Papal decree

45

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 She could seem bitter and withdrawn, but she was always lovely.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.

Francesco was increasingly unhappy. Some things were better not to know.

‘That said, you’re the boyfriend of someone important in all this. Your head is always at risk… if you don’t act right,’ JC warned.

The man in the Armani suit entered the room, bringing with him a note of dread. Everything made Francesco shiver. It was surreal. The old man practically threatened him with death if he didn’t treat Sarah right.

‘How are things?’ JC asked his lame assistant.

‘Dispersed.’

The old man stopped eating and looked at him. ‘Then the time has come to bring everything together.’ He wiped his mouth on a napkin.

JC held out his arm to ask his assistant to help him up. The cripple raised him to his feet and gave him his cane.

‘Shall we go?’ JC said to everyone and no one.

‘Go where?’ Francesco asked, getting up awkwardly.

JC walked to the door of the suite, aided by the cripple on one side and the cane on the other, leaving Francesco behind. ‘Let’s take a walk. It’s time for you to play your part.’