Eric Lustbader - The Testament

"Thank you for taking the time to see me," Bravo began.

"The pope is dying," Mikhail Kartli said over Bravo's last several words, "there is scarcely any time left."

"That's why I've come to you. My situation has become increasingly desperate."

Kartli turned to Bravo, the ugly black cigarette between his brilliant red lips. "You see, this is just the kind of situation the Order decided long ago to guard against. Do you think Canesi wants to save the pope's life for humanitarian reasons? Of course not. It's power, and power only. He wants to save his own skin. A new pope, clever and in his prime, surely would not tolerate their power, he'd sweep them aside like so much kindling."

A certain grit lay underfoot, like sand from the desert, like gold dust ready to be swept up and transshipped.

"How up-to-date is your news of the pope's health?"

"What do you take me for? An hour old, not a moment more." Mikhail Kartli's pale eyes bored into Bravo's. "You are in more danger than you can imagine, my friend. Elements have been awakened-new informers, the Vatican's eyes and ears-that I can neither identify nor control."

Kartli suddenly caught sight of the chased scabbard and the hilt of the dagger tucked into Bravo's waistband and his eyes narrowed. "What is this? Surely it cannot be Lorenzo Fornarini's dagger."

"It is." Bravo removed it to show him. "I've been to his sarcophagus in Venice."

"My God, Fornarini's dagger!" Kartli took another deep drag of his cigarette. "Through the priests at Trebizond, Lorenzo Fornarini was introduced to the Order, was converted to their cause, and swore allegiance to protect them, which he did with both courage and discipline, which as you can imagine impressed the fathers no end.

"Some years later, when they were attacked by the Knights of St. Clement, he was present outside the Sumela Monastery, at the last moment intervening to save Fra Leoni from Fra Kent, a traitor from within the Haute Cour. This was when Fra Leoni was the Keeper, before he became Magister Regens.

"Fra Leoni was wounded during his fight with Fra Kent. By the time he reached the cache of secrets his wound was festering, there was no doubt that he was dying. By prior arrangement, he was met by Fra Prospero, the Order's Magister Regens-in those days, both the Keeper and the Magister Regens held keys to the cache. Together, they made a monumental decision: they availed themselves of the secret of Christ's Testament. Following the directions set out by Jesus, the Magister Regens anointed Fra Leoni with the Quintessence, the sacred oil that Christ used to resurrect Lazarus and, according to the Testament, others.

"Fra Leoni was not only healed, but he lived another 350 years, eventually ascending to become Magister Regens and guiding the Order through dark and difficult times. Some believe that he died, finally, in 1918, during the worldwide influenza epidemic, but of course there are no records and so no way to know for certain."

At that moment, a bit of raucous electronic melody sounded and the Georgian pulled out another cell phone, flipped it open. He listened for a moment, then he said, "Do it. Do it now."

Closing the phone, he said to Bravo, "Someone known to you is approaching. One of my people has spotted Jennifer Logan, the traitor-oh, yes, word spread quickly within the Order. I have ordered her executed. I have someone standing by who will shoot her dead."

"No," Bravo said.

Mikhail Kartli smiled thinly. "You are in my house now."

"But if you kill her you'll never find out if she and Paolo Zorzi are the only ones to have infiltrated the Order. What if there are more? She's our best chance to find out."

The Georgian knew a good argument when he heard it. Flipping open his cell phone, he pressed a speed dial and said into the mouthpiece, "Stand down and deliver her instead."

His grin grew fierce. "I only hope that you have the courage of your convictions. I hope you have the stomach for articulated interrogation. Your father certainly didn't."

"There are other ways," Bravo said.

"Name one." The Georgian said this without an edge of menace, he simply wanted to know.

"The woman is desperate to get me to believe that someone else is the traitor. She wanted me to believe that someone set her up for the murder of Father Mosto in Venice, and I almost believed her, until she shot Anthony Rule dead." He did not mention his very personal hatred of Jenny for seducing both his father and himself. "I can talk to her, I can deal with her. She'll listen to me."

"In that event, I would be exceedingly careful. Have you thought about how she followed you here?"

Bravo stared at the Georgian.

"Did you tell Father Damaskinos you were coming to Trabzon?"

Father Damaskinos had asked him where he was going next, and Bravo had told him.

"Yes, of course you did," Kartli said, answering his own question. "She must have been the one who interrogated him and murdered him."

"Father Damaskinos is dead?"

"One of our people found him in his apartment last night and contacted me immediately." The Georgian spat again, more heavily this time, as if it was an uttered curse. "His face was burned, then his throat was slashed in a very particular manner."

"What do you mean?"

"It was made with a push-dagger. How do I know? A push-dagger is made for stabbing, not slashing, so when it's used for slashing the wound is unmistakable." Kartli paused for a moment. "I know someone who kills in this manner; he's a Knight of St. Clement assassin. He must have trained her. Does this girl carry a push-dagger?"

"I never saw one on her," Bravo said, "but all along the bitch has been full of surprises."

"Do you think it wise," Damon Cornadoro said as he watched Jenny passing through the narrow streets of the European Market, "to allow her to go off to meet with Bravo alone?"

Camille studied his handsome face, admiring him as if he were a statue sculpted by Michelangelo. She put a slender forefinger, warm against his cool flesh, across his lips. "What's the matter, my love? Do you think she can persuade him to the truth, rather than the ever more plausible lie I have laid out for him?"

"Rational argument has nothing to do with it. There is chemistry between them, I felt it the night they arrived in Venice. When I lifted her on board the motoscafo, when I put my hands on her waist and drew her close to me I thought he was going to kill me."

Camille laughed. "Mon dieu, what an imagination you have, darling! They fuck and you see skyrockets."

Cornadoro shrugged his huge shoulders. "Now that he's isolated I want to make sure he stays that way."

"Oh, and whose idea was that, Damon, yours or mine? Don't you worry, when it comes to isolation I know all the ins and outs. He hates her now, she killed his beloved 'Uncle Tony,' just as I planned it."

She could feel his heat, the brief tremor as his yearning responded to the proximity of her body. On the pretext of keeping Jenny in view, she contrived to lean ever so slightly against him, so that the tips of her breasts, the small platter of her belly, the strong pillars of her thighs imprinted themselves briefly on his muscles. "Not all men are like you."

"Women rarely get what they want, Camille, though what that might be eludes me."

He smiled the smile that was impermissible, the smile that revealed his weakness to anyone who, like her, was clever enough to see it. His weakness she knew well, and it made her long for the heady days of Dexter, a man who grasped the big picture and never let go.

"But you-you're different-you know men better than any other woman."

"Better than they know themselves," she said casually. "That's the point, isn't it?"

"How do you do it? That's what I'd like to know."