CARDINAL TSANA'S ESTATE, the Villa dEste, in Tivoli near Rome, comprised buildings, fountains, and terraced gardens designed in 1550 by the Mannerist architect Pirro Ligorio for the governor Cardinal Ippolito II dEste. Before being designated as his residence, the property had been a Benedictine convent. The Villa itself was less noteworthy than the spacious park and the magnificent fountains, supplied with water by two canals dug especially for the purpose.
Franz Liszt, the Hungarian piano virtuoso and composer, had once occupied the top floor from 1865 until his death in 1886. Now, on that same floor, Lechaim was talking with his dead wife's uncle. They had been speaking for over an hour, and Lechaim was about to make his departure. He had done most of the talking while the Monsignor listened. Lechaim put the other man's sluggishness down to the illness he had undergone and the drugs he had been given. The Monsignor appeared to be only a shadow of the man Lechaim had known in Ireland. He had not yet mentioned Sinead and Lechaim was grateful for that. Her loss was still at the back of his mind and he did not want to be reminded. That’s why he had been dreading this visit because it brought back all the old memories. Because he had found the Monsignor taciturn and withdrawn, he found himself making conversation. Mainly, he had talked about the Philippines leaving out everything that was not pertinent to the holiday itself. He had not raised the subject of John Devlin because he felt the Monsignor was in no state to consider the matter. He wanted the Monsignor back on his feet and focussed before he broached the subject.
“Well, Father!” Lechaim said looking at his watch. “Time for me to go and let you get some rest! I'll call back tomorrow if that's okay?”
The dullness that had been evident in the Monsignor's eyes was replaced by a sudden intensity.
“Lechaim!” he whispered. “Come closer! I have something to tell you!”
Somewhat curious, Lechaim leaned over the monsignor who pulled him down even more and whispered in his ear.
Lechaim stood crouched over him for some minutes listening, and when he stood up again his jaw hardened.
“The first thing we have to do is get you out of here!”
The monsignor nodded and said, “Go with God, my son, and remember what I said!”
“Certainly, sir! You can count on me!”
“I know I can!” Then the monsignor hesitated before he spoke again. “You'll be with her again one day, be sure of that!”
There it was, that reminder of Sinead but the Monsignor’s words were comforting all the same.
Lechaim waved farewell from the door and then strode purposefully down the long hall, his mind awash with the information the Monsignor had given him.
“Ah, there you are!” Cardinal Tsana said as he greeted Lechaim on the stairs. “I have had lunch prepared. Would you care to join me!”
Lechaim's eyes narrowed. “Certainly, your Eminence! Very kind of you.”
He had met the Cardinal earlier and they had discussed the Monsignor's condition at length. There was no doubt now from what the Monsignor had told him that Cardinal Tsana was not all he seemed to be. Then again, the Monsignor was ill and he could well be imagining things. That was something that Lechaim needed to consider carefully. And then there was the matter of the financial report. If what the Monsignor had told him was true, then the Cardinal was obviously implicated. Whatever, Lechaim was determined that he would find out one way or the other.
The Cardinal accompanied Lechaim down the stairs and then led him into a side room, expensively decorated, where a meal was already awaiting them.
“I would have invited you onto the terrace but the elements have conspired against us!” He smiled and turned his head to the windows of the room where the rain was drumming against the glass. Lechaim acknowledged the Cardinal's observation with a smile of his own. Cardinal Tsana then gestured to the fare on the table, “Calamaretti and abbacchio!” He smiled again as he saw bewilderment on Lechaim's face and quickly explained. “Baby squid and young lamb roasted with rosemary. The vegetable preparations, you will no doubt recognize!”
There was just an edge of sarcasm in his voice that was not lost on Lechaim.
Intellectually, the Cardinal had decided that he was the Captain’s superior. For one the Captain spoke only English. Why, the Cardinal wondered, are most English people so ignorant when it comes to languages other than their own? They seemed to think that everyone should speak English for their benefit but made little effort to learn other languages themselves. He, himself, could speak English, German, of course, Italian, and French and had a fair knowledge of Russian.
Lechaim, on the other hand, could not help but admire the Cardinal's command of the English language and said as much.
“Your English is excellent, your Eminence.” He never felt comfortable addressing church dignitaries but felt he owed the other man the respect his office demanded.
“As a young man, I spent some time in England before the war!”
Lechaim presumed he meant the Second World War which would put the Cardinal's age at well over seventy. Yet the man before him looked in his late fifties. The man's figure was still trim and he must have been impressive in his youth. Some three or four inches shorter than Lechaim, the Cardinal's grey hair, thinning at the temples, high cheek-boned face, and youthful skin seemed at odds with his calling. His well-cut expensive grey suit, white shirt, light blue tie, and black patent leather shoes detracted even more from the stereotypical image of a Cardinal.
The Cardinal was also taking stock of his man. This was the famous Captain Lewis that the newspapers had made so much of. Perhaps his intellect left a lot to be desired but as a former soldier himself, the Cardinal was impressed by the man’s deeds. The Captain, by reputation alone, was the most formidable of adversaries. Yet, his eyes seemed to belie the killer behind them for there were shades of compassion there. It was a failing the Cardinal could recognize in most men. It would be quite pointless, he knew, to try and recruit a man like this. Such men were full of fanciful ideas like morality and honour and therefore mentally deficient.
“And how did you find the Monsignor?” the Cardinal asked as he began eating.
“He doesn't seem all that well, your Eminence!” Lechaim replied as he too began to eat. The food, he found, was quite delicious.
“No, we've been concerned about him! My doctor tells me that he is still somewhat delusional.”
“Really! I didn't know that, your Eminence!”
“Yes, paranoid a lot of the time.”
“About what, your Eminence?” Lechaim asked.
“Everything really! He seems to think, for instance, that we're trying to harm him instead of nursing him back to health!”
Lechaim was silent for a moment. What the monsignor had told him earlier was along the same lines.
“Would you like some wine, Captain?”
“Yes, thank you, your Eminence!”
“Any particular kind?”
Lechaim smiled as he replied, “Whatever you think is appropriate, your Eminence!” He had thrown a little sarcasm back at the epicure on the other side of the table, who smiled in return, but there was a dark glint behind the eyes.
“A bottle of Italian red would be appropriate, I think. After all, when in Rome!” the Cardinal said as he rang a little bell that had been placed on the table.
Lechaim was surprised at Cardinal Tsana's lack of ceremony. He was also surprised at the man that came out in response to the Cardinal's summons. Of average height, the man was dressed in a green servant's attire, had a shock of grey hair, was beetle-browed, somewhat sullen in appearance, and appeared mute.
“A bottle of 'Barbera dAlba' please!” the Cardinal requested and then turned back to Lechaim. “A red wine of the Barbera grape grown in the district of Alba in the Piedmont region. I think it will be to your liking!”
“Thank you! I'm sure it will be, your Eminence!”
The servant soon shuffled in again with the bottle in his hand. Uncorking it in front of Lechaim, he poured a little and Lechaim went through the ritual of giving it his approval. He was not a connoisseur of either wine or food for that matter so it was a pointless exercise, but he went through the motions. The shuffling man then poured him a full glass of red and stood behind him as if waiting for approval. The Cardinal nodded to the man as Lechaim put the glass of wine to his lips.
“Christ!” Lechaim uttered as the needle penetrate deep into his back, and he started to rise but fell to the floor instead.
Neither of the other two men spoke as they got up. The Cardinal went over and locked the door while the shuffling man placed the hypodermic on the table and searched Lechaim's pockets. Emptying the contents onto the table next to the hypodermic, the man then undressed Lechaim and when he was completely naked, carefully scrutinized his body and every garment he had been wearing. Satisfied, he then turned his attention to the items on the table.
The Cardinal pointed to the packet of cigarettes that Lechaim had been carrying in one of his pockets and the man nodded. Seconds later he handed the wireless microphone that it contained to the Cardinal who appraised it and handed it back. The shuffling man then gathered up the items from the table including the hypodermic he had plunged into Lechaim's back, the discarded clothes, and the wireless microphone, before departing, unlocking and then relocking the door after him.
The Cardinal, who had returned to his chair, then spoke to Lechaim who lay naked before him on the floor.
“Really, Captain Lewis! You're picking up some nasty habits! Since when did you start smoking?”
The dossier on Lechaim Lewis had been thorough, Cardinal Tsana would have accepted nothing less. “The SAS is not in our league, Captain! I would have thought Ireland should have taught you that.” As he spoke the Cardinal could not help but admire the magnificent physique of the man lying there. His eyes were drawn to Lechaim's thigh where he had been branded. Sure enough, once again, the information he had received was completely accurate. The Captain did indeed have the tetragrammaton seared into his flesh and the numbers that he had interpreted for the Pope as meaning the 'WORD OF GOD'. They were, in reality, he knew, just a series of random numbers and no more.
To Lechaim who was still conscious but incapable of moving, the Cardinal's words seemed far away. The skeletal-muscle-relaxant drug belonging to the alkaloid family of organic compounds, Doctor Nieuwhof had injected him with, was doing its work.
“You're probably wondering why I'm dressed this way!” the Cardinal added. “The fact of the matter is that I am flying to Salzburg in a few hours. By then you will be floating around in the ether somewhere, but that's life!”
“Remarkably effective, Doctor Nieuwhof! I must congratulate you!” Cardinal Tsana said to the shuffling man who had just come back into the room and was in the process of locking the door.
“Tubocurarine!” Doctor Nieuhof explained as he walked over to him. “It is the active constituent of curare.”
“Isn't that what the South American Indians use as a poison for their arrows?”
“Yes, indeed! The drug, Tubocurarine, is now used in anesthesia to produce the necessary level of muscle relaxation. Paralysis lasts for about twenty minutes, although some muscle weakness remains for a few hours afterward.”
The Cardinal, somewhat alarmed at this news quickly responded. “You mean it wears off?”
“Oh yes!” Doctor Nieuwhof replied and smiled at the Cardinal's concern. “Don't worry, apart from paralyzing the patient, the drug also paralyzes the patient's respiratory system. When it's used medically, the patient needs artificial ventilation to enable him to breathe. You will note that the Captain is no longer breathing!”
With that Doctor Nieuwhof leaned over the naked body and checked Lechaim's vital signs. Getting up again with a grunt, he said, with the air of a man that takes a great deal of pleasure in his work, “The Captain will be giving you no more trouble in this world!”
“Sehr gut! Sehr gut!”, the Cardinal exclaimed.
The doctor had noted the Cardinal's switch to his native tongue, German. During the Second World War, when working in the Dutch resistance, Doctor Nieuwhof had routinely killed Krauts, and now he was working for them. It was a strange world, indeed, he thought, but if his employers were willing to support his mistress, whisky, he really did not care what nationality they were.
“The wireless mike indicates that he has an accomplice nearby!” the doctor remarked.
“Yes!” the Cardinal agreed. It will undoubtedly be Captain Wright, Cardinal Tsana thought, but he kept his conclusion to himself. Doctor Nieuwhof's position was such that he was not privy to any information other than was deemed necessary. “I'll have my men search the grounds and maintain tight security for the next few days!”
“How do you want me to dispose of him?” the doctor asked as he pointed to Lechaim lying on the floor.
“The usual way, the oven in the cellar! Tonight, when the servants have gone to bed, get rid of him!”
As he was speaking, Cardinal Tsana was reminded of how useful ovens had been in the concentration camp at Dachau during the war. They were still serving him well even today. Doctor Nieuwhof had used the cellar oven before for disposal purposes so the Cardinal knew that he did not have to show the doctor where it was.
“Will he be all right in here until then?” the doctor asked.
“Yes, no one but I have a key to the room, but, to be on the safe side until the servants leave, we'll hide him behind the bookcase.”
With that, the Cardinal got up from his chair and went over to one of the walls containing a large bookcase. He felt for the release mechanism at the back of it and the bookcase swung away from the wall. The Cardinal and the Doctor were not capable of lifting Lechaim’s body and they would have considered such a task beneath them anyway. No matter, his men were at hand and he summoned two of them by means of an internal phone situated on the wall to one side. The two men that appeared carried the heavy naked body across the floor and placed it in the small alcove that the bookcase had been concealing, then the pair disappeared again as quickly as they came.
Doctor Nieuwhof checked the body again to make sure and then stepped back.
“That should do it!” the Cardinal exclaimed as the bookcase swung back.
“Do you want me to take care of the Monsignor while I'm here?” Doctor Nieuwhof asked.
Cardinal Tsana considered for a moment. It was true that Monsignor Cronin had at long last divulged where the financial report was. Despite whispering its whereabouts into the Captain's ear earlier, the highly sophisticated and sensitive miniaturized microphones in the bedframe had picked up everything that the monsignor had said. Still, Cardinal Tsana thought, it might be wise to keep the monsignor alive for a few more days just in case. It would seem that the financial report had been entrusted to a firm of solicitors in Rome who had been instructed to return it to the Monsignor personally at such time as he requested its return. Relying entirely on John Devlin, who was currently residing in another part of the Villa, to play the part of the Monsignor might be a mistake. He was after all a clumsy oaf who hadn’t yet been able to master the Monsignor’s voice. No, better safe than sorry, he decided. The stakes were too high to take any risk.
“Not yet!” he replied. “We'll keep him alive for a little longer!”
He would also need to consult with Oscar Bar first before having the Monsignor 'put down' The Cardinal was not only a careful man but he was also a German. Therefore, by his very nature, second opinions on matters of such importance were always sought from superiors. It was the German way.
“No extra charge!” the doctor replied with a smile but seeing that the Cardinal was adamant, he didn’t push the point.
“You'll be returning to Salzburg yourself when you've finished up here?” the Cardinal enquired.
As he spoke his eyes took in the doctor who was twenty years younger than he but looked older with his flabby frame, tired skin covered with small spider-like vascular lesions, puffy eyes, and foul breath. It was a puzzle to the Cardinal how such an uncouth man had ever been employed by Oscar Bar. It could only be for his expertise in killing, he concluded.
“In a few days, perhaps,” Nieuwhof answered. “I have some matters I have to take care of in Rome first.”
As he said it, the doctor thought with relish of the alcoholic binge he was about to embark on. Deep within, the largest and heaviest organ in his body started to groan at the prospect of more punishment. The size of a large watermelon, it was already scarred from working overtime but the doctor had never spared it before so why should his liver expect mercy now?
The men left the room and went their separate ways. The afternoon faded to evening, and darkness descended.