The Order (Gabriel Allon #20) - Daniel Silva Page 0,63
you spoke to him?”
“It’s been five years, at least. Probably more like six.”
“What was the occasion?”
“Estermann’s retirement from the Bf V. He wanted to give me his new contact information. Apparently, he struck gold. He’s working for a big German firm based in Munich.”
“The Wolf Group?”
“How did—”
“Lucky guess,” said Gabriel.
“Estermann told me to call him when I was ready to leave the NDB. There’s a Wolf Group office here in Zurich. He said he would make it worth my while.”
“You don’t happen to have his cell number, do you?”
“Sure. Why?”
“I’d like you to take him up on his offer. Tell him you’re going to be in Munich on Wednesday evening. Tell him you want to talk about your future.”
“But I can’t possibly go to Munich on Wednesday.”
“He doesn’t need to know that.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Drinks. Somewhere quiet.”
“I told you, he doesn’t drink. He’s a Diet Coke man. Always a Diet Coke.” Bittel tapped the tabletop thoughtfully. “There’s a place in the Beethovenplatz called Café Adagio. Very chic. Discreet, too. The question is, what’s going to happen when he gets there?”
“I’m going to ask him a few questions.”
“About what?”
“The Order of St. Helena.”
“Why are you interested in the Order?”
“They murdered a friend of mine.”
“Who’s the friend?”
“His Holiness Pope Paul the Seventh.”
Bittel’s expression betrayed no sentiment, least of all surprise. “Now I know why you wanted me to keep an eye on the Hoffmann woman.”
“Send the message, Bittel.”
His thumbs hovered over his phone. “Do you know what will happen if I’m linked to this in any way?”
“The Office will lose a valuable partner. And I’ll lose a friend.”
“I’m not sure I want to be your friend, Allon. They all seem to end up dead.” Bittel typed the message and tapped SEND. Five long minutes elapsed before his phone pinged with a response. “You’re on. Six o’clock Wednesday evening at Café Adagio. Estermann’s looking forward to it.”
Gabriel gazed at the black waters of the lake. “That makes two of us.”
36
MUNICH
EXCEPT FOR A FEW DAYS in September 1972, Munich had never mattered much to the Office. Nevertheless, if only for sentimental reasons, Housekeeping maintained a large walled villa in the bohemian quarter of Schwabing, not far from the Englischer Garten. Eli Lavon arrived there at ten fifteen the following morning. Gloomily, he surveyed the heavy antique furnishings in the formal drawing room.
“I can’t believe we’re back here again.” He looked at Gabriel and frowned. “You’re supposed to be on holiday.”
“Yes, I know.”
“What happened?”
“A death in the family.”
“My condolences.”
Lavon tossed his overnight bag carelessly onto a couch. He had wispy, unkempt hair and a bland, forgettable face that even the most gifted portrait artist would have struggled to capture in oil on canvas. He appeared to be one of life’s downtrodden. In truth, he was a natural predator who could follow a highly trained intelligence officer or hardened terrorist down any street in the world without attracting a flicker of interest. He was now the chief of the Office division known as Neviot. Its operatives included surveillance artists, pickpockets, thieves, and those who specialized in planting hidden cameras and listening devices behind locked doors.
“I saw an interesting photo of you the other day. You were dressed as a priest and walking into the Vatican Secret Archives with your friend Luigi Donati. I was only sorry I couldn’t join you.” Lavon smiled. “Find anything interesting?”
“You might say that.”
Lavon raised a tiny hand. “Do tell.”
“We should probably wait until the others arrive.”
“They’re on their way. All of them.” Lavon’s lighter flared. “I assume this has something to do with the unfortunate passing of His Holiness Pope Paul the Seventh.”
Gabriel nodded.
“I take it His Holiness did not die of natural causes.”
“No,” said Gabriel. “He did not.”
“Do we have a suspect?”
“A Catholic order based in Canton Zug.”
Lavon stared at Gabriel through a cloud of smoke. “The Order of St. Helena?”
“You’ve heard of them?”
“Unfortunately, I dealt with the Order in a previous life.”
During a lengthy hiatus from the Office, Lavon had run a small investigative agency in Vienna called Wartime Claims and Inquiries. Operating on a shoestring budget, he had tracked down millions of dollars’ worth of looted Holocaust assets. He left Vienna after a bomb destroyed his office and killed two of his employees, both young women. The perpetrator, a former SS officer named Erich Radek, had died in an Israeli prison cell. Gabriel was the one who put him there.
“It was a case involving a Viennese family named Feldman,” explained Lavon. “The patriarch was Samuel Feldman,