“Father Robert Jordan.”
63
Venice-Assisi
It had been Gabriel’s intention to return to Israel the following morning on the ten o’clock El Al flight from Venice’s Marco Polo Airport. He instructed Travel to book four seats on the evening flight from Rome instead. The car, a Volkswagen Passat, he saw to himself. They departed Venice at half past seven, a full thirty minutes later than he had hoped, and arrived in Assisi a few minutes after noon. With Chiara and the children at his side, he rang the bell at the Abbey of St. Peter. Receiving no answer, he rang it again.
At length, Don Simon, the English Benedictine, answered. “Good afternoon. May I help you?”
“I’m here to see Father Jordan.”
“Is he expecting you?”
“No.”
“Your name?”
“Gabriel Allon. I was here with—”
“I remember you. But why do you wish to see Father Jordan again?”
Gabriel crossed his fingers. “I was sent by the Holy Father. I’m afraid it’s a matter of some urgency.”
There was a silence of several seconds. Then the lock snapped open.
Gabriel looked at Chiara and smiled. “Membership has its privileges.”
The monk led them to the common room overlooking the abbey’s green garden. Ten minutes elapsed before he returned with Father Jordan. The American Jesuit did not appear pleased to see the friend of the new Roman pontiff.
At length, he looked at Don Simon. “Perhaps you should give Signore Allon’s wife and children a tour of the grounds. They’re really quite beautiful.”
Chiara glanced at Gabriel, who nodded once. A moment later he and Father Jordan had the room to themselves.
“Are you really here at the behest of the Holy Father?” asked the priest.
“No.”
“I admire your honesty.”
“I wish I could say the same.”
Father Jordan moved to the window. “How much of the story have you managed to piece together?”
“I know that almost everything you told us was a lie, beginning with your name. I also know that you recently tookdelivery of a large order of reproduction Renaissance paper, which you used to produce a book called the Gospel of Pilate. The question is, was the gospel a fraud? Or was it a copy of the original?”
“Do you have an opinion?”
“I’m betting it was a copy.”
Father Jordan beckoned for Gabriel to join him at the window. Together they watched Chiara and the children walking along a garden path at the side of the Benedictine monk.
“You have a beautiful family, Mr. Allon. Every time I see Jewish children, I think they are a miracle.”
“And when you see a Jesuit pope?”
“I see your handiwork.” Father Jordan gave him a conspiratorial smile. “Shouldn’t you be in Israel?”
“We’re on our way to the airport.”
