sleep.’
‘What time is it?’
‘Don’t you worry about the time. Sleep, that’s what you need.’
‘No, you don’t understand. It’s important. Please, what time is it?’
‘It’s half-past seven.’
‘Morning? Is it morning?’
‘Of course. I told you you were brought here only a few hours ago.’
Where is she? Francesca ... the woman they brought in with me?’
‘You’ll see her later. Lunchtime. You can see her at lunchtime.’
‘No, that’ll be too late!’ He pushed himself up again. He could see clearly now. He was in a curtained cubicle on a bed surrounded by drip stands and other pieces of emergency equipment. The nurse was on his left, a woman of about forty. She reached out and forced him down again.
‘Try not to excite yourself. Your wife is in the next cubicle. You’ll both be transferred to a ward later this morning, when the day porters come on duty.’
He lay back exhausted. Above him, bright lights stabbed his eyes. Two and a half hours. He had to know what was happening.
‘Please,’ he said. ‘I have to make a telephone call. It’s extremely important’
The nurse hesitated then nodded.
‘All right. I’ll have someone bring a wheelchair.’
‘My legs ... ?’
‘There’s nothing wrong with your legs. I just don’t want you on your feet tiring yourself. Wait here.’
He had to speak with O’Malley. The priest had planned to stay at the Vatican until he was sure everything was safe. He would have tried ringing again last night, but without an answer. Why hadn’t he gone to the apartment? Surely someone there would have sent him on to the hospital. And what about Roberto? He had not even reported back. Patrick felt fear grip him like a cold hand.
An orderly came with a wheelchair and helped Patrick into it.
‘Can you take me into the next cubicle, please. My ... wife is there. I need to speak to her.’
‘I’m sorry, I was told to take you to the telephone.’
‘Dammit, I can’t make this call without a number. She knows it. I’ve got to speak to her.’
‘Only if she’s awake.’
The orderly pulled the curtain of Francesca’s cubicle back a few inches. She was propped up in bed, her eyes open.
‘All right, you can go in. But only a moment, mind, or I’ll be in trouble.’
‘Patrick!’ She pulled herself up.
He took her hand and squeezed it, making her flinch.
‘I’m sorry, Patrick, it got burned a little. Still hurts.’
‘Sorry.’
‘What are you doing in a wheelchair? You aren’t... ?’
‘No, I could walk if I wanted. Hospital regulations. Listen, Francesca, it’s half past seven. If Dermot hasn’t succeeded in persuading this cardinal about the plot, it’ll be too late to stop it.’
‘I’ve been thinking about that too. I only woke up half an hour ago. They told me you were still sleeping, that you shouldn’t be disturbed. Dermot should have been sent here. Or Roberto. I’m worried, Patrick. I think something’s happened.’
‘I want to telephone the Vatican, speak to the man they went to see. The cardinal. What was his name?’
She thought for a moment.
‘He’s an American. That’s why Dermot trusts him. His name is Fischer, Cardinal Fischer.’
‘Does he spell that the English way or...’ Patrick gripped the edge of the chair.
What’s wrong, Patrick? Is there ... ?’
‘O Jesus. We didn’t tell O’Malley. The Fisherman. Assefa won’t have realized, English isn’t his native language.’
She took his hand, disregarding the pain.
“What is it, Patrick? What’s the matter?’
He told her. She shut her eyes, closing out the pain.
We can’t be sure. Perhaps it’s a coincidence.’
He shook his head.
‘We can’t take that risk. What about Roberto?
If O’Malley hasn’t rung, they’ll be opening those letters now. Can we reach Roberto? His apartment? His office? Do you have the numbers?’
She recited them from memory.
He called the orderly and had him wheel him into the corridor, where the public telephones were situated. The orderly found him a handful of gettoni and left him alone while he called.
There was no reply from Roberto’s apartment. He tried his office number. Just as he was about to give up there as well, a man’s voice answered.
‘Pronto.’
‘Pronto. I’d like to speak to Roberto Quadri, please.’
‘Who is this?’
‘A friend. It’s urgent I speak to him. Do you know where he is?’
‘I’m sorry, Signor Quadri was killed last night. A car crash on the Via del Corso. I’m very sorry. He was taken to the San Giovanni hospital. I’m sure they can give you more details there.’
Patrick put the phone down. He sat staring at the receiver for a moment, then stood up. The orderly rushed over.
‘Signore, I don’t think ...’
Patrick pushed him out of the way. He ran back to the cubicle where Francesca was waiting for him.
‘Hurry up,’ he said. ‘Find some clothes. We’ve got to get out of here. We’ve got to stop this thing ourselves.’
The nurse who had been with Patrick earlier came running up, followed by a man dressed in a white coat.
‘What’s the meaning of this? I told you to stay in bed! What do you mean ... ?’
Patrick shoved her aside and walked up to the doctor. He was young, probably just qualified, and looked as though he had had a busy night.
‘Please don’t argue,’ Patrick said. ‘This woman and I are checking out of here. I’m taking complete responsibility, do you understand?’
‘But, you can’t...’
‘It’s an emergency, do you understand? I don’t have time to argue.’
He ran into his own cubicle and opened the bedside cupboard. His clothes were there, looking very much the worse for wear. They had been burned and soaked and covered in a variety of unpleasant-looking stains. He ripped off the gown he had been wearing and pulled on his shirt and trousers.
‘Please, signore, you’re in no condition to leave!’ The nurse was determined to assert her authority.
‘Vaffanculo!’ snapped Patrick.
He pulled his shoes on and hurried back to Francesca’s cubicle. She looked as bad as he did. He wondered how far they would get before the police hauled them in.
‘Before we go,’ he said, ‘I have something to tell you.’
‘About Roberto?’
He nodded.
‘You’d better sit down,’ he said.
They found a cab at the hospital entrance, at the top of the Via dei Quattro Coronati. The driver did a double-take when he saw them, but shrugged his shoulders. Some strange sights walk down the steps of hospitals. Francesca told him to go straight to the Via della Rotonda near the Pantheon, where Roberto’s apartment was
