The Holy Bullet Part 43

"Perfect."

Herbert came close to his ear, so no one else would hear.

"You'll have to tell me how you did it. Everything turned out exactly as you said it would at our last meeting at the restaurant."

"Secrecy is the soul of business," Phelps replied without bothering to lower his voice.

They went their separate ways, Herbert in the direction of the cell where Rafael was, Phelps to make the narrow office even tighter.

Sarah felt a mixture of fear and nausea on seeing him. He shot her a sarcastic smile.

"How long before we land?" Barnes asked everyone and no one.

"An hour to Rome," the ever solicitous Staughton answered. "Excuse the question, but I recognize you from the Chelsea and Westminster Hospital. You were with the suspects and helped them." There was no reproach in his voice.

"Is that a question?" Phelps was impatient with interrogations.

"Quiet, Staughton," Littel interrupted. "Mr. Phelps was working as an infiltrator."

"You knew that?" Barnes wanted to understand, shaken.

"Obviously," Littel declared.

"My name is James William Phelps. I'm a bishop of the Roman Catholic Church and administrator of the Opus Dei prelature. Any other questions?"

"Who's the other man you communicated with?" Barnes asked.

"My number two. His purpose was to take care of everything while I was indisposed."

"Do you consider yourself a servant of the Church?"

Phelps turned his eyes to the source of the question . . . Sarah. She couldn't manage to keep quiet.

Phelps smiled. "The Church serves a purpose that I don't expect you to understand."

"It serves to kill?"

"To kill and create. It's much more than a house of prayer. The Church is the engine of the civilized world. The support for democracy."

Sarah threw him a look of incredulity.

"There are no free states without the Church. Every sacrifice is minor if we keep that in mind."

"Enough demagogy," Barnes ordered. "Let's get to what concerns us. Where are we?" His eyes never left Phelps. He was the one being asked for explanations. There were too many chiefs in the room.

"I infiltrated the heart of the enemy," the bishop said. "I was singled out as an a.s.sistant to a cardinal in the Holy See, who informed me about some lost papers of Albino Luciani and other paper that belonged to Wojtyla, in addition to a complete file on the steps that led to the May thirteenth, 1981, attempt on his life."

"Who are Albino Luciani and Wojtyla?" asked the diplomatic adjutant, Sebastian Ford, who'd joined the group.

"John Paul the First and John Paul the Second," Thompson whispered.

"As you can imagine, I never slept a night in peace after that," Phelps continued, repulsed by such gross ignorance. "In the pleasant conversation with my number two I learned the location of some doc.u.ments. Others were within reach of the cardinal I serve, and my web of contacts got me the rest. I pulled strings to organize a competent, professional team and obtained your collaboration. It wasn't difficult given the favors your president and his family owe me."

"Have you managed to acquire all of them?" Littel asked.

"No," he admitted disagreeably. "But I know who has what's missing. I became an a.s.sistant for Father Rafael Santini, also known as Jack Payne, as you must know. He's a difficult man."

"Who's going to argue with that?" Barnes said.

"But no one is invincible."

At that precise moment the door opened to admit Rafael and Herbert. Those standing up moved to accommodate them.

"Speak of the devil . . ." Phelps said.

"The devil speaks," Rafael countered.

He got a smack on the head for that.

"Shut up. Speak when you're told to," Herbert warned. One has to be courteous.

"Go on. Who has what we need?" Barnes announced.

At that moment they heard over the intercom: "Gentlemen, this is the pilot here. We are descending into Rome. Landing in twenty minutes."

Phelps looked at Rafael, who looked back without blinking.

"Our friend here has the file."

"Him?" Barnes protested, pointing at Rafael.

"What's the matter, Barnes?" Littel asked.

"Good luck. I hope you have an alternative plan because he'll carry that information to the grave."

"What are you saying?" Now it was Phelps who didn't understand.

"My dear sir, this man is trained for the most dangerous missions. Unless you have some hold over him, the only thing torture will get from him is body parts and organs."

Phelps smiled. He understood the American's worry.

"Don't worry. He's going to tell us everything. We have the woman."

"What woman?" Sebastian Ford asked.

"Her." He pointed with irritation at Sarah Monteiro.

The room looked in silence at Phelps. What did the woman have to do with Rafael?

Phelps a.s.sumed the att.i.tude of a teacher. Was he the only one who noticed?

"There are certain feelings between the two of them."

Sarah blushed.

Barnes looked at Rafael and Sarah, then at Littel.

"Do you believe it?"

"Phelps is the one who knows them," Littel answered with a shrug.

"And the rest of the doc.u.ments?"

"My number two has discovered that the cardinal betrayed us. So they can only be in JC's hands."

"Then she's screwed." Barnes didn't mince words.

"Everything is as it needs to be. We know who has what. And I'm counting on your help to throw out some bait for JC," Phelps announced victoriously.

"What?"

"Ah . . . well. I want to talk to you about that," Littel said to Barnes, and got up. "We know you've worked with P2."

"P2?" Sebastian Ford asked again.

"JC's organization," Littel told him. "We need you to mount a plan to catch them."

"I can't do that," Barnes warned circ.u.mspectly.

"You have to," Littel argued. "It's an order."

Barnes snorted like a racehorse waiting to take off when the pistol fires.

"It's not like that. We have to separate things. We can't turn our back on some people only to benefit outside organizations. I understand your dilemma, Barnes, but we have no choice."

"I knew you weren't coming here just to be on my side."

Silence reigned in the room for a few moments, just enough not to last.

"At least we're in agreement," Phelps said with a mocking smile. "Anyone else have a question?"

"Why couldn't you sleep in peace?"

The glances turned toward Sarah, who had asked the question, then to Phelps.

"It's you who are going to be interrogated now, my dear," he answered uncomfortably.

"You don't want her to know that one of your members was behind the a.s.sa.s.sination attempt," Rafael interjected.

"Shut up," Phelps ordered.

Herbert smacked Rafael in the face again, harder this time.

"Who?" Sebastian Ford wanted to know.

"Paul Marcinkus," Rafael answered.

"Shut up, I said." Anger reddened Phelps's face.

"Marcinkus was P2," Barnes affirmed.

"And Opus Dei. They were the ones who recommended him to Paul the Sixth as IWR administrator."

"Don't say another word," Phelps yelled. "Get him out of here."

Herbert grabbed him and began to drag him out. It wasn't easy, even with Rafael handcuffed.

"You're protecting a murderer and a pedophile. That's what he doesn't want you to know."

Priscilla put her hand to her mouth, shocked. Littel and the others didn't seem surprised. Only Barnes's men showed no previous knowledge of this.

Phelps brought his hand to his mouth and sighed.

"Enough. This is going to be done the way we agreed. Is there any problem?" He spoke to Littel.

"Not on our part," he answered, looking at Barnes.

"Very well. Take those two to the cell. They'll be interrogated on the ground," Phelps commanded.

"Did you hear what he said?" Barnes demanded. "Staughton, Thompson, lend a hand." He looked at Rafael. "This time there's no accord to save you. I want to be the one who sends you from here to h.e.l.l."

Rafael smiled provocatively.

"Where's the Muslim?" Phelps wanted to know.

"What Muslim?"

"Abu Ras.h.i.+d."

"We don't have him," Littel informed them. "He disappeared from Jerusalem days ago."

Phelps looked at him astonished.

"You don't have him?"

"No."

"The Russians don't have him. I heard the conversation they had with our friend here. He also seems to have never heard of him. I thought he could only be in your custody."