The Order (Gabriel Allon #20) - Daniel Silva Page 0,31
to have sex with me.”
“Did he give you a reason?”
“Father Graf had instructed him not to engage in sexual intercourse outside of marriage.”
“And how did you react?”
“I said we should get married right away. Niklaus agreed, but on one condition.”
“He said you had to become a lay member of the Order of St. Helena.”
“Yes.”
“I assume Niklaus was already a member.”
“He swore his oath of obedience to Bishop Richter at the Order’s palazzo on the Janiculum Hill. He said Bishop Richter had reservations about certain aspects of my character but had agreed to allow me to join.”
“How did Bishop Richter know about you?”
“Father Erich. He’s a member of the Order, too.”
“What did you do?”
“I threw my engagement ring into the Tiber and returned to Switzerland.”
“Do you recall the date?”
“How could I forget? It was the ninth of October.” She poured three cups of coffee and placed one before the man she knew as Heinrich Kiever. “Doesn’t he have any questions for me?”
“Herr Kiever is a man of few words.”
“Just like Niklaus.” She sat down at the table. “After I refused to join the Order, he cut off all communication. Tuesday was the first time I’d spoken to him in weeks.”
“And you’re sure it was the morning of the Holy Father’s funeral?”
She nodded. “He sounded awful. For a moment, I didn’t think it was him. When I asked what was wrong, he just cried.”
“What did you do then?”
“I asked him again.”
“And?”
She raised her coffee to her lips. “He told me everything.”
18
RECHTHALTEN, SWITZERLAND
NIKLAUS HAD ALREADY PULLED TWO shifts that day. Arch of Bells in the morning, Bronze Doors in the afternoon. When he arrived at the papal apartments at nine p.m., his legs were shaking with fatigue. The first person he saw was the Holy Father’s private secretary. He was on his way out.
“Did he know where I was going?”
“Dinner with a friend. Outside the walls.”
“Did he know the friend’s name?”
“A rich woman who lived near the Villa Borghese. Her husband died in a fall from the dome of the basilica. Niklaus said you were there when it happened.”
“Where did he hear a thing like that?”
“Where do you think?”
“Father Graf?”
She nodded. She was holding her mug of coffee with both hands. A nimbus of steam swirled about her flawless face.
“What happened after I left?”
“Cardinal Albanese arrived around nine thirty.”
“The cardinal told me he didn’t arrive until ten.”
“That was his second visit,” said Stefani Hoffmann. “Not the first.”
Cardinal Albanese had not told Donati about an earlier visit to the appartamento. Nor had he included it in the official Vatican time line. That single inconsistency, were it ever to become public, would be enough to plunge the Church into scandal.
“Did Albanese tell Niklaus why he was there?”
“No. But he was carrying an attaché case with the coat of arms of the Archives on the side.”
“How long did he stay?”
“Only a few minutes.”
“Did he have the attaché case when he left?”
She nodded.
“And when he came back at ten o’clock?”
“He told Niklaus that the Holy Father had invited him to pray in the private chapel.”
“Who arrived next?”
“Three cardinals. Navarro, Gaubert, and Francona.”
“The time?”
“Ten fifteen.”
“When did Dottore Gallo arrive?”
“Eleven o’clock. Colonel Metzler and a Vatican cop showed up a few minutes after that.” She lowered her voice. “Then you, Archbishop Donati. You were the last.”
“Did Niklaus know what was happening inside?”
“He had a pretty good idea, but he wasn’t certain until the ambulance attendants arrived with the gurney.”
A few minutes after they entered the apartment, she continued, Metzler came out. He confirmed the obvious. The Holy Father was dead. He warned Niklaus that he was never to speak of what he had witnessed that evening. Not to his comrades in the Guard, not to his friends and family, and certainly not to the media. Then he ordered Niklaus to remain on duty until the Holy Father’s body was removed and the apartment sealed. The camerlengo performed the ritual at half past two.
“Did Cardinal Albanese remove anything from the apartment when he left?”
“One item. He said he wanted something to help him remember the saintliness of the Holy Father. Something he had touched.”
“What was it?”
“A book.”
Donati’s heart banged against his rib cage. “What kind of book?”
“An English murder mystery.” Stefani Hoffmann shook her head. “Can you imagine that?”
BY THE TIME NIKLAUS LEFT the Apostolic Palace, the Press Office had announced the Holy Father’s death. St. Peter’s Square was ablaze with the spectral light of the television crews, and in the cloisters and courtyards of the Vatican, nuns and priests