‘I’m only a layman. If you have a better explanation, I’m all ears,’ Gavache said ironically.
‘Does it make sense that the Holy Father would hire a murderer and later agree to help in the investigation of a crime he himself ordered?’
‘You know as well as I do that criminals sometimes testify in crimes they themselves perpetrated. It wouldn’t be the first time.’
‘What we have here is a Jesuit out of control… with his own personal agenda,’ Rafael compromised.
‘To whom do the Jesuits answer?’ Gavache asked.
‘To the superior general of the society,’ Rafael explained.
‘And to whom does the superior general answer?’
Rafael took longer to answer than he liked.
‘To the pope,’ Jacopo put in.
No one said anything further, except Jean-Paul, with a brusque ‘We’ve arrived,’ as he braked hard.
Gavache got out of the car and looked around. The others joined him.
‘Another church, Jean-Paul.’
‘Another church, Inspector,’ Jean-Paul repeated.
‘I hope you’re right,’ Gavache remarked to Rafael.
‘I do, too.’
And they climbed up the stairs toward the entrance.
19
The helicopter shook as it headed into the side wind. The pilot was accustomed to these conditions, and chose a route farther to the north to avoid fighting the wind. The call had come from the Voyager of the Seas, a cruise ship sailing along the coast between Livorno and Corsica.
It happened sometimes, someone more critically ill than the ship’s clinic could handle or disagreements that had to be resolved by the police. In this case it was a couple who urgently needed to get to Fiumicino. They were alarmed, but spoke a language the pilot didn’t understand. It sounded Arabic, but he couldn’t say. Hebrew is difficult for anyone. They hadn’t explained the urgency, nor did they have to. Must be some millionaire who needed to close a business deal, spoiling the vacation of his wife — or his lover, since she looked younger than he.
Ben Isaac secured himself as well as he could. Myriam clung to the seat and looked at the instrument panel countless times. No father should have to see something like this. His son, little Ben, tied up, bloody, with tape over his mouth and a blindfold covering his eyes. He was holding up a white sign with Hebrew letters written in black:
THE STATUS QUO IS OVER. AWAIT INSTRUCTIONS.
But she didn’t care about the sign or what it said. Only that the boy she had given birth to was suffering, helpless, with no one, without protection, without his mother. She had tears of worry on her face, and kept looking at his image.
‘What is it they want, Ben?’
‘I don’t know, Myr,’ Ben Isaac answered, keeping his voice under control.
‘Money? Pay them, Ben. Pay whatever they want.’
Below they began to see lights from the coastal towns. They were nearing the peninsula.
Ben Isaac looked out the window just as a light rain began to strike the glass. In his worst nightmares he had never imagined such a scenario. Had they kidnapped little Ben to blackmail him? He knew exactly what they wanted, but who were they? How did they find the information? Only a leak could have started all this, and there were not many who could have informed when those involved were so few. He had failed in the most important duty of his existence — protecting his family. Just as he had failed Magda in another life, long ago, in his forgotten past.
The pilot radioed his position to the control tower and followed instructions for landing. A few minutes later they put down on the assigned runway. A van waited to take the passengers to a plane Ben Isaac had leased while still on board the ship.
As soon as they settled into the van, his cell phone rang. It showed his son’s number. Ben looked anxiously and turned the screen to his wife, who suddenly snatched the phone from his hands and answered.
‘Ben? Ben?’ she cried desperately with tears running down her face. She listened a few moments and closed her eyes. Moments later she held out the phone to Ben. ‘It’s for you.’
Her husband took the phone and lifted it, reluctantly, to his ear. ‘Ben Isaac,’ he answered. He said nothing more. He just listened. Probably as he was ordered to do. Myriam looked at him in suspense. No reaction, no interjection. Nothing. Total silence. The one-sided conversation lasted a few seconds. Ben Isaac hung up, and Myriam, instead of bombarding him with questions, made only one observation. ‘Don’t hide anything from me, Ben.’
The van stopped next to a Learjet 60 XR that was ready to board them. An attendant waited next to the steps to help Myriam and Ben climb into the plane.
‘Welcome,’ she greeted them with a brightly enameled smile.
The interior of the jet was a luxury they had become accustomed to, but even if they weren’t used to it, they wouldn’t have noticed. They were stopped in their tracks by the sight of a cardinal, accompanied by a young woman, seated comfortably in the cabin.
‘You’re a difficult man to find, Ben Isaac,’ the cardinal observed.
‘I was never hiding.’
‘Sit down.’ William gestured toward the seats. ‘Make yourselves at home.’
20
The priest’s name was Gunter, and he made them wait awhile. It was just as well that an acolyte received them inside the immense Church of Saint-Paul-Saint-Louis, sheltering them from the rain, which was getting heavy.
Gavache lit another cigarette over the useless objections of the acolyte. Those who enforce the law are always above it.
Jacopo displayed a scornful smile, which everyone else considered idiotic, but no one said so.
A Delacroix looked over them in silence, Christ in the Garden of Olives. A statue, the Virgin of Sorrows, by a prominent French sculptor, could also be admired. Rafael felt as if he were inside a puzzle with missing pieces. He was used to being a step ahead, not a step behind. It was not a comfortable position.
Jacopo wandered through the side chapels appreciating the works of sacred art. This was his world. The light was dim and lent an air of mystery, deepened by the rain they could hear falling outside.
‘Interesting,’ Jacopo stammered, his eyes on an altar full of relics.
‘What’s interesting?’ Gavache interrupted with a cigarette between his lips.
‘This church. It’s based entirely on the Church of the Gesu in Rome. Even the facade outside. The Jesuits are indeed exemplary.’
‘It’s a Jesuit church, anyway,’ Gavache offered, looking at Rafael. ‘Do you think they’ll give up one of their own?’
‘We’ll see,’ Rafael replied, sitting down in a pew next to Jean-Paul. ‘That isn’t the idea.’
‘What makes the Jesuits so special?’ Gavache asked Jacopo.
‘They’re extremely intelligent. They know how to think about the church. You could say they’re specialists in marketing religion.’
Rafael smiled. What an absurd idea.
‘They always turn to preaching. Unlike the Benedictines, for example, who live in communities and follow daily rituals together, the Jesuits think more about society than community. To convert people after preaching, spread the word of God through the world. Loyola was a very good strategist,’ Jacopo said, warming to his subject.
‘You talk a lot about this Loyola,’ Gavache noted.
‘Naturally. Saint Ignatius of Loyola was the founder of the Society of Jesus. This church, like many others, is due to the work that he initiated. It’s the largest Catholic religious order in the world. And everything began here in Paris.’
‘That’s enough of a history lesson for now,’ Rafael said, saturated. He knew what Jacopo was going to say backward and forward.
‘Sorry, Rafael, but the subject interests me,’ Gavache interjected, then looked at Jacopo. ‘Please, continue.’
That a French inspector was interested in what he had to teach about the Jesuits made Jacopo feel very important.