The Order (Gabriel Allon #20) - Daniel Silva Page 0,86
certainly cannot be deliberately wrong.”
“Because if the Church was wrong, your father would have been wrong, too. There would have been no religious justification for his actions. He would have been just another genocidal maniac.”
Gabriel allowed the poker to fall from his grasp. He was suddenly exhausted. He wanted nothing more than to leave Germany and never come back again. He would be forced to leave without the Gospel of Pilate. But he resolved that he would not leave empty-handed.
He looked down at Wolf. The German was clutching his ruined elbow. “You might find this hard to believe, but things are about to get much worse for you.”
“Is there no way we can reach some sort of accommodation?”
“Only if you give me the Gospel of Pilate.”
“I burned it, Allon. It’s gone.”
“In that case, I suppose there’s no deal to be made. You might, however, want to consider doing at least one good deed before they lock you up. Think of it as a mitzvah.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“It wouldn’t be right for me to suggest something. It has to come from the heart, Wolf.”
Wolf closed his eyes in pain. “In my study you will find a rather fine river landscape, about forty by sixty centimeters. It was painted by a minor Dutch Old Master named—”
“Jan van Goyen.”
Gabriel and Wolf both turned toward the sound of the voice. It belonged to Eli Lavon.
“How do you know that?” asked Wolf, astonished.
“A few years ago, a woman from Vienna told me a sad story.”
“Are you—”
“Yes,” said Lavon. “I am.”
“Is she still alive?”
“I believe so.”
“Then please give her the painting. Behind it you’ll find my safe. Take as much cash and gold as you can carry. The combination is—”
Gabriel supplied it for him. “Eighty-seven, ninety-four, ninety-eight.”
Wolf glared at Estermann. “Is there anything you didn’t tell him?”
It was Gabriel who answered. “He didn’t know why you chose such a peculiar combination. The only explanation is that it was your father’s SS number. Eight, seven, nine, four, nine, eight. He must have joined in 1932, a few months before Hitler seized power.”
“My father knew which way the wind was blowing.”
“You must have been very proud of him.”
“Perhaps you should be leaving, Allon.” Wolf managed a hideous smile. “They say the storm is going to get much worse.”
GABRIEL REMOVED THE PAINTING FROM its stretcher while Eli Lavon packed the bundles of banknotes and the gleaming gold ingots into one of Wolf’s costly titanium suitcases. When the safe was cleaned out, he placed the Luger inside, along with the HK 9mm they had taken from Karl Weber.
“Too bad we can’t squeeze Wolf and Estermann in there as well.” Lavon closed the door and spun the tumbler. “What are we going to do with them?”
“I suppose we could take them to Israel.”
“I’d rather walk to Israel than fly there with the likes of Jonas Wolf.”
“I thought for a minute you were going to kill him.”
“Me?” Lavon shook his head. “I’ve never been one for the rough stuff. But I did enjoy watching you hit him with that poker.”
Gabriel’s phone pulsed. It was Uzi Navot calling from King Saul Boulevard. “Are you planning to stay for dinner?” he asked.
Gabriel laughed in spite of himself. “Can this wait? We’re a bit busy at the moment.”
“I thought you should know that I just got a call from my new best friend, Gerhardt Schmidt. The Bundespolizei are on their way to arrest Wolf. You might want to vacate the premises before they arrive.”
Gabriel killed the connection. “Time to go.”
Lavon closed the lid of the suitcase and with Gabriel’s help tipped it onto its wheels. “It’s a good thing we’re flying on a private plane. This thing must weigh seventy kilos at least.”
Together they wheeled the suitcase into the next room. Estermann and Karl Weber were tending to Wolf’s injuries, watched over by Mikhail and Oded. Yossi was inspecting one of the Gobelin tapestries. Yaakov was standing in front of the open window, listening to the distant wail of sirens.
“They’re definitely getting louder,” he said.
“That’s because they’re on their way here.” Gabriel beckoned to Mikhail and Oded and started toward the door.
Wolf called out to him from across the room. “Who do you think it will be?”
Gabriel stopped. “What’s that, Wolf?”
“The conclave. Who’s going to be the next pope?”
“They say Navarro is already ordering new furniture for the appartamento.”
“Yes,” said Wolf, smiling. “That’s what they say.”
PART THREE
EXTRA OMNES
48
JESUIT CURIA, ROME
LUIGI DONATI WAS A MAN of many virtues and admirable traits, but patience was