Shout in the Dark

  *

  The Vatican

  Evening

  "JOSEF, IT WOULD be most unwise to stop TV Roma's live broadcast on the relic tonight, and probably impossible. They are a powerful organization, and could cause us considerable harm with adverse publicity if we let them down."

  The Pope's serious expression turned to an embarrassed smile. "Please sit down, Josef," he continued. "You make me uncomfortable as you pace the room. This carpet is three hundred years old, and since we began our talk I do believe you have added at least a decade of wear!"

  Josef Reinhardt sat down reluctantly. He had been pacing the deep red carpet for almost thirty minutes. "As head of Vatican Security Services I should have been consulted on the security of this relic from the start," he protested. "You should not risk lending it to TV Roma. Not even for five minutes." Reinhardt stood up, realized what he had done, and sat down again.

  "Then you know something, Josef?" the Pope continued.

  "There is a German organization, Holiness." Reinhardt chose his words carefully, attempting to cause maximum impact. "It is led by a man who uses the code name of Phönix. I have seen some of the neo-Fascist ADR's intercepted emails, and it appears they have managed to collect three fragments of Hitler's skull. They intend to embed these fragments into a bust of the Führer and display it in Berlin."

  The Pope shook his head in distaste. "I cannot imagine such a thing. Surely a display of Hitler would be illegal."

  "Rebuilding the head of Hitler may not be a criminal act in itself, Holiness. The Führer's effigy is legally on display in waxworks around the world."

  "But a shrine, a place where racial hatred is taught, would not be allowed by the European constitution."

  "Never underestimate the power of the neo-Nazis, Holiness. I am sure they have a plan to circumvent the law."

  "Tell me, Josef, what size are these fragments?"

  Reinhardt took his pen from the inside pocket of his black jacket and made a rough sketch of a man's head on a sheet of notepaper on the desk. "Two of the fragments go here ... and here." He indicated two jagged patches each the size of an egg just above the forehead. "And a much larger piece containing the left eye socket and cheekbone goes here."

  The Pope glanced at the drawing before turning away. He swallowed. "What makes you think that people would flock to see fragments of this man's skull?"

  Reinhardt sighed. "The Church has used such a device for centuries, Holiness. What draws the people to the site of a saint's burial? Is it the marble statue? Or is it a glimpse of the bones?"

  The Holy Father reflected on this for a moment. "But the bones of the saint are good, and the bones of the Führer are surely evil."

  Reinhardt nodded. "Some would say that goodness and evil depend on the viewpoint of the onlooker."

  The Pope managed a smile. "Goodness is absolute, Josef, and well you know it. But what is the link between this sickening object and our first century bronze head of Jesus Christ?"

  "There may be no link." Reinhardt tried to move his shoulders but his body felt trapped by the luxurious padding of the large armchair. In spite of his age he preferred standing -- and pacing.

  "Josef, you must not try to deceive me. Tell me what you know."

  He nodded slowly. "I have heard that one of the ADR fascist team is marching to a different tune." Reinhardt was aware that he had the Holy Father's full attention. "An ADR man is boasting in private that he will give Europe an experience the Church has never been able to offer. I can think of only one way he could achieve this."

  "By using the bronze head of Christ?" The Pope thought for a moment, weighing up the prospect. "Impossible. The fascists lost their opportunity in the war." He sighed noisily. "But I can see the power it would have given them had they obtained it in the nineteen thirties. They would have remodeled the facial features. The nose especially. Christ's supposed Aryan ancestry would have been falsely proven. Do you remember how German artists subtly changed the paintings on the walls in Schleswig cathedral in the nineteen thirties?"

  "Lothar Malskat was to blame for that. And the Feys, of course. I was only a boy at the time." Reinhardt jumped to his feet and walked the length of the room. Then he turned. "The neo-Fascists could destroy the peace in Europe with their pernicious magic." He strode to the darkened window. "But when I first warned the Vatican, my voice was received in silence." He tried not to make his words sound like an accusation, but suspected he had done exactly that.

  The Pontiff nodded. "A lone voice crying in the wilderness?" He smiled fleetingly. "You, a man with a lifetime of danger; a one-time member of the Hitler Youth and a supporter of the Nazi Party? I regret I can find little enthusiasm within the Vatican for a battle with neo-Nazis in the new millennium."

  "At times like this I feel powerless," responded Reinhardt bitterly. "I met Adolf Hitler personally. The German Führer came to our house to see my father several times in Berlin. The man was obsessed with the occult. He frightened me. But a greatness shone out from him that I cannot explain. Yes, a bust containing parts of his skull would have a fascination, even for me. But it is the bronze head of Christ that would provide an even greater attraction to the world."

  The Pope smiled reassuringly. "Then we can rejoice that it is safe with us here at the Vatican."

  "Safe in the Vatican, but will it be safe at TV Roma?"

  "You are over-reacting, Josef. The news you have brought me this evening is only from one source -- the contact you have in the secular anti-terrorist group in Rome. Do you consider this man's intelligence reliable?"

  "He believes a splinter group of the neo-Fascist ADR movement could be planning to shake our little set-up to its foundations -- within days." Reinhardt shrugged. "Those are his words, Holiness, not mine. A Church with a membership of more than a billion. Our little set-up!"

  The Pope held his hands open, and the sweeping folds of white gave Reinhardt a little of the comfort he desperately needed. There was no smile now. "Tell me, Josef, as head of this 'little set-up', what do you want me to do?"

  Reinhardt had his back to the window and the view of the empty courtyard. This was not the time for Vatican protocol. The Holy Father's question was direct, and the reply would therefore be blunt. "Holiness, it is obviously too late for us to stop tonight's live broadcast. But you should insist that TV Roma makes all future programs about the relic from within the boundaries of the Vatican. Security at their studios may be weak. The neo-Nazis tried to steal it from Canon Levi nearly twenty years ago."

  "And failed."

  "Indeed." Reinhardt sighed. "But they managed to kill Canon Levi in the attempt."

  "Every step we make in life involves a degree of danger, Josef. Tell me about this ADR movement."

  "Achtzehn Deutschland Reinigung, literally Eighteen Germany Purification."

  "Is that Eighteen as in the British neo-Nazi group Combat Eighteen, Josef?"

  "Indeed, yes. Eighteen: one and eight, A and H."

  "The initials of Adolf Hitler," said the Pope quietly. "But I understand the ADR is not a youth movement."

  The Holy Father seemed remarkably well informed on the current neo-Nazi groups. "Quite so, Holiness. The movement has been around since the nineteen eighties, but it now appears to be run by powerful politicians and influential businessmen. The ADR has an extensive network."

  "You're putting me in an impossible position, Josef. The people have been clamoring for a sight of the bronze head since its rediscovery in the Vatican." The Holy Father smiled confidently. "And that is why the Vatican has agreed to show it to them through TV Roma."

  This was not the answer Reinhardt sought. He looked at his footmarks showing on the crimson carpet, and tried without much success to stand still. "Holiness, could the public stay away if the face of Jesus Christ was on show? If the fascists display the bust of Christ alongside the head of Hitler, they will draw more visitors than all our cathedrals and churches combined."

  Reinhardt could hear a sound ou
tside the closed door. Vittorio, the private secretary, must be dropping a strong hint to the Holy Father about the passing time. The Pope chose to ignore the man.

  "It is your responsibility to deal with this evil, Josef. What do you intend to do to counter any move by the ADR against the Church?"

  Reinhardt shrugged. "We could try shouting at the devil. Shouting into the darkness. See what comes out."

  "I trust you have a more sophisticated plan than that."

  Reinhardt hesitated, aware of the enormity of the decision he had already made. "More detailed, but scarcely more advanced. I have this afternoon selected ... selected someone in the Church. A man. A man to put his head up to be shot at, Holiness."

  "People who put their heads up usually get them shot off. Do I know this man?"

  "His name is Sartini. I met him this morning for the first time. He is a priest just out of seminary. It is essential that we identify the parties in this conspiracy before we can act. I believe Sartini would make ideal bait to draw them into the open."

  "Sartini?" The Holy Father frowned. "I cannot say I know the name. I trust you intend to make him fully aware of his function ... as bait?"

  "No."

  "No?"

  Reinhardt caught hold of the Holy Father's arm, disregarding all convention and etiquette, his voice tense. "Sometimes the innocent will draw the enemy, so that he can be caught unawares. There is a country saying I remember from my boyhood: if you want to catch a wolf, you may have to lose a rabbit."

  The Holy Father's eyes flashed briefly with a natural energy. Placing a hand on each side of his head he pointed upwards, laughing. "Marco Sartini is a rabbit?"

  "With long ears? Far from it, Holiness. Like all good sayings one must not look too closely at the words. Rest assured, Sartini is a survivor. I have seen his records. However, in the end we may have to accept..."

  The laughter stopped abruptly. "You will put his life at risk, Josef?"

  "As you said just now, Holiness, every step we make in life involves a degree of danger."

  "Then we must pray to the Lord for his safety."

  Reinhardt nodded. "I have done so constantly, since I met him this morning. I believe there is a plan for revenge that will ensnare the innocent as well as the guilty. A darkened web of evil with a powerful man at its center. I beg you, Holiness, pray for the innocent."

  The Pope closed his eyes. "How old is Sartini?"

  "Twenty-nine, and I believe he still has both his feet firmly on the ground."

  "Both feet?" The Holy Father's smile was back in place. "Then he must indeed be a young priest in a million!"

  A sharp knock at the door interrupted the conversation. "You really must excuse me, Josef, but duty calls. They are waiting for me in the Basilica."

  Reinhardt stood in front of the closed door to delay the Pontiff's departure. "There are still many who would change the course of history. Sartini has the potential..."

  The Pope placed a hand firmly on Reinhardt's shoulder. "Josef, I know I can trust you to deal with this matter."

  Reinhardt was scarcely listening as he moved to one side to let the Holy Father pass. Marco Sartini had a critical role to play.

  The circle of red ink. The sentence of death. The war was not over yet.