'What is it exactly?'
'The group was created during the Spanish Civil War by an anti-Communist priest named Juan Antonio Rodriguez. Monsignor Rodriguez was very selective about the type of people he permitted to join. The vast majority of his recruits were laymen. Most were wealthy or politically connected: bankers, lawyers, industrialists, government ministers, spies, and secret policemen. You see, Rodriguez was never interested in the business of saving souls. In his opinion, that sort of thing could be left to ordinary parish priests. Rodriguez was interested in only one thing: protecting the Roman Catholic Church from its mortal enemies.'
'And who were they?'
'The Bolsheviks,' Malone said, then quickly added: 'And the Jews, of course. Crux Vera spread quickly across Europe throughout the thirties. It established beachheads in France, Italy, Germany, the Balkans, and the Roman Curia itself. During the war, members of Crux Vera worked in the papal household and the Secretariat of State. As Crux Vera expanded, so did Monsignor Rodriguez's mission. He was no longer satisfied simply with protecting the Church from its enemies. He wanted to return the Church to the position of absolute power and supremacy that it enjoyed during the Middle Ages. That remains the core mission of Crux Vera to this day: reversing the defeats of the Reformation and the Enlightenment and making the state subservient to the Church once again. They also want to undo what they view as the heretical reforms of the Second Vatican Council: Vatican Two.'
'How do they intend to do that?'
'Crux Vera may have loathed the KGB, but in many ways, it is an exact replica; hence the title of my book. It wages a secret war against those it deems enemies and acts like a secret police force within the Church, enforcing strict adherence to doctrine and crushing dissent. Oh, the dissidents and reformers are allowed to vent their spleen now and again, but if they ever pose a real threat, Crux Vera will step in and help them see the light.'
'And if they refuse to yield?'
'Let's just say that several people who have run afoul of Crux Vera have died under less-than-clear circumstances. Prelates who have dared to oppose Crux Vera have fallen victim to sudden heart attacks. Journalists who have tried to investigate the order have disappeared or committed suicide. So have members of Crux Vera who've tried to leave.'
'How does a religious order justify the use of violence?'
'The priests of Crux Vera aren't the ones who are resorting to violence. The priests give guidance, but it's the laymen who actually do the dirty work. Inside the order, they're known as milites Christi-- the soldiers of Christ. They're encouraged to engage in pilleria, or dirty tricks, to achieve the goals of the order. Pilleria can be anything from blackmail to murder. And when the act is done, the priests provide absolution in the secrecy of the confessional. By the way, milites Christi aren't permitted to confess to anyone but a Crux Vera priest. That way, unpleasant secrets stay inside the family.'
'How do they feel about the current pope?'
'From what I hear, they're lukewarm, to say the least. Pope Paul VII talks about rebirth and renewal. To Crux Vera, those words mean reform and liberalization, and they get nervous.'
'What makes you think Crux Vera was involved in Benjamin's murder?'
'They might have had a motive. If there's one thing Crux Vera detests, it's revelations of the Vatican's dirty laundry. The order sees itself first and foremost as a guardian of the Church. If your friend had proof of something damaging, he would have fallen into the category of enemy. And Crux Vera would have seen it as their duty to deal with him harshly--for the greater good of the Church, of course.'
Malone finished his glass of wine and poured himself another. Gabriel's glass remained untouched. 'If you've been talking to people, asking questions, poking your nose into affairs that don't concern you, it's quite possible you've already appeared on Crux Vera's radar. If they think you pose a threat, they won't hesitate to kill you.'
'I appreciate your candor.'
'And we had a deal.' Malone picked up a notepad and a pen and suddenly the roles were reversed. 'It's my turn to ask the questions now.'
'Just remember the rules. If you betray me--'
'Don't worry; I'm also aware of the fact that Crux Vera is not the only secret organization to engage in pillena.' Malone licked his forefinger and turned to a fresh page in his notebook. 'My God, I have so many questions, I don't know where to begin.'
Gabriel spent the next two hours unenthusiastically holding up his end of the bargain. Finally, he saw himself out the front door of Peter Malone's house and struck out across Cadogan Square in a steady rain. On Sloane Street, he pulled his cellular phone from his pocket and dialed Mordecai in the surveillance van. 'Keep monitoring him,' Gabriel said. 'If he goes anywhere, go with him.'
Peter Malone sat before the computer in his upstairs office, feverishly typing up his notes. He could not quite believe his good fortune. He had learned long ago that success was the result of a volatile combination of hard work and pure luck. Sometimes good stories just fell into one's lap. The difference between an average journalist and a great one is what he did next.
After an hour of steady work, his handwritten notes had been transformed into a pair of organized memos. The first dealt with the exploits of the agent code-named Sword. The second was an account of their discussion regarding Benjamin Stern. Whether it was his intention or not, the Israeli had just given Malone the hook he needed for his story. Israeli intelligence was investigating the murder of prominent historian Benjamin Stern. He would ring Tel Aviv in the morning, secure the mandatory denial from the drones at headquarters, then stitch together the other mysterious details he knew about the case. He had not told the Israeli everything he knew about Stern's murder, just as he was quite certain the Israeli had not shared all of his knowledge. That's the way the game was played.
It took an experienced reporter to know the difference between truth and misinformation, to sift through the silt to find the nuggets of gold. With a bit of luck, he might have a piece ready by the weekend.
He spent a few minutes double-checking the quotes. He decided he would call Tom Graves, his editor at The Sunday Times, and reserve some space on the front page. He reached out for the telephone, but before he could lift the receiver from the cradle, he was flung backward by a blow to the chest. He looked down and saw a small, rapidly spreading circle of blood on his shirt. Then he looked up and saw the man, standing five feet from his desk, gray-blond hair, colorless eyes. Malone had been so engrossed in his work that he had failed to hear him enter the house.
'Why?' the reporter whispered, blood in his mouth.
The killer tilted his head, as though puzzled, and stepped around the desk. 'Ego te absolvo a peccatis tuis,' he said, fingers caressing the forehead. 'In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.'
Then he pointed the silenced gun at Malone's head and fired one last shot.
IN THE LEXICON of the Office, the device that the surveillance artist called Mordecai had placed in Malone's office was known as a 'glass.' Concealed within the electronics of the telephone, it provided coverage of Malone's calls as well as conversations taking place inside the room. It had allowed Mordecai to monitor Gabriel's conversation with Malone. He had also listened in as Malone sat at his desk after Gabriel's departure, tapping away at his computer. Shortly after nine o'clock, Mordecai heard murmuring in a language he could not understand. For the next five minutes, he was
treated to the sound of file drawers opening and closing. He assumed it was Malone, but when the front door opened and a tall broad-shouldered man emerged, Mordecai knew at once that something terrible had just taken place inside the house.
The man walked quickly down the steps and started across the square, directly toward the van. Mordecai panicked. The only weaponry he had was a directional microphone and a long-lens Nikon camera. It was the Nikon he reached for. As the man drew closer to the van, Mordecai raised it calmly to his eye and snapped off three quick shots.
The last one, he was convinced, was a keeper.
ROME
Vatican city state is the world's smallest country and also the most sparsely populated. More than four
