The Holy Bullet Part 37

Ivanovsky turned around in his seat. "The main question is how did we get to this situation? Who were our enemies, and what part did they play in the whole disaster?"

"The answer is yourselves," Rafael answered provocatively. "You can't blame your enemies for your own faults."

"We had our faults, sure. Serious ones. More than anyone could imagine, but our enemies played the main role in the fall of our regime. And your pope was in it up to his eyeb.a.l.l.s."

"Which one?"

"The pope at that time. He didn't care whether communism lasted as long as national socialism was avenged."

"Don't be ridiculous," Rafael protested. "Benedict the Sixteenth loved Hitler's policies like a rat loves laboratory experiments."

"I have my doubts."

"I have my doubts about this democracy you're living in today," Rafael answered.

"Don't we all. But, do you know what I say?" The question was rhetorical. He didn't wait for a reply. He answered his own question right away. "We've adopted the following phase of democracy. That of hidden totalitarianism. An illusory democracy that doesn't even exist. It just seems to."

"I don't question that. That's obviously the road you're taking. Don't forget I know no other regime than a totalitarian one."

"Ah, yes. How could I forget. The clergy is stuck in the Middle Ages. It suits you."

"Putin is no daisy, either."

"I have no comment. He's my president."

"Did Abu Rashid say anything else?"

It was better to avoid provocations. Let's not get off track.

"He said the temptation was great, but Nestov shouldn't go to London under any pretext. He would not return-"

"Alive." Sarah completed his sentence, astonished.

Ivanovsky shut his eyes.

"Rafael knows we're pragmatic men."

"Of course."

"Rationalizations. If we have a clue, we don't think twice. Besides, it wasn't really a threat, more a suggestion."

"What is certain is that Rashid was right. We don't know if it was coincidence or certainty."

Silence settled over the room as an homage to Nestov's soul and respect for the Muslim's prophetic gift.

"I don't believe the prophet was referring to the secret that marked the end of the communist regime," Rafael declared after a little.

"No?" The Russian was amazed.

"No."

"What are we talking about then?"

"Of the total rehabilitation of the old Soviet Union in relation to planning and executing the attempted a.s.sa.s.sination in 1981," the Italian recited.

"We know what we did and didn't do."

"But the world doesn't. Seventy percent of Catholics believe that you, the Bulgarians, Poles, and East Germans were responsible for the failed attempt. And the Italian Mitrokhin commission didn't help."

"That commission was a farce. Mitrokhin was a fraud," the barber grumbled.

"But it has a voice. The doubt will always persist."

"And the secret ends the doubts?"

"It ends them. But even with all the proof in the world, doubts will always exist."

"That's like everything."

"In any case, don't forget you gave orders to the Poles to do away with him."

"I don't know that."

"Naturally. Twenty-five frustrated attempts are reason enough for not knowing. Tell me something. Have you heard of a man named Nestor?"

Ivanovsky thought for a few moments.

"I don't believe I've ever known anyone by that name."

"He was a KGB agent," Rafael observed, half closing his eyes, waiting for a reply.

Ivanovsky shook his head no.

"I've never heard of him. I'll have to look in the personnel files."

Rafael took another sip of cold tea. "To summarize, Mitrokhin deceived them with a trick by giving a date you didn't know how to get out of. You know someone tried to kill the pope, which would have been a big favor for you if the attempt had come off, but they failed, and, worse than that, you got the blame. You don't have any idea who planned the attack of 'eighty-one, do you?" Rafael spoke too rapidly.

"We have some suspects."

"Who?"

"Personnel in the pay of the CIA, Italians, Muslims."

"Cold, cold, cold, my friend. They were all terrified, but they didn't have time."

"But our major suspect is someone inside the Vatican," Ivanovsky suggested.

"As simple as that." Rafael struck the table with the palm of his hand, sanctioning the Russian's answer.

"You should be the first to deny it," Ivanovsky argued.

"Then I deny it," Rafael said. "How do you come into the story now?"

"How do you come in?"

"By chance."

"Same with us."

"Who were you watching?" Rafael tried a different approach.

"We watch everyone."

Bad. The conversation was better, Sarah thought. It's one thing to confide actions and information from the past, another to describe the situation of the present.

"I'll ask you something else. Why did you kill the English couple and CIA man in Amsterdam?"

To Sarah those words were like a punch in the stomach. Were they the ones who killed her friends in cold blood? She couldn't believe it.

"We haven't killed anyone in Amsterdam recently," the Russian said. "Why?

"They had a CD with interesting information, obtained and held by the KGB until 'ninety-one and afterwards by your excellencies who inherited the file."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Come on, barber. We were doing so well. . . . It's natural to have your enemies and allies under constant surveillance. The Holy See does also. Everyone does. What's curious is you've kept an organization like Opus Dei under your watchful gaze. That's what isn't normal."

Sarah calmed her inner hurricane. But doubt remained. His saying they didn't do it could be true or not.

Ivanovsky swallowed hard.

"We used the woman to demonstrate we were on top of things. We gave her the disc with intelligence about what happened to the girls, but we didn't kill the couple." He thought about whether to continue.

There was something that made him trust the Italian, and, really, his instincts had never let him down. Ivanovskys had always had an innate talent for choosing the winning side in history.

"Their murder only shows one thing. . . ." He hesitated again.

"That you were being spied on or that whoever alerted you to the problem didn't speak to you alone."

"Don't make stuff up."

"I'm not," Rafael ventured firmly. He had already figured out the whole web, or, at least, part of it. "Who put you on the trail of Opus Dei?"

"That information is confidential."

"Everything we've said is confidential."

The vacillating expression on the Russian's face made clear his inner conflict between duty and continuing. His confidence in Rafael gained ground.

"Let's say that someone alerted us to certain actions of that organization. Facts that turned out to be consistent and trustworthy," the barber explained. He got up to get an old bottle with clear liquid on a tray. He poured a little in the cup that had held the tea. The smell of alcohol filled the nasal pa.s.sages of everyone present.

"Does anyone else want some?"

He held the mouth of the bottle over Phelps's cup, but Phelps put his hand up to decline. Rafael accepted and let him fill his cup. Sarah also declined the offer.

"Cheers," Rafael toasted, lifting his cup.

Ivanovsky joined him, lifting his cup with a thoughtful look.

"What was the interest of this someone?" Rafael asked.

The barber took a drink of vodka and took out a cigarette.

"Do you mind if I smoke?"

The question did not require an answer, since as he asked he was striking a match and lighting the cigarette. He leaned back, not far enough to fall, making himself comfortable. He had only to cross his legs and put his feet on the table to complete the scenario, but the narrow s.p.a.ce of the room prevented those comforts. He crossed his arms with the cigarette held between the fingers of his right hand, letting the ashes fall on the table. Silence was the only reply.

"I'm going to tell you what I think happened," Rafael announced. "Someone sweet-talked you, which didn't take much, and put you on the trail of Opus Dei. It's not hard to figure out what they're doing. I bet that after a few days you got the general picture."

"And what's that?" It was the Russian's turn to be sarcastic. A little jab.

"That's what you don't understand. On the one hand you found a large-scale operation; on the other you couldn't find the thread to lead you to what's going on. Your friend, this someone someone, shed some light, very little, only what was necessary. I'll bet it was he who gave you the CD with instructions to give it back after you'd a.n.a.lyzed and processed it. So you ended up knowing everything had to do with the Pole. Or better, you ended up knowing what that someone someone wanted you to know." wanted you to know."

"It's a nice guess," Ivanovsky interrupted with the same sarcasm.

"What else did you find out?" Rafael continued. "That the rich clergy-men had ended up allying themselves with the CIA and were killing right and left."

The expression on Ivanovsky's face changed.

"Who told you that?" he asked with irritation.

"You know the fact that we have G.o.d on our side is a big advantage," Rafael finally answered, taking a sip of vodka. "It makes us omniscient."

"And how does this strike you?" Ivanovsky asked, like someone who doesn't like something.

"Are you asking me?"

"I am."

"Well, my guess seems plausible." A statement loaded with venom.

"Why has Opus Dei conspired with the CIA? What's the purpose?" the Russian demanded, interrupting him.

"What do you think?" Rafael answered with a question, testing the situation.

"Burning the file," Ivanovsky finally said.

"Burning the file?" Phelps stammered out. "What's that?"