Luis Rocha - Papal decree

‘One more to keep us busy.’

‘But we need to work, Inspector,’ Jean-Paul contradicted him.

‘We already have enough for this lifetime and the next.’

Myriam found the exchange between them curious.

‘Tell Garvis to treat the young lady well. No interrogation and threats. There are enough psychos in this world without our creating another. Let me talk to her myself, with all respect for his command of the operation.’

‘Okay, Inspector,’ Jean-Paul answered, leaving to carry out the order.

‘You have a good heart,’ Myriam said, praising him for the sensitivity he had shown.

‘No, I don’t, ma’am. Almost all my arteries are clogged. Someday they’ll do me in,’ he joked, without showing any humor at all. ‘Not much to go.’

Sarah came out of the bathroom and joined them. She was flushed, tired, and sat down by Myriam.

‘Welcome,’ Gavache greeted her.

‘Sorry for the delay,’ Sarah said weakly. She was shaky.

‘We didn’t notice. Do you feel all right?’ Gavache wanted to know.

‘Better,’ Sarah said, recovering her courage a little.

‘We could call a doctor for you,’ Myriam suggested.

‘No,’ she immediately replied. ‘Thanks, Myriam. I promise you it’ll be the first thing I do when all this is over.’

Garvis and Ben Isaac returned from receiving the technician’s instructions. Ben Isaac was still angry. He was impatient for the call to come, but at the same time feared it. As a father he needed the call; as an old man, he just wanted to go to sleep and wake up from the nightmare the next day and discover nothing about it was real.

Ben Isaac sat down by his wife, and Garvis took an armchair.

‘What now?’ Myriam asked.

‘Now we wait,’ Garvis said.

Everyone felt self-conscious except Gavache, who continued to savor the aroma of his tobacco. The others exchanged glances, hoping something would happen.

‘Instead of looking at each other like idiots, why don’t we tell each other something about ourselves,’ Gavache suggested.

‘What about your history?’ Ben asked.

‘Mine is boring. From home to work, and from work to home. It’s tedious. But yours, Dr. Ben, I’d like to hear. Ultimately, this circus is because of you.’

Ben blushed with all the eyes turned on him. As a banker, he was used to being the center of attention, but usually he had everything in control, that is, he had the money, and that wasn’t the case here. The money that for so many years had been infallible in corrupting the human soul was useless now. He had lost control of the situation, if he’d ever had it. One of his mother’s sayings came to mind as a sign of wisdom: Man proposes, but God disposes. In fact, when it was least expected, life easily exposed the fragility of human control, and everything collapsed like a house of cards, as if everything had never existed.

Everyone waited for him to say something, except the technicians and other agents who kept busy maintaining the state-of-the art instruments at top operational capacity, or at least enough that they would not break down when it was time to use them. They weren’t interested in Ben Isaac at all, just the opposite.

‘You can start with Loyola,’ Gavache offered, to the surprise of everyone present, including Ben Isaac.

‘Loyola?’ Ben Isaac inquired.

‘Isn’t he the indirect cause of all this?’

‘No.’ Ben Isaac smiled, cynically, as if those present were not prepared for a greater truth only he knew. ‘Loyola only intervened in a story that was two thousand years old. Everything began with Jesus of Nazareth.’

Garvis shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

‘Hell,’ Gavache exclaimed. ‘Maybe we should have something to drink with this. Do you have any coffee?’

‘Of course,’ Ben agreed. ‘Myriam, could you do us a favor and ask in the kitchen for coffee, tea, milk, something to eat?’

Myriam got up. Sarah started to follow her, but Myriam didn’t let her. ‘Relax, dear. I’ll go.’

‘Let’s begin with Jesus of Nazareth, then,’ Gavache insisted. ‘We’re all anxious to hear about Him.’

Ben thought about all his options, but realized he didn’t have any. He would tell the truth and hope God was merciful.

‘The historical Jesus has nothing to do with the one the Christian world worships. The truth about Jesus has suffered from an enormous conspiracy. Jesus was born — ’

The ringing of his phone interrupted this story. The instructions were on the way.

JC was an intriguing man. Perhaps if Francesco had met him under different circumstances, his opinion would be different… or perhaps not.

From the top of the King David Hotel Francesco was looking down over all the Old City of Jerusalem, which in the early afternoon swarmed with life. It was cold outside, about thirty degrees. The hotel marked the boundary between the old city and the modern, outside the walls.

Though he didn’t feel like a captive, Francesco didn’t feel as if he could just open the door and go outside, either. He was in a foreign country with no idea how he got there, no documents, no identification, and no money. He couldn’t stop thinking about Sarah. He hadn’t talked to her for more than fifteen hours. Was she all right? Where was she? He pictured her. She had such a pretty smile. She could seem bitter and withdrawn, but she was always lovely.

At midday they served lunch in the suite. The salatim consisted of tabuleh, a kibbe, and a salad of peppers and eggplant. The main course was grilled lamb chops with vegetables. Everything tasted good, but Francesco had no appetite.

‘Eat. You don’t know when you’ll have your next meal,’ JC recommended, drinking some tonic water and lifting a forkful of meat to his mouth.

Francesco didn’t want to admit that his stomach was turning over, and that because of his nerves he’d probably vomit anything he ate. The image of Sarah throwing up intervened. Was she better? He forced himself not to think about it. He’d cope with only what he could, and at the moment, that was JC and what he wanted from him. The old man obviously knew that Francesco was nervous and couldn’t eat, only drink, because his mouth was so dry that he was constantly moistening it and, as a result, was constantly going to the bathroom.

‘Calm down, my friend,’ JC encouraged him. ‘History doesn’t reward the weak.’

‘Have you ever felt fear?’ Francesco worked up the courage to ask.

‘I always killed everything that put fear in me,’ JC said, putting another piece of meat in his mouth, as if he were just talking about the weather. ‘There’s no reason to be afraid. Your role in this affair is just as an extra with a few lines to speak,’ he said, smiling.

A crucial question struck Francesco. After several successful years of his career, he knew how to recognize a crucial question. He’d done it many times in press conferences, interviews, at some governmental official’s door, elbowing his colleagues on all sides to get the best position, the best angle. But those crucial questions never had anything to do with him. It was always about a case, a personality, an official inquiry into a life not his own. This question was different. The most important he’d ever asked.

‘What’s going to happen to me when my participation in this affair comes to an end?’

JC didn’t even look at him when he replied. He continued eating eagerly, as if he had not done so for a long time. ‘We’ll put you on a plane for home. This never happened.’

‘How can I trust you?’ He was afraid to push his luck, but he needed some guarantee.

‘You can’t. A person’s words are worth very little. Things are always changing. What works today doesn’t work tomorrow. It’s human nature,’ JC said with his mouth full.