“No, the newspapers, the ones they drove up from Novi-Pazar.”
“I didn’t know they had any. No. Why?”
“And the last time you saw a paper was …”
“I don’t know, five, six days ago. Why?”
“Petra pointed it out to me. Maybe you should take a look.”
Two minutes later, the three of them stood at the kitchen table, eight to ten major European papers waiting on top. The KLA might have been provincial in their worldview, but at least they were more sophisticated when it came to the news they read. Evidently, they wanted to see what kind of an impact they were having outside their own little universe.
“I hadn’t seen one in almost a week, either, until Petra showed me these,” Mendravic said as he began to sift through them. “So I can’t tell you how long these have been running.” He pointed to the lower right-hand corner of the nearest paper, the Frankfurter Allgemeine. A small box was set off from the columns, the look of an advertisement, except, for some odd reason, the language inside was English. Before Pearse could read, Mendravic pulled over several other papers-French, Italian, Greek-noting the identical box in each, and always the same language: English. Pearse read:
Whatever was on Athos, you have friends, Father. In Rome.
Day or night: 39 69884728
Every paper the same. Pearse turned to Mendravic. His phone was at the ready; Pearse took it and dialed. Both men angled their ears to the receiver and listened.
It picked up on the second ring. “Pronto.”
Pearse wasn’t sure what to say. The line remained silent. He looked at Mendravic. Finally, in English, Pearse answered, “I saw your ad.”
“Yes.” The accent was Italian.
“And I’m calling.”
“We’ve had many calls. I need a name.”
A number in a newspaper. People with nothing better to do than to dial it. Pearse understood. Realizing why the man needed his name, however, was hardly a rationale for giving it to him.
“I’m not sure I’m comfortable doing that.”
“Then we can’t help you. We already know the name we’re looking for.”
True, he thought. Even so. “I’m still not comfortable.”
“As I said, then we can’t help you.”
Pearse waited. Another glance at Mendravic. The Croat shrugged. “Photinus,” Pearse said.
There was a pause on the line. “The monastery on Athos.”
“The Vault of the Paraclete.”
Another pause, this one far longer than the others. A decision was being made. “Father Pearse?”
He didn’t know whether to feel relief or anxiety. He was about to answer, when Mendravic suddenly pulled the phone from his ear and hung up.
“What are you doing?” Pearse asked, stunned.
“Do you realize how stupid we both are? I can’t believe I only thought of it now.”
“Thought of what?”
“Think, Ian. What’s the simplest way to find out exactly where you are?”
Pearse shook his head.
“A trace. They were keeping you on the line to pinpoint your location Very easy to do, even with satellite hookups. I can’t believe I was so stupid.”
“But they sounded as if they were trying to help.”
“I’m sure they did.”
Pearse stood there, not knowing what to think. Of course Salko was right, but then who would these people be?
The image of the four men from Kukes instantly fixed in his mind. Especially the one who had come after him, the look in his eyes just before Salko had attacked. No threat. No menace.
But if they knew about Athos, why go after him? Why not go after the Manichaeans directly? It didn’t make any sense.
“Do we need to get out of here?” he asked, unwilling, for the moment, to focus on anything but the immediate threat.
“I think we caught it in time,” Mendravic answered. “But I don’t know. We could go to Visegrad, if you want.”
“And sit there?” Pearse said, his mood souring. “I still have no idea where the ‘Hodoporia’ is.”
“The what?” asked Petra.
“The thing we’re looking for. The parchment.” The phone call had evidently taken more of a toll on him than he cared to admit. “I haven’t … gotten it. I haven’t broken the code. And I don’t know if I can. Look, there’s a woman in Rome-”
“All right,” said Mendravic, trying to keep Pearse from sinking deeper into frustration. “We stay here tonight. We go tomorrow. Maybe … I don’t know. I could take a look. You could show me how it works….”
“Oh, that would be good,” Petra piped in, also trying to lighten the mood. “I’m sure you’d be a lot of help.”
“I’m just suggesting-”
“He’s trying to move forward, Salko, not back.”
“Your confidence is overwhelming. I’m sure you-”
“I’ve already been dismissed,” she said. “I couldn’t pass the Latin test.”
“There’s a test?” he answered.
Listening to the two of them was enough to snap Pearse out of his funk. “I get it. You’ve made your point.”
“Good.” Mendravic nodded.
“Look, I’ll … figure it out. I have to figure it out.”
“I don’t think anyone was worried about that,” she said.
Mendravic put his hand to Pearse’s neck; he squeezed once. “My guess is, you get to Visegrad, and everything falls into place. Trust me. You’re friend will be fine.”
Pearse nodded. Why not? The alternative wasn’t worth thinking about.
The contessa had been right. The congregation seemed primed to hear him speak. Harris had spent the better part of the last hour listening to what many considered the preeminent Pentecostal preaching in the South. Archie Conroy and his Ministry of Peace. Five thousand strong had gathered in the largest amphitheater he had ever seen. Another 120,000 had tuned in for the early-morning services. That the contessa had set it all up on such short notice had astounded him. Thirty million on deposit was one thing. Having one of the most powerful ministries in the States at his beck and call was another. Conroy hadn’t flinched. If the contessa was involved, Harris had carte blanche. He was learning not to underestimate her.
“Now, before I hand you over to the colonel, who has been so kind to join us here this morning”-Conroy’s accent and demeanor reeked of southern hospitality, with a little medicine show thrown in just for fun-“I want him to know who is with him today, joining him in prayer.” Conroy paused. “I think I would be right in saying it’s a community of the faithful.” Amens from the crowd. “Which embraces anyone of faith.” He smiled and looked over at Harris. “Even an Anglican, Colonel. Even an Anglican.” A wave of laughter from the audience. Harris could see Conroy wasn’t quite ready to cede the stage.
“Because we are a community here, even though you may be sitting next to someone you don’t know, whose own brand of faith is unknown to you. Look around you. Does he call himself a Baptist? Does she call herself a Methodist? Another a Pentecostal?” Again he turned to Harris. “I think it’s a pretty safe bet you’ll be the only Anglican here, Colonel.” Harris nodded with a smile as the audience laughed. Conroy turned to his congregation. “But does any of it matter if we are a true community in faith? As Paul tells us in Romans, ‘Then let us no more pass judgment on one another, but rather decide never to put a stumbling block or hindrance in the way of a brother.’ Or elsewhere, when he tells us, ‘With one voice glorify the God and Father of our Lord.’ ‘One voice.’ For ‘if the dough offered as first fruitsis holy, so is the whole lump; and if the root is holy, so are the branches.’ Look around you at those branches. ‘One voice.’ Can you say that with me?”
The entire congregation echoed, “‘One voice.’”
“Again.”
“‘One voice,’” this time louder.
“Can you hear the power in that? Can you sense the power of that one indomitable spirit-unbroken, untarnished by personal desire, by personal lusts, by personal affectation. ‘One voice.’ Paul warns us in Philippians. He tells us that there are those who ‘preach Christ from envy and rivalry.’ ‘Envy and rivalry,’” he repeated. “How? How can they preach it that way? Because they ‘proclaim Christ out of partisanship.’ ‘Partisanship,’” each syllable given its due. “Those walls they build high, as if somehow they can keep the Word only for themselves, hold Christ within their churches? Can the Lord be so tethered? Can the Lord be kept for only one group, no matter what they call themselves? No. He alone flies free to all who would embrace Him. But to those who embrace ‘partisanship,’ He has only one answer: ‘Affliction and imprisonment.’ Choose to build those walls, choose to place those stumbling blocks between brothers, and you will not find Salvation in Him.