The churches and squares of Bamberg had celebrated Advent for more than four hundred years by displaying decorative nativity scenes. He'd learned from Irma Rahn that the circuit always started in the cathedral and, after the bishop's blessing, everyone would fan out through the city to view the year's offerings. Many came from all over Bavaria to take part, and Irma had warned that the streets would be crowded and noisy.
He glanced at his watch. Not quite seven.
He glanced around him and studied the families parading toward the cathedral's entrance, many of the children chatting incessantly about snow, Christmas, and St. Nicholas. Off to the right, a group was huddled around a woman wrapped in a heavy wool coat. She was perched on a knee-high wall, talking about the cathedral and Bamberg. Some kind of tour.
He wondered what people would think if they knew what he now knew. That man had not created God. Instead, just as theologians and holy men had counseled since the beginning of time, God was there, watching, many times surely pleased, other times frustrated, sometimes angry. The best advice seemed the oldest advice. Serve Him well and faithfully.
He was still fearful of the atonement that would be required for his own sins. Maybe this task was part of his penance. But he was relieved to know that his love for Katerina had never, at least in heaven's view, been a sin. How many priests had left the Church after similar failures? How many good men died thinking they'd fallen?
He was about to edge past the tour group when something the woman said caught his attention.
"--the seven hilled city."
He froze.
"That's what the ancients called Bamberg. It refers to the seven mounds that surround the river. Hard to see now, but there are seven distinct hills, each one in centuries past occupied by a prince or a bishop or a church. In the time of Henry II, when this was the capital of the Holy Roman Empire, the analogy brought this political center closer to the religious center of Rome, which was another city referred to as seven hilled."
In the final persecution of the Holy Roman Church there will reign Peter the Roman who will feed his flock among many tribulations, after which in the seven hilled city the dreadful judge will judge all people. That's what St. Malachy had supposedly predicted in the eleventh century. Michener had thought the seven hilled city was a reference to Rome. He'd never known of a similar label for Bamberg.
He closed his eyes and prayed again. Was this another insight? Something vital to what was about to happen?
He glanced up at the funnel-shaped entrance to the cathedral. The tympanum, bathed in light, depicted Christ at the Last Judgment. Mary and John, at his feet, were pleading for souls arising from their coffins, the blessed pushing forward behind Mary toward heaven, the damned being dragged to hell by a grinning devil. Had two thousand years of Christian arrogance come down to this night--to a place where nearly a thousand years ago a sainted Irish priest had predicted humanity would come?
He sucked in a breath of frigid air, steeled himself, then elbowed his way into the nave. Inside, the sandstone walls were bathed in a soft hue. He took in the details of the heavily ribbed vaulting, stout piers, statuary, and tall windows. A choir perch soared on one end. The altar filled the other. Beyond the altar was the tomb of Clement II, the only pope ever buried in German soil, and Jakob Volkner's namesake.
He stopped at a marble font and dabbed his finger into the holy water. He crossed himself and said another prayer for what he was about to do. An organ poured out a soft melody.
He glanced around at the crowd filling the long pews. Robed acolytes busily prepared the sanctuary. High to his left, standing before a thick stone balustrade, was Katerina. Beside her stood Ambrosi, wearing the same dark coat and scarf from earlier. Twin staircases rose on the left and right of the railing, the steps filled with people. Between the staircases sat the imperial tomb. Clement had also spoken of it--a Riemenschneider, rich in elaborate carvings depicting Henry II and his queen, in which their bodies had rested for half a millennium.
He realized a gun was near Katerina, but he didn't believe Ambrosi would risk anything here. He wondered if reinforcements might be concealed among the crowd. He stood rigid as people filed past him.
Ambrosi gestured for him to ascend the left staircase.
He did not move.
Ambrosi gestured again.
He shook his head.
Ambrosi's gaze tightened.
He withdrew the envelope from his pocket and displayed it for his nemesis to see. The look on the papal secretary's face showed recognition of the same envelope from earlier in the restaurant, lying innocently on the table.
He shook his head again.
Then he remembered what Katerina had told him of how Ambrosi had read her lips when she cursed him in St. Peter's Square.
Screw you, Ambrosi, he mouthed.
He saw the priest understood.
He pocketed the envelope and headed for the exit, hoping he would not regret what was going to happen next.
Katerina watched Michener mouth something then turn to leave. She'd offered no resistence on the walk to the cathedral because Ambrosi had told her he was not alone, and if they did not appear there at seven Michener would be killed. She was doubtful there were others, but her best bet was to get to the church and wait for an opportunity. So in the instant Ambrosi took to register Michener's betrayal, she ignored the gun barrel boring into her back and ground her left heel onto Ambrosi's foot. She then shoved the priest away and yanked the gun from his grip, the weapon clattering across the tile floor.
She sprang for the gun as a woman beside her screamed. She used the confusion to grab the pistol and bolt for the staircase, catching a glimpse of Ambrosi rising to his feet.
The steps were crowded, and she plowed her way down before deciding to vault over the railing onto the imperial crypt. She landed on the stone effigy of a woman lying next to a robed man, then leaped to the floor. The gun was still in her hand. Voices rose. A panic swept the church. She pushed her way through a knot of people at the door and emerged into the frigid night.
Pocketing the gun, her eyes searched for Michener, and she saw him at the path that led down to the town center. A commotion behind her warned that Ambrosi was trying to make an exit, too.
So she ran.
Michener thought he saw Katerina as he started down the winding path. But he couldn't stop. He had to keep going. If it was Kate she'd follow and Ambrosi would pursue, so he loped down the narrow stone path, brushing past more people on their way up.
He made it to the bottom and hurried toward the town hall bridge. He crossed the river through a gateway that bisected the rickety timbered building and entered the busy Maxplatz.
He slowed and risked a quick glance behind.
Katerina was fifty yards back, heading his way.
Katerina wanted to cry out and tell Michener to wait, but he was moving at a determined gait, heading into Bamberg toward the bustling Christmas market. The gun was still in her pocket, and behind her Ambrosi was rapidly advancing. She'd been on the lookout for a policeman, anyone in authority, but this night of merriment seemed a government holiday. No uniforms were in sight.
She had to trust Michener knew what he was doing. He'd deliberately flaunted Ambrosi, apparently gambling that her assailant would not harm her in public. Whatever was contained in Father Tibor's translation must be important enough that Michener did not want Ambrosi, or Valendrea, to have it. But she wondered if it was important enough to risk what he'd apparently decided to ante in this seemingly high-stakes game.
Up ahead, Michener dissolved into the crowds surveying booths filled with Christmas wares. Bright lights illuminated the outdoor market in a daylight glow. The air reeked of grilled sausages and beer.
She slowed, too, as people enveloped her.
Michener hustled through the revelers, but not fast enough to draw attention. The market spanned about a hundred yards down the winding cobblestoned path. Half-timbered buildings lined its per
imeter, wedging people and booths into a congested column.
He came to the last of the booths and the crowd thinned.
He regained a running pace, rubber soles slapping the cobbles as he left the noisy market and headed for the canal, crossing a stone bridge and entering a quiet part of town.
Behind him, more soles to stone could be heard. Up ahead, he spotted St. Gangolf's. All of the revelry was centralized back in the Maxplaz, or across the river in the cathedral district, and he was counting on some privacy for at least the next few minutes.
He only hoped he wasn't tempting fate.
Katerina watched Michener enter St. Gangolf's. What was he doing there? This was stupid. Ambrosi was still behind her, yet Colin had deliberately come straight to the church. He must know she was following, and that her assailant would, too.
She glanced at the buildings around her. Few lights burned in the windows and the street ahead was empty. She raced to the church doors, yanked them open, and bolted inside. Her breaths were coming fast.
"Colin."
No answer.
She called his name again. Still no answer.
She trotted down the center aisle toward the altar, passing empty pews that sliced thin shadows in the blackness. Only a handful of lamps illuminated the nave. The church was apparently not a part of this year's celebration.
"Colin."
Desperation now laced her voice. Where was he? Why wouldn't he answer? Had he left through another door? Was she trapped here alone?
The doors behind her opened.
She dove into a row of pews and clawed the floor, trying to slip across the gritty stone to the far side.
Footsteps stopped her advance.
Michener saw a man enter the church. A shaft of light revealed the face of Paolo Ambrosi. A few moments earlier, Katerina had entered and called out his name, but he'd intentionally not answered. She was now huddled on the floor between the pews.
"You move fast, Ambrosi," he called out.
His voice bounced off the walls, the echo making it difficult to pinpoint his location. He watched as Ambrosi moved right, toward the confessionals, his head sweeping back and forth so his ears could judge the sound. He hoped Katerina did not betray her presence.
"Why make this hard, Michener?" Ambrosi said. "You know what I want."
"You told me earlier things would be different if I read the words. For once you were right."
"You never could obey."
"How about Father Tibor? Did he obey?"
Ambrosi was approaching the altar. The priest moved with cautious steps, still searching the darkness for Michener's location.
"I never spoke with Tibor," Ambrosi said.
"Sure you did."
Michener stared down from the raised pulpit, eight feet above Ambrosi.
"Just come on out, Michener. Let's resolve this."
As Ambrosi turned, his back momentarily to him, Michener leaped down. Together they pounded the floor and rolled.
Ambrosi pushed himself away and sprang to his feet.
Michener started to rise, too.
Movement to his right caught his attention. He saw Katerina rushing toward them, a gun in hand. Ambrosi pivoted off a row of pews and vaulted toward her, thrusting his feet into her chest, sending her to the floor. Michener heard a thud as skull found stone. Ambrosi disappeared over the pews and came back into view with the gun in his grip, yanking a limp Katerina to her feet and ramming the gun barrel into her neck. "Okay, Michener. Enough."
He stood still.
"Give me Tibor's translation."
Michener took a few steps toward them and withdrew the envelope from his pocket. "This what you want?"
"Drop it on the floor and back away." The hammer on the gun clicked into place. "Don't push me, Michener. I possess the courage to do what needs to be done because the Lord gives me the strength."
"Perhaps He's testing to see what you will do?"
"Shut up. I don't need a theology lesson."
"I might be the best person on earth for that at the moment."
"Is it the words?" The tone was quizzical, like a schoolboy inquiring of his teacher. "They give you courage?"
He sensed something. "What is it, Ambrosi? Valendrea didn't tell you everything? Too bad. He held back the best part."
Ambrosi tightened his grip on Katerina. "Just drop the envelope and back away."
The desperate look in Ambrosi's eyes signaled that he might well make good on the threat. So he tossed the envelope to the floor.
Ambrosi released his hold on Katerina and shoved her toward Michener. He caught her and saw she was dazed from the head blow.
"You okay?" he asked.
Her eyes were glassy, but she nodded.
Ambrosi was examining the envelope's contents.
"How do you know that's what Valendrea wants?" he asked.
"I don't. But my instructions were clear. Get what I can and eliminate the witnesses."
"What if I made a copy?"
Ambrosi shrugged. "A chance we take. But, fortunately for us, you will not be here to offer any testimony." The gun came level, pointed straight at them. "This is the part I will truly enjoy."
A form emerged from the shadows and slowly inched close to Ambrosi from behind. Not a sound came from the approaching steps. The man was clad in black trousers and a loose-fitting black jacket. The outline of a gun appeared in one hand, and it was slowly raised to Ambrosi's right temple.
"I assure you, Father," Cardinal Ngovi said. "I, too, will enjoy this part."
"What are you doing here?" Ambrosi asked, surprise in his voice.
"I came to speak with you. So lower the weapon and answer some questions. Then you're free to go."
"You want Valendrea, don't you?"
"Why else do you think you're still breathing."
Michener held his breath as Ambrosi weighed his options. When he'd telephoned Ngovi earlier, he was banking on Ambrosi's survival instincts. He assumed that though Ambrosi might profess great loyalty, when it came to a choice between himself or his pope, there really was no choice at all. "It's over, Ambrosi." He pointed to the envelope. "I read it. Cardinal Ngovi read it. Too many know now. You can't win this one."
"And what was worth all this?" Ambrosi asked, the tone signaling that he was considering their proposal.
"Lower the gun and find out."
Another long moment of silence passed. Finally, Ambrosi's hand came down. Ngovi grabbed the weapon and stood back, his gun still trained on the priest.
Ambrosi faced Michener. "You were bait? The idea was to get me to follow?"
"Something like that."
Ngovi stepped forward. "We have some questions. Cooperate and there will be no police, no arrest. Just disappear. A good deal, considering."
"Considering what?"
"Father Tibor's murder."
Ambrosi chuckled. "That's a bluff and you know it. This is about you two bringing down Peter II."
Michener stood. "No. It's about you bringing Valendrea down. Which shouldn't matter at all. He'd do the same to you if the roles were reversed."
Without question the man standing before him had been involved in Father Tibor's death, most likely the actual murderer. But Ambrosi was surely smart enough to realize that the game had changed.
"Okay," Ambrosi said. "Ask away."
The cardinal reached into his jacket pocket.
A tape recorder came into view.
Michener helped Katerina into the Konigshof. Irma Rahn met them at the front door.
"Did it go all right?" the older woman asked Michener. "I've been frantic for the last hour."
"It went well."
"Praise God. I was so worried."
Katerina was still woozy, but feeling better.
"I'm going to take her upstairs," he said.
He helped her to the second floor. Once inside the room she immediately asked, "What in God's name was Ngovi doing there?"
"I called this a
fternoon and told him what I'd learned. He flew to Munich and arrived here right before I headed to the cathedral. It was my job to lure Ambrosi to St. Gangolf's. We needed a place away from the festivities. Irma told me the church wasn't displaying a crib scene this year. I had Ngovi talk with the parish priest. He doesn't know anything, only that Vatican officials needed his church for a little while." He knew what she was thinking. "Look, Kate, Ambrosi wouldn't hurt anyone until he had Tibor's translation. He could never be sure of anything until then. We had to play it out."
"So I was bait?"
"You and me. Defying him was the only way to make sure he'd turn on Valendrea."
"Ngovi's a tough one."
"He was raised a street kid in Nairobi. He knows how to handle himself."
They'd spent the past half hour with Ambrosi, recording what would be needed tomorrow. She'd listened and now knew everything, except the entire third secret of Fatima. He removed an envelope from his pocket. "Here's what Father Tibor sent to Clement. It's the copy I offered Ambrosi. Ngovi has the original."
She read the words, then commented, "That's similar to what Jasna wrote. You were just going to give Ambrosi the Medjugorje message?"
He shook his head. "Those are not Jasna's words. Those are the Virgin's, from Fatima, written by Lucia dos Santos in 1944, and translated by Father Tibor in 1960."
"You can't be serious. Do you realize what that would mean if the two messages were essentially the same?"
"I've realized that since this afternoon." His voice was low and calm and he waited while she considered the implications. They'd talked many times about her lack of her faith. But he'd never been one to judge, considering his own lapses. After which in the seven hilled city the dreadful judge will judge all people. Maybe Katerina was the first of many to judge themselves.