The League of Night and Fog

  While Icicle locked the door, Seth carried the woman to the bed.

  “Is she all right?”

  Seth checked her eyes. “She’s coming around. We’ll soon be able to question her.” He took off her shoes and massaged her feet.

  Icicle tasted something sour. It took all his effort to keep from telling Seth to stop touching her. “Did you recognize the man and woman dressed as a priest and nun?”

  “From when we grabbed Medici. They wore street clothes then. It makes me wonder if tonight they were in disguise. And now another man and woman are involved. The one couple didn’t seem to know the other.” Seth brooded. “What was their interest in Father Dusseault? Did each couple have a different motive or the same? Are their motives ours?”

  “To learn what the priest knows about the disappearance of our fathers?” Sickened, Icicle averted his gaze from where Seth now touched the woman. “No. They’re not part of our group. They don’t have a reason to look for our fathers.”

  “But they might have a reason to look for the missing cardinal,” Seth said. To Icicle’s relief, he took his hands away from the woman. “And there might be a connection between this woman and our missing fathers. She’s almost certainly Jewish.”

  “That could be coincidental.”

  “Possibly,” Seth said, “but not probably.”

  “We’ll soon find out.” Seth undid her belt, opened the button on the waist of her slacks, and tugged her zipper down, revealing a glimpse of peach-colored panties.

  Icicle couldn’t restrain his disgust any longer. “No.”

  Seth glanced at him, frowning. His voice was hard. “I beg your pardon?”

  “What you’ve got in mind to do to her before she wakes up, forget it.”

  “Do to her?” Seth smiled coldly. “My indignant friend, what exactly do you think I intend to do to her?”

  “I’m telling you to forget it.”

  “What I intend to do is remove her slacks—to make her more comfortable during the interrogation. As well, her bodily functions are overdue. She’ll need to use the bathroom.” Seth pulled off the woman’s slacks, exposing her legs.

  The woman murmured, drawing her knees toward her stomach as if she were cold.

  “Come along now.” Seth raised her to a sitting position, put her arm around his neck, and helped her to stand. With a challenging look toward Icicle, he started into the bathroom with her.

  “I’ll go with you,” Icicle said.

  “No need. I can manage her myself.”

  “The two of us can manage her better.”

  Seth squinted. “One moment you’re afraid I’ll assault her—the next you want to watch her go to the bathroom. Your values are confused.”

  Refusing to be taunted, Icicle took the woman’s other arm and escorted her and Seth into the bathroom. Embarrassed, he watched Seth take off her panties and sit her on the toilet. Her head flopped one way, then the other.

  “Try to relieve yourself,” Seth said. “We don’t want any accidents, do we?”

  Icicle almost slapped Seth’s hand away when he pressed her abdomen.

  No! My father! I have to find my father! Nothing must interfere! I can deal with Seth later, but right now … !

  To Icicle’s relief, the woman urinated.

  They carried her back to the bed. Again she drew her knees toward her stomach.

  “What are you doing?” Seth barked at Icicle.

  “Putting her underwear back on.”

  “She doesn’t need them!”

  They stared at each other. The room compacted with tension.

  Icicle reached for a corner of the bedspread, about to drape it over her.

  “No.” Seth’s eyes blazed in warning. “The drug works better if she’s chilly.”

  Icicle realized they were at the danger point. If he didn’t back off, in all probability there’d be a fight. His father had to take priority. “Whatever you say.”

  “That’s exactly correct. Whatever I say. I wouldn’t want our friendship to be strained.” Seth’s tone was mocking. “Get on with it. Question her.”

  While you concentrate on her nakedness, Icicle thought angrily.

  He stepped to the bureau, opened a drawer, and removed a vial of Sodium Amytal powder. In a larger vial, he mixed five hundred milligrams of the powder with twenty milliliters of distilled water. He filled a hypodermic.

  22

  “Can you hear me?”

  The woman didn’t answer.

  Icicle leaned close and repeated the question.

  The woman nodded, her voice weak. “Hear you …”

  “Good. You mustn’t worry. You’re safe. You have nothing to fear. You’re with friends.”

  “Friends …”

  “That’s right. Now tell us your name.”

  “Erika …”

  “And your last name?”

  “Bernstein-Grisman.”

  The last name left no doubt, Icicle thought. The woman was Jewish, as Seth had suspected.

  Icicle’s tone was gentle. “Why did you follow Father Dusseault to the Vatican gardens?”

  “Three men tried to kill us …”

  The non sequitur made Icicle close his eyes in frustration. But he persisted with his gentle tone. “You can tell us about the three men later, Erika. What about Father Dusseault?”

  Another non sequitur. “My father disappeared.”

  The problem, Icicle decided, was whether to keep her talking about Father Dusseault or whether to follow her random associations. What Erika knew might be so complicated that he’d fail to learn vital information if he kept his questions within too narrow a range. Certainly her statement about her father, was disturbing enough to merit greater inquiry. “Disappeared? When?”

  “Two weeks ago.”

  “Where?”

  “Vienna.”

  “Why did he disappear?”

  “Don’t know …”

  Even in a stupor, the woman became so agitated that Icicle chose nonthreatening questions—to make her feel at ease, to accustom her to talking freely. “Tell us about your father.”

  She didn’t answer.

  Icicle made his questions more specific. “How old is he?”

  “Seventy …”

  “Does he still have a job?”

  “Retired …”

  “From what?” Already Icicle felt bored by the unimportant questions with which he attempted to calm her. “How did he earn his living?”

  “Mossad …”

  The unexpected response cramped Icicle’s heart. He pivoted toward Seth, who jerked his surprised gaze up from the woman’s legs.

  Icicle turned again to the woman. “Your father was once an operative for the Mossad?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you work for the Mossad?”

  “No.”

  The pressure around Icicle’s heart eased.

  “Resigned …”

  “Why?”

  “Wanted to be with my husband …”

  “The man who was with you in the Vatican gardens? Does he work for the Mossad?”

  “No.”

  “Did he ever?”

  “No.”

  “What’s your husband’s profession?”

  “Farmer.”

  “Where?”

  “In Israel.”

  “Why did the two of you leave there?”

  “To look for my father.” Her voice increased in strength. Her eyelids fluttered.

  Icicle walked to the bureau, filled a second syringe with the Sodium Amytal solution he’d prepared earlier, and injected a small amount into her femoral artery. The drug worked almost instantaneously. Her body relaxed.

  “When you and your husband left Israel to search for your father, where did you go?”

  “Vienna.”

  “Where he disappeared. Of course. And where did you go after that?”

  “Switzerland.”

  The answer surprised him. “What?”

  ??
?The Alps south of Zurich.”

  Icicle hesitated. “Why did you go there?”

  “To look for a friend of my father.”

  “Did you find him?”

  “No … Disappeared.”

  For a second time, an unexpected answer.

  “A diary …”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Found a diary …”

  “What was in it?”

  “Nazi concentration camp …”

  Oh, Jesus, Icicle thought.

  “Your father’s friend wrote a diary about the camp?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was your father ever in a camp?”

  “Yes.”

  Icicle had the terrible sense that a pattern was forming.

  But she suddenly shifted topics. “Three men tried to kill us.”

  Icicle let her lead him. “Yes, you mentioned them earlier. Where did this happen?”

  “The Alps.”

  “Who were they?”

  “Think they were priests …”

  She was talking nonsense. Had the drug distorted her memory?

  She began to tremble, agitated by the semiconscious memory of the …

  “Priests?” Icicle asked. “Why would priests want to kill you?”

  Her trembling increased. “Father Dusseault.”

  Icicle’s pulse sped. They were back to the question with which he’d started.

  “What about Father Dusseault? Why did you follow him? Is he connected with the priests who tried to kill you?”

  “Paid through the cardinal’s office.”

  “Cardinal Pavelic’s office? The one who disappeared? Do you know where the cardinal is?”

  “No.”

  “Are you looking for him?”

  “No.”

  Icicle’s excitement changed to frustration. She had led him in a meaningless circle.

  23

  It took two hours. Icicle guided her back through what she’d told him, prompting her for more details. As before, she became agitated when she talked about her missing father, about the three priests who’d tried to kill her husband and herself. At last, he turned from the woman and paced toward the far end of the room. He’d asked every question he could think of and learned too little. What bothered him were the questions he hadn’t been able to think of, the unimaginable information she might have volunteered if only he knew what to ask for.

  Seth continued to stare at the woman’s nakedness.

  “What do you make of the rings she described?” Icicle asked.

  “Assassin-priests?” Seth turned from her. “I’ve practiced my trade for twenty years, and I’ve never heard of such a group.”

  “Nor have I. That doesn’t mean she’s mistaken. The group might be extremely cautious. And what about her father’s disappearance? Is it related to the disappearance of our own fathers? To the disappearance of the cardinal?”

  “The common element seems to be Father Dusseault,” Seth answered. “For different reasons, our search and this woman’s led us to him.”

  “Let’s not forget the other man and woman we saw in the gardens, the ones we crossed paths with earlier. What reason did they have to go after Father Dusseault? Why were they interested in Medici, just as we were? I’m sure it’s all connected. Father Dusseault had the answers, but we’ve lost the chance to question him.”

  “Perhaps,” Seth said.

  Icicle frowned. “What are you thinking of?”

  “The notion isn’t fully formed yet. I’ll tell you when I’m sure it’ll work.” Staring at the woman, Seth took off his sport coat and began to unbutton his shirt.

  Icicle stepped protectively toward her. “Why are you undressing?”

  “Relax. For the moment, this woman’s body no longer interests me. I need to shave and shower. I’m going out. You’ll have to stay here and keep her sedated.” Seth walked toward the bathroom.

  “Going out?” Icicle’s stomach squirmed with suspicion. “Why?” He quickly followed Seth into the bathroom. “What do you—? Of course,” he realized. “It’s time we reported to Halloway You’ll want to use a safe phone to call him.”

  “Report to Halloway?” Seth replied with contempt. “Not at all. We don’t have anything conclusive to tell him. I make a habit of announcing success, not failure.” Seth turned on the shower. “But with luck, if my errand proves successful, we will have positive news for him. Very soon.”

  24

  Saul awoke from a nightmare in which, surrounded by darkness, he heard Erika scream. He bolted up, heard his wife scream again, and scrambled from bed to get to her before he realized that the screams were really the ringing of the telephone. Fully clothed, he found himself in the middle of the Rome hotel room. He had slept on a couch, Drew and Arlene on the double bed. Sunlight glowed beyond closed draperies.

  Saul picked up the phone, praying he’d hear Erika’s voice. Instead he heard Gallagher’s, raspy, tired.

  “Romulus, the priest is ready for you to hear his confession. Come down to the room.”

  “I’m on my way.” Saul looked at his watch. The time was shortly after 10 A.M. He’d gotten six hours’ sleep, but his nightmares had tortured him. He felt as exhausted as when he’d lain down.

  Drew and Arlene had awoken.

  “Who was that?” Drew asked.

  “Gallagher. It’s quiz time.” Saul went into the bathroom, splashed cold water on his face, then returned to Drew and Arlene. “Are you still determined not to get involved with the Agency?”

  “I’ve got trouble enough with the Fraternity. I don’t want to complicate my troubles by dealing with another network. After Scalpel, I’ve had my fill of networks,” Drew said. “The Agency would want to know everything about me. They’d try to recruit me, and failing that, they’d keep me under surveillance. They’re like Krazy Glue. Once they touch you, you’re stuck. Arlene and I just want to be left alone.”

  “Then we’ve got a problem,” Saul said. “I have to go to Gallagher and the priest, but I don’t know what questions to ask. You’re here to find the cardinal and whoever’s trying to destroy the Fraternity. I’m here to find Erika and her father. I’m sure your search and mine have something to do with each other. I think the answers to your questions might help me answer my own. But if you won’t let the Agency know you’re involved, how can we both question the priest?”

  25

  Saul knocked on Gallagher’s door. He heard the scrape of a lock being freed. In a moment, the door was opened, and he stepped inside, his nostrils feeling pinched from the smell of medication. He approached Father Dusseault, who was lying on the bed. The priest looked pasty. His broken nose had swelled. So had the bruised skin along his eyebrows. His jaw was puffy. The priest’s black suit coat had been removed, his shirt opened, his sleeves rolled up. Sensors attached to his chest and arms transmitted signals to portable heart and blood-pressure monitors that sat on a bureau close to the bed.

  Saul surveyed the rest of the room. The bathroom door was open. The doctor and his assistants were gone. “Where—?”

  “I sent them out to eat breakfast,” Gallagher said. “What they don’t hear won’t burden them with something else to forget. I can have them paged in the restaurant if we have an emergency. They’ll phone in an hour to find out when it’s time to come back.”

  Saul turned again toward Father Dusseault, studying the IV that controlled the flow of Sodium Amytal into the priest’s arm.

  “He’s still asleep,” Saul said. “Does that mean he had a concussion?”

  “No. In fact, he came around two hours ago. The doctor had to sedate him.”

  “But he can answer questions?”

  “The monitors show he’s at an ideal semiconscious level. He’s primed to tell you anything you want to know.”

  “Good. Now I’ve got a favor to ask.”

  Gallagher shifted his weight. “You’ve had plenty of favors as it is. In case you’ve forgotten, this started with your promising
to do us a favor if we let you come out of exile. But little by little, you’ve maneuvered us so we keep giving you favors. It’s getting tiresome.”

  “One more. What’s the harm?”

  “I’ll know when you tell me what you want.”

  “To be alone when I question the priest.”

  Gallagher stopped moving. “Jesus, you’ve got more nerve than—!”

  “It’s for your own benefit. If something goes wrong, if he dies, do you really want to be present when it happens? Do you want the Agency implicated in the death of a Vatican official?”

  “Bullshit, Romulus. If he died, who’d know except you and me?”

  “That’s the point. Both of us would be one too many. You’d worry if you could trust me with what I knew if the priest didn’t survive the interrogation. Maybe you’d decide I’m too dangerous a liability. I’m not anxious to sell my soul to the Agency again or have an unexpected accident. So do yourself a favor and join the team for breakfast. Do me a favor by letting me take as many risks as I have to when I question the priest. I’ll tell you everything I learn.”

  “How can I be sure of that?”

  “Because I need you. I wouldn’t have been able to come this far without your help. And with more help from you, I hope to go a lot further. It’s for sure he’ll tell me things I can’t follow up without your resources. You have my word. You’ll be told everything I learn. All I want to know is what happened to my wife and her father.”

  Gallagher pursed his lips. “I’m sure I’ll be sorry for this. Your word?”

  Saul nodded.

  “You always played straight,” Gallagher said. “It’s one of the reasons I went along with you this far. I hope you haven’t changed—because in that case you will have an accident. Two hours. After that, no matter what excuses you make, I’m coming back.”

  “You’ve got a deal.”

  Gallagher left. Saul waited long enough for Gallagher to have gone downstairs, then picked up the phone. He dialed as silently as possible, let the other end ring once, then hung up. He swung toward Father Dusseault. Two hours. He had to cram as much as he could into them. In a rush, he disconnected the sensors from the priest’s chest and arms. He buttoned the priest’s shirt but left the IV tube in his arm. Raising the priest off the bed, Saul grabbed the bottle of Sodium Amytal solution and supported the priest toward the door. He managed to free the lock. Someone opened the door from the other side—Drew, who’d been alerted to hurry from Saul’s room down to this one as soon as he heard a single ring on the phone. Wordlessly, Drew helped Saul bring Father Dusseault into the hallway, then gently shut the door behind them.