“I told you, he doesn’t drink. He’s a Diet Coke man. Always a Diet Coke.” Bittel tapped the tabletop thoughtfully. “There’s a place in the Beethovenplatz called Café Adagio. Very chic. Discreet, too. The question is, what’s going to happen when he gets there?”
“I’m going to ask him a few questions.”
“About what?”
“The Order of St. Helena.”
“Why are you interested in the Order?”
“They murdered a friend of mine.”
“Who’s the friend?”
“His Holiness Pope Paul the Seventh.”
Bittel’s expression betrayed no sentiment, least of all surprise. “Now I know why you wanted me to keep an eye on the Hoffmann woman.”
“Send the message, Bittel.”
His thumbs hovered over his phone. “Do you know what will happen if I’m linked to this in any way?”
“The Office will lose a valuable partner. And I’ll lose a friend.”
“I’m not sure I want to be your friend, Allon. They all seem to end up dead.” Bittel typed the message and tappedsend. Five long minutes elapsed before his phone pinged with a response. “You’re on. Six o’clock Wednesday evening at Café Adagio. Estermann’s looking forward to it.”
Gabriel gazed at the black waters of the lake. “That makes two of us.”
36
Munich
Except for a few days inSeptember 1972, Munich had never mattered much to the Office. Nevertheless, if only for sentimental reasons, Housekeeping maintained a large walled villa in the bohemian quarter of Schwabing, not far from the Englischer Garten. Eli Lavon arrived there at ten fifteen the following morning. Gloomily, he surveyed the heavy antique furnishings in the formal drawing room.
“I can’t believe we’re back here again.” He looked at Gabriel and frowned. “You’re supposed to be on holiday.”
“Yes, I know.”
“What happened?”
“A death in the family.”
“My condolences.”
Lavon tossed his overnight bag carelessly onto a couch. He had wispy, unkempt hair and a bland, forgettable face that even the most gifted portrait artist would have struggled to capture in oil on canvas. He appeared to be one of life’s downtrodden. In truth, he was a natural predator who could follow a highly trained intelligence officer or hardened terrorist down any street in the world without attracting a flicker of interest. He was now the chief of the Office division known as Neviot. Its operatives included surveillance artists, pickpockets, thieves, and those who specialized in planting hidden cameras and listening devices behind locked doors.
“I saw an interesting photo of you the other day. You were dressed as a priest and walking into the Vatican Secret Archives with your friend Luigi Donati. I was only sorry I couldn’t join you.” Lavon smiled. “Find anything interesting?”
“You might say that.”
Lavon raised a tiny hand. “Do tell.”
“We should probably wait until the others arrive.”
“They’re on their way.Allof them.” Lavon’s lighter flared. “I assume this has something to do with the unfortunate passing of His Holiness Pope Paul the Seventh.”
Gabriel nodded.
“I take it His Holiness did not die of natural causes.”
