The Order (Gabriel Allon #20) - Daniel Silva Page 0,87

not one of them. He was by nature a pacer and a twirler of pens who did not suffer fools or even minor delays gladly. Rome tested him daily. So had life behind the walls of the Vatican, where nearly every encounter with the backbiting bureaucrats of the Curia had driven him to utter distraction. All conversations within the Apostolic Palace were coded and cautious and laden with ambition and fear of a misstep that could doom an otherwise promising career. One seldom said what one was really thinking, and one never, never, put it in writing. It was far too dangerous. The Curia did not reward boldness or creativity. Inertia was its sacred calling.

But at least Donati had never been bored. And with the exception of the six weeks he had spent in the Gemelli Clinic recovering from a bullet wound, he had never been powerless. At present, however, he was both. When combined with his aforementioned lack of forbearance, it was a lethal combination.

His old friend Gabriel Allon was to blame. In the three days since he had left Rome, Donati had heard from him only once, at 5:20 that morning. “I have everything you need,” Gabriel had promised. Unfortunately, he neglected to tell Donati what it was he had discovered. Only that it was a twelve on the Bishop Richter scale—a rather clever pun, Donati had to admit—and that there was an additional complication involving someone close to the previous pope. A complication that could not be discussed over the phone.

For the subsequent eleven hours, Donati had heard not so much as a ping from his old friend. Hence, he had passed a thoroughly unpleasant day behind the walls of the Jesuit Curia. The news from Germany, while shocking, at least provided a distraction. Donati watched it with a few of his colleagues on the television in the common room. The German police had prevented a truck bombing targeting Cologne Cathedral. The purported terrorists were not from the Islamic State but a shadowy neo-Nazi organization with links to the far-right politician Axel Brünner. One member of the cell, an Austrian national, had been arrested, as had Brünner himself. At four thirty Germany’s interior minister announced that two other men implicated in the scandal had been found dead at an estate in the Obersalzberg. Both had been killed by the same handgun in what appeared to be a case of murder-suicide. The murder victim was a former German intelligence officer named Andreas Estermann. The suicide was the reclusive billionaire Jonas Wolf.

“Dear God,” whispered Donati.

Just then, his Nokia shivered with an incoming call. He tapped answer and raised the device to his ear.

“Sorry,” said Gabriel. “The traffic in this town is a nightmare.”

“Have you seen the news from Germany?”

“Wonderful, isn’t it?”

“Is that what you meant by tying up one or two loose ends?”

“You know what they say about idle hands.”

“Please tell me you—”

“I didn’t pull the trigger, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Donati sighed. “Where are you?”

“Waiting for you to let me in.”

GABRIEL STOOD IN THE ENTRANCE, framed by the doorway. The last three days had been unkind to his appearance. Truth be told, he looked like something the cat had dragged in. Donati led him upstairs to his rooms and chained the door. He checked the time. It was 4:39.

“You mentioned something about a twelve on the Bishop Richter scale. Perhaps you can be a bit more specific.”

Gabriel delivered his briefing while peering through the blinds into the street. It was swift but thorough and only lightly redacted. It detailed the Order’s plan to erase Islam from Western Europe, the circumstances surrounding the murder of His Holiness Pope Paul VII, and the macabre room in which Jonas Wolf, the son of a Nazi war criminal, burned the last copy of the Gospel of Pilate. Central to the Order’s sweeping political ambitions was control of the papacy. Forty-two cardinal-electors had accepted money in exchange for their votes at the conclave. Another eighteen were secret members of the Order who planned to cast their ballots for Bishop Richter’s proxy supreme pontiff: Cardinal Franz von Emmerich, the archbishop of Vienna.

“And the best part is that I have it all on video.” Gabriel glanced over his shoulder. “Is that specific enough for you?”

“That’s only sixty votes. They need seventy-eight to secure the papacy.”

“They’re counting on momentum to carry Emmerich over the top.”

“Do you know the names of all forty-two cardinals?”

“I can list them alphabetically if you like. I also know how much each