Day of Confession Part 31

"Is Eaton with you?"

"No. He's on his way here from Rome."

Suddenly headlights turned the corner at the top of the hill and started down. Police on motorcycles. Two of them. Cruising slowly, the streetlights glinting off their helmets, they were looking at the parked cars, the sidewalks. Looking for him and Danny.

"Harry, are you there?"

Harry heard Danny stir beside him. Christ, Danny, not now! Not like before, in the grotto.

"Tell me where you are. I'll come to you."

Danny stirred again. The police were almost there. Car lengths away. Less.

"Dammit, Harry. Talk to me. Tell me where-"

CLICK.

Harry snapped off the phone and slid his body over Danny's in the dark, below window level, praying he would be silent. Then, from somewhere under him, the phone rang again.

Adrianna was calling back.

"Christ," Harry breathed.

The ring was loud. Shrill. It sounded as if it were being blasted through a speaker. Desperately he fumbled under him, trying to find the phone in the dark. But it was caught between the folds of his s.h.i.+rt and Danny and the seat. Pulling his arms in, he tried to smother it with his body. Hoping to h.e.l.l that in the stillness of the summer night the police couldn't hear it.

An eternity pa.s.sed before the ringing stopped. And then there was silence. Harry wanted to look up, see if the police had pa.s.sed. But he didn't dare. He could hear the thump of his heart. The thud of his pulse.

Suddenly there was a sharp knock on the window. A chill shot through him. His senses froze. The knock came again. Louder.

Finally. Terrified. Resigned. Harry raised his head.

Elena was looking in at him. A priest was with her, and they had a wheelchair.

101.

AN ATTRACTIVE WOMAN IN A BLUE BLAZER and large straw hat sat alone at a table near the front window of the bar of the Hotel Florence. From there she could see the waterfront and the landing where the hydrofoil would come in. She could also see the Gruppo Cardinale police near the ticket booth and on the landing itself, watching the people who waited for the boat.

Her back turned slightly to the crowd of the room, she took a cell phone from her purse and dialed a number in Milan, where the call was received by a special switching box and forwarded to another number and switching box in the coastal city of Civitavecchia, and from there to an unlisted number in Rome.

"Si," a male voice answered.

"This is S S," Thomas Kind said.

"Un momento."

Silence. Then- "Yes." Another male voice had come on. It was distorted electronically so that it could not be recognized. The rest of the conversation was held in French.

S: The target is alive. Possibly wounded.... And, it is unfortunate to report, escaped.

MALE VOICE: I know.

S: What do you want me to do?-I will resign if you like.

MALE VOICE: No. I value your resolve and proficiency.... The police know you are there and are looking for you, but they have no idea who you are. No. I value your resolve and proficiency.... The police know you are there and are looking for you, but they have no idea who you are.

S: So I presumed.

MALE VOICE: Can you leave the area?

S: With luck.

MALE VOICE: Then I want you to come here.

S: I can still pursue the target from where I am. Even with the police.

MALE VOICE: Yes, but why, when the moth has waked from its sleep and can be brought to the flame? Yes, but why, when the moth has waked from its sleep and can be brought to the flame?

Palestrina pressed a b.u.t.ton on a small box beside his telephone, then handed the receiver to Farel, who took it and hung it up. For a long moment the Vatican secretariat of state sat looking out across his spa.r.s.ely lit marbled office at the paintings, sculptures, shelves of ancient books, at the centuries of history surrounding him in his residence on the floor beneath that of the papal apartments in the Palace of Sixtus V, the apartments where the Holy Father now slept, mind and body exhausted from the regimen of the day, trusting in his advisers to steer the course of the Holy See.

"If I may, Eminence," Farel said.

Palestrina looked at him. "Say what is on your mind."

"The priest. Thomas Kind cannot stop him, nor can Roscani with his huge force. He's like a cat who has not used up his lives. Yes, we may entrap him.... But what if he speaks out first?"

"You are suggesting one man could make us lose China."

"Yes. And there would be nothing we could do about it. Except to deny everything. But China would still be lost, and suspicion would live for centuries."

Slowly Palestrina swiveled his chair, turning to the antique credenza behind him and the sculptured figure that sat on it-the head of Alexander of Macedon, carved of Grecian marble in the fifth century.

"I was born the son of the king of Macedonia." He was talking to Farel, but his eyes were on the sculpture. "Aristotle was my tutor. When I was twenty, my father was a.s.sa.s.sinated and I became king, surrounded everywhere by my father's enemies. In a short while I learned who they were and had them executed, and then, gathering those loyal to me, I moved out to crush the rebellion they had begun.... In two years I was commander of Greece and had crossed the h.e.l.lespont into Persia with an army of thirty-five thousand Greeks and Macedonians."

Slowly, deliberately, Palestrina turned toward Farel, the angle at which he sat and the spill from the lamp on the credenza behind him making his head and Alexander's appear almost as one. Now his eyes found Farel's and he went on. And as he did, Farel felt a chill cross his shoulders and creep down his spine. With every word Palestrina's eyes grew darker and became more distant as he was drawn ever deeper into the character he was convinced he was.

"Near Troy I defeated a force of forty thousand, losing only one hundred and ten of my men. From there I pushed southward, meeting King Darius and the main Persian army of five hundred thousand.

"Darius fled in our wake, leaving behind his mother and his wife and his children. After that I took Tyre and Gaza and moved into Egypt, and thereby controlled the entire eastern Mediterranean coast. Next came Babylon and what was left of the Persian empire beyond the southern sh.o.r.es of the Caspian Sea into Afghanistan... and then I turned north into what is now called Russian Turkestan and Central Asia.... That was," Palestrina's gaze drifted off, "in 327 B.C.... and I had managed most all of it in three years."

Abruptly Palestrina swung back to Farel, the distance in him gone.

"I did not fail in Persia, Jacov. Priest or not, I will not fail in China." Immediately Palestrina's voice lowered, and his stare cut into Farel. "Bring Father Bardoni here. Bring him, now."

102.

Bellagio. 10:50 P.M P.M.

ELENA LAY IN THE DARK, LOOKING AT THE square of light that came in through the small window high on the wall above her.

They were in the convento convento, the friary, behind the church, which served as housing for the priests. Except for Father Renato, the short, affable priest who had gone to the truck with her, and two or three others, the rest of the clergy were away on retreat. It was a happenstance that provided her with the tiny bedroom she was in and the one next to it, where Father Daniel slept, and the similar room across the hall, where Harry was.

She still regretted her delayed return to the truck and the anxiety she knew she had caused Harry, but she'd had little choice. Father Renato had been hard to convince, and it was only when she reached her mother general by phone in Siena and he had spoken to her personally that he'd relented and gone with Elena, waiting with the wheelchair in the church's shadow until the police on motorcycles had pa.s.sed.

Then they'd brought Father Daniel in, given him tea and rice pudding, and put him to bed. Afterward Father Renato had taken them to the convento's convento's tiny kitchen and served them a pasta-and-chicken dish left over from the evening meal. And then he had shown them the rooms where they could sleep and gone back to his room, warning them that tomorrow the priests would return and that they would have to leave before they did. tiny kitchen and served them a pasta-and-chicken dish left over from the evening meal. And then he had shown them the rooms where they could sleep and gone back to his room, warning them that tomorrow the priests would return and that they would have to leave before they did.

"Leave...," Elena thought, her eyes still on the square of light high on the ceiling above her. "To go where?"

The thought, while deliberate, triggered something else-her own sense of freedom, or, rather, her lack of it. The turning point had come when she'd broken down so emotionally in the water cave, and Harry had left his brother to come to her and hold her and comfort her even though she knew he was exhausted and must have been at wits' end himself. A second moment had been even more pointed, when he'd returned with the truck and seen her standing naked outside the cave. It was something that, as she pictured it in her mind-the way he so quickly apologized and turned and went back into the cave-became no longer embarra.s.sing but erotic. She wondered, if she were not a nun, whether, despite the seriousness and urgency of their situation, he might have let his eyes linger a little longer-after all, she was still young and had what she thought was a good figure.

Suddenly, and for the first time since she'd been in the hospital room in Pescara listening to the sound of Danny's breathing over the intercom, she found herself becoming s.e.xually aroused. The night was still thick with heat, and she had taken off her habit and lay naked under the sheets. And now, as the feeling increased, she began to feel a warmth move through her. Reaching up, she touched her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

Again she saw Harry step out of the cave, felt his eyes on her. In that moment she knew her feelings of wanting to be a woman in the fullest sense, wholly and physically, were real; the difference was, she was no longer afraid of them. If G.o.d had been testing her, it was not so much that He was challenging her inner strength or her spoken vows of chast.i.ty and obedience, but instead, helping her search for herself. Who she really was and wanted to be. And maybe that was the why why of all this. And why Harry had come into her life. To once and for all help her make that decision. His presence and manner alone touched her in a way she had never before experienced. It was tender and fresh and rea.s.suring and somehow lifted the guilt and sense of isolation her feelings had always brought her. It was like opening a door and finding that on the other side, life was safe and joyous and that it was all right to be alive, with the same pa.s.sions and emotions other people had. That it was all right to be Elena Voso. of all this. And why Harry had come into her life. To once and for all help her make that decision. His presence and manner alone touched her in a way she had never before experienced. It was tender and fresh and rea.s.suring and somehow lifted the guilt and sense of isolation her feelings had always brought her. It was like opening a door and finding that on the other side, life was safe and joyous and that it was all right to be alive, with the same pa.s.sions and emotions other people had. That it was all right to be Elena Voso.

HARRY HEARD THE SOFT KNOCK, then saw the door open in the darkness.

"Mr. Addison," Elena whispered.

"What is it?" He sat up, quickly alert.

"Nothing is wrong, Mr. Addison.... Would it be all right if I came in?"

Harry hesitated, puzzled. "Yes, of course..."

He saw the door open a little more, and then the outline of her figure against the diminished light of the hallway outside, and the door closed behind her.

"I'm sorry to wake you."

"It's all right..."

There was just enough light for Harry to see her come toward the bed. She was wearing her habit but was barefoot, and seemed excited and nervous at the same time.

"Please sit down," he said, and indicated the edge of the bed.

Elena looked at the bed and then quickly back to Harry.

"I would prefer to stand, Mr. Addison."

"Harry," he said.

"Harry..." Still nervous, Elena smiled.

"What is it?

"I-I have come to a decision that I wanted to share with you..."

Harry nodded, still unsure what was happening.

"I-told you shortly after we met that G.o.d had given me a job to do in caring for your brother."

"Yes."

"Well, when it is done, I-" Elena stopped and Harry saw her dig down and find conviction. "I plan to pet.i.tion my superiors for dispensation of my vows and to leave the convent."

For a long moment Harry said nothing. Finally he did. "Are you asking my opinion?"

"No, I'm stating a fact."

"Elena-," Harry said gently. "Maybe before you make a final decision you should realize that after what we've been through, none of us are thinking very clearly."

"I'm aware of that. I'm also aware that what we've gone through has helped clarify thoughts and feelings I've had for some time. Before any of this happened.... Most simply, I want to be with a man-and to love him in every way, and to have him love me in that way, too."

Harry studied her carefully, watched her breathe. Even in the dim light he could see the sparkle and determination in her eyes. "That's a very personal thing..."

Elena said nothing. Harry smiled. "Maybe what I don't understand is why you're telling me me."

"Because I don't know what might happen tomorrow, and I want to have told someone who would understand... and because I wanted to tell you you, Harry." Elena looked at him for a long moment, her eyes intent on his.

"Good night and G.o.d bless," she whispered finally and turned and left.

HARRY WATCHED HER cross the room in the dark, had just a glimpse of her as she opened the door and went out. She'd come to share something deeply personal with him, why exactly, he still wasn't sure. All he did know was that he'd never met anyone quite like her, but he also knew that if he was being drawn to her, this was not the time. The last thing they needed now was that kind of distraction. It was far too disruptive and, therefore, much too dangerous.

103.

A STYLISH, HANDSOME WOMAN WEARING A large straw hat stood in line with the other pa.s.sengers, waiting as the hydrofoil approached the boat landing from the dark of the lake.

At the top stairs above, four Gruppo Cardinale police in flak jackets and carrying Uzis stood watch. Four more patrolled the landing itself, studying faces of waiting pa.s.sengers, searching for the fugitives. A spot check of papers confirmed that almost all of them were foreign tourists. Great Britain. Germany. Brazil. Australia. The United States.

"Grazie," a young policeman said, as he handed Julia Louise Phelps's pa.s.sport back to her, then touched the brim of his hat and smiled. This was no blond killer with a scratched face, nor an Italian nun, nor a fugitive priest or his brother. This was a tall, attractive woman, an American as he had guessed, with a large straw hat and distinctive smile. It was why he had approached her and asked for her papers in the first place, not because she was a suspect, but because he was flirting. And she had let him.

And then, as the hydrofoil docked and the pa.s.sengers...o...b..ard disembarked, she put her pa.s.sport back into her purse, smiled once again at the policeman, and, in the company of the other pa.s.sengers, went onboard. A moment later the gangplank was pulled back, the engines revved, and the hydrofoil moved away.

The policemen on the landing and those at the top of the stairs watched it pick up speed, then saw the hull lift up out of the water as it moved out into the darkness of the lake, crossing to Tremezzo and Lenno, and then Lezzeno and Argegno, and finally back to Como. The hydrofoil Freccia delle Betulle Freccia delle Betulle was the last boat for the night. And, to a man, the police relaxed as they watched it go. Knowing they had done their job well. Confident that on their watch, not one of the fugitives had slipped past them. was the last boat for the night. And, to a man, the police relaxed as they watched it go. Knowing they had done their job well. Confident that on their watch, not one of the fugitives had slipped past them.

Rome. The Vatican. Wednesday, July 15, 12:20 A.M A.M.

Farel opened the door to Palestrina's private office, and the young, bespectacled Father Bardoni entered, poised, unmoved by the hour or by being called there. Showing no emotion at all. Simply answering the summons of a superior.

Palestrina was behind his desk and motioned Father Bardoni toward a chair in front of him.

"I have called you here to tell you personally that Cardinal Marsciano has been taken ill," he said as the priest sat down.

"Ill?" Father Bardoni sat forward.