Страница 83 из 93
"Give me what?" asked Ana.
"This file, Ana. It's a summary of my work over the last five years. Michael's and my work, rather. It lists the names and biographies of the men we think are the new masters of the Temple. In my opinion, Lord McCall is the Grand Master. But read it and see what you think. And however ridiculous we seem to you, be careful, for your sake and ours. Only a few people know about this. We're trusting you because we think you're on the verge of an important discovery-we aren't sure exactly what it is, or what direction it'll take you, but you seem to be zeroing in on something, something big, that we've been missing. There are notes and historical details in the file you may want to think about, too, which may be relevant to your shroud, things we've discovered about the fall of the order, where they fled, speculations about what happened to their records and their riches, how they reconstituted themselves……
"If these papers fall into the wrong hands, we'll all die-don't doubt that. So I ask that you confide in no one, absolutely no one. They have ears everywhere-in the judiciary, in the police, in parliaments, in the stock markets-everywhere. I'm sure you're already on their radar. They know you've been with us; what they don't know is what we've told you. We've invested a great deal in security, and we have electronic sca
"Elisabeth, I'm sorry. This is too far into John le Carre territory, even for me."
"Think whatever you want, Ana, but you've put yourself into this. Will you do what we ask?"
"Look-you've taken me into your confidence, and I'm grateful. Your secrets are safe with me. Not a word to anyone, I promise. Shall I return this file when I've finished reading it?"
"Destroy it. It's just a summary, but I promise- you'll find it useful, very useful, especially if you decide to go on."
"What makes you think I'm turning back?"
Elisabeth took a deep breath before replying, then smiled ever so slightly.
"That's what you should do, Ana, believe me. Stop now. But somehow I don't think you will."
51
IT WAS SEVEN A.M., AND THE CORE MEMBERS of the Art Crimes Department looked like they'd just gotten out of bed after a sleepless night. Now they were waiting for their breakfast orders to be brought in. The hotel dining room had just opened and they'd been the first guests to enter.
At nine the mute was to be released from the Turin jail.
Marco had pla
Sofia was nervous, and she thought Minerva looked uneasy too. Even Antonino showed the tension in the way he tightened his lips. Marco, Pietro, and Giuseppe, however, seemed fine-loose and easy. All three were cops, and for them a tail was routine. They had reviewed their respective roles and responsibilities until they could practically recite them in their sleep. There was nothing to do now but wait.
To fill the time, Sofia began to update Marco and the team about some of the more intriguing leads-or hints, really-that she'd come across on her most recent forays into the shadowy history of the shroud, paging through biblical Apocrypha and books on Edessa and its role as an ancient center of trade. The more she delved into the co
"Jesus, I never heard anything so stupid!" Pietro interrupted her. "It's too early in the morning for this bullshit, Sofia."
"This is not bullshit! I mean, it's speculation, I know that, and it's a little 'out there,' and I'm not saying that it's true, but you can't call everything that doesn't agree with what you think 'bullshit.' "
"Cool it!" Marco barked. "Sofia, I don't know… it seems a bit fantastic that this could have been going on all these years. But with a little luck, and close attention to the job at hand," he looked pointedly around the table at them all, "we'll have some hard answers soon. Now let's run through everything one more time."
Far from Turin, the animated atmosphere within the opulent penthouse of one of the world's most powerful shipping magnates was in stark contrast to the storm outside now lashing New York City. Guests milled about, chatting happily, laughing, and although it was after midnight, the party seemed to be just begi
Their conversation, however, belied their relaxed postures.
"Mendib will be leaving the prison about now," the oldest murmured discreetly to the others. "Everything is ready."
"I'm concerned about this situation. Bakkalbasi has seven men in all, Addaio has hired a professional killer, and Marco Valoni has put a whole team of men and equipment in place. Won't we be terribly exposed? Wouldn't it be better to let them resolve this themselves?" the Frenchman asked.
"We have been briefed on all the details of both operations-we can monitor them with little danger of exposure of our people. As for Addaio's man, there is no problem there. He can be easily controlled," replied the older man.
"Even so, I, too, am inclined to believe that there are too many people in this," said a gentleman with an indeterminate accent.
"Mendib is a problem for Addaio and for us because Valoni will not let go of this as long as he has a lead," the older man insisted. "But I am much more concerned about the reporter, the sister of the Europol representative, and that Dottoressa Galloni. The conclusions those two are reaching bring them perilously close to us. Ana Jimenez has met with Lady Elisabeth McKe
A heavy silence fell over the others, who exchanged surreptitious glances.
"What do you propose to do?" The Italian's tone carried a touch of defiance as he asked the direct question.
"What has to be done. I'm sorry."
"We mustn't rush into this."
'And we haven't, which is why they're much further along in their speculations than is comfortable for us. We must act before it is too late. I want your advice, but I also want your consent."
"Can we not wait awhile longer?" asked the ex-military man.
"No, we can't, not without endangering everything. It would be madness to go on taking risks. I'm sorry, sincerely sorry. The decision is as repugnant to me as it is to you, but I can find no other solution. If you think there is one, tell me."
The other six men were silent. They all knew deep down that he was right. The enormous amount of money Paul Bisol had spent on security had been for nothing. For years they had intercepted the couple's mail. They had inserted spyware on their computers, a keystroke logger program, and they had tapped Enigmas' telephones; they had installed sophisticated bugs in the editorial offices and in their home.
They knew everything about them-as for months they had been learning everything about Sofia Galloni and Ana Jimenez, from the perfume they wore to what they read at night, who they spoke to, their love life… everything, absolutely everything.