The testament, p.16
The Testament, page 16
"Don't worry, Felix," Jordan replied serenely. "You'll have it; the pope will not die."
"You have given your word, Jordan. This is a matter of the gravest import. Over the centuries, the Vatican has been anxious to have this most precious of artifacts returned to the bosom of the Church from whence it sprang. Over the centuries, many popes have made it their life's work to retrieve it from the apostate Gnostics who stole it, to no avail. And so it has passed from fact into legend. I must caution you that there are those on the pontiff's council who doubt the… the substance exists."
"It exists, your excellency, of this you may have no fear."
"It is not I who will experience fear should you fail us," Cardinal Canesi said ominously. "We are at a perilous crossroads, nothing could be more clear. This is why we have exercised all our might and influence to help you in your sacred mission. But hear me: we have put ourselves at risk for you.
"His eminence has never declared his wishes for his successor. The college of Cardinals is contentious, filled with over-eager and overambitious individuals, each with his own idea of which direction to lead the Church.
"Again I tell you this in the strictest confidence: either his holiness recovers, or the Church hierarchy will be plunged into an anarchy from which even I cannot say with any degree of certainty it will emerge unchanged."
Jordan knew what that meant: the probability of no more Canesi, no more cabal, no more backing for him.
"Do not fail us, Jordan. Remember: a week, not one moment more."
As he replaced the receiver, Jordan's mind was working furiously, parsing every word, every intonation he had used. He knew the cardinal better than Canesi suspected. His grace was the head of a clandestine cabal of high Vatican officials who attended the pope and depended on his favor in order to put through their policies. Canesi had as much to fear from this pope's passing as did Jordan, possibly more. The cabal needed this pope to continue to support them because over the decades they had gathered to them a veil of secret power the pope knew nothing about; backing Jordan had been only one of their activities. Jordan's plan, years in the making, had been triggered by Canesi's panic.
Jordan rubbed his chin, his face grave. He picked up his cell phone, dialed a number, spoke softly into it. "His grace called. I'm afraid we've run out of time far sooner than we anticipated. A week, not a moment more, he told me. Luckily, Bravo holds the key, which is just how we planned it. But now we will be forced to take further risks."
"Risk is part of the game, my love," the voice said on the other end of the line.
"Risk is what Ivo and Donatella took," he said gloomily, "and look where they ended up."
"But I have a plan. Herd Braverman Shaw and his Guardian angel like cattle, separate them, make them desperate."
Jordan sat up straight, his throat tight. "And then?"
"She is of no consequence," the voice said, "but when he has led us to the secret, he will die."
Jordan faced the window, but his gaze had turned inward. "Just as we planned," he said, "from the beginning."
PART TWO
PRESENT DAY- PARIS, ST. MALO, VENICE, ROME
Chapter 10
Camille Muhlmann, as beautiful and intimidating as she had ever been in her life, was waiting for Bravo and Jenny at Charles de Gaulle Airport as they emerged from security. She was wearing one of her signature Lagerfeld suits, but in deference to the midsummer heat it was of a lightweight fabric, as was her blouse, through which the lace of her bra glimmered enticingly. She waved when she saw Bravo and embraced him, kissing him warmly on both cheeks.
"Mon Dieu, quel choc!" she said softly as she clung to him. "My poor Bravo, to have your father taken from you so prematurely."
Bravo kissed her tenderly, then pulled away, too slowly by Jenny's estimation. But before he could extricate himself entirely, she cradled his jaw in her hands.
"What happened to you? What terrible trouble did you run into?" The concern in her voice was palpable, grating on Jenny's nerves.
"Not here, not now," Bravo said with an abruptness that appeared to disturb Camille.
Instead, he made the introductions. "Jenny Logan, this is Camille Muhlmann, Jordan's mother."
"So you're Bravo's new girlfriend," Camille said.
Bravo frowned. "Camille, I told Jordan-"
Camille held up a hand and as she studied Jenny's face. "You're so lovely. We must find the ways to heal your wounds as quickly as possible, n'est-ce pas?" She squeezed Jenny's hand with an intimacy Jenny's found startling. Then she turned to Bravo. "I quite approve of her, my dear."
She laughed, linking her arm through Bravo's. "I hope you don't think me too forward, Jenny, but when it comes to Bravo I'm inordinately protective. I can't help it, you see, he's my son's best friend and is dear to my heart. He is family, you understand."
"Of course I understand, Madame Muhlmann."
"On such a journey we must dispense with formalities, Jenny. Alors, you must call me Camille."
Jenny smiled through clenched teeth. It appeared as if Camille had deliberately matched her stride to Bravo's, and with every step they took her hip brushed against his. What annoyed Jenny most of all, however, was how much Bravo seemed to enjoy being the center of Camille Muhlmann's attention.
"Luggage, non?" Camille ran the tip of her forefinger along Bravo's jaw. "Ah, you left Washington in such a rush it's a wonder you had your passports."
"Neither of us is ever without them," Jenny said.
Camille swung around, smiling easily. "Yes, and what is it you do, Jenny?"
"I'm a consultant to companies in developing nations," Jenny said without missing a beat. "I help them conform to the standards laid down by the World Bank and the World Trade Organization for international commerce."
"And yet you're here with my Bravo."
"Friendship is as important to me as it is to you, Madame Muhlmann."
Again she took Jenny's hand in that curiously intimate gesture. "Camille, please."
By this time they had reached the car park. The Parisian sky was full of slate-gray clouds, and the morning was already hot and sticky. A low ramble of thunder cut through the traffic noise.
"Now, Bravo," Camille said, "you must tell me what it was you couldn't tell Jordan over the phone. What happened to you in America that caused you both such violence?"
She stopped beside her car, a new dove-gray Citroe"n C5 sedan.
"You haven't rented us a car?" Bravo said.
"I'm driving you myself." When Bravo began to protest, she held up a hand. "These are Jordan's orders, my love. You must see the logic of it. Wherever you need to go, I can get you there faster and more securely. A rental car is identifiable by its license plates-n'est-ce pas?-and will therefore draw attention to you. It is not secure, yes?"
Bravo glanced at Jenny and, ignoring the brief negative shake of her head, said with a smile, "Jenny and I thank you, Camille. You're most kind."
"Bon, that's settled." She opened the car door. "You must be famished, and then we must get you some clothes, the two of you look positively bedraggled." She gestured for Bravo to get in. "While I drive you'll tell me everything."
Bravo opened the back door.
"No, my love, I want you beside me." She turned. "Unless this is not acceptable to you, Jenny."
"Of course." Jenny put a smile on her face, though she feared it was so brittle it would crack at any moment. She hated the way Camille had put it to her, as if it would be her failing if she refused.
Camille slid her hand over Bravo's and her wide-apart eyes held his. They were standing very close. Were their hips pressed together? Jenny sensed Camille Muhlmann's smoldering sexual energy. As she looked at the older woman with the green eyes of jealousy, it seemed to her that Camille's musk swirled around Bravo like Medusa's locks.
As she clambered into the Citroe"n's back, Jenny glared at Bravo, but he had been struck by a sudden melancholy, and his gaze was lost to her. He looked around and realized that his father would never again visit him here, that the haloed lights along the Seine would never again fall on Dexter Shaw as the two of them strolled its banks amid bursts of strained and now longed-for conversation.
As Camille exited the airport, Bravo gave her a short, heavily edited version of what had happened after he had been released from the hospital. Camille made no comment as he described their escape from Jenny's house and the ensuing chase, allowing him to have center stage without interruption.
Bravo did not identify Ivo Rossi or Donatella by name. As for Jenny, he said she was a childhood friend of his from New York. "My sister had invited her to the July fourth dinner," he concluded. "She was detained and arrived after the explosion. When I woke up in the hospital hers was the first face I saw."
"How lucky for you," Camille said as her eyes met Jenny's in the rearview mirror.
"What can I say?" Jenny smiled what she imagined was the ghastly half-frozen smile she'd had plastered on her face ever since she'd met Camille Muhlmann. "I was born under a lucky sign."
Camille swung the Citroe"n onto the A11, heading north to Rouen.
"But, my love, who were these people following you and why?" Camille accelerated into the far left lane. "I must tell you that Jordan has a theory-he's convinced the Wassersturms are behind it."
"Wassersturms?" Jenny said.
"A business deal I was working on for six months." Bravo half turned his head toward her. "We wanted to buy a company in Budapest. Trouble was, there was already a deal on the table with a company from Cologne owned by the Wassersturm brothers. I did some research and found out that through a labyrinth of shell companies the Wassersturms were supplying the Russian mafia with illegal arms. I went to the board of the Budapest company with the evidence and within a week we had the deal."
"Revenge." With an angry shriek of the Citroe"n's horn, Camille raced past a vehicle moving too slowly for her. When she returned to the left lane, she accelerated even more. "The Wassersturms were in a rage when their deal was terminated. Jordan's worried that they're out to take their revenge on you. What's gotten him so upset is that he spent three days in Munich working on another deal with them simply to calm them down."
Bravo frowned. "He shouldn't have done that; there's no reason to trust them."
Camille laughed. "You know Jordan," she said lightly. "If he can get his terms, he'll make a deal with the devil."
"Well, he's wrong about this particular theory. The brothers may scream but I seriously doubt they have it in them to authorize a violent act."
"I take it, then, you have your own theory," Camille said.
"I suspect these attacks have something to do with my father's death," Bravo said after some hesitation.
Camille ventured a glance his way. "Je ne comprends pas. What do these people want with you?"
"I have no idea," Bravo said deliberately. "At my father's insistence, he and I met just before going to my sister's house. The fact is, he wanted to talk to me about something he said was important, but my anger got in the way and I put him off."
"Oh, Bravo." Camille signaled, moving right across the lanes of the A11. "And in this state your father was taken from you. Quel domage!"
The large gray modern office buildings of the northern outskirts of Paris had given grudging way to green fields interspersed with clusters of residential housing no less ugly, unfortunately, than their industrial brethren.
She exited and took the turn for Magny-en-Vexin. They passed between two magnificent alle'es of black-leafed hornbeam trees, a darkened bower with the sky lowered and the air heavy as seawater, arriving at length in the city proper. In the old city, they exited the car to the rumble of thunder and a livid flash of lightning somewhere in the turbulent gloom of the northern sky.
Bistro du Nord was on the rue de la Halle, a small, cozy restaurant three steps down from street level. It was long and narrow, filled with dark wood beams and the simple whitewashed walls of a mas, a French farmhouse. Framed paintings of the countryside, colorful and pleasingly primitive, were hung as if at random.
A young woman showed them to a table at the back, near the blackened mouth of a massive unlit fireplace. Bravo could not help but be reminded of the hearth in Jenny's house behind which was the vertical passageway that had saved them from Ivo Rossi's initial attack.
When Camille went to freshen up, Jenny leaned across the table and said in a hushed voice, "What do you think you're doing?"
"What are you talking about?" Bravo said.
"We shouldn't be taking her-or anyone else-with us to St. Malo."
"You heard her, Jenny. She had a good point. Renting a car might call attention to ourselves."
"There are a million rental cars on the road in France at any given time," Jenny said hotly. "Besides, I very much doubt your father would approve of involving this woman in your hunt for the truth."
"Why would you say that?"
"I simply mean-"
"Do you know your cheeks are flushed?"
"I simply mean," she persevered, "that knowing your father I think he'd feel that it's far more insecure to have her with in than for us to have rented a car, that's all."
"You're sure that's all?"
She picked up the menu, held it in front of her face and muttered, "Bastard."
Bravo took hold of the top of the menu, bringing her face out of hiding. He smiled winningly, but she wasn't about to be charmed.
"Why are you so determined to make fun of me?"
"I like you," he said.
She snorted and was about to make a nasty reply when Camille returned.
"Am I interrupting something? A lover's quarrel, perhaps?"
"Not at all," Jenny said, her eyes lowered to her menu.
Camille sighed. "Lovers are allowed to quarrel as long as it doesn't last long. Alors, you must now kiss and make it up with each other."
"I don't think so," Jenny blurted out, while at the same instant, Bravo said, "We're not lovers."
"No, of course not." Her tone of voice as well as her expression revealed that Camille did not believe him. She took both their hands. "My dears, life is too short to stay angry. Now listen to me, I won't be satisfied until you've kissed and I know all is well between you." She squeezed their hands. "Come on now, there has been too much sadness in your lives lately."
Jenny's eyes were clouded by anxiety, all the worse because she could tell nothing of how Bravo felt. Nevertheless, both understood that there was no getting around this profoundly awkward moment. With Camille looking on, her lips curved in a mysterious Mona Lisa half smile, they both rose and moved tentatively toward one another. Bravo pushed a chair away but even so they halted with a handsbreadth between them.
All at once, he took her in his arms and pressed his mouth to hers. Much to her astonishment, she felt her lips opening under his, felt his tongue enter her mouth, felt her own twine for a moment with his. The breath whooshed out of her and her heart seemed to stop. Then they were apart, standing close but no longer touching, and Jenny's heart rate slowly returned to normal.
"There now, isn't that better?" Camille said with an enigmatic smile.
As they sat Camille discreetly signaled the waiter, and they ordered.
Bravo was again engaged in conversation with Camille, telling her where they needed to go, but not why. Jenny saw this withholding of information as a small victory for her side, as she'd come to think of it. Instead, they discussed the best route to take to St. Malo and where Bravo wanted Camille to drop them once they had arrived. Camille wanted to wait for them, but Bravo refused, telling her that he had no way of knowing how long he and Jenny would need to be in St. Malo and where they might be going after that. In the meantime, the food arrived.
"You're being terribly mysterious," Camille said between dainty bites of raw shellfish.
Jenny, who had an aversion to mussels, clams and oysters in any form, struggled to keep her gorge down while slicing into her steak frites.
"Not that I mind," Camille continued, "but I worry that you're in more danger than you're willing to admit. That is why you don't want me to stay in St. Malo with you, isn't it?"
"Frankly, yes." Bravo put down his fork. "You've already done more than could be expected. I won't put you in harm's way."
"But, my love, it's my decision-"
"No, Camille, it's not. In this instance I'm afraid I must insist. You're taking us to St. Malo, which is more than you ought to be doing. But that's the end of it. Understood?"
Camille regarded him neutrally for a moment. Then she sighed and turned to Jenny. "Dessert, my dear? The tarte Tatin here is not to be missed."
After lunch, Camille took them to the pharmacy she had spoken of, where she bought them various creams and unguents for their bruises, cuts and abrasions. Then they went clothes shopping, changing into the new outfits as they went and consigning their old torn shirts and pants to the trash bin.
Back in the car, Camille drove at high speed, circumventing Rouen. They turned onto the El, heading west, where the road became the EB1. Paralleling the coastline, they passed just south of Honfleur, where in the early nineteenth century the Impressionists reigned, and the posh seaside resorts of Deauville and Trouville. Twelve miles past Caen, the sky that had grown dark just before lunch now lowered enough to touch the tops of the bristling hawthorn trees. The buildings on either side of the highway grew black and menacing. In the distance, the horizon had disappeared in a muddy haze of rain, and then the downpour hit them, drumming against the roof of the Citroe"n, sluiced off to either side of the windshield by the wipers. The car's headlights cut through the hissing gloom like gas lamps on a coal-dark night.
Within an hour they had made the All. The rain had lessened to a heavy drizzle, but the world outside appeared to consist of colors smeared with an Impressionist's brush. They were approaching Avranches when Jenny began to complain of severe stomach cramps. Glancing over his shoulder, Bravo noticed that her face was pasty, beaded with sweat. Several moments later, he spotted one of those peculiarly European travel restaurants whose setting was a bridge over the highway. In the same rest area were bathrooms and several thousand yards further on, a gas station.
