"No."
"Did he ever?"
"No."
"What's your husband's profession?"
"Farmer."
"Where?"
"In Israel."
"Why did the two of you leave there?"
"To look for my father." Her voice increased in strength. Her eyelids fluttered. Icicle walked to the bureau, filed a second syringe with the
Sodium-Amytal solution he'd prepared earlier, and injected a small amount into her femoral artery.
The drug worked almost instantaneously. Her body relaxed. "When you and your husband left Israel to search for your father, where did you go?"
"Vienna."
"Where he disappeared. Of course. And where did you go after that?"
"Switzerland." The answer surprised him. "What?"
"The Alps south of Zurich." Icicle hesitated. "Why did you go there?"
'To look for a friend of my father."
"Did you find him?"
"No... Disappeared." For a second time, an unexpected answer. "A diary
..."
"I don't understand."
"Found a diary..."
"What was in it?"
"Nazi concentration camp..." Oh, Jesus, Icicle thought. "Your father's friend wrote a diary about the camp?"
"Yes."
"Was your father ever in a camp?"
"Yes." Icicle had the terrible sense that a pattern was forming. But she suddenly shifted topics. "Three men tried to kill us." Icicle let her lead him. "Yes, you mentioned them earlier. Where did this happen?"
"The Alps."
"Who were they?"
"Think they were priests..."
She was talking nonsense. Had the drug distorted her memory? She began to tremble, agitated by the semiconscious memory of the... "Priests?"
Icicle asked. "Why would priests want to kill you?" Her trembling increased. "Father Dusseault." Icicle's pulse sped. They were back to the question with which he'd started. "What about Father Dusseault? Why did you follow him? Is he connected with the priests who tried to kill you?"
"Paid through the cardinal's office."
"Cardinal Pavelic's office? The one who disappeared? Do you know where the cardinal is?"
"No."
"Are you looking for him?"
"No." Icicle's excitement changed to frustration. She had led him in a meaningless circle.
23
It took two hours. Icicle guided her back through what she'd told him, prompting her for more details. As before, she became agitated when she talked about her missing father, about the three priests who'd tried to kill her husband and herself. At last, he turned from the woman and paced toward the far end of the room. He'd asked every question he could think of and learned too little. What bothered him were the questions he hadn't been able to think of, the unimaginable information she might have volunteered if only be knew what to ask for.
Seth continued to stare at the woman's nakedness. "What do you make of the rings she described?" Icicle asked. "Assassin-priests?" Seth turned from her. "I've practiced my trade for twenty years, and I've never heard of such a group."
"Nor have I. That doesn't mean she's mistaken. The group might be extremely cautious. And what about her father's disappearance? Is it related to the disappearance of our own fathers? To the disappearance of the cardinal?"
"The common element seems to be Father Dusseault," Seth said. "For different reasons, our search and this woman's led us to him."
"Let's not forget the other man and woman we saw in the gardens, the ones dressed as a priest and a nun.
What reason did they have to go after Father Dusseault? Why were they interested in Medici, just as we were? I'm sure it's all connected.
Father Dusseault has the answers, but we've lost the chance to question him."
"Perhaps," Seth said. Icicle frowned. "What are you thinking of?"
"The notion isn't fully formed yet I'll tell you when I'm sure it'll work." Staring at the woman, Seth took off his sports coat and began to unbutton his shirt. Icicle stepped protectively toward her. "Why are you undressing?"
"Relax. For the moment, this woman's body no longer interests me. I need to shave and shower. I'm going out You'll have to stay here and keep her sedated." Seth walked toward the bathroom. "Going out?"
Icicle's stomach squirmed with suspicion. "Why?" He quickly followed
Seth into the bathroom. "What do you--? Of course," he realized. "It's time we reported to Halloway. You'll want to use a safe phone to call him."
"Report to Halloway?" Seth said with contempt. "Not at all. We don't have anything conclusive to tell him. I make a habit of announcing success, not failure." Seth turned on the shower. "But with luck, if my errand proves successful, we will have positive news for him. Very soon."
24
Saul awoke from a nightmare in which, surrounded by darkness, he heard
Erika scream. He bolted up, heard his wife scream again, and scrambled from bed to get to her before he realized that the screams were really the ringing of the telephone. Fully clothed, he found himself in the middle of the Rome hotel room. He had slept on a couch. Drew and
Arlene on the double bed. Sunlight glowed beyond closed draperies.
Saul picked up the phone, praying he'd hear Erika's voice. Instead he head Gallagher's, raspy, tired. "Romulus, the priest is ready for you to hear his confession. Come down to the room."
"I'm on my way." Saul looked at his watch. The time was shortly after
10 a. m. He'd gotten six hours sleep, but his nightmares had tortured him. He felt as exhausted as when he'd lain down. Drew and Arlene had awoken. "Who was that?" Drew asked. "Gallagher. It's quiz time." Saul went into the bathroom, splashed cold water on his face, then returned to Drew and Arlene. "Are you still determined not to get involved with the Agency?"
"I've got trouble enough with the Fraternity. I don't want to complicate my troubles by dealing with another network. After Scalpel,
I've had my fill of networks," Drew said. "The Agency would want to know everything about me. They'd try to recruit me, and failing that, they'd keep me under surveillance. They're like Krazy Glue. Once they touch you, you're stuck. Arlene and I just want to be left alone."
"Then we've got a problem," Saul said. "I have to go to Gallagher and the priest, but I don't know what questions to ask. You're here to find the cardinal and whoever's trying to destroy the Fraternity. I'm here to find Erika and her father. I'm sure your search and mine have something to do with each other. I think the answers to your questions might help me answer my own. But if you won't let the Agency know you're involved, how can we both question the priest?"
25
Saul knocked on Gallagher's door. He heard the scrape of a lock being freed. In a moment, the door was opened, and he stepped inside, his nostrils feeling pinched from the smell of medication. He approached
Father Dusseault, who was lying on the bed. The priest looked pasty.
His broken nose had swelled. So had the bruised skin along his eyebrows. His jaw was puffy. The priest's black suitcoat had been removed, his shirt opened, his sleeves rolled up. Sensors attached to his chest and arms transmitted signals to portable heart and blood-pressure monitors that sat on a bureau shifted close to the bed.
Saul surveyed the rest of the room. The bathroom door was open. The doctor and his assistant were gone. "Where--?"
"I sent them out to eat breakfast," Gallagher said. "What they don't hear won't burden them with something else to forget. I can have them paged in the restaurant if we have an emergency. They'll phone in an hour to find out when it's time to come back." Saul turned again toward
Father Dusseault, studying the IV that controlled the flow of Sodium
Amytal into the priest's arm. "He's still asleep," Saul said. "Does that mean he had a concussion?"
"No. In fact, he came around two hours ago. The doctor had to sedate him."
"But he can answer questions?"
; "The monitors show he's at an ideal semiconscious level. He's primed to tell you anything you want to know."
"Good. Now I've got a favor to ask." Gallagher shifted his weight.
"You've had plenty of favors as it is. In case you've forgotten, this started with your promising to do us a favor if we let you come out of exile. But little by little, you've maneuvered us so we keep giving you favors. It's getting tiresome."
"One more. What's the harm?"
"I'll know when you tell me what you want."
"To be alone when I question the priest." Gallagher stopped moving.
"Jesus, you've got more nerve than--!"
"It's for your own benefit. If something goes wrong, if he dies, do you really want to be present when it happens? Do you want the Agency implicated in the death of a Vatican official?"
"Bullshit, Romulus. If he died, who'd know except you and me?"
"That's the point. Both of us would be one too many.
You'd worry if you could trust me with what I knew if the priest didn't survive the interrogation. Maybe you'd decide I'm too dangerous a liability. I'm not anxious to sell my soul to the Agency again or have an unexpected accident. So do yourself a favor and join the team for breakfast. Do me a favor by letting me take as many risks as I have to when I question the priest. I'll tell you everything I learn."
"How can I be sure of that?"
"Because I need you. I wouldn't have been able to come this far without your help. And with more help from you, I hope to go a lot farther.
It's for sure he'll tell me things I can't follow up without the resources of the Agency. You have my word. You'll be told everything I learn about the Fraternity. All I want to know is what happened to my wife and her father." Gallagher pursed his lips. "I know I'll be sorry for this. Your word?" Saul nodded. "You always played straight,"
Gallagher said. "It's one of the reasons I went along with you this far. I hope you haven't changed--because in that case you will have an accident. Two hours. After that, no matter what excuses you make, I'm coming back."
"You've got a deal." Gallagher left. Saul waited long enough for
Gallagher to have gone downstairs, then picked up the phone. He dialed as silently as possible, let the other end ring once, then hung up. He swung toward Father Dusseault. Two hours. He had to cram as much as he could into them. In a rush, he disconnected the sensors from the priest's chest and arms. He buttoned the priest's shirt but lifted the
IV tube in his arm. Raising the priest off the bed, Saul grabbed the bottle of Sodium-Amytal solution and supported the priest toward the door. He managed to free the lock. Someone opened the door from the other side--Drew, who'd been alerted to hurry from Saul's room down to this one as soon as he heard a single ring on the phone. Wordlessly,
Drew helped Saul bring Father Dusseault into the hallway, then gently shut the door behind them. Silence was mandatory. It wasn't sufficient for Gallagher to have left the room so that Saul could protect Drew and
Arlene from the Agency, because Saul was certain the room had electronic eavesdropping monitors. Gallagher was thorough. He'd want a record of the interrogation, a tape to listen to while he sifted through the information the priest supplied. In fact, Saul had counted on the microphones in the room to give Gallagher a rationalization for going downstairs. After all, from Gallagher's point of view, what difference did it make if he wasn't in the room during the interrogation as long as he had a recording of what was said? But if the interrogation had taken place in the room. Drew and Arlene would have had their voices on the tape, and Gallagher would next have interrogated them. Saul felt exposed in the corridor, worrying that a guest or a member of the hotel staff would appear and notice Drew and himself supporting Father Dusseaull
There wasn't any way to eliminate that danger. Saul heard the elevator rising and muffled voices behind a door. A lock scraped open behind him. He and Drew got the priest to his own door, opened it, and stepped inside just as a door came open down the hall and someone stepped out.
But by then Arlene was already closing his own door, locking it while he and Drew carried Father Dusseault to the bed. They set him down gently, placing a pillow beneath his head and stretching out his legs.
"Gallagher gave me only two hours."
"It's not enough time," Drew said. "It'll have to be enough."
"What if Gallagher has a team listening to the microphones you think are planted in the other room?" Arlene asked. "When all they hear is silence, they'll know you're not questioning the priest. They'll warn
Gallagher that something's wrong."
"I don't think there is a team," Saul said. "When Gallagher found out
I'd kidnapped a Vatican official, he started worrying about his involvement with me. If this goes wrong, he knows he could lose his job. He's already concerned about the doctor and his assistants learning too much. He told them to leave before he sent for me. My guess is he doesn't have anyone listening to the microphones. The recording he hoped to get from the interrogation would have been for his ears only."
"Then at least we can count on the two hours we've got."
"Less than that now," Saul said. "We'd better get started." Drew held up the bottle of Sodium-Amytal solution. Arlene inserted the needle from its tube into the valve mechanism of the tube leading into Father
Dusseault's arm. Saul leaned close to the priest. "We're your friends.
You're safe. You don't have anything to worry about. Relax."
"Relax..." Father Dusseault's voice was faint, scratchy, as if his throat were dry. "You feel at peace. Tell us everything we ask for.
Hold nothing back. You can trust us." 'Trust you..." Saul hesitated, trying to decide what his first question should be. There were many to choose from, but if he asked them at random, it would take too long to fit the priest's disparate responses together. He needed to construct a sequence in which the questions would lead logically from one to another. But Drew intervened, going directly to the core of his own problem. "Do you know what happened to Cardinal Pavelic?"
"I killed him... cremated his body." In shock. Drew glanced at Arlene and Saul. "Why?"
"He found out what I'd done."
"What was that?" Told the Jews." Saul stiffened. "Jews?" Arlene asked,
"What did you tell them?"
"About the Nazis." The room became silent, Saul had the sense that a log was about to be overturned, a monstrosity revealed.
26
The revelation came slowly. In 1941, as the result of an anti-Nazi coup that overthrew the pro-German government of Yugoslavia, Hitler determined to punish Yugoslavia so severely that no other nation would be similarly tempted to try to secede from the Third Reich. Its capital, Belgrade, was destroyed by massive aerial bombardment. The
German army invaded, crushing all further rebellion. The country was subdivided, chunks of it annexed into Bulgaria, Albania, Hungary, and
Italy. The greater portion became a separate Nazi puppet-state called
Croatia. Hell was in season. The newly installed Croatian government instigated a policy of racial and religious purification so brutal that even seasoned SS officers were appalled. A fanatical group of
Croatians, called the Ustashi, became the government's instrument of purgation, hunting down Serbs, Jews, and gypsies. Victims were prodded to death in ponds; were made to kneel, their hands on the ground, while then- heads were sawn off; had sharp sticks shoved down their throats; had drills thrust up their rectums; were disemboweled, set on fire, sledge hammered trucked to mountaintops and thrown off cliffs, then blown apart by grenades. Those not killed where they were discovered endured the agony of concentration camps, dying slowly from starvation, dysentery, and exposure. The lucky ones were merely shot. At least six hundred thousand persons were slaughtered, perhaps as many as one and a quarter million. Father Krunoslav Pavelic--born and raised in
Yugoslavia--supported the Ustashi and their Nazi masters. Part of his motive was practical: to all
y himself with the winning side. But part of his motive was also ideological: he firmly believed he was doing
God's work. Racial matters aside, be applauded the elimination of all religions except Roman Catholicism. The Jews and the gypsies were heathen as far as he was concerned, and the Serbs--primarily Greek
Orthodox Catholic--needed to be eliminated because of their break from the one true Faith. Not only did Father Pavelic support the Ustashi: he banded with them; he led them. Church officials were unaware of
Pavelic's personal holy war. But the inner circle did know about the massive Greek Orthodox murders in Croatia and knew as well about the even more massive Nazi slaughter of the Jews. With some exceptions.
David Morrell - League of Night and Fog Page 31