‘Have you ever seen me not in one?’ Rafael responded.
Donald said nothing for a few moments. He looked at Rafael disdainfully, then looked around the minuscule space and turned his back. ‘Follow me… or get out. Whatever you want.’
The sacristy was to the left of the altar as one approached.
When Rafael entered, Donald had already poured the golden liquid of a bottle of whiskey into two glasses. He opened a wooden box from which he took some tobacco and filled the bowl of his pipe. He struck a match and held it above the tobacco, sucked vigorously to get it lit, and in less than a minute was relaxing in a chair to enjoy the drink and tobacco. Rafael sat down also, without Donald’s invitation, and grabbed the second glass of malt scotch. He wasn’t in the habit of drinking in the morning, but he needed this one. It had been a long night. There were some who drank for fewer reasons than this.
‘How are things in Rome?’ Donald asked, finally breaking the silence.
Rafael sipped a little of his drink before replying. ‘Same as always.’
Donald frowned. ‘Still fucked up, huh.’ The Englishman got up and went over to a closet. ‘How many do you need?’
‘One.’
‘Only one?’
‘Only one.’
‘And they? How many are there?’ Donald’s voice was friendlier as he continued looking through the closet for something, with his back toward Rafael.
‘You never know, Donald.’
‘Of course not. That’s shitty.’
Donald approached with a package and a box and put them down by Rafael. ‘Take your choice.’
Rafael unwrapped the tissue around a Glock 19 9mm. He tried it out, chambered a load from the magazine he attached, and aimed. Then he opened the box that contained a Beretta 92FS of the same caliber. He didn’t even test it. He put it in his jacket pocket along with two magazines of 9mm bullets. Donald looked at him curiously.
‘Made in Italy,’ Rafael explained, getting out of the chair. ‘Has any Jesuit asked for your help?’
‘The Jesuits don’t need me. They have their own methods. Besides, they have Nicolas.’
‘Who is Nicolas?’
Donald got up and accompanied Rafael out of the sacristy. ‘Nicolas is the man who carries out their jobs. The Jesuit front line. He’s the one who solves their problems.’
‘Where can I find him?’ Rafael was visibly interested in this information.
‘I have no idea. I don’t even know where he’s from. Some Jesuit will know. He’s one of them. Talk to Robin.’
The two men went to the door.
Donald offered his hand. ‘I’m not going to wish you good luck because you’re a tough son of a bitch.’
Rafael smiled. ‘Keep your head down for a few days,’ he advised. ‘Things are going to get hot.’
39
‘Spill it, Sam,’ Barry ordered. He was not in the mood for bullshit. ‘I don’t want to hear We don’t know.’
The meeting was in the same room where they held briefings on ongoing operations or those being planned. Aris sat on Barry’s right, Sam on the left, Staughton, Davis, and Travis followed. No one sat at the opposite end.
‘The Italian and the taxi driver?’ Barry wanted to know.
‘They’re being interrogated as we speak,’ Aris informed him.
‘Let’s begin, then,’ the director ordered.
Sam got up and pulled her skirt down. She seemed nervous, tense, a little feverish, judging from her red cheeks.
‘Everything began about fifty years ago with an agreement between Pope John the Twenty-third and Ben Isaac.’
‘Ben Isaac.’ Barry thought it over. He tried to flesh out the name with more information, give him a face. ‘The Israeli banker?’
‘The same,’ Sam confirmed. ‘In 1947 he was one of the discoverers of the famous apocryphal gospels.’
‘The what?’ Aris asked.
Sam shrugged her shoulders in irritation. ‘The Dead Sea Scrolls from Qumran.’
Aris raised his thumb to show he understood.
‘It seems there were some very important documents in these discoveries,’ Sam continued. Her nervousness disappeared as she got used to the male eyes focused on her. ‘Some of them were never made public, since they were covered by an agreement between the Israeli and the Vatican. That agreement was called the Status Quo.’
‘Interesting,’ Barry said. ‘Okay, let’s throw some light on the reason Rafael was in Paris.’
‘And in London,’ Sam added.
Barry looked at her, puzzled.
‘Ben Isaac has lived in London for more than fifty years,’ Sam explained confidently. ‘But there’s more… much more.’
‘Put Ben Isaac under surveillance as soon as possible.’
‘Already done,’ Sam replied.
‘Don’t keep us waiting, then, Sam,’ Barry said with a smile. ‘Go on, please.’
Sam continued. Ben Isaac and the agreement with John XXIII, John Paul II, the Three Gentlemen, the Five Gentlemen, Magda, Myriam, Ben Isaac Jr… Jesus Christ.
All the participants were silent. No one knew what to say. They considered the information silently.
‘Wow,’ Barry finally said. ‘That’s a lot.’
‘Why did those four people die?’ Aris threw in.
There was so much to know. Doubts, questions, misunderstandings, all the reasons for anger, wars and tortures. Jesus Christ? It wasn’t every day that a case like this came up. Nothing like this had ever appeared in the history of the CIA, a short history compared to that of the church.
‘There weren’t four. There were six,’ said a voice that had just entered the room.
‘Thompson. Welcome,’ Barry greeted him. ‘Have a seat.’
Thompson pulled out the chair across from Barry and sat down.
‘Six dead? What are you telling me?’ Barry asked.
Thompson threw a bunch of papers on the table. Transcripts, texts, and photos covered the surface.
‘Ernesto Aragones, Spanish priest, assassinated with a shot to the back of the head on Sunday in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem.’
The others began to look at the papers.
‘This morning they killed a priest inside the Vatican.’
‘A what?’ Barry was scandalized. ‘What the hell is going on? Who was he?’
‘The curator of the Relics Room. Don’t ask me what it means.’
‘What’s the connection between all these people?’ Aris asked again.
‘Yaman Zafer, Sigfried Hammal, Aragones, and the priest today, Ursino, were part of what was called the Five Gentlemen,’ Thompson replied.
‘And the others?’
‘The others were Jesuits. According to what I was able to squeeze out of the Italian. The acolyte killed the priest to silence him, then committed suicide.’
Barry shook his head. ‘Who are we fighting with, folks?’
‘They don’t know themselves, from what I could find out,’ Thompson suggested.
‘Okay,’ Barry said thoughtfully. ‘Now we have something to work with. This Ben Isaac. Could he be Rafael’s target?’
