a Carthusian.”

  “Yes, my friend told me about the Carthusians. He said his own order, the Cistercians, were tough. They didn’t speak. They believed in hard physical labor. But the Carthusians—they each lived alone in a cell, hermits for life, totally solitary—he said the Carthusians were the toughest.”

  “I enjoyed the peace. What was your friend’s name?”

  “Chris.”

  “Why did he leave the order?”

  “He had nightmares about things he’d been forced to do before he joined the order. In fact, those things were what made him join the order in the first place.”