‘Drop the gun.’
Dulac felt the unmistakably large, round shape of a silencer on the back of his head. He dropped the Benelli onto the carpet. He started to turn around. The gun pressed harder on his head.
‘Don’t move.’ The voice was low, powerful.
Dulac stood, hands in the air. ‘What do you want?’
‘Your password.’
‘What do you mean?’
The gun pressed harder still against his head. ‘Don’t fuck with me. Your password.’
‘Has this got to do with the voice analyzer?’
‘Your password or you’re dead.’
‘Easy. Easy. OK, it’s THD 8507.’ Dulac thought fast. When he finds out the password is fake, I’m dead. If I unlock the computer, I’m also dead. ‘Actually, it has a triple password.’
‘Sit down and type it in.’
Dulac started towards the desk and for a split-second, felt no pressure on the back of his head. Instantly he twisted, and swung with his right fist. He heard a muffled crack of the silencer as the bullet bit into his right forearm. He grabbed the man’s gun arm with both hands, swung the gun upwards as two more bullets flew above his head. He hit the man in the groin with his right knee. The man gasped and recoiled slightly, both of them still hanging on desperately to the gun. They fell to the floor, and Dulac swung the gun downwards between them. They stared at each other wildly, Dulac struggling to twist the gun away from his gut. The muffled sound of two more bullets erupted and Dulac cringed, waiting for the pain.
Dulac felt the hands around the gun go limp. They weren’t his hands. Dulac looked down and saw a dark spot starting to form on the man’s white shirt. He could feel the pumping of a heart, but he wasn’t sure if it was his. He could hear his own lungs screaming for more air.
Curiously, the man beside him, his eyes glazed over, had himself stopped breathing. Dulac rose slowly, and went to the bathroom. He started retching into the sink. After a moment he looked up and aspersed his face with cold water. Blood was dripping from his shirt-sleeve. He looked into the mirror and saw a deathly ghoul staring back, shaking slightly. Soon, his whole body was convulsing, letting out the stress. He breathed deeply, and after a moment the shaking decreased slightly. He raised his right sleeve and inspected the wound. The bullet had gashed the skin across his inner forearm. I am one lucky bastard, Dulac thought as he grabbed a small towel and wrapped it around. He returned to the bedroom, picked up the phone awkwardly, and pressed the Questura Centrale’s number.
‘Get me Inspector Guadagni.’
‘Who’s calling?’
‘Tell him it’s Dulac.’ He breathed in and out forcibly, progressively regaining control of his frayed nerves. Finally, the shaking stopped. He tried but couldn’t stop looking at the bloody corpse sprawled grotesquely on the carpet.
‘Guadagni.’
‘It’s me, Dulac.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I have a problem.’
‘What is it?’
‘There’s a man lying on my hotel-room carpet. He’s dead.’
‘How?’ said Guadagni, as a policewoman started taking photographs of the corpse, the man’s gun and Dulac’s Benelli.
‘I’ll give you the short version. He came up behind me, put a gun to my head. I dropped my gun. We had a scuffle, I went for his gun. We struggled, fell and the shots went off.’
‘And the long version?’
‘You’ll get that when you find out who this asshole was.’
‘I don’t suppose you have any idea?’ said Guadagni, scratching his wiry gray mane and looking warily at Dulac.
‘Probably some small-time hotel thief.’
‘We’ll see what we have on him. In the meantime, better have someone take a look at that arm.’
Dulac turned to the hotel manager, who had accompanied the police to his room. ‘Your man on duty at the desk. Was he on duty an hour ago?’
‘Yes, why?’
‘Get him up here.’
‘There is no need to publicize this … this unfortunate incident.’
‘Now,’ growled Dulac.
‘Yes sir.’ The manager flipped open his cellphone and called the desk clerk.
‘Mio Dio!’ exclaimed the clerk as he looked at the inert body.
‘Is this the man who gave you the message for my inbox?’ said Dulac.
‘Yes that’s him.’
Dulac turned to Guadagni. ‘Oldest trick in the book. He gave the clerk a fake message, saw him put it in my inbox. He got my room number, waited a few minutes, then claimed the message back.’
‘And here is his door-card. We found it in his pocket,’ said a policeman, as he approached Guadagni.
‘Recognize it?’ said Guadagni as he showed the card to the hotel manager.
‘It’s not one of ours.’
‘Probably a Chinese multi-key job,’ said Guadagni. ‘They’re flooding the market these days.’ He turned towards Dulac. ‘I’ll need you to drop by the Questura Centrale to sign a deposition. In the meantime, I’ll have my man drop you off at the hospital.’
‘Much appreciated,’ said Dulac.
‘We’ll have your things transferred to another room, Mr Dulac,’ said the manager. ‘That’s the least we can do.’ He turned and eyed the clerk. ‘Bring Mr Dulac’s suitcase and computer to the presidential suite.’
‘Not the computer. It stays with me,’ said Dulac.
Chapter 37
Dulac, his arm in a makeshift sling one of Guadagni’s men had improvised, waited in the emergency room of the Agostino Gemelli Clinic for the doctor to return. Suddenly the thought jolted him upright. Christ, Gina. He grabbed his cellphone and scrolled down the list of telephone numbers. He called her home. The line was busy. Busy? At this time of night? He tried again. Busy. He called her cell. No answer. He waited three minutes and called her home again. Still busy.
Something has happened to her, he thought. He called the Lyon operator. ‘I’m Inspector Thierry Dulac, Interpol. ID number 537-5672. I want to know if this number is really busy, or defective.’
‘I’m sorry sir, I—’
‘For God’s sake, this is an emergency. Someone’s life is at stake.’
‘Yes sir. One moment.’
After a seemingly interminable wait, the operator returned. ‘There seems to be something wrong with the line, sir. I am having—’
Dulac hung up and dialed Lescop’s number. After the fourth ring a drowsy voice answered.
‘Hello?’
‘Lescop, it’s me, Dulac.’
‘What … what time is it?’
‘Never mind. It’s Gina. I think she’s in trouble. Get some backup and get over to her place right away.’
‘What?’
‘Just do as I say. Her life may be in danger. There’s no time to explain. Call me when you get there.’
‘All right. All right. I’m going.’ Dulac hung up and called Harris.
‘Harris.’ His voice sounded as if he was already awake, almost as if he were expecting the call.
‘Thierry Dulac. I have an emergency.’ There was a pause.
‘Do you realize what time it is?’
‘Gina Marino is in trouble. I’ve sent Lescop and a backup over to her house.’
‘What the hell is this about?’
‘It’s a long story. I’ll fill you in when I get back to Lyon.’
‘This had better be good, Dulac.’ Harris hung up.
Dulac could feel the local anesthetic the nurse had shot in his arm spreading to his fingers. He heard the insistent ring of his phone in his pocket.
‘Cellphones are not allowed in the hospital,’ said the buxom red-headed nurse.
‘It’s an emergency.’ Dulac flipped open his cell with his good hand.
‘Lescop. We’ve entered the house. There’s no sign of Gina. Somebody has definitely been here.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘They’ve turned the place upside down. The house is trashed. I don’t think they foun
d what they were looking for. Any idea what?’
‘Call the police. Have them send all-points on Gina. Call me when you get news.’ Dulac flipped his phone shut and slowly put it back in his pocket. Who the hell is behind this? Jesus. No. It can’t be. Legnano? How could that possibly be? Yet he’s the only other person who knows about the voice analyzer results.
Dulac sat waiting in the antechamber of Legnano’s office, trying to keep a grip on his temper. Legnano’s secretary was busy opening the morning mail, when Dulac’s cell rang.
‘Lescop. We’ve found Gina. Or rather, she found us.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She’s fine. She walked in the office this morning. Apparently her sister had her fortieth birthday last night and Gina spent the night there.’
Dulac drew a deep breath. ‘Thank God she’s OK.’
‘Well, temporarily, yes.’
‘Explain.’
‘She hasn’t seen her house yet. Or what’s left of it.’ At that moment, Cardinal Legnano walked in.
‘Call you later.’ Dulac hung up.
‘Mr Dulac. What are you doing here?’ said Legnano.
Dulac jumped up and stood inches from the cardinal, blocking his way. ‘Surprised to see me, your Eminence?’
Legnano backed away. ‘Well, yes. But I’m glad—’
‘Let’s cut the crap, Cardinal, shall we?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Enough of your bullshit.’
The cardinal frowned and looked at Dulac’s bandaged arm.
‘That’s right. Your guy missed. He’s dead.’
Legnano, his look a mix of incomprehension and irritation, took another step back. ‘Mr Dulac, what in heaven’s name are you talking about?’
‘Apart from Gina and myself, you were the only person to know about the voice analyzer results. Last night, your man broke into my hotel room, tried to hack my computer, then tried to kill me.’
‘Mr Dulac, you’re talking complete nonsense. I swear to you on my cardinal’s oath that I have nothing to do with any theft, or attack on you or for that matter anybody else.’
‘Then who, Cardinal?’ Dulac thrust his face closer to the cardinal’s.
‘I am, I mean, I have no idea Mr Dulac.’ Legnano stepped back again.
‘And why should I believe you?’
‘Mr Dulac, I swear on my oath as a cardinal that I had nothing to do with this.’
Dulac and the cardinal stared at each other for a moment. Although the cardinal seemed truthful, Dulac reserved final judgment. ‘If what you are saying is true,’ Dulac continued, ‘then someone else must have overheard our conversation. Your secretary perhaps?’
‘Monsignor Patuelli? Impossible. He’s been with me for fifteen years. I have complete faith in his discretion.’
‘At the Vatican, I’m beginning to think nothing is impossible.’ Dulac pointed at different areas of the room. ‘Your office. Has it been swept clean?’
‘You mean for listening devices?’ said Legnano with an air of surprise.
‘It’s never been bugged before?’
Legnano became thoughtful. ‘Actually, yes. About seven years ago, before a synod of bishops. I’ll, I’ll have Haeflinger check again. In any case, Mr Dulac, I was going to call you. I’ve convened the Curia to inform them about this, this—’
‘Impostor, Cardinal. Impostor.’
‘Astounding,’ exclaimed Sforza, his bird-like eyes twinkling.
‘That’s preposterous, unbelievable,’ said Fouquet, staring at Dulac stiffly. ‘I’m sure someone would have noticed. The doctors gave him a complete medical examination when they checked the Pope’s state of health upon his return from Libya.’
‘I asked that very question to Dr Cavallo,’ said Legnano. ‘She said that unless you were a plastic surgeon, you wouldn’t notice.’
‘That would explain why he was not interested in the reattachment of his ear,’ said Sforza.
‘That would explain a lot of things, your Eminence,’ said Dulac.
‘If Mr Dulac and the doctor are right, de Ségur has given us quite a ride for our money, as they say in America,’ said Legnano.
‘It’s all crystal clear, your Eminence,’ said Dulac. ‘De Ségur has substituted a Cathar ‘pope’ to effect changes within the Church and control the agenda. His puppet would progressively install Cathar doctrine, abolish archbishops, cardinals even.’ Dulac paused and looked at the members of the Curia. ‘De Ségur must have had collaborators inside the Vatican. I’m talking at the highest level. At the level of—’
Suddenly Dulac’s, then everyone else’s gaze turned towards where Cardinal Gonzales had sat. The chair was empty.
Legnano stood up and rushed to the Swiss Guards, on station at the room’s entrance. ‘Get Cardinal Gonzales and bring him here. He must not leave the Vatican.’ Legnano returned to the table and rejoined the bewildered prelates.
For a long moment, no one dared break the agonizing silence that had befallen them, a somber assembly of Christ’s most respected representatives.
Sitting calmly behind his desk, Legnano looked at the cardinals one by one and said, ‘Does anyone have any suggestions as to what we do next?’
The cardinals eyed each other timidly, blank expressions on their sullen faces.
Suddenly Fouquet blurted out, ‘We must simply tell the truth. The truth will carry us through. It always has.’
Legnano rose from his chair, went around to the front of his desk and leaned back slightly with his hands on the edge of the desk. ‘Cardinal, that is the most inane, absurd, ridiculous remark I have heard in a long time.’ Staring at Fouquet, Legnano stood away from the desk and crossed his arms on his chest. ‘So according to you, we should tell the public that we have paid kidnappers $600 million in exchange for the Pope, that we didn’t check his identity before paying them the money, that an impostor has been sitting here in his place, making changes, and we have only now found out we’ve been duped. And to top it off, this false pope has announced major reforms, which to our surprise and embarrassment,’ – he looked about the room – ‘yes embarrassment, your Eminences, these reforms have been overwhelmingly approved by our faithful.’
Legnano started across the room towards the window, all the while talking. ‘Truth be told though, we have a slight problem. Our Pope, sorry, our impostor, is a Cathar, not even a Catholic priest. Shall I go on, Cardinals?’ He paused briefly, taking in the effect. ‘And we don’t know where the real Pope is, or even if he is alive for that matter.’ He stopped beside the window and looked outside, hands clasped behind his back.
Slowly, Legnano turned and eyed the cardinals one by one, leaving Fouquet until last. ‘Is this the truth you are suggesting we tell our 1.2 billion faithful and the rest of the world?’
Fouquet’s face had become the red color of his cassock’s fascia. ‘I only suggested we should eventually—’
‘Enough, Cardinal, enough. Anyone have a better idea?’ said Legnano.
At that moment, Haeflinger and two of his men burst into the room, escorting Cardinal Gonzales between them.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ said Gonzales, freeing his arm from the Swiss Guard.
‘You left the room rather precipitously, your Eminence.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘We think you may have something to do with this, this false pope,’ said Legnano.
‘Absolutely ridiculous. I merely went outside to make a private call.’
‘And may we ask to whom?’
‘To the hospital. I was simply inquiring about the Pope’s health.’
‘You mean the impostor’s health,’ said Fouquet.
‘As far as I’m concerned, that still hasn’t been proven,’ said Gonzales.
Suddenly, the insistent ring of the telephone on the small desk broke the tension. Legnano reached for it. ‘Sì … sì…. Call me when you have news. Thank you, doctor.’ He turned to the assembly. ‘We won’t get a confession s
oon. Dr Cavallo warns that his coma has deepened.’
‘Well, at least we won’t have to depose him,’ said Sforza.
‘Cardinal, your cynicism is a little out of place, don’t you think?’ said Legnano. ‘That man, whoever he is, is fighting for his life.’
‘You’re right,’ said Sforza, a look of apology on his face. He turned to the rest of the cardinals. ‘But in the name of God, what are we going to do?’
Dulac had felt more and more uncomfortable during the raucous squabbling of cardinals over a solution to their ‘problem’. Sforza wanted to set in motion the Conclave of cardinals, to elect a successor to the illegitimate Pope. As interim successor to the real Pope, the Camerlengo, Cardinal Fouquet asserted he had de facto full powers to act immediately. Legnano retorted that until it was proven beyond all reasonable doubt that the stricken man was an impostor, the man in the coma was still the Pope.
At around 10 a.m. Dulac left the discordant assembly and took a taxi back to the hotel. ‘Message for you, Mr Dulac,’ said the young raven-haired woman at the front desk. Dulac grabbed the envelope and started towards the elevator. As he reached it, he opened the envelope and read the short message. ‘Jesus,’ he whispered, and hit the up button. He re-read the message which was addressed to Inspector Thierry Dulac, Interpol, Hotel Dante.
Dulac
Call me urgent on hard-line, number 501-2 256 458, Belize City. Repeat urgent.
Hugues de Ségur
Dulac rushed out of the elevator, down the corridor. He fumbled with his room card and tried to open the door. ‘Damn. Can’t they get this low-tech junk to work?’ he mumbled. At the second try, the light turned green. He went to his desk, dialed the number and heard the distinctive buzz tone of a North American exchange.
The Chimera Sanction Page 27