The Order (Gabriel Allon #20) - Daniel Silva Page 0,110
headquarters.”
Gabriel suggested Harry’s Bar instead. He arrived a few minutes before four; the general, a few minutes after. They ordered Bellinis. Gabriel’s immediately gave him a headache. He drank it nonetheless. It was irresistibly delicious. Besides, it was his last day of vacation.
“The perfect end to an imperfect day,” said the general.
“What is it now?”
“Next year’s budget.”
“I thought fascists loved cultural patrimony.”
“Only if there’s enough tax revenue to pay for it.”
“I guess bashing immigrants isn’t good for the economy after all.”
“Is it true they were responsible for the flooding here in Venice?”
“That’s what I read on Russia Today.”
“And did you happen to read Alessandro Ricci’s article in La Repubblica this morning?” The general plucked an enormous green olive from the bowl in the center of the table. “The chattering classes think Saviano’s coalition might not survive.”
“What a shame.”
“They say a private audience with the wildly popular new pope would do wonders for his position.”
“I wouldn’t hold my breath.”
“His Holiness might want to reconsider in light of the fact that he was in Florence the night that Swiss Guard was killed. If memory serves, you were there, too. And then there’s that missing priest from the Order of St. Helena. His name escapes me.”
“Father Graf.”
“You wouldn’t happen to know where he is, would you?”
“Not a clue,” answered Gabriel truthfully.
“Perhaps someday you’ll tell me how all the pieces of this affair fit together.” The general ordered two more Bellinis and surveyed the interior of Harry’s Bar. “They did a remarkable job with the repairs. You wouldn’t even know there was a flood.” He gave Gabriel a sidelong glance. “I suppose you’ll get used to it.”
“You’ve obviously been talking to Francesco Tiepolo.”
Ferrari smiled. “He tells me you’re going to be working for your wife soon.”
“She hasn’t accepted my terms yet.”
“Do you think she might allow me to borrow you from time to time?”
“For what?”
“I’m in the business of recovering stolen paintings. And you, my friend, are very good at finding things.”
“Except for the Gospel of Pilate.”
“Ah, yes. The gospel.” The general removed a manila folder from his briefcase and laid it on the table. “That sheet of paper you gave me was produced by a mill near Bologna. A small operation. One man, in fact. Very high quality. We’ve found numerous examples of his work in other cases.”
“What kind of cases?”
“Forgeries.” Ferrari opened the folder and removed the first page of the gospel. It was still encased in protective plastic. “It looks like it was produced during the Renaissance. In truth, it was manufactured a few months ago. Which means the Gospel of Pilate, the book that led to the murder of His Holiness Pope Paul the Seventh, is a fraud.”
“How were you able to date it so precisely?”
“The papermaker is on my payroll. I paid him a visit after my lab delivered its findings.” Ferrari tapped the page. “It was part of a large order of reproduction Renaissance paper. Several hundred sheets, in fact. The size was appropriate for bookbinding. It cost the buyer a small fortune.”
“Who was he?”
“A priest, actually.”
“Does the priest have a name?”
“Father Robert Jordan.”
63
VENICE—ASSISI
IT HAD BEEN GABRIEL’S INTENTION to return to Israel the following morning on the ten o’clock El Al flight from Venice’s Marco Polo Airport. He instructed Travel to book four seats on the evening flight from Rome instead. The car, a Volkswagen Passat, he saw to himself. They departed Venice at half past seven, a full thirty minutes later than he had hoped, and arrived in Assisi a few minutes after noon. With Chiara and the children at his side, he rang the bell at the Abbey of St. Peter. Receiving no answer, he rang it again.
At length, Don Simon, the English Benedictine, answered. “Good afternoon. May I help you?”
“I’m here to see Father Jordan.”
“Is he expecting you?”
“No.”
“Your name?”
“Gabriel Allon. I was here with—”
“I remember you. But why do you wish to see Father Jordan again?”
Gabriel crossed his fingers. “I was sent by the Holy Father. I’m afraid it’s a matter of some urgency.”
There was a silence of several seconds. Then the lock snapped open.
Gabriel looked at Chiara and smiled. “Membership has its privileges.”
THE MONK LED THEM TO the common room overlooking the abbey’s green garden. Ten minutes elapsed before he returned with Father Jordan. The American Jesuit did not appear pleased to see the friend of the new Roman pontiff.
At length, he looked at Don Simon. “Perhaps you should give Signore Allon’s wife and children a tour of the grounds. They’re really quite beautiful.”