The Pope's Assassin

by Luís Miguel Rocha

  Ben Isaac shook his head. "The maximum would have been jail awaiting sentencing. As I told you, during Passover, there were no executions."

  "But that's not what happened. They did execute Him," Gavache contradicted him.

  Ben Isaac didn't reply; he stopped suddenly, as if he were revealing too much. Too late. Gavache noticed.

  "It's possible they didn't have Him executed," Ben Isaac fi nally said, leaning back in the chair, defeated. "It's possible that the evangelists and Paul changed certain events and exaggerated others, blaming the Jews and speculating about what they didn't know. Only Saint John the Evangelist and Saint Matthew knew Jesus. No one else witnessed anything that occurred. All the other accounts are based on hearsay. There is also the problem that the evangelists relate conversations that occurred in private without any witnesses. How could they have known what was said?"

  Gavache sat down in a chair next to Ben Isaac. "None of this means that Jesus wasn't crucifi ed."

  Ben Isaac sighed. "Do you know what documents the lady just car ried out of here?" he asked sorrowfully.

  Gavache didn't know.

  "An inscription placing Christ in Rome in A.D. 45 and a gospel written by Him around the same year," he said.

  Gavache listened without expressing an opinion. He was used to stories being a string of lies. In his profession he had caught many charitable souls, defenders of morality, some prominent in society and politics, with their hands in the cookie jar, caught doing the very thing they criticized and even prosecuted publicly. Everyone lied for one rea son or another, or for no reason at all, because it was easy to complicate life, maybe a human need. The church had no reason to be any differ ent, and wasn't.

  "Do you believe what was written in the gospel?" Gavache asked.

  "I don't know. It has the same errors as the others—contradictions, incoherencies, coincidences. It's a testimony in the first person up to the final days before the Crucifixion, with some interesting information— mysterious, even—and other news. It gives Him a real human dimen sion that's different from the other gospels. He seems to have been in search of a state of permanent illumination. Perhaps it was His conse cration to God from the cradle that nurtured this. He said, I am not the son of God, but the way to Him. The gospel places Him in Jerusalem at the time of the Crucifixion . . . and then ends abruptly."

  "At least he didn't narrate his own death, like Moses," Gavache joked.

  Ben Isaac didn't react.

  "Tell me, Dr. Isaac, like you're explaining to an eight-year-old kid, what all this means."

  Ben Isaac took a deep breath. He was worn out."It means He could have been simply a man whom the accidents of history ended up deifying."

  "I understand," Gavache said thoughtfully. "What do you think?"

  "Excuse me?"

  "Do you think He's the Son of God or just the product of legend?"

  Ben Isaac didn't hide his shock at Gavache's question. How dare he ask a question so personal, so profound, that Ben Isaac had asked himself for years without an answer.

  "Did I upset you, Ben Isaac?" Gavache asked without a trace a pity. He waited for a reply. "Come on. You should know better than anyone. You've guarded the secret for more than fi fty years."

  "What does it matter to you what I believe?" Ben Isaac snapped back angrily. "Is that going to bring my son back to me?"

  "That's in the hands of God and the Son of God," Gavache replied scornfully.

  Tears ran down Ben Isaac's face. "What do you want me to say?" he said, sobbing. "That I believe He was a man like me and everyone else? That every day I pray He wasn't the Son of God? That I need that document to be true because that means that my daughter died because that's the way life is and not because He took her from me? Is that what you want to hear? That I could lose another child, and that to keep my sanity I need to believe that it has nothing to do with divine intervention?"

  Gavache looked at a point beyond Ben Isaac toward the back by the stairs. Ben Isaac looked toward the same spot and saw Myriam. He swallowed dryly, unable to react or take a step in her direction. She clenched her fists, turned her back on him, and went upstairs angrily.

  Myr was the only thing he managed to say, silently, to himself.

  Finally he got up and rushed to the stairs. The cell phone on top of the table began to ring, making him stop. It was his. Was it the kidnap pers again? He answered reluctantly. He didn't want any more news. He thought about little Ben and closed his eyes, wet with tears.

  Gavache answered the phone without asking. He spoke some words in French and then in English, and immediately handed the phone to Ben Isaac. "It's for you. Your son."

  "What?" Had he heard right?

  "Your son. He was freed and wants to talk to you."

  Ben Isaac was incredulous. He heard Myriam running down the stairs.

  "Ben? Is it little Ben?" she asked.

  Gavache nodded with the phone still extended toward Ben Isaac.

  "But the woman hasn't even had time to land in Paris yet," Ben Isaac reasoned, grabbing the phone.

  Inspector Gavache hurried toward the door to leave. "So long, Ben Isaac," he said as a farewell.

  Myriam took the phone out of her husband's hand and began to talk. It was her son. Tears of relief streamed from her eyes. The nightmare was over, even if she would be at peace only when she saw him in flesh and blood, safe and sound.

  "What's going on, Inspector?" Ben Isaac was unable to make sense of anything. "Where are Sarah and the documents?"

  Gavache looked back and took another drag on his cigarette before answering. "Your son is safe. That's all that matters."

  "Sir, sir," Gavache's driver called out when the car reached the cor ner and stopped by the curb.

  "Oui?" said the other, leaving behind what had happened in Ben Isaac's house.

  "We're here, sir," he told him.

  Gavache looked outside across the street? "Here?"

  "Correct, sir."

  Gavache opened the door and stepped outside. "What's your name?" he asked the driver.

  "Paul, sir."

  "Paul, if things get violent, call for reinforcements."

  "How will I know, sir?"

  "You'll know, Paul. Trust me." Gavache left.

  55

  That threat only shows you don't know me," Rafael said with a gun in his hand. He locked the door of Robin's study and wedged the back of a chair under the knob to hold it.

  Robin smiled mockingly. "What are you going to do? Hold me hostage?"

  Rafael remembered Maurice and the coldheartedness with which he had murdered Gunter, the despair with which he had later taken his own life."No, Robin. You're like an Islamic terrorist," he accused, "capa ble of killing and dying for a cause, even if you don't know what it is."

  "Isn't that what you do, too?" Robin argued irritably.

  "No, Robin, don't compare me with your insanity. I don't kill inno cent, defenseless people."

  "Fuck you, Santini."

  "That's how all our conversations seem to end."

  The door handle began to turn. Someone was trying to open it from the other side.

  "He's here," Robin shouted. "Kill him. He knows too much."

  Rafael struck him with the back of the gun, making Robin lift his hands to the wound in pain. When he looked at the palms of his hands, he saw blood. His lip had been split. He looked up with an expression of helpless fury.

  "Now shut up," Rafael threatened.

  Somebody continued to try to force the handle before suddenly stopping. Rafael knew what the next step would be and anticipated it by firing a shot halfway up the door. A heavy weight was heard falling to the floor on the other side of the shut door.

  "Son of a bitch," Robin swore.

  "Aren't we all?" the Italian replied, more to himself than to Robin. He stepped forward. "It was a pleasure, Robin. Until we meet again, God willing."

  Robin was swearing at him, but Rafael didn't hear a single word. His priority was to
get out of there alive. He needed to stay alert. He shot through the door twice more just in case, and waited a couple of seconds. He heard nothing. He opened the door carefully. A young man in a black cassock was lying on the floor, eyes staring lifelessly. A Glock pistol lay a few inches away. Rafael bent down and placed his fingers on his neck to see if there was a pulse. Nothing. He closed the corpse's eyes and sighed. Another life lost for no reason. He took the Glock and shoved it under his belt in the back.

  He got up, keeping his gun pointed, and locked the door behind him, leaving Robin captive, and proceeded step by step in silence. The other doors were closed. He tried to open them, but they were locked, except for the door to the bathroom, which was empty; one less problem.

  He looked through the door to the high altar. Only the table in the center could shield him from a threat. He ran and rolled over as quickly as possible until he was behind the table, and stayed there a few moments. From there he moved to a corner, from which he could see the nave.

  An acolyte behind the confessional, another by a column in the back. He didn't see anyone else, but with so many hiding places it wasn't going to be easy. He risked looking to see if some believer had come to pray at the wrong time in the wrong place. A woman was in the second pew, kneeling, head lowered over her hands, praying for mercy, a girl by her side, seated on the pew playing a video game. The kid probably prayed every night before bed that her mother would spend some money and buy her a new PlayStation. A few rows back was a homeless man in ragged clothes.

  "Santini," he heard a voice call from somewhere in the nave.

  "Robin," Rafael replied. "What a talent for escaping from locked offi ces."

  The faithful looked around. How disrespectful. Shouting like that in a place of silence and devotion.

  "Shhh . . ." said the woman in front.

  "Come out, Santini. I want to see you," Robin ordered, moving to the center of the nave.

  "No, I'm okay. I know when I'm not welcome," Rafael replied mockingly. "You guys don't wish me well."

  "Shhh . . ." the woman repeated. It was too much. Not just a lack of respect for a sacred place but for common civility as well.

  "Don't be afraid," Robin protested, approaching the first row of pews, next to the altar in the transept. He made an apologetic gesture to the woman, along with a forced smile. Then he took the Glock out of his cassock and held it against the head of the mother, who could not believe it. "Do you want this pretty girl to become an orphan?"

  The little one raised her eyes from the game and noticed what was happening. Instantly her tears began to flow. This wasn't a game for points.

  Rafael got up from behind the altar table, hands in the air, and kicked his Beretta away. The acolyte behind the confessional aimed a gun at him with an angry look.

  "I knew you'd end up surrendering," Robin said.

  "You're an excellent negotiator," Rafael said in mock praise.

  "You think you can come to my church and do what you want?" Robin continued. "You're so naive. Throw down the other gun, please."

  Rafael took the Glock out from the back of his slacks, put it on the floor, and gave it a kick away from him. "Let her go now."

  The mother and little girl were terrified. A priest aiming a gun at her head. Two armed acolytes. What a horrible scene. The beggar in the back had disappeared. Life, even without shelter, is priceless.

  "Shut up," Robin ordered, visibly angry. "I'm going to deal with you, you son of a bitch." He looked at the woman and turned the gun away from her head. "Get out of here fast. Forget what you saw here, or I won't forget you."

  It took less than five seconds for the woman and child to cross the nave and leave the church, completely traumatized.

  "You're real brave, Robin," Rafael sneered.

  "Put a bullet in this guy's head," Robin shouted at the acolyte aim ing at Rafael.

  The young man cocked the gun without hesitating, but before he could squeeze the trigger, he was hurled against the confessional, breaking one of the doors and falling inside. A bullet in the head had taken his life.

  Instinctively, Robin fired at the column from which the shot came. Nobody had counted on that.

  "Only a bastard like you could drag me to this den of fags," some one was heard to grumble. The ragged beggar strode pungently into the center of the nave.

  "I'm glad to see you, Donald," Rafael greeted him sincerely.

  "Fuck you, Santini. You're as much of a fag as they are," Donald insulted him in his usual affectionate way. Then he dropped the gun and sat down on the floor in pain. Robin's random shot had hit him in the stomach.

  Rafael smiled sadly. Donald was always bad tempered, but always there at the right time. Long ago, he'd been an agent like Rafael. His aim was still perfect.

  "What do you want, you smelly bum?" Robin said.

  "Don't talk, asshole."

  The other young acolyte looked at Robin in confusion, as if asking for instructions.

  "Kill him," Robin said without a trace of feeling.

  "I'd think twice before you do that, cocksuckers," Donald warned. He pointed at the dead acolyte. "Your friend is now sucking cocks in hell."

  "You're going to die slowly, Donald," Robin said disdainfully. He aimed his own gun at Donald's head.

  "Cut the shit, Robin." Rafael came forward, leaving the altar and approaching him. "No one else but me has to die." He struck his chest. "This is my fault. Do what you need to do, you bastard. Aim at me and get it over with." He came on with firm, quick steps. "Shoot me and let him go. He doesn't know what I do."

  Robin watched Rafael come nearer. "Stop, Santini. That's enough."

  Rafael obeyed. "Do what you have to do. Shoot. Get it over with."

  Robin observed the scene as if he were hovering over it.

  Rafael continued to stare hard at Robin. "Shoot."

  Robin smiled disdainfully. "As you wish."

  A sharp, echoing shot followed. "Amen."

  Rafael's head should have exploded, but instead it was Robin who spit mouthfuls of blood before falling on the cold floor of the sacred temple that had seen so many sins over the last few minutes.

  "It seems like today's the day for priests to die in church," Gavache spoke out, gun in hand, his shot taken. Amen.

  "Police. Drop the gun," he ordered the acolyte, who immediately threw it down, as if it were red-hot. "Get on the floor. Hands behind your back."

  Gavache looked at the corpse of the acolyte in the confessional and shook his head. "This world is going to hell.

  "Is everything okay, Inspector?" Paul came into the church to see what was going on, gun ready, and kneeled over the other acolyte to handcuff him.

  "Look at this, Paul. Does it look like everything is okay?"

  "This is my last hour," Donald said to Rafael, trying to grab the pew to get up. "Give my regards to William and tell him to fuck himself. All he ever does is put me in tight spots. He never gives me a break."

  Rafael ran to help him. "Don't try to get up, Don." He looked at Gavache. "Can you call an ambulance?"

  Gavache bent over Robin to take his pulse. "Call an ambulance for this one, too," he told Paul.

  "How did you know I was here?" Rafael asked Gavache.

  "Reinforcements are on the way," Paul informed them.

  "Okay, let them clean up this shit." Gavache straightened up and walked toward the door. "Come along, Rafael."

  Rafael looked around the church one last time. His head was fi lled with confusion. Much needed to be explained. He bent down over Donald.

  "Thanks, Don."

  "This shit didn't come out so well," Donald excused himself.

  "It could have been worse."

  Gavache interrupted them. "Boys, leave your conversation for later." He looked at Rafael. "Let's go. It's time."

  "An ambulance is on the way. I'll see you later," Rafael said to Donald.

  "Fuck you. Who said I want to see you? Get out of my sight."

  Rafael smiled
and followed in Gavache's footsteps. "Where are we going?"

  "We have a plane waiting for us."

  "Why do I feel like I don't know what's going on?"

  "Because you don't."

  56

  No office in the world could compare in size and sumptuousness to Tarcisio's, with the exception of the pontifi cal apartments. Not even the Oval Office was in the same league.