Day of Confession - Allan Folsom [142]
“You called me, Danny. You left word on my answering machine.
… Do you remember?” Abruptly Harry took off his zucchetto and stuck it in his pocket.
“Yes…”
“You were scared to death of something. It was a hell of a way to say hello after so many years—especially on an answering machine…. What were you afraid of?”
Slowly Danny’s eyes traveled over Harry’s face. “I want you to do me a favor.”
“What?”
“Get out of here right now.”
“Get out of here?”
“Yes.”
“Just me. By myself?”
“If you don’t, Harry,… they’ll kill you…”
Harry stared at his brother. “Who is ‘they’?”
“Just go. Please.”
Abruptly Harry looked off, his gaze going around the room. Then his eyes came back to Danny. “Maybe I should fill you in on what you either don’t remember or don’t know…. We’re both wanted for murder, Danny. You for—“
“—killing the cardinal vicar of Rome, and you for shooting a Rome detective,” Danny finished for him. “I saw a newspaper I wasn’t supposed to see…”
Harry hesitated, trying to find the way to put it. Finally he just said it. “Did you kill the cardinal, Danny?”
“Did you kill the cop?”
“No.”
“Same answer.” Danny’s reply was direct and unwavering.
“The police have a lot of evidence, Danny…. Farel took me to your apart—“
“Farel?” Danny cut him off sharply. “That’s where your evidence came from…”
“What do you mean?”
For a long moment Danny said nothing, then glanced off. It was a retreat, a look that meant he’d said too much already and it was as far as he was going to go.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, Harry looked off at Veronique’s collection of sculptures. Finally he turned back.
“You were in a bus explosion, Danny. Everybody thought you were dead…. How’d you get out?”
Danny shook his head. “Don’t know…”
“Not only got out,” Harry pressed him. “You managed to stuff your Vatican ID, your passport, and your glasses in somebody else’s jacket…”
Danny said nothing.
“The bus was going to Assisi. Do you remember that?”
“I… go there often.” Danny’s eyes flashed anger.
“Do you?”
“Yes!—Harry, just get out of here. Now. While you still can.”
“Danny—we haven’t talked in years. Don’t make me go yet.” Picking up the chair again, Harry turned it around beside Danny and sat down on it backward.
“Who were you afraid of when you called me?”
“I…”
“Farel?”
“—I don’t know…”
“You do know, Danny,” Harry said quietly. “That’s why they tried to kill you on the bus. And why the blond man followed you to Bellagio and then into the grotto.”
Danny glanced off, then looked at the floor.
“Somebody got you out of the hospital and to Pescara. Got Elena’s mother general involved…. She got Elena into it—and now Elena’s life is as much on the line as ours…”
“Then take her with you.” Still, Danny stared at the floor.
“Who helped you, Danny?”
Danny didn’t react.
Harry pushed harder. “Cardinal Marsciano?”
Suddenly Danny’s head came up, his eyes fierce.
“How do you know about Cardinal Marsciano?”
“I saw him, Danny. More than once. He warned me to stay away. Not to look for you. Before that, he tried to convince me you were dead.” Harry paused, then pushed again. “It’s Marsciano, isn’t it? He’s orchestrated everything…”
Danny stared at his brother. “I don’t recollect any of it, Harry. Calling you. Why I was going to Assisi. Who helped me. None of it. Blank. Zip. Nothing. No memory at all. Is that clear?”
Harry hesitated but didn’t waver. “What’s going on inside the Vatican?”
“Harry,”—Danny’s voice dropped off—“get the hell out of here before you get killed.”
109
ROSCANI IGNORED THE MUFFLED WHINE OF the helicopter’s jet engine as the machine banked sharply over the gray sprawl of Milan and headed southeast, toward Siena; his whole focus on the just-received INTERPOL fax in his lap. Most of which he already knew.
THOMAS JOSE ALVAREZ-RIOS KIND
INTERPOL PROFILE: One of the world’s most notorious terrorists. Celebrated murderer of French antiterrorist police. Violent criminal. Fugitive. Request to apprehend and detain. Extremely