“No,” said Gabriel. “He did not.”
“Do we have a suspect?”
“A Catholic order based in Canton Zug.”
Lavon stared at Gabriel through a cloud of smoke. “The Order of St. Helena?”
“You’ve heard of them?”
“Unfortunately, I dealt with the Order in a previous life.”
During a lengthy hiatus from the Office, Lavon had run a small investigative agency in Vienna called Wartime Claims and Inquiries. Operating on a shoestring budget, he had tracked down millions of dollars’ worth of looted Holocaust assets. He left Vienna after a bomb destroyed his office and killed two of his employees, both young women. The perpetrator, a former SS officer named Erich Radek, had died in an Israeli prison cell. Gabriel was the one who put him there.
“It was a case involving a Viennese family named Feldman,” explained Lavon. “The patriarch was Samuel Feldman, a well-to-do exporter of high-quality textiles. In the autumn of 1937, as storm clouds were gathering over Austria, two priests from the Order came calling on Feldman at his apartment in the First District. One of the priests was the Order’s founder, Father Ulrich Schiller.”
“And what did Father Schiller want from Samuel Feldman?”
“Money. What else?”
“What was he offering in return?”
“Baptismal certificates. Feldman was desperate, so he gave Father Schiller a substantial sum of cash and other valuables, including several paintings.”
“And when the Nazis rolled into Vienna in March 1938?”
“Father Schiller and the promised baptismal certificates were nowhere to be found. Feldman and most of his family were deported to the Lublin district of Poland, where they were murdered by Einsatzgruppen. One child survived the war in hiding in Vienna, a daughter named Isabel. She came to me after the Swiss banking scandal broke and told me the story.”
“What did you do?”
“I made an appointment to see Bishop Hans Richter, the superior general of the Order of St. Helena. We met at its medieval priory in Menzingen. A nasty piece of work, the bishop. There were moments when I had to remind myself that I was actually speaking to a Roman Catholic cleric. Needless to say, I left empty-handed.”
“Did you let it drop?”
“Me? Of course not. And within a year, I found four other cases of the Order soliciting donations from Jews in exchange for promises of protection. Bishop Richter wouldn’t see me again, so I turned over my material to an Italian investigative reporter named Alessandro Ricci. He found a few more cases, including a wealthy Roman Jew who gave the Order several paintings and valuable rare books in 1938. I’m afraid his name escapes me.”
“Emanuele Giordano.”
Lavon eyed Gabriel over the ember of his cigarette. “How is it possible you know that name?”
“I met with Alessandro Ricci last night in Rome. He told me the Order of St. Helena is planning to steal the conclave and elect one of their members the next pope.”
“Knowing the Order, I’m sure it involves money.”
“It does.”
“Is that why they killed the pope?”
“No,” said Gabriel. “They killed him because he wanted to give me a book.”
“What kind of book?”
“Do you remember when we found the ruins of Solomon’s Temple?”
Lavon absently rubbed his chest. “How could I forget?”
Gabriel smiled. “This is better.”
The Office, likethe Roman Catholic Church, was guided by ancient doctrine and dogma. Sacred and inviolable, it dictated that members of a large operational team travel to their destination by different routes. The exigencies of the situation, however, required all eight members of the team to journey to Munich on the same El Al flight. Nevertheless, they staggered their arrival at the safe house, if only to avoid attracting unwanted attention from the neighbors.
