or identities, no witnesses. Now-delivered in a brief few seconds-they were told the correct year, the exact month, the precise day.
"Signore?..." "Sorry. During the next thirty years or so, this Matarese and his 'council' were the subject of controversy...." Scofield told the story rapidly, without embellishment, keeping his words in the simplest Italian he knew so there'd be no misunderstanding. He admitted that the majority of experts who had studied the Matarese legend had concluded it was more myth than reality.
"What do you believe, signore? That is what I asked you at the start." "I'm not sure what I believe, but I know a very great man disappeared four days ago. I think he was killed because he spoke to other powerful men about the Matarese." "I see." The old woman nodded. "Four days ago. Yet I thought you said thirty years... from that first meeting in 1911. What happened then, signore? There are many years to be accounted for." "According to what we know--or what we think we know-after Matarese died the council continued to operate out of Corsica for a number of years, then moved away, negotiating contracts in Berlin, London, Paris, New York and God knows where else. Its activities began to fade at the start of the Second World War. After the war it disappeared; nothing was heard from it again." A trace of a smile was on the old woman's lips. "So from nowhere it comes back, is that what you are sayingr "Yes. My associate can tell you why we believe it." Bray looked at Taleniekov.
"Within recent weeks," said the Russian, "two men of peace from both our countries were brutally assassinated, each government led to believe the other was responsible. Confrontation was avoided by a swift exchange between our leaders, but they were dangerous moments. A dear friend sent for me; he was dying and there were things he wanted me to know. He had very little time and his mind wandered, but what he told me compelled me to seek out others for help, for guidance." "What did he tell youT' "That the Council of the Matarese was very much with us. That, in fact, it never disappeared but instead went underground, where it continued to grow silently and spread its influence. That it was responsible for hundreds of acts of terrorism and scores of assassinations during recent years for which the world condemned others. Among them the two men I just mentioned.
But the Matarese no longer killed for money; instead, it killed for its own purposes.
"Which were?" asked the old woman in that strange, echoing voice.
"He did not know. He knew only that the Matarese was a spreading disease that had to be stamped out, but he could not tell me how, or whom to go to. No one who ever had dealings with the council will speak of it." "He offered you nothing, thenT' "rhe last thing he said to me before I left him was that the answer might be in Corsica. Naturally, I was not convinced of that until subsequent events left no alternative. For either me or my associate, agent Scofield." "I understand your associate's reason: a great man disappeared four days ago because he spoke of the Matarese. What was yours, signore?" "I, too, spoke of the Matarese. To those men from whom I sought guidance, and I was a man of credentials in my country. The order was put out for my execution." The old woman was silent and, again, there was that slight smile on her wrinkled lips. "The padrone returns," she whispered.
"I think you must explain that," said Taleniekov. "We've been frank with you." "Did your dear friend die?" she asked instead.
"Ile next day. He was given a soldier's funeral and he was entitled to it. He lived a life of violence without fear. Yet at the end, the Matarese frightened him profoundly." "Me padrone frightened him," said the old woman.
"My friend did not know Guillaume de Matarese." "He knew his disciples. It was enough; they were him. He was their Christ, and as Christ, he died for them." "The padrone was their god?" asked Bray.
"And their prophet, signore. They believed him." "Believed what?" "That they would inherit the earth. That was his vengeance.,,
The old woman's vacant eyes stared at the wall as she spoke in her half-whisper.
He found me in the convent at Bonifacto and negotiated a favorable price with the Mother Superior. "Render unto Caesar," he said, and she complied for