Day of Confession - Allan Folsom [124]
It was a question Barbu himself would never answer. The Royal Canadian Mounted Police were now investigating his apparent suicide on a mountain trail overlooking Lake Louise in Banff. Death by shotgun in the mouth. Except that Roscani knew it was no suicide, but murder, done, he was certain, by a colleague of the blond ice picker, who knew where Barbu was and how to find him and had killed him either in retaliation for helping Father Daniel escape or in an effort to find out where he was. Perhaps it was even the same colleague who killed Harry Addison’s boss in California. If that were so, the conspiracy was much broader and far-reaching than it first seemed.
In the distance, Roscani could hear the echo of the search dogs and their handlers leading the carabinieri teams probing the maze of tunnels for Elena Voso and the fugitive priest—and Harry Addison. He had no proof. It was a hunch and nothing else. But somehow Roscani sensed the American had been there and helped his brother to escape.
High above, a helicopter unit was coordinating Gruppo Cardinale teams on the ground combing the cliffs above the grotto. A clear set of footprints had been found outside the elevator shaft. And there were tire tracks of a vehicle driven in, parked, and then driven away. Whether any of it would lead them to the blond man or the fugitives it was too early to tell.
Whatever had happened, or would happen, one thing alone had become chillingly clear—Roscani was no longer dealing simply with a fugitive priest and his brother, but with people internationally connected, highly skilled, and with no reservation at all about killing. And anyone with even the slightest idea where the priest might be, or what he might know, had become a hard target seemingly reachable anywhere.
95
DANNY WAS ALONE AS HARRY CAME INTO THE cave, sitting just back from the entrance, his broken legs in their blue fiberglass casts twisted awkwardly in front of him. He wore Harry’s black jacket over the thin hospital gown he had had on when they put him into the skiff.
Immediately Harry looked around. Where was Elena? He looked back to find Danny staring at him, as if he weren’t quite sure who Harry was. And Harry knew the physical exhaustion caused by the brutal ride through the grotto’s sluices was taking its toll. Danny had regressed, and it frightened him because he didn’t know how far back he’d gone or if he would have the strength to come back.
“Danny, do you know who I am?”
Danny said nothing, just continued to stare. Unsure, uncertain.
“I’m your brother, Harry.”
Finally, hesitantly, Danny nodded.
“We are in a cave in the north of Italy.”
Danny nodded again. But the action was still vague, as if he understood the words but not what they meant.
“Do you know where the sister is?—the nun who is taking care of you. Where is she?”
For several seconds there was no reaction at all. Then slowly, deliberately, Danny’s eyes shifted to the left.
Harry followed the movement across the cave to a bright, sunlit opening near the back. Leaving Danny, he crossed to it, started through, then stopped. Elena was half dressed, her habit around her waist, her breasts exposed. Startled, she quickly covered herself.
“Sorry,” Harry said, then turned and went back inside.
A moment later and fully dressed, Elena followed him in, thoroughly embarrassed, trying to explain.
“I apologize, Mr. Addison. My clothing was still wet. I dried it out there on the rocks, as I did your jacket and your brother’s gown. He was sleeping when I… was… not dressed…”
“I understand…” Harry found a way to smile, and it put her at ease.
“You came with the truck?”
“Yes.”
“Harry—?” Danny cocked his head as Harry and Elena came closer.
Yes, it was Harry, he was sure. And Elena was with him, and that helped because she had been