‘And now we come to 1945 …’ He paused dramatically. ‘The year of crossroad for all mankind … The year the decadence of the West began … The beginning of the end for world justice and decency … The year the West made a fatal error that will ultimately lead to its downfall and repression under the communist yoke and whip.’ He paused. ‘I am not referring here to the defeat of Germany but to what the Allies failed to defeat, and in so doing abysmally failed the whole of mankind …’ He paused again; then continued bitterly: ‘The Allies, to defeat Germany, had aligned themselves with Russia, with the greatest forces of evil the world had ever seen, and, knowing this, failed to annihilate their evil partner when there was no more use for him – to scotch the snake, to kill the evil python in its nest! History will forever condemn the Allies for this terrible weakness, this sheer criminal dereliction of duty to mankind. For, as the Allies advanced on war-ravaged Germany from the south, the Russian army was racing down from the north, spreading east and west as hard as it could in order to seize forever as much of Europe as it could to expand her evil empire. Russia’s intentions were well known and it was known to German Intelligence that there was urgent debate in the highest corridors of Allied power about whether, after Germany had fallen, the Allies should not turn their cannon on the Russians and drive them back whence they came, even march on to Moscow and liberate the whole vast Soviet empire from the communist yoke.’ He paused dramatically. ‘But no, they did not! … They were war weary and gutless, and’ – a sneer came into his voice – ‘it would have been electorally unpopular . . .’ He snorted bitterly. ‘So, the deafening sounds of war subside, and Russia stands head and shoulders the greatest winner! She has wrested from Europe, forever, Poland, East Germany, Czechoslovakia, Hungary, and the other “eastern bloc” countries. Even Berlin is divided …’ He snorted again. ‘For the Russians do not have to face an electorate back home – by definition, there is no democratic nonsense in Russia! They immediately imposed puppet communist regimes and their rod of iron … They made a giant leap forward in their overall strategy of global domination. And the West took their first big step backwards, into decline, moral decadence, and eventual servitude …’
Barbie paused again: then cried: ‘And they knew it … How gutless can a generation be, to sign the death warrants of future generations, for the sake of a little temporary peace and quiet? …’
He took a deep breath for dramatic effect. Then went on scornfully:
‘And they soon began further steps backward, opening further corridors for Russian advance – they began to dismantle their colonial empires with cowardly haste. Laudable though it may be to create democracy where people are ready for it, it cannot be denied that the West recklessly abandoned their responsibilities, towards their colonialists, towards the native peoples they governed, and towards the world … by hastily handing huge tracts of the earth over to primitive people, to hastily elected, immature, local self-seekers, thereby creating tribal fighting and oppression, warlordism, corruption, mismanagement and abysmal poverty and starvation, ripe for Russian subversion and takeover. In short, the Russians did not need to resort to arms any more to achieve their goal of ruling the world, because the West was handing it to them on a plate …
‘What a feast, for Russia, the next forty years were to prove …’
Barbie paused. Morgan waited, his nerves stretched. Barbie shuffled papers. When he continued it was in his storyteller’s voice again:
‘And so we come to the year 1978, and our scene moves to Rome … The old Pope, Paul VI, is dead. The cardinals are arriving from all over the world, to elect a new pope. And one of them, of course, is Pieter Gunter, the brilliant cardinal from America who is now the Papal Secretary of State …’
Morgan slammed off the machine.
He recognized the name now. Cardinal Pieter Gunter! ‘The Henry Kissinger of the Vatican.’ The man on the cover of Time. The Man Behind the Throne, they called him … Oh God no …
Morgan sat there sick in his guts. Trying to think. Then he slammed the machine on again.
‘… who in many countries is a household name. Academically he is renowned for his erudite books on Christianity, comparative religion, morality, ethics and his stance on nuclear disarmament. Long before he became Papal Secretary of State he was a voice to be reckoned with by the powers that be, a man who could arouse a huge groundswell of public opinion: as Vatican Secretary of State he walks the corridors of international power, a clever advocate of moderation, of peace in a world of superpower confrontation. As a priest he is a remarkably charismatic holy man, as an intellect he is a giant, as a politician he is consummate, as a man he is loved by all who know him, for his warmth, his wit, his charm. When the cardinals gathered in Rome in 1978 to elect a successor to Paul VI, he was widely tipped by the press to be the next Pope …’ Barbie paused. ‘And he is, of course, one of the Russian agents who was infiltrated into the Roman Catholic Church as a youth.
‘But Cardinal Pieter Gunter was not elected Pope in 1978. To the world’s surprise, Cardinal Albino Luciani was elected, and became Pope John Paul I. And what happened to Pope John Paul I?’ Barbie snorted. ‘He died after only thirty-three days …’
Barbie paused, then laughed shortly. He said rhetorically: ‘He died? … Yet he was in perfect health! … He “died”? … And yet the Vatican permitted no autopsy to be performed! … He “died”, they say? … I say to you, Pope John Paul I was murdered … ’
Morgan held his head, sick in his guts. Barbie continued theatrically:
‘So all the cardinals had to come back to Rome to elect yet another new Pope! And again it was widely thought that Cardinal Pieter Gunter would be elected. But again he was not. Instead Cardinal Karol Wojtyla from Poland was elected and became Pope John Paul II …’ He paused again; then said slowly: ‘And within fifteen months, they try to murder him too … Within fifteen months a Turk called Agca tried to shoot the Pope in Saint Peter’s Square …’ Barbie snorted again. Then said slowly: ‘We know “They” are the Russians … We know that Agca was hired by the KGB, through the Bulgarian airline officials, to kill Pope John Paul II – he has admitted that. So we know, irresistibly, that it was also the Russians who murdered Pope John Paul I … And why? …
‘Why was Pope Paul I murdered after only thirty-three days? … Why was Pope John Paul II shot only fifteen months later? …’ He paused dramatically, then said emphatically, ‘The answers are irresistible! … Because Russia wants their man Pieter Gunter sitting on the papal throne … ’
Barbie let that hang. Then he ended, softly: ‘And he is waiting in the wings …’
Morgan felt wrung out. The tape turned slowly. He thought the man had finished.
What was he going to do about this? …
He tried fiercely to concentrate. Some new pieces of the jigsaw seemed to be nearer fitting.
Anna knew that the Russians had infiltrated her beloved Catholic Church – because Max had told her in a drunken row. She knew that the Secretary of State was a KGB agent. Knew that John Paul I was murdered. Yet she claimed she was going to destroy the evidence …
He did not believe her. She intended doing something about it …
And she knew that God’s Banker had been murdered whilst trying to get his hands on this evidence that Max had – ‘I’d rather die like God’s Banker’. Max’s passport proved that he had gone to London that very day. To make a deal with God’s Banker about this evidence?
And what was God’s Banker going to do with it?
Blackmail the Vatican? But for what? Simply for money, like most blackmailers do? Or for something else as well? – like a political advantage.
A political advantage for whom? Against whom?
Morgan hunched over, trying to think. And then he remembered something else: the condoms which she had bought in Garrucha. And he knew for certain that she had not intended destroying the evidence. She had dissembled. If she had found the microfilm in New York she would have p
ut it in a condom and hidden it in her vagina, walked out of the bank and disappeared, to do whatever she intended. And that’s what she would have done today if he had not tricked her …
Suddenly Klaus Barbie’s voice came on again:
‘Pieter Gunter is waiting in the wings. And it will not be long before there is another attempt on Pope John Paul’s life, because now is the time the Russians sorely need to have a pope in their pocket.
‘For Pope John Paul’s sermonizing on Human Rights is very much not to their liking. True, they can exploit some of this in oppressed, under-developed countries in Latin America, but his message has also penetrated their eastern bloc countries where not only is there a revival of religious interest but now worker unrest, taking the form of trade unions. This, of course, is anathema to the Kremlin. In Poland, which is ardently Catholic, the charismatic trade union leader, Lech Walesa, has founded Solidarity – and the rot has spread to other satellite states. Russia intends to tolerate no such democratic nonsense in her Workers’ Paradises! Martial Law has been declared in Poland and the Russian army stands ready to “restore order”, as it did in Hungary and Czechoslovakia. And Russia has other troubles: her invasion of Afghanistan has soured into an expensive Vietnam situation; her frontiers with China are forever hostile; the communist economy is stagnant as ever, with food shortages; and now the West, NATO, is not only re-arming but is going to accept American missiles, pointed at Russia! In short, with the resurgence of America under President Reagan, Russia is losing her military superiority in Europe …’ He paused. ‘Now is a very important time for Russia to have a pope in their pocket …’
Morgan hunched over the desk, his head in his hand. Klaus Barbie let the point hang; then he ended:
‘And what a wonderful pope Pieter Gunter would be! …
‘Whereas Pope John Paul is a star, Pope Pieter Gunter would be a superstar! Whereas Pope John Paul came from the backwaters of Poland, Pieter Gunter will come to the papal throne with all the sophistication of a lifetime in America behind him! Whereas hardly anybody had ever heard of Karol Wojtyla, Pieter Gunter is a household name already! Whereas Pope John Paul is little more than a priest when it comes to politics, Pieter Gunter is a sparkling expert who is used to dining with kings! And while Pope John Paul is busy jetting around the world like a rock’n’ roll tour, Pieter Gunter is back home in the Vatican, in the role of Carmalengo, deputy Pope, running the whole vast empire, daily widening his powerbase. Pope John Paul is indeed popular, and it is true that crowds have been known to burst out into the song “He’s got the whole world, in his hand …” But compared to Pieter Gunter he is an amateur star: Pieter Gunter is the real thing, and that song would truly become his signature tune …’
There was a pause; then Barbie ended:
‘I repeat: “The whole world, in his hand …”’
Morgan snapped the tape-recorder off. He slumped back in his chair.
What was he going to do about this? …
There was a knock on the door. He snapped around. ‘Who is it?’
‘I’ve got an urgent message for you, sir.’
A message could only be from Makepeace and it could only mean trouble! Morgan scrambled up and unlocked the door.
Sergei Suslov shoved his way into the cabin.
Morgan was knocked backwards against the desk. Sergei held a canister up, the nozzle pointed at him.
‘This is a nerve gas, which instantly knocks you out. There is no defence against it.’
Morgan was staring at the man, shocked. Sergei went on quietly: ‘You will not dare to shout because you are impersonating Mr Max Hapsburg and have fraudulently opened his box. That is a serious criminal offence. And believe me I am an expert at unarmed combat. Now, I am going to take the contents of Mr Hapsburg’s box. And, you are going to tell me where Anna Hapsburg is.’
Morgan’s mind was desperately trying to race. The plane – somehow they had tracked the seaplane to Zurich. But how did they know which bank? He said shakily: ‘Who double-crossed me? …’
Sergei jerked the canister. ‘I can knock you unconscious in one squirt. And then kill you with one blow.’
And if they had tracked the seaplane, they had it covered right now – they were waiting at the seaplane … He desperately tried to stall for time. ‘Who do you think you’re kidding, Boris? You daren’t kill me inside a bank. Not until you know whether I’ve got what you want –’
‘Where is Mrs Hapsburg?’
Morgan was still pressed back against the desk. The canister two feet from his face. His mind fumbling with the basic rule they taught him at combat school: Never stand so close to your man that he can reach you. Sergei had to break the rule because the cabin was so small. Morgan said shakily: ‘I’ll make a deal. You can have the box. But Mrs Hapsburg you leave alone …’ and he began to turn to the box behind him, and he lashed around.
One hand lashed the canister aside and his other fist swung with all his might at the Russian’s stomach. Sergei crashed back against the door, and Morgan hit him again. Sergei’s hand came swooping down in a wild chop and Morgan saw stars and he hit him with his elbow with all his frantic might in the solar plexus. Sergei crashed into the corner, and Morgan hit him again. His fist crashed down on his head like a club, Sergei tried to scramble up and Morgan clubbed him again wildly with his other fist, and again, and again with his other fist, and again and again. He wildly clubbed him twice more, after the man slumped unconscious, bloody.
Morgan staggered back against the wall, heaving, gasping. The man’s face was blotched in blood and contusions. Morgan looked for the canister, rasping. He snatched it up off the floor. He turned feverishly to the desk. He snatched both cassettes out of the recorder and stuffed them in his pocket. Plus the envelope of documents and film negatives. He shoved the microfilm back in the box.
He grabbed Sergei’s collar and heaved him away from the door, panting. He opened the door a crack. The corridor was empty. The cabin opposite had a green light shining. He scrambled over the Russian’s body, dashed across the corridor and opened the door. Back to his cabin. He grabbed Sergei by the collar, and heaved him out into the corridor. Across it, into the cabin opposite. He dumped him. He pulled out the canister of nerve gas, thrust it under the Russian’s nose. He held his breath, and squeezed the plunger. Then he scrambled back into the corridor and closed the door.
He dashed back into his own cabin. He shakily smoothed his hair, straightened his tie. He snatched up the box and the tape-recorder.
He strode shakily down the corridor, holding the canister of nerve gas in one hand. He went around the corner. The clerk came towards him. ‘Finished, sir?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
The clerk led him back through the red-carpeted rooms. They came to his new slot. The clerk inserted his key. ‘Now your key, sir.’
Morgan inserted it. It trembled in his hand. He slid the box into the little vault.
The door swung closed. The keys turned.
‘Thank you.’
Morgan took a deep breath. His knuckles smarting, his head throbbing where the Russian had hit him. He touched the gun under his arm. He started walking fast out of the vaults. To face the world.
35
It all seemed unreal. And terribly real.
He came up the last stairs. His legs still shaky. There was the foyer. Makepeace sitting in an armchair. He stood up. Morgan walked over to him.
‘A Comrade tried to roll me in the vaults.’
Makepeace was wide-eyed. ‘in the vaults? … ’
‘They must have tracked the seaplane from Lake Como to here – they’ve got friends in air traffic control.’
‘But we weren’t on that plane – how did they know which bank?’
‘They knew the flight plan was to the Zurich See. So they had all roads into town covered. They spotted us on our way in. And that means that they’ve got the seaplane covered right now. They’re probably aboard the bloody thing.’
&nbs
p; ‘Oh Lord …’ Makepeace whispered.
‘So we’ve got to use the cars.’ He took a breath that quivered. ‘And there’s another change of plan … You get back to Amsterdam as fast as possible, and look after Anna –’
‘What about you?’
‘This job is far from over. I’ve got to go somewhere else. And you’ve got to get Anna to a safe place and stay with her until I join you.’
‘Where are you going?’ Makepeace whispered.
‘You needn’t know that. But I need to know where you’ve taken Anna. Is that place of mine in France safe?’
‘But,’ Makepeace protested – ‘why don’t you come with me to fetch Anna –’
‘Because I’ve got to go somewhere else and I’m not taking her because it’s too dangerous! And the fucking Comrades don’t know where she is right now and I’m scared they’ll follow me to her. So you go alone. Now, is my place in France safe? Can you think of anywhere better?’
‘No,’ Makepeace said worriedly, ‘– but Danziger would.’
‘I don’t want Danziger to know a thing about this! Once we’re out of here he’s off the job!’
‘Okay,’ Makepeace muttered ‘– A safe house somewhere? I’ll think about it …’
‘You can’t think about it – I’ve got to know now.’
‘Then it’s the farm, or we stay in the Yab Yum in Amsterdam. The farm’s much better –’
‘Then get her there, by hook or by crook, and don’t leave till I get there!’
‘What’ll I tell her?’
Morgan held up a shaky finger. ‘You tell her that we did not get into the bank today. Got that? – did not. But the Comrades tried to roll us during our reconnaissance, and we ran away to think again. Tell her I’ve gone straight to the farm to await her there. I went separately, to divide the forces of the enemy. Got that?’
Makepeace blinked. ‘Got it.’
Morgan pulled out one of the blank passports Danziger had sold him. ‘Tell her to use that.’ He took a shaky breath. ‘Okay … Let’s get out of here.’
A Woman Involved Page 25