Diego Marani - God's Dog

The Vicar was gripping the handrail of the confessional with such force that it positively creaked. Even through the brass grating, Salazar felt the priest’s breath on his face. It was that smell of musty material and mouthwash which were subsequently to inform him of the Vicar’s presence.

‘Now for the second part of your mission, inspector, the more tricky part: a manhunt. For years we’ve been trying to track down Ivan Zago, an abortionist doctor who works underground. We know that he has fled abroad; he’s currently living in Switzerland, where we are powerless to lay hands on him. We’ve had his parents under surveillance for some time, hoping to intercept him; they are the only members of his family who have stayed on in Italy. But some time ago we lost track of them. His mother is probably dead. We’re not certain, but she seems to have been buried in a common grave in the Flaminio Cemetery. We didn’t know anything about his father, either, until various clues led us to the Hospital of San Filippo Neri, where it seems that a certain Davide Zago was admitted with a brain tumour three months ago, and then discharged, according to the hospital register. But the address on his hospital file is false, as is the name of the doctor who was caring for him. In a word, we suspect that Davide Zago is still in that hospital, probably dying, hidden among the terminal patients. His son Ivan will be ready to do anything to spare him a lingering death. He will try to reach him in hospital to help him die, with the help of the accomplices who had him hidden there. And that’s where we must set our trap, inspector! The bait of the father will lead us to the son!’

‘But if we don’t know what name Zago is going under, how can we be certain that he’s still in San Filippo Neri and not another hospital?’

‘We can’t. That’s why we’ve installed agents in the other Roman hospitals. But everything points to San Filippo Neri. Davide Zago was recognised by two nurses at the time he was admitted, so we’re sure that it was him. After the operation we lost track of him. Someone falsified his hospital files. But in the oncology ward there turns out to have been one less patient than there are beds. And in the last three months no terminally ill patient has been transferred from San Filippo Neri.’

‘I see. Does anyone at the hospital know of my mission?’

‘Only the Medical Guarantor of Faith. He’ll be expecting you. You are to introduce yourself to the department as an assistant pilgrim priest. Thousands of pilgrim priests are arriving in Rome for the canonisation of Benedict XVI. No one will be surprised by your presence in the hospital.’

The Vicar fell silent. Salazar heard a rustling of cloth from behind the grille and couldn’t help thinking about the glass eye he’d just seen.

‘One more thing, inspector. Leaflets issued by the Free Death Brigade have been found around the city. These people are dangerous terrorists who will stop at nothing. They are financed by foreign powers and other enemies of the Church. There is a risk that they may be preparing to strike on Easter Day, when Benedict XVI is to be canonised. The security services are on red alert. In the past we’ve discovered some of their hiding-places and seized various pieces of propaganda material. But this time something more serious is afoot. What we fear even more than the threat of a massacre itself is the spectacular nature of the possible attack. The whole world would be abuzz, and that is something we can never countenance. That is why the arrest of some abortionist or other enemy of the faith would serve our purpose. They might lead us to the Free Death Brigades. We must make them feel that we are on their heels! You may go now, inspector. Leave the church and do not linger. I’ll be waiting for you here every Friday after evening mass, so call by if you have anything to report.’ The priest fell silent and withdrew into the darkness. Salazar stayed there motionless for a few moments and smelt a slight whiff of scent coming from the other side of the grille; a pleasant smell of strawberries spread through the air.

Even without seeing his interlocutor, the inspector knew instinctively what kind of man the Vicar was: one of the old guard, a man who had lived through troubled times and then witnessed the birth of the Catholic Republic. In a word, an old zealot who saw enemies of the faith at every turn. Number 2354 of the Catholic Catechism, as redrafted by His Holiness Benedict XVI in 2005, runs as follows: The citizen is conscience-bound to ignore the orders of the civil authorities when these run counter to the demands of the moral order, to fundamental rights or the teachings of the Gospel. It was this that led many Catholics to rebel against the godless laws of the Italian Republic. When parliament rejected the first proposal for a law which, in accordance with paragraph 2354, made offences against chastity a crime, together with homosexuality, masturbation and fornication, there were outbursts of protest all over Italy, and a state of emergency was declared. Salazar was still a pupil at the patriarchal monastery at the time, but he had clear memories of the atmosphere of frenzy and alarm which marked the months preceding the New Concordat.

That autumn, the prior began delivering solemn lectures which talked of invisible enemies. The pupils listened without understanding and, as they came out of the refectory where the priest would have them gather to hear his sermons, they were too scared to discuss them. For some months, lessons were given in the cramped classrooms which overlooked the courtyard rather than in the airy rooms overlooking the street. The Saturday walk was now a thing of the past. Pupils were allowed out only when accompanied by a guardian, in small groups and always in civilian clothes. Canons and novices alike spent a gloomy winter staring out of the refectory window watching the snow piling up on the roofs and then melting away. That was their only glimpse of the outside world. But Salazar also remembered that Sunday the following spring when the pope paid a visit to Bologna. That had been a memorable day. The bells rang out as they had never rung before. The fathers had received the news of the visit with trepidation. As time went by, relief was visible on their faces, as though some impending danger had been averted. As the event approached, they looked increasingly self-confident, and positively triumphant when the papal procession arrived at San Petronio. The square was heaving with little white and yellow flags. Salazar was in the first row of novices, lined up on the flight of steps in their splendid uniforms. Of all their number, it was he upon whom the pope had chosen to bestow his blessing.

Since then, almost twenty years had gone by. The Catholic Republic was by now on a firm footing. Internal dissent was minimal. The anti-papists preferred to leave Italy rather than mount any opposition. The pope’s rule was no longer in jeopardy. But a few hard-line canons still remained in the hierarchy. Such was their prestige that it was impossible to oust them from their posts. They still had the power to have people placed under surveillance, even bishops. Salazar sighed as he left the church. This was the kind of manhunt that would end in death. He would have preferred to have stayed in Amsterdam, busying himself with the Counter-Reformation, as he put it. That was something he did well. He was a hooligan at heart; he liked destroying things. He drew comfort from the fact that his mission in Rome would be short-lived. Wherever he was, with a brain tumour Davide Zago was not long for this world.

Salazar ate in a little restaurant in the Campo Marzio, then wandered through the narrow streets and, without realising it, found himself back at the convent. It was still early, and he was not remotely tired. Nevertheless, he pushed open the main door, turned the key in the inner gate and went into the tiled entrance hall, which smelled of vinegar. A light was on in the corridor, but no noise came from beyond the glass doors. Those Carmelite Nuns had struck him as strange from the moment he arrived. There seemed too few of them for a convent of that size. The mother superior had told him that building work was going on, to turn the place into a proper pilgrims’ hospice, but he had never seen any sign of activity on his wanderings through the corridors. All that was to be seen were crates of books and old furniture packed up for some imminent move. Even the little chapel on the ground floor seemed disused. The nuns attended mass in the Cantonese Church on the other side of the street. The candle in front of the statue of the Virgin in the niche on the main staircase flickered as he walked past.