“Neither did I,” said Pearse, again no emotion.
“How did-”
“In Bosnia, during the war. Before I took the cloth.”
After a long silence, Peretti finally spoke. “So you never knew about the boy?”
Pearse shook his head.
“But why would Blaney have him?”
“Because he’s known about him from the beginning. He made sure that he was raised as a Manichaean. And then made equally certain that I never found out. Probably with this very moment in mind.” Pearse waited, then said, “He has the mother, as well.” He saw the look in Peretti’s eyes. “No. She’s not one of them. She was as much in the dark as I was.”
“You’re certain of that?” he asked. Pearse continued to stare at him. Peretti nodded. “I’m not sure that changes anything.”
“I think it does,” said Pearse. “I have the scroll.”
“You can’t be serious,” said Peretti.
Pearse stared back at him.
“Actually … I think he can,” said Angeli. It was clear her wheels were spinning. “You say the scroll is unambiguous about the Resurrection business?” Pearse nodded. “But you also say it’s equally clear on individual responsibility, autonomy, and women?” Again, he nodded. She looked at Peretti. “That could be very helpful to the church right now, Eminence.”
“Where are you going with this, Professor?”
“I think that’s pretty clear, isn’t it?”
Peretti shook his head. “No. You can’t have one without the other.”
“Why not?” she said.
“You can’t simply write out the things you don’t like.”
“Why?” It was Pearse who now asked.
“‘Why?’” Peretti seemed surprised that it was Pearse who had asked. “Because, Father, we’re talking about the Holy Word of Christ. You can’t overlook that.”
“The Gospel writers did,” said Pearse. “They had Q and chose to take what they wanted from it.” He waited. “Maybe that’s what the church needs now in order to survive in the next millennium. Another dose of selective editing.”
Peretti stared at him for a moment. “From what the professor tells me, Father, you’re the last person I would have expected to hear that from.”
“Things change.” Pearse waited. “Look, my own reasons for you to do this aside, without those forty lines of Resurrection text, you’d have a very powerful document, something to take us beyond the brick wall we’ve all been running into since Vatican Two. Modernize the church without losing touch with the Christ we’ve always known. Q might just be the answer.”
“It’s the Word of Christ.” Peretti let the phrase settle. “I can’t permit that. And neither can you. You know that.”
Angeli jumped in. “I’ve worked with hundreds of scrolls, Eminence. None I’ve seen has ever come close to the one he’s describing. We’re lucky if we find a few strands of parchment here and there. The fact that this one hasn’t disintegrated makes it seem almost … unreal. You might have to lose a few bits just to make sure it looks authentic.” She stopped him before he could respond. “All right, I’m being a little facetious, but you do understand the point. It might be the one time when you can have your liturgical cake and eat it, too.”
Peretti slowly began to shake his head. “It would raise too many problems with the canon, even from the little you’ve said. The Eucharist is the liturgy. A document like that would have to confirm its pivotal role.”
“Not if those were the sections that were missing,” she answered. “I have a rather nice reputation when it comes to filling in gaps in scrolls like this. As long as the incisions are made with a bit of finesse, I don’t think it would be all that difficult to leave the right sorts of holes, ones that would clearly imply the existence of whatever liturgy you felt was essential.”
Peretti thought for a moment; again he shook his head. “What you’re asking-”
“What other options do you have?” said Pearse. “Keep it hidden? Who would be overlooking the Word of Christ, then?”
From Peretti’s expression, Pearse had hit a nerve.
“You’re both missing the point,” said Angeli. “Without the Resurrection passages, Q would be the very thing to pull the rug out from under the Manichaeans.” She had retrieved her cigarette and was taking two quick puffs before crushing it out in the ashtray. “Q is their grail, correct? It’s at the core of everything they believe in. I assume Blaney and this monk believe in it that strongly, too?”
Pearse thought for a moment, then nodded.
“Well, here you have a chance to tarnish the grail and place it in their hands. Show them that it’s no threat to the church, that it would actually strengthen her. A thousand years searching for it, and their one great hope turns out to be an empty promise. Whose foundations would be shaken then?”
“Somehow, I don’t think Erich von Neurath needs a grail to sate his ambition,” said Peretti.
“Fine,” said Pearse, an ultimatum in his tone. “Then it goes to Blaney, as is.”
Again, Peretti waited before answering. “You know I can’t let you do that.”
Pearse looked directly into his eyes. “Then you have a problem. Because if I don’t pick it up by tonight, it goes to Blaney anyway. Instructions in the package. It seemed the logical choice at the time.”
Peretti continued to stare at Pearse. “You really think Blaney would make that exchange and then let you go?”
“Yes.” No hesitation. “He owes me that much. And he knows it.”
Peretti was about to answer, when the phone rang. He picked up.
“Yes.” For several seconds, he listened intently, unable to mask a moment of surprise. “We’re sure on this?” Several nods. “Do we know who she is? … All right, fine … good.” Still listening, he looked across at Pearse as he spoke into the phone. “No, I think we can do better than that. Wait for my call.” He hung up. Finally, he said, “Von Neurath is dead.” Slowly, he shifted his gaze to Angeli. “How long would you need to … revise the scroll?”
She thought for a moment, then said, “I don’t know. Two, three hours. It depends on the-”
“Then do it.” He looked at Pearse. “When you’re done, you’ll call Blaney. By then, I’ll know where I want you to make the exchange. Acceptable, Father?”
Pearse simply nodded.
The Villa Borghese at dusk has an almost ethereal quality to it, especially in the Pincio Gardens, the area just above Piazza del Popolo, where the long promenades-most named for saints and Popes-lie under vaulted rows of pine and oak, each dotted with benches and lampposts. The sounds of Rome disappear, replaced by the occasional footstep on gravel, fewer and fewer of them as the sun dips down and the glow of lamplight begins to make itself known.
Pearse listened to his own footfall as he made his way along one of the wider walkways, Viale Leone IX his destination. As ever, Angeli had been spot-on-two and a half hours to alter the scroll, the offending passages removed with expert precision. It was only when it had come to disposing of the unwanted pieces that her hand had hesitated. Both of them had looked at the strands lying in the small bowl on the table. It was Pearse who had produced the box of matches.
The conversation with Peretti had been short. The location and time. The call to Blaney hadn’t been as easy, although it was clear he’d been expecting it. Pearse would be coming alone? Yes. Who had helped him? All he wanted was the boy and the woman. Blaney had to trust him on that. An hour.
He had then spoken with Petra and Ivo. She had promised she was up to it. Ivo had just liked the idea of another adventure.
He saw Blaney seated on a bench halfway down the path as he turned onto Leone IX. Another fifteen yards on stood Mendravic, Ivo by his side, Petra in a wheelchair. No one else. Pearse continued to approach. Five yards from Blaney, he stopped.
“Can she walk?” he asked.
“Yes,” answered Blaney.
“Then tell them to come over to me.”
“Let me see the ‘Hodoporia.’”
Pearse opened the box in his hands. He tilted it toward Blaney so he could see the scroll inside.