‘I don’t know what to tell you,’ was Jacopo’s response.
‘Hmm… do you think they’d give the same answers if they were in separate rooms, Jean-Paul?’
‘I have no idea, Inspector. I don’t know what to tell you,’ the subordinate replied.
Gavache was a falcon. He hovered over his prey several times before sinking in his talons.
‘Are the crimes related? How did the other one die?’
‘A bullet in the back of the neck.’
Gavache sighed. ‘Is this a Jesuit practice?’ Sarcasm at a new level. ‘A priest, an archaeologist, a theologian,’ he said, speaking more to himself than to the others. ‘We know the archaeologist and theologian are related. The priest’s death differs in the modus operandi. Here I am with a priest and historian who keep the best information to themselves and sweet-talk me. Do you think we can trust them, Jean-Paul?’
‘I don’t know what to say, Inspector. Are you greedy?’
‘I’m greedy, Jean-Paul. Of course I’m greedy. I’d rather have a bag of candy in my hand than have them handed to me one at a time, or have to beg them to give me more.’
‘There’s your answer, Inspector.’
Their dialogue irritated Rafael and made Jacopo apprehensive.
‘Inspector Gavache, I’ve given you everything I have,’ Rafael offered, attempting an excuse. ‘I didn’t mention the crime in Jerusalem because I didn’t think it was related. As you yourself said, the modus operandi is different. It could have been the same murderer or not. I didn’t try to trick you. I hope you understand that. It’s been a terrible week for us.’
‘And I have two related deaths on French territory, in less than twenty-four hours, in the capital and the south. Do you think that’s easy?’ Gavache countered.
‘That’s not what I was trying to say,’ Rafael said, in his own defense. It wasn’t easy to argue with Gavache. Actually it was impossible. He’d never win this kind of argument. He decided to leave things the way they were.
Silence settled in again. Jean-Paul drove through the heart of downtown Paris. Perhaps because it was still before the morning rush hour, there was not much traffic, and it was easy to drive. Several minutes passed in a deafening silence that could have been counted out by a heavy ticktock. Ticktock. Ticktock. Ticktock.
Rafael recognized the street, Boulevard du Temple. Boulevard des Filles du Calvaire followed, farther along rue de Saint-Antoine.
‘Why did you ask help from the Vatican?’ Rafael asked.
Gavache didn’t answer at once. He looked ahead like Jean-Paul, turning over in his mind everything that had been said, the good and bad.
‘The Vatican was mentioned on your friend’s recording,’ he finally said. ‘But something else intrigued me even more.’
Rafael leaned against the seat in front. He was very attentive. ‘What?’
‘The murderer said the pope would pray for him. It could have been an innocent remark, but to me it means that your Jesuit did what he did on his orders.’
‘Are you crazy?’ Rafael exclaimed. ‘That doesn’t make sense.’
‘I’m only a layman. If you have a better explanation, I’m all ears,’ Gavache said ironically.
‘Does it make sense that the Holy Father would hire a murderer and later agree to help in the investigation of a crime he himself ordered?’
‘You know as well as I do that criminals sometimes testify in crimes they themselves perpetrated. It wouldn’t be the first time.’
‘What we have here is a Jesuit out of control… with his own personal agenda,’ Rafael compromised.
‘To whom do the Jesuits answer?’ Gavache asked.
‘To the superior general of the society,’ Rafael explained.
‘And to whom does the superior general answer?’
Rafael took longer to answer than he liked.
‘To the pope,’ Jacopo put in.
No one said anything further, except Jean-Paul, with a brusque ‘We’ve arrived,’ as he braked hard.
Gavache got out of the car and looked around. The others joined him.
‘Another church, Jean-Paul.’
‘Another church, Inspector,’ Jean-Paul repeated.
‘I hope you’re right,’ Gavache remarked to Rafael.
‘I do, too.’
And they climbed up the stairs toward the entrance.
19
The helicopter shook as it headed into the side wind. The pilot was accustomed to these conditions, and chose a route farther to the north to avoid fighting the wind. The call had come from the Voyager of the Seas, a cruise ship sailing along the coast between Livorno and Corsica.
It happened sometimes, someone more critically ill than the ship’s clinic could handle or disagreements that had to be resolved by the police. In this case it was a couple who urgently needed to get to Fiumicino. They were alarmed, but spoke a language the pilot didn’t understand. It sounded Arabic, but he couldn’t say. Hebrew is difficult for anyone. They hadn’t explained the urgency, nor did they have to. Must be some millionaire who needed to close a business deal, spoiling the vacation of his wife — or his lover, since she looked younger than he.
Ben Isaac secured himself as well as he could. Myriam clung to the seat and looked at the instrument panel countless times. No father should have to see something like this. His son, little Ben, tied up, bloody, with tape over his mouth and a blindfold covering his eyes. He was holding up a white sign with Hebrew letters written in black:
THE STATUS QUO IS OVER. AWAIT INSTRUCTIONS.
But she didn’t care about the sign or what it said. Only that the boy she had given birth to was suffering, helpless, with no one, without protection, without his mother. She had tears of worry on her face, and kept looking at his image.
‘What is it they want, Ben?’
‘I don’t know, Myr,’ Ben Isaac answered, keeping his voice under control.
‘Money? Pay them, Ben. Pay whatever they want.’
Below they began to see lights from the coastal towns. They were nearing the peninsula.
Ben Isaac looked out the window just as a light rain began to strike the glass. In his worst nightmares he had never imagined such a scenario. Had they kidnapped little Ben to blackmail him? He knew exactly what they wanted, but who were they? How did they find the information? Only a leak could have started all this, and there were not many who could have informed when those involved were so few. He had failed in the most important duty of his existence — protecting his family. Just as he had failed Magda in another life, long ago, in his forgotten past.
The pilot radioed his position to the control tower and followed instructions for landing. A few minutes later they put down on the assigned runway. A van waited to take the passengers to a plane Ben Isaac had leased while still on board the ship.
As soon as they settled into the van, his cell phone rang. It showed his son’s number. Ben looked anxiously and turned the screen to his wife, who suddenly snatched the phone from his hands and answered.
‘Ben? Ben?’ she cried desperately with tears running down her face. She listened a few moments and closed her eyes. Moments later she held out the phone to Ben. ‘It’s for you.’
Her husband took the phone and lifted it, reluctantly, to his ear. ‘Ben Isaac,’ he answered. He said nothing more. He just listened. Probably as he was ordered to do. Myriam looked at him in suspense. No reaction, no interjection. Nothing. Total silence. The one-sided conversation lasted a few seconds. Ben Isaac hung up, and Myriam, instead of bombarding him with questions, made only one observation. ‘Don’t hide anything from me, Ben.’
