A Woman Involved

by John Gordon Davis

  ‘You’ve said you’re armed. Why do you come into this holy city with a gun if you mean no harm?’

  ‘Because I’m trying to stay alive from other people who want the evidence!’

  ‘Who?’

  Morgan controlled his impatience. He had nothing to lose by answering questions now. ‘The KGB and the British.’

  Surprise crossed the cardinal’s face. ‘Why should the British want to kill you, Englishman?’

  Morgan leant forward. ‘Because they know, that I know, that once upon a time you were trained by the KGB! In the hopes that one day they would have a pope as their agent! And the British – and Americans no doubt – want to use you too. They want you in their pocket. But they can’t pressurize you into doing anything for them unless they have the evidence in their hand … And I am the only man who knows where that is! And they want to get it from me! And then I think they’ll kill me! In case I have made a copy of it and ruin everything for them by shouting it from the rooftops!’

  The cardinal’s face was gaunt but his eyes were unflinching. He said quietly:

  ‘So if I am to believe you, you believe that you have bearded the most powerful KGB agent, and have uncovered the most monstrous plot ever hatched against Christendom? That I am a ruthless monster defrauding one third of mankind? –’ He forced a bleak smile and shook his head. He stood up wearily, and turned for the door. ‘This is ridiculous. Go!’

  Morgan was astonished again. He could not believe this. The man knew he had the goods on him, or he wouldn’t be here! Yet he had suddenly decided to act. To bluff it out. And the incredulous relief that Morgan had felt was sliding away. This was the behaviour of a guilty man! Not a genuinely indignant man, or a penitent man. He cried:

  ‘For God’s sake listen to me! And I mean for God’s sake! This is not something you can bluster your way out of, using your high authority! For God’s sake get it into your head that I possess this evidence, and that everybody wants it! And at stake is not only my life but yours, because they’ll kill you when you don’t do their bidding, and if you do their bidding the other side will kill you! But that’s the least of it! Because what about your precious Catholic Church? It could come tumbling down in disgrace!’ He added angrily: ‘If that is precious to you.’

  Cardinal Gunter was half-turned towards the door. Looking at him calculatingly.

  ‘What do you want from me? Money?’

  Morgan’s heart sank further. A guilty man would make a deal.

  ‘Yes! One million pounds! For the microfilm. And I’ll keep my mouth shut. But I could sell this story to the press for a million pounds easily!’ The cardinal looked at him. Morgan went on: ‘It’s cheap! To preserve the continuity of two thousand years of religion! Isn’t that why Pope Pius made a deal with Hitler – preservation in exchange for Vatican neutrality? When he should have spoken up against the Nazis and their atrocities? One million pounds is laughably cheap compared to the millions of lives that were lost!’

  Cardinal Gunter turned away. ‘Get out …’

  Morgan closed his eyes in relief. But he still wasn’t sure. He wanted to shout it, but he made himself say it softly: ‘I don’t want money! I want you’ – he jabbed his finger – ‘to satisfy me’ – he tapped his chest ‘– that you are not and never will be a communist agent.’

  The Secretary of State frowned scornfully. ‘I haven’t succeeded in doing that already?’

  ‘Not yet! You were doing a great job while you thought I was your KGB controller and tried to send me packing! But once you heard I’m not KGB you try to bluster it out and pretend something never happened. You’ve destroyed your credibility, Cardinal!’

  ‘Indeed? I was trying to establish yours.’

  Morgan dearly wished he could believe that, ‘And in addition to satisfying me of your innocence, you must purge these other agents from the Church.’ He smacked the printout.

  ‘And when I’ve done that? Any other stipulations?’

  Indeed there were. But Morgan was not going to tell him yet. He said: ‘Then … when I am satisfied with all that, I will destroy the evidence.’

  Cardinal Gunter said scornfully: ‘When you are satisfied? A jury of one.’

  Morgan cried, ‘Yes! And, unfortunately I’m more than that – I’m the prosecutor as well!’ He glared at the man: ‘It’s just so happened that onto my slender shoulders has descended the burden of deciding the fate of the Catholic Church! And the social stability of a huge part of the Western world!’ He shook his head at the man. ‘I don’t want this job! I’m not even a good Catholic! And I certainly don’t want to be running for my life from Russian and British and American hit-men! …’ He tapped his chest and leant forward: ‘But I’m stuck with the job, and I’m going to do it.’

  Cardinal Gunter seemed to change again.

  ‘When you are satisfied, why won’t you hand this so-called evidence over to me?’

  Morgan was incredulous. “‘So-called evidence”? Jesus Christ, you know the evidence is real or you wouldn’t be sitting here now talking to me! For Christ’s sake stop acting, man!’

  The cardinal said quietly: ‘You threatened me with a gun. I had little option but to play along with you. A man with a gun shouting his head off that the Secretary of State is a communist agent? What a nice thing to hear. Besides, I’d like to know what I’m being accused of.’

  Morgan looked at him furiously. ‘Why do you want the fucking evidence handed to you?’

  ‘Doesn’t any man who is being blackmailed, however unjustly? So that such a thing cannot happen again.’

  Morgan was devastated that the relief he had felt was definitely proving wrong. He pulled the gun out of his shoulder holster angrily. ‘This is your last chance.’ He threw the gun onto the settee, on the opposite side of the room. ‘Now you are no longer threatened with a gun!’ He held his finger out at the man. ‘Now you have two options. You can either talk to me, or you can press the alarm button and your Swiss guards can throw me out. Unfortunately you cannot murder me, if that is up your street, because I am here officially. You will have got rid of me, but only for the night. Tomorrow you will be dealing with much heavier-weights than me.’

  Cardinal Pieter Gunter was still standing, as if he intended to walk out on this nonsense.

  ‘Why are you involving yourself in this? Why don’t you just sell your story to the press for a million pounds?’

  Oh Jesus …! ‘I thought I’d made that clear! I don’t wish the Holy Roman Church to be manipulated! And I don’t want one of the corner stones of society shaken.’

  The cardinal considered him steadily. Then he walked slowly back to his desk. But he did not sit down.

  ‘I think I believe you.’

  Morgan snorted. There was something studied about the way he had said that, which robbed the statement of sincerity. Like there had been something theatrical in the way the man had first told him to get out once he had the list of other KGB trainees.

  The cardinal sat down slowly.

  ‘And if I fail to convince you of my innocence?’

  Morgan said bitterly: ‘I will hand the evidence over to the British. And let them sort it out. But they will probably try to use you for their own ends. Against the Russians. As a double-agent, probably. And if they can’t succeed in doing that, they’ll expose you. Because they can’t afford to have a KGB agent in the Vatican.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t they just assassinate me?’

  ‘They might. But they might not feel sure that the microfilm tells the whole story, whether the next Secretary of State is a KGB agent or not. So they may decide it’s safer to expose the whole plot. And discredit the whole Church.’

  The cardinal studied him grimly. Then he said:

  ‘Let me assure you of this: not only do I intend dismissing these ten people’ – he tapped the printout – ‘but I intend launching a full-scale investigation to ensure the rot has not spread any further.’ He added: ‘If you are in fact an agent, you can tell
your masters that. With my compliments.’

  Morgan nodded impatiently. All very well. But, even if he believed that statement, no investigation into communist rot conducted by an ex-KGB agent could be trusted. And he didn’t like the fact that the man assumed he was going to continue as Secretary of State. Did he take Morgan for a fool? But he only said, ‘Good.’

  The cardinal laced his hands together. He said:

  ‘So instead of handing the evidence over to the British authorities, who have no jurisdiction over the Vatican, you should hand it over to the Vatican, surely? They are the best guardians of this information.’

  ‘Quis custodiet ipsos custodientes? Who will guard the guards themselves?’

  The cardinal spread his hands earnestly. ‘Maybe, but how can the British conduct a proper investigation? They can’t send Scotland Yard into Vatican City – it’s a sovereign state, we could bar their entrance.’ He spread his hands again: ‘Give the evidence to the Pope himself! Let him worry about it.’

  Morgan snorted. The Pope? Good man, no doubt, but a man so naive or so misinformed that he confirms Bishop Marcinkus in his post as president of the Vatican Bank after the God’s Banker scandal? And who does the Pope appoint to worry about it? But he said, ‘I’ll consider it.’

  ‘But you must. To protect the good name of the Church. And to ensure an efficient investigation. That’s what you want, if you are who you say you are.’ Then he shook his head with finality. ‘I will not cooperate with you unless you assure me of that.’

  Morgan wanted to rasp, You’re in no position to stipulate anything! – I’ve got you like that He said impatiently, ‘All right, you have my assurance, provided I am satisfied you have made a clean breast to me – starting right now.’

  Cardinal Gunter looked away, and got up. He paced slowly across the room, his hands clasped. He said: ‘And what is going to happen to you after all this? You say they are trying to kill you?’

  Was this a diversionary tactic? ‘I’ll cross the bridges as I come to them.’

  ‘I think the Vatican can help you across those bridges.’

  Morgan snapped: ‘Provided I hand the evidence over to you? I will not be bribed.’

  The cardinal smiled thinly. ‘It was not a bribe, Englishman. It was simply a Christian offer to help a brave man.’

  He returned to his desk abruptly. He laid his hands flat.

  ‘It appears I have no option but to cooperate with you. So? How do I go about convincing you of my innocence?’

  Oh Jesus, Morgan did not know what to make of him. A Christian offer? Or a ploy?

  ‘I need pen and paper. You tell me your story, from the beginning. Then I will cross-examine you.’

  The cardinal sighed, then opened a drawer. He produced a pad of paper. He took a pen off the rack. He waited a moment, thinking; then said:

  ‘Very well. But may I suggest that first we pray …’ Morgan was taken aback. The cardinal paused, then he said: ‘But first I want to say this: I found God almost as soon as they started training me. As soon as I started studying the Bible. And, I was overjoyed! And I knew with all my heart that all I wanted to be was a priest.’ He turned to Morgan. ‘They thought they were going to double-cross the Holy Roman Church. But I double-crossed them.’

  55

  Pray? What was this – more theatricals? Cardinal Gunter leant his elbow on the desk, rested his head in his hand, and closed his eyes. His lips began to move silently.

  And Morgan did not know what to believe. With all his heart he wanted to pray too, lift his arms up wide and pray pray pray angrily, for guidance. But he kept his eyes fixed on the man, watching his every expression, his demeanour, desperately trying to assess his credibility. For a minute the cardinal was silent. Then he crossed himself, and opened his eyes.

  He said: ‘From the very beginning?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  Cardinal Gunter sat back in his chair wearily, and looked at the ceiling. He was silent a moment. Then:

  ‘I was brought up in an orphanage in Leningrad. Evidently I was a bright pupil. One day I was sent for …’

  Morgan watched him. And he saw it in his mind’s eye: the snowclad house in the woods outside Moscow, the orphan boy in his monk’s habit sitting on the bench.

  Cardinal Gunter seemed to be warming to his story.

  ‘Boris really was an excellent teacher. A razor-brain intellectual. He knew his Bible backwards, and all the usual theological textbooks. And, of course, all the works on atheism. In fact, looking back, I’ve often thought the man was within a hair’s breadth of becoming a Christian himself. He was so learned. We often sat up till the small hours discussing obtuse metaphysical points. And the amazing thing is he didn’t believe any of these Christian principles he was so ardently expounding and making sure I understood.’

  ‘And this was all in English?’

  ‘Oh yes. We were never allowed to speak Russian. I had intensive coaching in German, of course, but all my theology was taught in English.’

  ‘And how did you feel about going to America?’

  The cardinal smiled.

  ‘I cannot really describe the joy I kept bottled up inside me those years … I didn’t care where I was sent, as long as I was doing God’s work. I suppose I would have been happiest to stay in Russia, and bellow my sermons to all those atheists …’ He shook his head. ‘America? The Land of the Free, where I could really spread my wings for God? – it was a tremendously exciting prospect for a lad of sixteen.’

  ‘They taught you that America was the Land of the Free?’

  Pieter Gunter shrugged. ‘They knew they could not fool me, because I was going there. They taught me the realities of America, all the fundamentals of capitalism. But they also drummed into me all the principles of Marxism, and proved – yes proved to me – how wrong capitalism all was. How superior Marxism was. How capitalism was doomed to be defeated.’

  ‘And what did you think?’

  The cardinal shook his head.

  ‘I remember having an open mind about economics. I made myself have an open mind. I could see both sides of the question.’ (Morgan didn’t believe that.) ‘I was sophisticated enough to be able to see some of the … shortcomings of communism. Men were drawing ploughs in those days, like oxen. Are you a student of economics?’

  Morgan shook his head.

  ‘Nor am I, really. But I know enough to think that the answer – of Justice – lies somewhere between the two systems.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  The cardinal looked at the ceiling.

  ‘The world’s resources are so finite. And the population is constantly increasing. A third of the world is hungry now. The day will surely come when the world’s goods will have to be rationed to all the people.’

  That statement begged a question. But he let it go for the moment. ‘Apart from theology and politics, what else did they teach you? Espionage work? Like photographing documents?’

  ‘Yes. Cameras weren’t very sophisticated in those days.’

  ‘Radio work? Sending messages?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Surveillance? How to follow somebody, how to shake off somebody who’s following you?’

  ‘Yes, all that sort of thing. Enough to get us by. After all, we were going to be priests, not James Bonds.’

  ‘Weaponry? Small arms? Knife work? Explosives?’

  ‘Yes. No explosives.’

  ‘Unarmed combat?’

  ‘Yes.’ He smiled. ‘I could probably still throw you around the room, Mr Englishman. Though I’ve never had to use my pugilistic skills. Most priests don’t, you know.’

  Morgan did not smile. ‘“Us”. “We”. So you knew that other people were being trained, like you?’

  ‘I presumed that. But I had no idea who or where they were. I asked my instructors, but they would neither confirm nor deny it. In case I defected, I suppose.’

  ‘And how did you feel about such people entering the Church?’

&
nbsp; Pieter Gunter sat back. ‘I just wished I could share my joy of Christianity with them – so that I could convert them. I prayed for them – to see the same light I had.’ He added. ‘But I was very worried about them possibly corrupting the Church. And I have been ever since. That’s why I was so delighted tonight when you told the computer who they were.’

  ‘Possibly corrupting it! Having it taken over by atheist communists, you mean! That’s what you were all being sent to do!’

  The cardinal held up a hand. ‘I was only sixteen. I believed the Church was invincible. God would prevail. I did not believe that us young trainees could really do much damage to such a mighty institution as the Holy Roman Church. It never occurred to me that I might one day be Secretary of State. We were but fleas.’

  Morgan made a note of this inconsistency with his last answer. ‘Well, it certainly occurred to your mentors in the Kremlin.’

  ‘But remember that I was Russian. A Christian, yes, but I had been taught that Marxism was all good, and capitalism doomed. Human Rights was not a great issue in those days – Hitler was yet to come, the West had carved up the undeveloped world into colonies and were grinding the faces of the poor natives without much conscience. I did not know what Stalin was doing to my own people.’

  ‘So?’ Morgan demanded.

  ‘So, at sixteen I was only concerned that the Church be not abused – that it not be perverted, sullied by having atheists for priests – at sixteen that was my anxiety, the sacrilege of it.’

  Morgan sat back. Had he caught the man out? Or had he honestly talked his way out of it? Hopefully his tape-recorder would make it clear. ‘So what did you do about it?’

  The cardinal said: ‘Shall I come to that in due course? Tell my story my way?’

  ‘Very well,’ Morgan sighed.

  Pieter Gunter sat back again. ‘Then,’ he said, ‘came the blessed day when my instructors declared I was ready to go forth into the world …’

  There was no passing-out ceremony, no visit to KGB headquarters, there was only a bottle of vodka. The young spy-priest did not like vodka, but he gamely took a glass. Boris let his hair down that last night. He was proud of his protégé and convinced he was going to get to the top. ‘Your grasp of apologetics is remarkable!’