The Order (Gabriel Allon #20) - Daniel Silva Page 0,59
insinuated that while inside the Archives, he had been given the first page of a rather interesting document.
“By whom?”
“A priest named Father Joshua.”
“That’s strange.”
“Why?”
“Because you and Archbishop Donati were the only ones in the Manuscript Depository.”
“We spoke to him.”
“If you say so. What else?”
“The Institute for Works of Religion, better known as the Vatican Bank. I just e-mailed you a list of names. I want to know whether any of them received large payments lately.”
“Define large.”
“Six figures or more.”
“How many names are we talking about?”
“One hundred and sixteen.”
Gershon swore softly. “Are you forgetting that I have pictures of you dressed as a priest?”
“I’ll make it up to you, Yuval.”
“Who are these guys?”
“The cardinals who will elect the next pope.”
Gabriel killed the connection and dialed Yossi Gavish, the chief of the Office’s analytical division. Born in Golder’s Green, educated at Oxford, he still spoke Hebrew with a pronounced British accent.
“Father Gabriel, I presume?”
“Check your in-box, my son.”
A moment passed. “It’s lovely, boss. But who is he?”
“He’s a lay member of something called the Order of St. Helena, but I have a feeling he might be one of us. Show it around the building, and send it to Berlin Station.”
“Why Berlin?”
“He speaks German with a Bavarian accent.”
“I was afraid you were going to say that.”
Gabriel hung up the phone and placed one more call. Chiara answered, her voice heavy with sleep.
“Where are you?” she asked.
“Somewhere safe.”
“When are you coming home?”
“Soon.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I have to find something first.”
“Is it good?”
“Do you remember when Eli and I found the ruins of Solomon’s Temple?”
“How could I forget?”
“This might be better.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Close your eyes,” said Gabriel. “Let me listen to you sleep.”
GABRIEL SPENT THE NIGHT ON a cot inside the station and at half past seven the next morning rang General Cesare Ferrari. He informed the general that he needed to borrow the Art Squad’s formidable laboratory to test a document. He did not say what the document was or where he had found it.
“Why do you need our labs? Yours are the best in the world.”
“I don’t have time to send it to Israel.”
“What sort of tests are we talking about?”
“Analysis of the paper and ink. I’d also like you to establish the age.”
“It’s old, this document?”
“Several centuries,” said Gabriel.
“You’re sure it’s paper and not vellum?”
“So I’ve been told.”
“I have a staff meeting at the palazzo at half past ten.” The palazzo was the Art Squad’s elegant cream-colored headquarters in the Piazza di Sant’Ignazio. “If, however, you were to wander into the back room of Caffè Greco at nine fifteen, you might find me enjoying a cappuccino and a cornetto. And by the way,” he said before ringing off, “I have something to show you as well.”
Gabriel arrived a few minutes early. General Ferrari had the back room to himself. From his old leather briefcase he removed a manila folder, and from the folder eight large photographs, which he arrayed on the table. The last depicted Gabriel removing the wallet from Niklaus Janson’s pocket.
“Since when does the commander of the Art Squad get to see surveillance photos from a murder investigation?”
“The chief of the Polizia wanted you to have a look at them. He was hoping you might be able to identify the assassin.”
The general laid another photograph on the table. A man in a motorcycle helmet and leather jacket, right arm extended, a gun in his hand. A woman nearby had noticed the weapon and had opened her mouth to scream. Gabriel only wished he had seen it, too. Niklaus Janson might still be alive.
Gabriel examined the gunman’s clothing. “I don’t suppose you have one without the helmet.”
“I’m afraid not.” Ferrari returned the photographs to the manila folder. “Perhaps you should show me this document of yours.”
It was locked inside a stainless-steel attaché case. Gabriel removed it and handed it wordlessly across the table. The general scrutinized it through the protective plastic cover.
“The Gospel of Pilate?” He looked up at Gabriel. “Where did you get this?”
“The Vatican Secret Archives.”
“They gave it to you?”
“Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means Luigi and I broke into the Archives and took it.”
General Ferrari looked down at the document again. “I assume this has something to do with the Holy Father’s death.”
“Murder,” said Gabriel quietly.
General Ferrari’s expression remained unchanged.
“You don’t seem terribly surprised by the news, Cesare.”
“I assumed that Archbishop Donati was suspicious about the circumstances of the Holy Father’s death when he asked me to make contact with you