David Morrell - League of Night and Fog

by League of Night

  "There's no mystery about it," Father Dusseault said. "The cardinal was a never-tiring laborer for the Faith. His remarkable energy was repeatedly rewarded."

  "Well, the labor I was interested in took place in 1945, just before his first promotion. What's the cardinal's connection with the Nazis?"

  Saul watched from his hidden vantage point on the dew wet ground beneath shrubs. The two priests were talking-- their voices too low for Saul to hear what they said--when Father Dusseault stepped suddenly forward, lunging with his left hand. Moonlight glinted off...

  ... a knife that must have been in a spring-loaded sheath under Father

  Dusseault's coat sleeve. Drew leaped back, feeling the blade snick across his lapel. Heat rushed through his body. His nerve ends quickened in response to a scalding spurt of adrenaline. He dodged another thrust of the knife, trying to maneuver so the moon was to his back, its glow on Father Dusseault, hoping to impair the priest's night vision. But Father Dusseault understood Drew's intention and began to circle Drew. trying to put his own back to the moon. When the knife flashed toward him again. Drew blocked the thrust and struck the heel of his palm against Father Dusseault's chest, aiming toward the ribs above the heart. But the priest anticipated the blow, twisting to his left, absorbing the impact on his side. At the same time, using the torque of his body, the priest kicked his right foot high toward Drew's jaw. Drew snapped his head back, avoiding the kick, and grabbed for the foot that sped past him. Father Dusseault spun evasively. In a blur, he slashed again. Drew slammed the knife arm away and plowed the heel of his palm against Father Dusseault's nostrils, feeling cartilage crunch.

  Though the blow wasn't fatal, it would be excruciating, so stunning that for the next few seconds the priest wouldn't be able to defend himself.

  Drew took the advantage, delivering a rapid sequence of forceful punches--to the diaphragm, under the jaw, across the bridge of the nose.

  Father Dusseault went down.

  Saul continued to watch in amazement. The speed of the second priest's reflexes was astonishing, again reminding him of Chris. The priest had struck with the heel of his palm. Just as Chris and I were trained to do. The priest's agility, his rhythm, his accuracy, his style--they all made Saul think of Chris. Or is it just that Chris died in a knife fight and I so wish he'd survived that I'm imposing my fantasy onto this priest who did? No, Saul thought. I'm not imagining the resemblance.

  The priest isn't Chris. I know that. But he looks so much like him it's eerie. Saul's thoughts were interrupted. Someone else was in the gardens. At first Saul suspected the shadowy figure that appeared from the bushes to his right was Erika. But it wasn't Erika, he quickly realized. The figure was a woman, yes, but dressed as a nun. Without white trim, her black robe had concealed her. She rushed into the clearing. The victorious priest turned to her. They spoke urgently, crouching beside Father Dusseault. Saul made a sudden dangerous choice.

  His years of professional conditioning objected. His protective instincts rebelled. They didn't matter. He stood from his murky cover--if his intuition had betrayed him, he could always charge backward into greater darkness--and stepped into the clearing.

  Alarmed, the priest and the nun swung toward him. "This is the biggest risk I've ever taken," Saul said. He raised his hands. "I'm not alone, so stay as you are. I trust you. Please don't make a move against me."

  The priest seemed paralyzed between conflicting motives, whether to run or to attack. The nun pulled a pistol from beneath her robe. Saul raised his hands even higher, stepping closer. "You didn't know I was out there watching, so assume I could have killed you if I'd wanted to.

  Assume we've got mutual concerns."

  "Mutual concerns?" the priest asked. Saul felt another eerie tingle.

  The voice was Chris's. It couldn't be. But it was. Or am I going crazy? "What you did is what we wanted to do," Saul said. "Which is?"

  The nun continued to aim the pistol. "Get our hands on Father Dusseault and make him tell us what he knows about..." The priest cocked his head. "About?" Saul hesitated, unsure how much to reveal, and abruptly committed himself. "About my wife's missing father and why three men--I think they were priests--tried to kill my wife and myself."

  "You say you think they were priests?"

  "Yes, like the man who just attacked you. He wears the same kind of ring they wore. A ruby with the insignia of an intersecting sword and cross." 10

  Drew stared in surprise. "You know about the Fraternity?" The stranger was in his late thirties, tall and muscular, dark-haired, square-jawed, swarthy. Drew felt a momentary deja vu, thinking he'd seen him before, though he couldn't imagine where. He disregarded the unnerving sensation and waited for the man to answer. "The Fraternity?" The stranger frowned. "Is that what they call themselves? No, I don't know about them, but I'd sure like to learn." The man stepped closer. "I do know this--the ring has a poison capsule hidden under the stone."

  "Yes, the stone," Drew said. "The Fraternity of the Stone. They're supposed to swallow the poison if there's a danger they'll be captured and forced to reveal the secrets of their order."

  "Order?" The stranger spoke quickly. "Then I was right? They're all priests?" Drew nodded. Reminded of the poison, he crouched beside

  Father Dusseault and took the precaution of slipping the ring off the priest's finger.

  "You didn't kill him, I hope," the stranger said. "I tried my best not to. He'll wake up sore."

  "As long as he wakes up. I've got questions to ask him. On the other hand, since you seem to know about the Fraternity, maybe you can save the the effort. You don't wear one of their rings. I assume you're not a member. Something tells me you're not a priest either, any more than your friend's a nun."

  "I have seen you before," Drew said. Saul felt as if he'd been jolted.

  "Yesterday. In Switzerland," the priest said. "At the crest of the

  Alois Pass."

  "I drove over it yesterday. Heading toward Zurich."

  "In a Renault."

  "How the hell--?"

  "A woman was in a car behind you," the priest said. "She drove a

  Volkswagen Golf."

  "She's my wife. But how did you--7' "She looked so intense, so tired, and yet so determined to concentrate on you driving ahead of her. I can't explain why, but when both of you drove past, I identified with you." Saul felt a second jolt. He wanted to tell the priest about

  Chris, about his own eerie sense of identification. But his attention was drawn toward Father Dusseault.

  "We have to get him out of here," the priest said. "Before a guard comes along," Saul agreed and glanced behind him toward the darkness. "My wife'll be wondering what we're talking about. I'd better let her know it's safe to show herself." He turned toward a clump of bushes and waved for her to come out. "You didn't tell me your names. Unless you're still suspicious of me." The man and the woman looked uncertainly at each other. "Drew."

  "Arlene."

  "Saul. My wife's name is Erika. You'll like her." He waved his arm again for Erika to come out. Waited. Waved a third time. And suddenly realized that she wouldn't be emerging from cover, that the world had gone terribly wrong, that his life was on the verge of destruction.

  12

  Saul raced toward the edge of the murky gardens and stared toward the massive dome of St. Peter's haloed by the night lights of Rome. He'd searched one half of the grounds while the man who called himself Drew checked the other half. Now, seeing a guard near a palace across from him, he knew he had reached the point where he didn't dare go any farther. If Erika wasn't in the gardens, he certainly couldn't hope to find her in the maze of Vatican buildings. Again he wondered what had happened to her. He struggled to analyze the possibilities and concluded that only two made sense. She'd been forced to run, or else she'd been caught. But forced to run or caught by whom? Guards? Someone else in the Fraternity? More than the agreed-upon twenty minutes had elapsed since he'd-begun to search. By now. Drew would have returned t
o the fountain. Maybe Drew had found Erika. Saul rushed through the night, charging into the clearing next to the fountain, stunned to see it deserted. He clenched his fists in outrage but heard a footstep to his right and recognized Drew coming out from cover. "We hid in case a guard came along," Drew said. "You're late."

  "Did you find her?"

  "No... I'm sorry." Saul felt as if razor blades slashed his heart. "I'm afraid we have to leave," Drew said. "I understand."

  "Will you be coming with us, or do you plan to go on searching?" Saul turned toward the dark expanse of the gardens. He felt grievously tempted. "No." He had trouble speaking. "If she were here, she'd have shown herself or we'd have found her. I'll keep looking. Somewhere else." His voice broke. "But I can't imagine where."

  "We've still got the problem of where to go with the priest" Saul studied the gardens one last time. It took all his discipline to rouse himself. If he were discovered here, he told himself, it wouldn't help

  Erika. On the other hand. Father Dusseault might know why she'd disappeared. He struggled to concentrate. "You'd better follow me."

  They had limited options, he realized. They could try to take Father

  Dusseault back to his apartment, but the odds were too great that a guard would notice and raise an alarm. And if they did somehow manage to reach me apartment, what would they do after that? Question him there?

  In the morning, someone on his staff might be puzzled by his absence and come to look for him. No, they had to get Father Dusseault out of the

  Vatican. But how? They'd certainly be stopped if they attempted to carry him through the Vatican's guarded gates at 2 a. m. They might be able to find a hiding place and stay there till morning, but what then?

  Walk the priest through the checkpoints while the guards were distracted by the usual throng of tourists? But how would they prevent Father

  Dusseault's battered face from being noticed, and what if the priest caused a commotion at the gate? Only one solution seemed practical. To leave the Vatican now, but not past the guard posts Before coming here yesterday, Saul and Erika had scouted the Vatican's perimeter. The city-state was enclosed by a high stone wall. An invader couldn't climb over it unassisted, and anyone trying to scale it with a rope or a ladder would surely attract police intervention. But invasion was not the intention now. Escape was, and climbing over the Vatican wall from the inside wasn't as difficult as doing so from the outside. Yesterday,

  Saul had noticed several places where trees on the inside grew close to the wall. While Drew and Arlene carried the unconscious priest, Saul preceded them, hoping he'd find Erika. They reached the rear wall of the Vatican and searched along it till they came to a sturdy tree whose branches they could climb to the top of the wall.

  Hoisting the priest up through the branches wouldn't be difficult.

  Getting the priest down the other side would be less easy, requiring two people to stand at the bottom while someone on top held the priest's hands and lowered him as far as possible before letting him drop into waiting arms. As soon as they had him down, they had to assume they'd attract police attention. It was imperative that they leave the area at once. "I'll go over first," Saul said. "Erika and I left a rented car nearby. Give me twenty minutes to get back here with it. Then start climbing. Lift the priest to the top of the wall. Who knows? Maybe

  Erika'll be at the car."

  "What happens if it isn't where you left it?" Drew asked. "I'll steal one. No matter what, I'll be back."

  13

  Drew sank to the ground, his back to the wall, shivering from the dampness. Arlene slid down beside him. He worried that Father

  Dusseault might waken, feign unconsciousness, and attack when least expected. He tested the injured priest's pulse. It was steady but weak, definitely not the heartbeat of an assassin mustering his reflexes. Arlene leaned close to his ear. "Do you trust him?"

  "Saul? Yes. I have no idea why, but I do." Reassured, she eased against his shoulder. "What did you say to Father Dusseault to make him attack you?"

  "I'm not certain." He had conflicting theories about the attack and needed time to think. Perhaps Father Dusseault had come to the late-night rendezvous with the same intention as Drew, to force answers.

  Or else the priest had reacted impulsively, suddenly threatened by

  Drew's questions about the cardinal and the Nazis. But as Drew recalled the incident, he realized that Father Dusseault's seemingly spontaneous attack had actually been quite calculated. The priest hadn't thrust his knife toward vital organs, the throat for example, where the kill would be quick and sure, but instead had concentrated on wounding the chest and stomach, where death would take longer and in fact might not occur at all. He wanted to question me. Drew thought. To find out who I was and why I was so curious about the cardinal. After that, he'd have finished me off. I think I've found the man who killed Father Victor beside that fountain. But why would one member of the Fraternity want to kill another? Are Father Sebastian's suspicions correct about someone in the Fraternity trying to destroy it? Is Father Dusseault the traitor? The answers would come soon enough, he thought. After Saul got back with the car. But what had Saul said? His wife's father was missing? The disappearance had something to do with three priests, members of the Fraternity, who tried to kill Saul's wife and himself?

  And now Saul's wife too was missing. Drew began to suspect that Saul's quest and his own were somehow related, that the answers to Saul's questions would help to answer his own. He glanced at his watch. Twenty minutes had elapsed.

  Arlene anticipated him. "It's time." She went up the tree, bracing herself among branches, reaching down while Drew lifted Father Dusseault to her.

  14

  A Peugeot pulled up below them, its headlights gleaming. For a tense moment. Drew wondered if the car might belong to the police or the

  Fraternity. But Saul stepped out, and Drew relaxed. Arlene edged over the wall, landing smoothly. Drew lowered the priest to them, then went down as well. Seconds later, they were in the car. To Saul's dismay,

  Erika had not been waiting at the car. "My wife and I rented a hotel room," he said as he drove. "If she's all right, if she had to run from somebody, the hotel's where she'll know she can get in touch with me."

  He glanced toward Drew and Arlene in the back, the priest out of sight on the floor. "I suggest we take him there." Saul exhaled with relief when he heard Drew answer, "Under the circumstances, it's the only choice." The layout of the hotel had been the reason for choosing it,

  Saul explained. Both the elevator and the fire stairs were down a corridor invisible from the lobby. A rear entrance, near the hotel's parking garage, led into that corridor. At 3 a. m., no one paid attention to a priest helping another priest into the building, or to a nun who entered a few minutes later, or to the tall swarthy man who'd gone in ahead of them, carrying a suitcase. The suitcase contained the street clothes Drew and Arlene had worn before they dressed as a priest and nun. On the way to the hotel. Drew had retrieved it from a locker at the train station. They encountered no one in the elevator or along the corridor that led to Saul's hotel room. Once inside. Drew and

  Arlene took turns using the bathroom to change back into their street clothes while Saul examined the unconscious priest where he lay on the bed. "His nose is broken."

  "That was my intention," Drew said. "The way he came at me, I tried my damnedest to discourage him. What about his jaw?"

  "The bones seem secure. He'll be able to talk."

  "But he's awfully slow waking up," Arlene said. "Yes, that worries me,"

  Saul said. "I checked his eyes. They respond to light. His reflexes work. We might want to put some ice on his nose."

  "I'd prefer he stay in pain. He'll answer questions more readily," Drew said. "You don't have chemicals to make him talk?"

  "No," Drew said. "We were given IDs, weapons, and money. That's all."

  "What do you mean 'given'? By whom?"

  "Someone in the Fr
aternity forced us to help him." Saul's eyes widened.

  "It's a debt we're paying off," Drew said. "Believe us,"

  Arlene said, "we don't feel loyal to them." Saul studied them, reluctantly committing himself further. "All right. I've trusted you so far. Since you're being honest, I'll do the same. There's a group I owe a favor as well."

  "Who?"

  "I used to work for them. I don't want anything more to do with them, but they manipulated me into cooperating."

  "I asked you--"

  "The CIA."

  "Dear God."

  "I'd like to call them now," Saul said. "We can kid ourselves about the priest's condition, but the fact is he needs medical attention or he won't be alert enough to respond to questions. You put him down good.

  For all we know, he's got a concussion. We need a team with the proper facilities to bring him back up." The room became silent. Arlene turned to Drew. "He's got a point. By the time Father Dusseault's fully conscious, we'll have lost too much time."