Day of Confession Part 24

And now she was alone with Michael Roark sleeping in the room behind her, praying to hear the sound of the outboard coming back. But there was no sound other than the gentle lap of the water against the rock walls.

She was turning back for the room, determined her only course was to pick up the telephone and call her mother general in Siena, tell her what had happened and ask what she should do, when she heard the distant rumble of a motorboat echo off the grotto's walls.

Certain it was Luca and the others, she walked, nearly ran, down the corridor toward the landing. Then she saw the bright beam of the searchlight, heard the cut of the engines, and then the sleek hull of the flat-bottomed motorboat slid into view. It was Edward Mooi.

72.

THREE OF THEM CAME OVER THE BOAT'S gunwale. Edward Mooi and a man and woman Elena had never seen before.

"The men have gone," she said quickly.

"I know." Mooi's look was intent as he introduced her to the couple with him. They were trusted, longtime employees of Eros Barbu and had come to stay with Michael Roark while she went into Bellagio.

"Bellagio?" She was startled.

"I want you to meet someone-a priest from the United States-and bring him here."

"Here, to the grotto?"

"Yes."

Elena glanced at the man and the woman, then looked back to Edward Mooi. "Why me?-Why not go yourself?"

"Because we are known in Bellagio and you are not..."

Again Elena looked to the man and woman. Salvatore and Marta, Edward Mooi had called them. They said nothing, only stared back at her. They were probably in their fifties. Salvatore was tanned, the woman, Marta, was not. Which meant he probably worked outside at the villa, while she worked inside. Both wore wedding bands, but there was no way to tell if they were married to each other. It made no difference, their eyes told everything. They were frightened and apprehensive and at the same time alert and determined. Whatever Edward Mooi asked, they would do.

"Who is this priest?" Elena asked.

"A relative of Michael Roark," Edward Mooi said quietly.

"No, he is not." Elena had already made up her mind when she said it. There was no fear, only anger at not having been told earlier, by Luca or Marco or Pietro or by her own mother general.

"There is is no Michael Roark, or if there is, the man in there is not him." She pointed off, back toward the room where her patient slept. "He is Father Daniel Addison, the Vatican priest wanted for the murder of Cardinal Parma." no Michael Roark, or if there is, the man in there is not him." She pointed off, back toward the room where her patient slept. "He is Father Daniel Addison, the Vatican priest wanted for the murder of Cardinal Parma."

"He is in danger, Sister Elena, that's why he's here..."-Edward Mooi spoke calmly-"why he was given a new ident.i.ty and moved as he was..."

Elena stared at him. "Why are you protecting him?"

"We were asked..."

"By whom?"

"Eros Barbu..."

"A world-famous writer is safeguarding a murderer?"

Edward Mooi said nothing.

"Luca knew and the others? My mother general?" Elena stared, incredulous.

"I... don't know...." Edward Mooi's eyes narrowed. "What I do know is that the police are watching everything we do. That's why I asked you to go into Bellagio. If any of us went and met this priest, they would either arrest us all on the spot or wait and see where we went."

"This priest," Sister Elena said, "is Father Addison's brother. Yes?"

"I think he is."

"And you want me to bring him here..."

Edward Mooi nodded. "By land there is another way in that I will show you..."

"What if, instead, I went to the police?"

"You don't know for certain Father Daniel is a murderer.... And I have seen how you care for him...." Edward Mooi's eyes were those of a poet. Fierce, yet at the same time trusting and sincere. "He is your charge, you will not go to the police."

73.

Villa Lorenzi. 6:00 A.M A.M.

HAIR DISHEVELED, BAREFOOT, AND IN A BATHrobe, Edward Mooi stood in the doorway of the caretaker's cottage and simply shrugged his shoulders, letting Roscani and his army-Gruppo Cardinale special agents, heavily armed uniformed carabinieri carabinieri, along with an Italian army canine unit, five Belgian Malinois dogs and their handlers-have their second run at Villa Lorenzi.

Again they searched the palace-like main house, the adjoining sixteen-bedroom guest wing, the wing opposite, which was Eros Barbu's private quarters, the bas.e.m.e.nts and sub-bas.e.m.e.nts. The Malinois led them everywhere, hunting the scent of clothing flown in from Rome, and taken from Father Daniel's apartment on Via Ombrellari and from Harry Addison's belongings left behind at the Hotel Ha.s.sler.

Afterward they combed the huge domed structure behind the main residence, which housed the indoor swimming pool and tennis courts and, on the second floor, the immense, gilt-ceilinged, grand ballroom. And then the eight-car garage, the servants' apartments, the twin, single-story maintenance buildings, and finally, the three-quarter-acre greenhouse.

Roscani walked through it all. Tie loosened, s.h.i.+rt open at the collar against the early heat. One room after another, one building after another, directing the operation, alert to the actions of the dogs, opening closet doors himself, looking for access panels, looking between walls, under floors-his personal attention given to everything. At the same time his mind kept coming back to the murders in Pescara and the man with the ice pick. Who he was, might be. And in that, he sent an urgent request to INTERPOL headquarters in Lyon, France, for a list of terrorists and killers still at large thought to be in Europe; the list to include suspected whereabouts and, where possible, a personality profile.

"HAVE YOU SEEN ENOUGH, Ispettore Capo?" Edward Mooi was still in his bathrobe.

Roscani looked up, suddenly aware of where he was and of both men standing at the top of a flight of stairs inside Villa Lorenzi's boathouse. Outside, the morning sun painted a bright, s.h.i.+mmering surface across the still of the lake, while below, in semidarkness, two of the Belgian Malinois sniffed and grumbled at the gunwales of a large motorboat moored at the dock, their handlers letting them do as they pleased, four armed carabinieri carabinieri watching closely as they did. Roscani turned to watch, and so did Edward Mooi, Roscani glancing at the South African as he did. watching closely as they did. Roscani turned to watch, and so did Edward Mooi, Roscani glancing at the South African as he did.

Finally the dogs gave up, one after the other, walking lazily around the dock sniffing at nothing. One of the handlers looked up and shook his head.

"Grazie, Signore, "Roscani said to Edward Mooi.

"Prego," Mooi nodded, then walked out and back along the path toward the villa.

"That's all," Roscani called to the dog handlers, and watched as they and their animals and the four carabinieri carabinieri climbed the stairs, following in the direction Edward Mooi had gone, toward the house and the convoy of parked police vehicles. climbed the stairs, following in the direction Edward Mooi had gone, toward the house and the convoy of parked police vehicles.

Slowly Roscani started up the path after them. They had been there for more than two hours and nothing had been found. Two hours wasted. If he was wrong, he was wrong. And he needed to leave it and move on. Still- Turning, he looked back. There was the boathouse and beyond it the lake. To his right he could see the dogs and the armed carabinieri carabinieri almost to the villa. Edward Mooi was out of sight. almost to the villa. Edward Mooi was out of sight.

What had he missed?

To the left of the villa, between it and the boathouse was the stone landing with its ornate bal.u.s.trade where the hydrofoil captain had said he put the fugitive priest and the others ash.o.r.e.

Once again Roscani looked to the boathouse. Absently his fingers went to his mouth, and he took a pull from his phantom cigarette. Then, his eyes still on the boathouse, he dropped the imaginary cigarette, ground it out with his toe, and walked back and went inside.

From the top of the stairs he saw nothing but the motorboat moored to the dock below and the equipment needed to tend it. At the far end, the rectangular opening to the lake. The same as before.

Finally, he went down the stairs and walked along the dock beside the boat. Bow to stern. Stern to bow. Looking. For what, he didn't know. Then he climbed onboard. Studied the interior of the hull, the seats, the c.o.c.kpit. The dogs had complained but found nothing. He could see nothing. A boat was a boat, and he was wasting his time. He was about to step over the side and back onto the dock, when he had one last thought. Crossing to the stern, he looked down at the twin Yamaha outboard engines. Kneeling, he reached over the side and gingerly ran his hand down the lower leg of each, touching the side panels between the power head and the water where the exhaust line ran.

Both were warm.

74.

8:00 A.M A.M.

ELENA VOSO CROSSED THE SQUARE AND started down the steps toward the lake. Shops catering mainly to tourists lined either side of the walkway down. Most of them were already open. Salespeople and customers alike, cheery, smiling, seeming happy about the prospects for the day.

In front of her Elena could see the lake. Boats crisscrossed on it. Across the street at the bottom of the stairs she could see the hydrofoil landing, and she wondered if the first hydrofoil had come yet, if Luca and Marco and Pietro were already in Como or maybe at the station, waiting for the train to Milan. At the bottom of the stairs was something else too-the Hotel Du Lac-and even now she wasn't certain what she would do when she got there.

After Edward Mooi left the grotto in the motorboat, Elena had taken Salvatore and Marta to where Michael Roark, or-and now she had to think of him this way-Father Daniel, was. He had been awake and moved up on one elbow, watching as they came in. Elena had introduced Salvatore and Marta as friends, saying she had to leave for a short while and they would care for him until she got back. Even though he was beginning to regain full use of his vocal chords and could talk for short periods of time, Father Daniel had said nothing. Instead his eyes had searched hers, as if somehow he knew she had found out who he was.

"You will be all right," she'd said finally and left him with Marta, who had mentioned that his bandages should be changed and said that she would do it herself, indicating she had some training in medical care.

And then Salvatore had led Elena into a part of the caves she had not seen before. A twisting, turning route through a series of stone corridors ending, finally, at a cage-like service elevator that took them up several hundred feet through a natural cut in the granite.

At the top they had emerged into a heavy thicket and walked down a forest path to a fire road. There Salvatore had helped her into a small farm truck, told her how to get to Bellagio and what to do once she reached it.

Well, now she had reached it and was almost to the bottom of the steps across from the Hotel Du Lac when she saw them-police. They were right in front of her-an ambulance and three police cars and a crowd of onlookers directly across the street near the boat landing at the edge of the lake. To her left was the little park with the public telephone she had been instructed to use to call Father Daniel's brother at the hotel.

"Someone drowned," she heard a woman say, and then other people pushed past her, coming down the steps, rus.h.i.+ng to see what had happened.

Elena watched for a moment, then glanced toward the telephones. Father Daniel was in her care, Edward Mooi had said. Maybe so, but reason told her that when she got the chance she should go directly to the police. Whether her mother general knew what was going on made no difference. Nor was it her business what Father Daniel had done or had not done. That was what the law was for. He was wanted for murder and so was his brother. There were the police. All she had to do was go.

And she did, moving away from the phones, crossing the street toward them. As she reached the far curb, a loud noise went up from the crowd at the water's edge. More people hurried past, anxious to see what was going on.

"Look!" someone said, and Elena saw police divers in the water near the boat landing lift a body from the lake. Policemen onsh.o.r.e hefted it from them and put it down on the landing. Another rushed to throw a blanket over it.

That breathless moment in time, that uncounted second, when the public glimpses the suddenly dead and becomes instantly silent, froze Elena Voso where she stood. The body fished from the lake was that of a man.

Luca Fanari.

75.

HARRY WATCHED THE POLICE AND THE CROWD across the street a moment longer, then turned from his hotel room window to look back at the television. Adrianna in her L. L. Bean field jacket and baseball cap stood in a pouring rain outside the Geneva headquarters of the World Health Organization. A major story was coming, piecemeal, from mainland China. Unofficial reports from the city of Hefei in eastern China indicated that a major incident had taken place concerning the area's public water supply-thousands of people were rumored to have been poisoned and more than six thousand were already dead. Both Xinhua, the New China News Agency, and the Chinese Central Broadcasting Bureau dismissed the reports as unfounded.

Abruptly Harry hit the MUTE MUTE b.u.t.ton and Adrianna was silenced. What the h.e.l.l was she doing in Geneva reporting on an "unfounded" incident? b.u.t.ton and Adrianna was silenced. What the h.e.l.l was she doing in Geneva reporting on an "unfounded" incident?

Unsettled, he glanced back out the window. Then at the bedside clock.

8:20 A.M A.M.

No calls. Nothing. What had happened to Edward Mooi? Had he not reread the fax? And now Adrianna was in Geneva when she should have been in Bellagio. Crazily, he felt abandoned. Left in a tiny hotel room while the world went on.

He turned back to the window. As he did, a police car pulled up directly across the street. The doors opened, and three men in plainclothes got out and headed for the boat landing. Harry's heart stopped. The man walking first, leading the others, was Roscani.

"Jesus." Instinctively he twisted back from the window. At almost the same instant there was a knock at the door. Every nerve stiffened. The knock came again.

Quickly he went to the bed, opened the suitcase, and took out the sheet of paper with Edward Mooi's telephone number. Ripping it in pieces he went into the bathroom and flushed it down the toilet.

The knock came once more. Softer this time. Not the authoritative strike of the police. Eaton-of course. Harry relaxed, then walked to the door and opened it.

A young nun stood there.

"Father Roe?"

Harry hesitated. "Yes..."

"I am nursing sister Elena Voso..." Her English was accented with Italian but clear nonetheless.

Harry stared, unsure.

"I would like to come in."

He looked past her to the hallway. He saw no one.

"All right..."

Harry stepped back as she came in, then watched her turn and close the door behind her.

"You phoned Edward Mooi," Elena said, carefully.

Harry nodded.