The Book of Q

Peretti slowly began to shake his head. “It would raise too many problems with the canon, even from the little you’ve said. The Eucharist is the liturgy. A document like that would have to confirm its pivotal role.”

“Not if those were the sections that were missing,” she answered. “I have a rather nice reputation when it comes to filling in gaps in scrolls like this. As long as the incisions are made with a bit of finesse, I don’t think it would be all that difficult to leave the right sorts of holes, ones that would clearly imply the existence of whatever liturgy you felt was essential.”

Peretti thought for a moment; again he shook his head. “What you’re asking-”

“What other options do you have?” said Pearse. “Keep it hidden? Who would be overlooking the Word of Christ, then?”

From Peretti’s expression, Pearse had hit a nerve.

“You’re both missing the point,” said Angeli. “Without the Resurrection passages, Q would be the very thing to pull the rug out from under the Manichaeans.” She had retrieved her cigarette and was taking two quick puffs before crushing it out in the ashtray. “Q is their grail, correct? It’s at the core of everything they believe in. I assume Blaney and this monk believe in it that strongly, too?”

Pearse thought for a moment, then nodded.

“Well, here you have a chance to tarnish the grail and place it in their hands. Show them that it’s no threat to the church, that it would actually strengthen her. A thousand years searching for it, and their one great hope turns out to be an empty promise. Whose foundations would be shaken then?”

“Somehow, I don’t think Erich von Neurath needs a grail to sate his ambition,” said Peretti.

“Fine,” said Pearse, an ultimatum in his tone. “Then it goes to Blaney, as is.”

Again, Peretti waited before answering. “You know I can’t let you do that.”

Pearse looked directly into his eyes. “Then you have a problem. Because if I don’t pick it up by tonight, it goes to Blaney anyway. Instructions in the package. It seemed the logical choice at the time.”

Peretti continued to stare at Pearse. “You really think Blaney would make that exchange and then let you go?”

“Yes.” No hesitation. “He owes me that much. And he knows it.”

Peretti was about to answer, when the phone rang. He picked up.

“Yes.” For several seconds, he listened intently, unable to mask a moment of surprise. “We’re sure on this?” Several nods. “Do we know who she is? … All right, fine … good.” Still listening, he looked across at Pearse as he spoke into the phone. “No, I think we can do better than that. Wait for my call.” He hung up. Finally, he said, “Von Neurath is dead.” Slowly, he shifted his gaze to Angeli. “How long would you need to … revise the scroll?”

She thought for a moment, then said, “I don’t know. Two, three hours. It depends on the-”

“Then do it.” He looked at Pearse. “When you’re done, you’ll call Blaney. By then, I’ll know where I want you to make the exchange. Acceptable, Father?”

Pearse simply nodded.

The Villa Borghese at dusk has an almost ethereal quality to it, especially in the Pincio Gardens, the area just above Piazza del Popolo, where the long promenades-most named for saints and Popes-lie under vaulted rows of pine and oak, each dotted with benches and lampposts. The sounds of Rome disappear, replaced by the occasional footstep on gravel, fewer and fewer of them as the sun dips down and the glow of lamplight begins to make itself known.

Pearse listened to his own footfall as he made his way along one of the wider walkways, Viale Leone IX his destination. As ever, Angeli had been spot-on-two and a half hours to alter the scroll, the offending passages removed with expert precision. It was only when it had come to disposing of the unwanted pieces that her hand had hesitated. Both of them had looked at the strands lying in the small bowl on the table. It was Pearse who had produced the box of matches.

The conversation with Peretti had been short. The location and time. The call to Blaney hadn’t been as easy, although it was clear he’d been expecting it. Pearse would be coming alone? Yes. Who had helped him? All he wanted was the boy and the woman. Blaney had to trust him on that. An hour.

He had then spoken with Petra and Ivo. She had promised she was up to it. Ivo had just liked the idea of another adventure.

He saw Blaney seated on a bench halfway down the path as he turned onto Leone IX. Another fifteen yards on stood Mendravic, Ivo by his side, Petra in a wheelchair. No one else. Pearse continued to approach. Five yards from Blaney, he stopped.

“Can she walk?” he asked.

“Yes,” answered Blaney.

“Then tell them to come over to me.”

“Let me see the ‘Hodoporia.’”

Pearse opened the box in his hands. He tilted it toward Blaney so he could see the scroll inside.

“How do I know it’s the ‘Hodoporia’?”

“Send them over.”

Blaney waited. “Hand me the box.”

Pearse remained where he was, box in hand. “You know, von Neurath’s dead.”

Blaney showed no reaction. “Yes. And no, it wasn’t me, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Send them over,” said Pearse.

Blaney waited, then looked at Mendravic. He nodded. At once, the Croat moved out to help Petra from her chair. She refused. Very slowly, she stood. She took Ivo’s hand.

“All right,” said Blaney. “Now give me the box.”

“We’ll wait until they’re past me.” Blaney looked as if he might say something. Instead, he took in a deep breath, then nodded again to Mendravic. Petra and Ivo slowly started out. Both men watched as the pair drew nearer.

“Am I right in thinking it was Daly who was trying to help you?” asked Blaney. “Kukes, this afternoon?”

“Peretti,” answered Pearse. “Cesare sends his regards.”

Again, no reaction. “A little more obvious, but it had to be one or the other. One of them will no doubt be the next Pope.” Pearse had never heard Blaney’s smug side. “I assume he has men scattered about the park.”

“I said I’d come alone.”

“Somehow, I doubt that.”

Pearse remained silent.

Petra and Ivo moved past Blaney and drew up to Pearse. She grabbed ahold of his arm. He immediately held her at his side. Ivo gave him a quick wave.

“Hi, Ian.”

“Hey, Ivi.”

Under his breath, Pearse said to Petra, “I need you to keep going. The bench across from us. Can you make that?”

She nodded once and took Ivo’s hand.

When they were far enough off, Pearse turned back to Blaney. Without any prompting, he moved to the bench and sat. “There’s no one else here, John. I took you at your word.”

“Then you’re more naive than I thought.”

“Maybe,” said Pearse. “Maybe not.” He handed him the box.

“You should go,” said Blaney, his fingers busy with the straps. “You have the woman and the boy.”

“Still protecting me?”

“More than you realize.”

“And how’s that, John?”

Old fingers were having trouble with the knot. “Several of von Neurath’s men are here,” he said. “Not my choice. They’ve been at a loss for what to do for the last few hours. They weren’t that keen on this exchange.”

Pearse let his eyes wander casually to the surrounding trees, seemingly unaffected by the news. “So why the charade?” he asked. “Why didn’t they just take it from me when I got here?”

“Because I’m sure several of Peretti’s men are also here. No reason for anyone to do something foolish. I’m not sure, however, how long they’ll wait. I don’t have quite the same sway over them as Erich did. You should go. Now.”

“No,” said Pearse, eyes still on the trees, “I think I’d like to see you read through some of it.”

“And why is that?”

“It might not be everything you thought it was.”

“I see.” Blaney nodded. He was finally making progress with the knot. “Then you obviously didn’t know how to read it.”