The Order (Gabriel Allon #20) - Daniel Silva Page 0,109
is the pope.”
“Are you sure you didn’t have anything to do with it?”
“No,” answered Gabriel distantly. “It was him.”
“Who?” asked Tiepolo, perplexed.
Gabriel pointed toward the cloaked, sandaled figure walking past Tiepolo’s window.
It was Father Joshua.
62
PIAZZA SAN MARCO
GABRIEL HURRIED INTO THE STREET. Like most in San Marco, it was covered in several inches of water. A few tourists were milling about in the dying twilight. None seemed to notice the man in a threadbare cloak and sandals.
“What are you looking at?”
Gabriel wheeled around to find Chiara and the children standing behind him. He pointed along the darkening street. “The man in the hooded cloak is Father Joshua. He’s the one who gave us the first page of the Gospel of Pilate.”
Chiara narrowed her eyes. “I don’t see anyone in a cloak.”
Neither did Gabriel. The priest had disappeared from view.
“Maybe you were mistaken,” said Chiara. “Or maybe you just thought you saw him.”
“A hallucination, you mean?”
Chiara said nothing.
“Wait here.”
Gabriel set off along the street, searching for a destitute-looking clergyman amid the world’s most exclusive storefronts. Eventually, he passed through an archway beneath the Museo Correr and emerged into the Piazza San Marco. Father Joshua was walking past Caffè Florian toward the campanile. The priest seemed to move across the floodwaters without disturbing the surface. He made no attempt to lift the hem of his garment.
Gabriel hastened after him. “Father Joshua?”
The priest stopped at the foot of the bell tower.
Gabriel addressed him in Italian, the language he had spoken in the Manuscript Depository of the Secret Archives. “Don’t you remember me, Father Joshua? I’m the one who—”
“I know who you are.” His smile was benevolent. “You’re the one with the name of the archangel.”
“How do you know my name?”
“There were recriminations after your visit to the Secret Archives. I overheard things.”
“Do you work there?”
“Why would you ask such a question?”
“Your name doesn’t appear on the staff directory. And unless I’m mistaken, you weren’t wearing any identification that day.”
“Why would someone like me require identification?”
“Who are you?”
“Who do you say that I am?”
His Italian was beautiful, but it was colored with an unmistakable accent.
“Do you speak Arabic?” asked Gabriel.
“Like you, I speak many languages.”
“Where are you from?”
“The same place you are.”
“Israel?”
“The Galilee.”
“Why are you in Venice?”
“I came to see a friend.” He noticed Gabriel looking at his hands. “I bear in my body the marks of the Lord Jesus,” he explained.
Two women splashed past them. They stared at Gabriel apprehensively but seemed not to notice the man standing in ankle-deep water in sandals and a cloak.
“Were you ever able to find the rest of the gospel?” he asked.
“Not before it was destroyed.”
“The Holy Father was afraid that would happen.”
“Were you the one who gave it to him?”
“Of course.”
“How were you able to open the door of the collezione without a key?”
He gave a sly smile. “It wasn’t difficult.”
“Did the Holy Father show the book to anyone else?”
“A Jesuit.” Father Joshua frowned. “For some reason, my word wasn’t good enough. The Jesuit agreed with me that the book was authentic.”
“He’s an American, this Jesuit?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know his name?”
“The Holy Father refused to tell me. He said he was going to give the gospel to you when the Jesuit was finished with it.”
“Finished with what?”
“His Holiness didn’t say.”
“Where were you when you had this conversation?”
“The papal study. But why do you ask?”
“The men who murdered the Holy Father were listening. They could hear his voice but not yours.”
His expression darkened. “You must feel guilty.”
“About what?”
“His death.”
“Yes,” admitted Gabriel. “Terribly guilty.”
“Don’t,” said the priest. “It wasn’t your fault.”
He turned to leave.
“Father Joshua?”
The priest stopped.
“When did you remove the first page of the gospel?”
He raised a bandaged hand. “I’m afraid I must be on my way. May the peace of the Lord be with you always. And with your wife and children as well. Go to them, Gabriel. They’re searching for you.”
With that, he set off between the columns of St. Mark and St. Theodore. Gabriel quickly drew his phone and engaged the camera, but he could see no trace of the priest on the screen. He hurried over to the gondola station on the Riva degli Schiavoni and looked to the right and then the left.
Father Joshua was gone.
AT TWO P.M. THE FOLLOWING afternoon, Gabriel received a phone call from General Cesare Ferrari of the Art Squad. He claimed to have come to Venice on an unrelated matter and was hoping Gabriel might have a moment to answer a few questions before his return to Israel.