moment we have been aware that a single slip might place our entire mission in jeopardy. An indiscretion, a premature revelation, a careless question - anything might serve to make them aware of our existence. So far,
we believe we have succeeded in eluding suspicion.
We have run a terrible risk in bringing you here today. The Brotherhood knows of you, it has members hunting you everywhere. Francesca is already marked for death. Ordinarily, I would have recommended leaving you to your fate. Our task is too important to be endangered for the sake of one or two lives. That is how we have to be to survive. But we had a reason for seeking you out.
‘We want to know everything you may have heard about Passover. One of our people heard of it first over a year ago. Since then, we have done everything in our power to find out more, with almost no success. All we know is that what they are planning is going to be their greatest triumph in the two thousand years they have been in existence; that it is going to take place very soon; and that over one hundred of the Dead have been brought to Italy from Egypt to carry it out. We need your help. Please think hard. If you know anything that may give us a clue, anything that...’
He looked round. Assefa had risen half out of his chair. On his face was a look of sheer horror. Slowly, he raised one hand and placed it over his mouth as though he was about to be sick. O’Malley got up and went over to him, taking his arm and holding him steady.
‘Father Makonnen, are you all right?’
The Ethiopian took O’Malley’s arm, squeezing it tightly, then looked into his face, his eyes wide open, an expression of fear and grief stamped on his features.
‘My God,’ he whispered. ‘O Jesus Christ, sweet Mary, I know. I know.’
‘What is it, Father? What do you know?’ O’Malley could feel ice in his veins.
‘I know what they are planning. God forgive me, I should have thought before this. I know what it is. And I know it will happen tomorrow.’
FORTY-SEVEN
O’Malley found a bottle of grappa in the kitchen. Assefa sipped it in small, nervous gulps, gasping each time the fiery liquid caught his breath. Roberto showed him how to calm himself with slow, rhythmical breaths from the diaphragm. For a while, he sat with eyes closed, breathing gently, letting the tension dissolve. When he opened his eyes again, it was only to stare at the floor; excitement had given way to languor and impassivity.
‘Father Makonnen.’ Roberto spoke gently, yet firmly, as though pressing a reluctant witness to admit what he had seen. ‘You must tell us what you know. It’s very important. Lives may depend on it. Innocent lives.’
Assefa shook his head.
‘It’s too late,’ he whispered. ‘What can we do? There’s no time.’
‘Please let me be the judge of that. Tell me what you can.’
Assefa looked up. His eyes were full of tears, and in them Roberto sensed a mute appeal, an unspoken plea for reassurance. He had seen it many times in other eyes, under very different circumstances. But the appeal was always the same: ‘Tell me this is just a dream, that in a moment I’ll wake up and find none of this has happened.’ It was the look of a man who has just been told he is dying of a fatal disease. It was a look Roberto knew very well indeed.
‘Very well,’ said Assefa. ‘I’ll tell you what I can.’ He paused, then began to speak, choosing his words with care. ‘For the last few months, the nunciature in Dublin has been involved with a series of highly
delicate discussions. I was present at a number of meetings, some at the nunciature itself, others at Leinster House, and some at the Egyptian and Iraqi embassies. You understand that I am only an addetto, that I was never privy to any but the lowest-level talks. But Archbishop Balzarin confided in me. I was expected to handle certain items of correspondence.’
He paused and raised the glass of grappa, then thought twice about it and put it down again.
‘About a year ago, the Holy Father decided to begin a series of negotiations aimed at achieving peace in the Middle East. His plan is to start with Lebanon, since he has direct influence there through the Maronite Christians. If the settlement there proves successful, he intends to attempt a demarche on Palestine or possibly the Gulf.
‘His great ally is the new President of Ireland, Mr MacMaolain. You may know that, before he became president two years ago, MacMaolain was a Lieutenant General in the Irish defence forces. For several years he was Force Commander with UNIFIL, the UN Irish Force in Lebanon. He learnt a lot then about the politics of the region.
‘It seems that he wants the Nobel Peace Prize like his old friend Sean McBride. It happens that he and the Holy Father got to know one another well after the war, when the Pope was studying at the Angelicum, the Dominican University here in Rome. MacMaolain had an older brother in holy orders who was also writing a thesis at the Angelicum, so he was sent to Rome himself for a year. His parents wanted him to be a diplomat like his father, and they thought a knowledge of Italian would help him get a posting to the embassy in Rome. Of course, he entered the army when he got back to Dublin; but it looks as though he wants to make up for that early change of direction.’
Patrick listened intently. Two of the hardest puzzles in this affair seemed to have cleared up simultaneously: why Ireland should have been involved at all, and why Alex Chekulayev had been in Dublin.
What sort of scheme are they cooking up for Lebanon?’ he asked.
Assefa bit his lip.
‘I don’t have the details, I’m sorry. But Balzarin gave me a broad idea. The Holy Father is of the opinion that people are sick to death of civil war now and will do anything for peace. If we forget about all the different factions, the basic division in the country is between Christians and Muslims. Roughly speaking, the Christians make up about forty-three per cent of the population.
‘The Holy Father intends to meet with the heads of the different churches, and then with the Muslim leaders. In return for a promise to use his influence in the United States to get the Israelis to agree to concessions on the Palestinians, he will propose a coalition government. Technically, Lebanon will become a Muslim state. But the Christian minority will be guaranteed full representation at all levels of government. It’s not that much different to the system established in 1926, except that the Shi’ites will be properly recognized as the majority within the Muslim population.
‘God knows if the plan has any chance of working. The Holy Father intends to establish a special Vatican secretariat in Beirut, responsible for supervision of the new constitution in conjunction with a Council of Shi’ite, Sunni and Druse clergy. The Irish have promised to install observers under the auspices of the UN. The hope is that they’ll be particularly acceptable to the Shi’ites because Ireland is a non-imperial power supposed to be engaged in a struggle for independence from Britain.’
He paused and drained the glass of grappa.
‘I don’t understand,’ said Patrick. ‘I can’t see how this relates to what we’ve been talking about.’
Francesca interrupted.
‘It could, Patrick. The Brotherhood has very strong feelings about Islam. When Muslim armies conquered Palestine and Egypt in the seventh century, the Brothers thought they were a scourge sent by God to teach the churches a lesson, perhaps to prepare the way for their own rise to power. But the Arabs stayed and took possession of the towns and cities in which their holy places were situated: the tomb of Christ in Jerusalem and that of John of Amathus in Alexandria, the church of the Seven at Babylon near modern Cairo, their private catacombs at Qum al-Shuqaffa. The Brothers swore a sort of holy war against the invaders, and through the centuries they did what they could to make life uncomfortable for them.’
Patrick thought of what he had seen that time in Egypt, his first brush with the Brotherhood of the Tomb: the blood of Muslim children filling a basalt bowl, a village torn with grief.
‘About twenty years ago,’ she went on, ‘leadership of the Brotherhood passed to a bishop named Migliau. He is now a cardinal and the patriarch of Venice.’
Patrick and Assefa exchanged glances. Another piece of the puzzle had fallen into place.
‘Migliau,’ continued Francesca, ‘has a deep animosity towards Islam. It isn’t a rational thing with him, merely part of his general baggage of fears and prejudices. He was furious when the Vatican Council issued a document called Nostra Aetate, calling for mutual understanding between Muslims and Christians. And when the present Pope visited
Muslim countries like Turkey or Morocco and talked about bonds of spiritual unity between the two faiths, he
