The Last Pope (31 page)

“It’s all quite strange. The Holy See doesn’t act that way, but it still could be true. It’s a bomb threat and we can’t risk having it explode.”

“While we wait for your men to confirm the authenticity of the call, we’re faced with an ultimatum from the Vatican.”

“Yes. I’m afraid we’re in a precarious situation.”

“Sure.” The old man returned to his thoughts. “It could be our salvation,” he said after a few moments of reflection.

“You think so?” The American didn’t seem very convinced.

“They have to meet the messenger at the Waldorf within an hour, right?”

“Yes.”

“Fine and good. We’ll try to regain the initiative. Take them where they need to go.”

“Are you sure?”

An icy stare showed the futility of the question. “Take them. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Will you disregard the ultimatum?”

“Of course not.” The old man’s mind was running at full tilt. “But it’s the only means of recovering the papers.”

“Are you thinking she didn’t send them to Rome?”

“Maybe the list, but not the rest.”

“What makes you think that?”

“All the evidence points to Marius Ferris, in New York. And here we are. We can confirm with total certainty that they haven’t put their hands on those papers since they got here. So they must still be here.”

Barnes thought it over for a few moments.

“And if you’re wrong?”

“If I’m mistaken, they’ll meet the messenger at the Waldorf, just a little behind schedule. Right now, it’s essential to get the documents. If she sent out the list, the only way to get it back is for us to get the rest of the papers in our hands.”

“What do you have in mind?”

As the two men talked, the assistant approached Sarah.

“You think you’re so clever, bitch?” he muttered, his mouth almost pressed against her ear. “If you manage to get out of here alive, remember that I’ll always be watching you. I won’t give you a moment’s peace.”

Sarah shuddered, but she knew that nothing depended on the man threatening her. The old man was the one in charge, at least up to now, because luckily the Vatican had entered the picture. The following minutes would be decisive. Nevertheless, she didn’t want to kid herself.

“And one day,” the assistant continued, “when you least expect it, I’ll get into your house, go straight to your bed, and wake you up.”

Shut up, asshole, Sarah said to herself, wishing she could say it out loud. But it was still best not to step on his toes. He could lose his temper and forget the Master’s orders.

Barnes and the old man reappeared with the same sullen look as when they left.

“Let them go,” the boss ordered.

“But sir—” the assistant tried to object.

“Quiet,” the old man cut him off, his voice showing renewed strength. “Let them go. And make sure she meets the messenger on time.”

The resigned assistant grabbed her roughly and dragged her toward the doorway.

Barnes kept looking down the hall, failing to notice the half smile on the old man’s face.

“Are you sure about this?” the CIA man asked.

“Completely. Relax. I’ll have control of the documents. It’s a matter of time.”

“But we have very little,” Barnes warned apprehensively. “And after that?”

“Once you have the papers, kill them all.”

Immediately he made a call on his cell phone.

“Francesco, Your Excellency, I need to ask you a favor.”

59

And that seemed to bring to an end the persecution of Sarah Monteiro and her companions, the ones whom, with some help from on high and a bit of luck, she had managed to save from J.C. She wouldn’t go down in history for this, though, because historically speaking, neither J.C. nor Sarah Monteiro existed, and John Paul I died of natural causes.

That seemed to be the case when the group went out to the street. Rafael was in pretty bad shape, but even so, he helped Sarah support the captain, who could not walk on his own. Close behind them was Marius Ferris, who still couldn’t believe their good luck. All the others—Geoffrey Barnes, Staughton, Thompson, the servant, the assistant, the Master—helplessly witnessed their exit. In the end, Barnes would not have the pleasure of erasing Jack, after all.

“Take the van,” Barnes ordered. “Someone will come to get it later.”

Rafael was the one who drove the vehicle to the meeting with the Vatican messenger, who in turn was to lead them, safe and sound, out of the country, and they were to recover the valuable documents that Sarah declared she had asked someone to send to the Holy See. Raul Brandão Monteiro touched his wound, lying in the backseat with his head resting on his daughter’s lap.

“Does anybody know what’s going on?” The question came from the shy Marius Ferris, whose melodious voice still showed some anxiety.

“That’s exactly what I was going to ask you,” Rafael said to him as he drove. “Do you understand what happened, Captain?”

Sarah answered for her father.

“It’s very simple. While we were at the Altis Hotel in Lisbon, I called the Vatican embassy and explained our situation. The man who answered was very friendly but didn’t promise anything. He insisted that I send him some proof of what I was saying, which I did immediately.”

“What did you say?” Rafael asked, astonished by the explanation. Sarah had acted behind his back, surely while he was taking a shower.

“I faxed the documents.”

“And then?”

Sarah didn’t appreciate Rafael’s grilling. He didn’t seem to like the idea that she had solved the problem and saved everyone’s life.

“Then the man asked me to send the originals to the Vatican Library in Rome, and I asked the receptionist to take care of it.”

“Go on.”

“The nuncio’s secretary emphasized that he couldn’t promise anything, but he assured me that the matter would be presented to the appropriate authorities.”

“And that explains our here and now,” Rafael concluded.

“Exactly.”

Rafael looked at Sarah’s father through the rearview mirror.

“What do you think, Captain?”

The officer attempted to utter a few words but could only manage to produce an incomprehensible sound.

“Speak slowly, don’t force it,” his daughter recommended, gently.

“Am—am—”

“An ambush?” Rafael guessed. The officer nodded.

“An ambush? Why?” Sarah was confused by the two men’s conviction. “Didn’t I solve the problem?”

“Of course not,” Rafael declared emphatically.

Raul squeezed his daughter’s arm, as if asking her to listen to Rafael.

“Look. The Vatican doesn’t act that way. It uses much more subtle tactics. It would never give an ultimatum of that type, much less to save our lives. J.C. knows that.”

“Maybe,” Sarah said mysteriously, “but I’ve still got an ace up my sleeve.”

“Do you think they’re following us?” Ferris asked nervously.

“That’s easy enough to find out,” Rafael said. “The Waldorf is north of us, and we’ll change our route. Captain, what do you think about stopping by a hospital to have them take a look at that wound?”

Rafael turned right at the first street and sped up, heading into the tumultuous heart of Manhattan. In less than a half minute there were three patrol cars from the New York City Police Department with lights flashing. Rather than block the way to force the van to stop, they did just the opposite: two patrol cars followed behind them, while the other led the way in front, through the dense traffic in the area.

The New York City police escorted them to their destination, for security reasons. “Please follow us,” sounded the loudspeaker from one of the patrol cars.

“How nice!” Rafael exclaimed ironically, at once following the new route marked by the police vehicles. “Now, tell me, did the Vatican also send us this escort?”

“Supposing that you’re right,” Sarah said, “why stage this farce if we were already in their power? They’re giving us a chance to escape. What are they gaining?”

“No matter how hard we tried, we couldn’t throw them off our track. Surely there are several satellites watching us. Besides, the van is theirs. It’s equipped with all the detection devices you ever dreamed of,” Rafael pointed out. “As for the
dramatics,
I think the old man, deep down, knows exactly what he’s doing. In spite of everything, our situation hasn’t improved.”

“Yeah, we were better off chained up in that room,” Sarah agreed sarcastically.

“You don’t have . . . don’t have all the pieces to . . . to put the puzzle together, Sarah,” her father said.

The young woman turned to Rafael.

“All right, then, mister puzzle man, tell me what we’re going to do.”

“Nothing.”

“What do you mean, nothing?” Sarah and Marius Ferris asked in unison.

Rafael disregarded the priest and looked directly at Sarah. “I do sincerely appreciate your having granted me another half hour of life.”

“Hail Mary, Mother of God . . .” Marius Ferris prayed, crossing himself, in an effort to overcome his fear.

“Does this mean that they don’t believe the papers are in the Vatican?”

“Exactly. They know they’re not there. You aren’t the only one with contacts in the Holy See,” Rafael answered.

“But they seem to have believed it. It’s all very confusing. Who do you think called to give them the ultimatum?”

“Nobody,” Rafael answered decisively. He quickly changed his authoritative voice to a softer, more reflective tone, to avoid hurting Sarah’s feelings. “Even assuming there really was an ultimatum, they would disregard it.

And I can’t imagine the Vatican worrying about us. Think—why are we getting this escort?”

“That’s something I can’t explain,” Sarah said to herself. But she was still annoyed. Of course there was an ultimatum. “I’m sorry to inform you that the ultimatum is no figment of my imagination.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Do you have all the pieces of the puzzle?” she asked defiantly. “Are you sure we’re not going to meet a messenger?”

“The messenger will be there.”

“Well, I played my cards, I did what I could,” Sarah said. “Whatever will be will be.”

They exchanged looks for a few seconds. Each could see the other’s worries, for themselves and for the others.

Minutes later they turned onto Park Avenue, with all the pomp conferred by their escort. They stopped in front of 301, the celebrated Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, the lodging place of innumerable celebrities for more than a century.

After a struggle, Raul managed to sit up on the seat. Marius Ferris was the first to open the door, but before he could step out, someone slammed the door shut from the outside. It was a man dressed in black whom he’d never seen before.

“My apologies. His Excellency prefers not to meet with the whole group. Only with the young lady,” the man said, peeking into the window by Marius Ferris’s seat.

Rafael took the opportunity to glance at Sarah, silently asking her whether her pieces of the puzzle now fit together. Sarah didn’t understand the glance at first, so Rafael signaled her to come closer, and whispered his question. Sarah said nothing, but she didn’t hide her uncertainty and anxiety.

“Only the woman can come with me,” the man in black insisted.

The daughter tenderly grasped her father’s hand.

“Everything will be fine. Don’t worry.”

The man in black opened the door and Sarah stepped out of the van. He escorted her inside the hotel. Rafael also got out of the vehicle but was immediately intercepted by another thug.

“Didn’t you hear my partner?” he asked menacingly.

“Yes, I heard him.”

“Then you’d better get back in.”

“Unfortunately that’s not possible. I must go with the woman,” he insisted impassively.

“Get back in the van right now,” the guy ordered. “I won’t ask you again.”

“I can’t. Do you know why?”

“Do I look like I’ve got any interest in knowing?”

“If you don’t, you ought to.” He paused for a moment to let the words sink in. “I’m the only one who knows where the papers are.” Another brief silence before the crowning touch. “The woman doesn’t know anything.”

60

Are you going to tell me or not?”

“Tell you what?”

“What you left out.”

“What I left out?”

“Do you want me to be more direct? What else did you do behind my back?”

“Why do you think I’m hiding something?”

“The piece of the puzzle, remember?”

“If you tell me what piece is missing from your puzzle, maybe I can tell you which one I’ve got, assuming it exists.”

“I’m not missing anything.”

“You aren’t?” She thought for a moment. “Then I’m not, either.”

Sarah Monteiro and Rafael were sitting in a black Range Rover en route to the supposed hiding place for the papers.

The thug had reported Rafael’s words to his superiors, and received the order to bring him before His Excellency, who awaited him in the lobby of the hotel. Rafael was suddenly next to the bishop, who seemed authentic.

His name was Francesco Cossega. As strange as it might seem, Rafael instinctively made the gesture to kiss his hand.

“God bless you, my son,” the prelate said, the way real bishops respond.

“Is Your Excellency the messenger from His Holiness?”

The beating must have really gotten to him, Sarah thought. Or else he’s up to something.

“You’re safe with me, my children,” he said, then looking directly at Rafael. “Are you going to take me to where the documents are?”

“Of course, Your Excellency,” Rafael responded rapidly. “I’d like to ask you to release the two men outside in the van. One of them needs medical attention.”

“And I need emergency psychological attention,” Sarah said to herself, stunned. She was consumed with anguish, not knowing how her father was going to be after that terrible torture. All she wanted was to be done with this farce and to rush to his side.