Stay of Execution

72

The policeman and the soldier faced each other across a table in a corner of the big restaurant in Brussels airport’s departure area. They had barely spoken on the journey from Winters’s office, not wanting to say anything that their driver might overhear.

Adam Arrow picked up his knife and fork to attack his gammon steak, saw Skinner staring absently at his salad, and put them down again. ‘So?’

‘Do you need to ask, mate?’

‘Not really. The Belgians are throwing a fookin’ blanket over something, that’s for sure. What you said to my friend Pierre was dead right. He’s not usually such a wanker, by the way. He was reading from someone else’s script.’

‘Can you get to its author?’

Arrow shook his head gloomily. ‘I can do a lot of things, Bob, but this is the business of a sovereign state, one that happens, in addition, to be one of our European partners. I’d need a big wedge to get anywhere; first I’d have to persuade my own secretary of state, and he’d have to talk to his colleagues. Now if you were to tell me that, by withholding information, the Belgians were compromising the safety of the Pope, they’d listen to that.’

‘I can’t tell you that for sure,’ said Skinner, ‘or I’d have told Colonel Winters, straight out. This started as a murder investigation, pure and simple, and it still is, only being denied information by the Belgian military means it isn’t so simple any longer. There’s something in these men’s past that relates to all this. Maybe Malou’s acquaintance with the young John the Twenty-fifth has nothing to do with it, but maybe it has.’

‘Then why not go at it from the other side?’ Arrow could hold himself back no longer from his lunch. He picked up his cutlery and set to work, with Skinner looking at him, frowning.

‘You know,’ said the DCC, ‘you’re bloody right.’ He took out his cell phone and scrolled through his stored numbers until he found one under the name ‘Rossi’, and selected it.

The Italian answered in seconds. ‘Sì.’

‘English, please, Gio; it’s Bob Skinner. I need you to get something for me. I know the Vatican maintains an official biography of the Pope, but is it exhaustive?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Sorry; is it absolutely detailed? Does it cover every step of his career in the priesthood?’

‘They have a long version, Bob, and a short version. I’ll get you the long one. When do you need it?’

‘First thing tomorrow, my office. Oh, and Gio, do you have a number for His Holiness’s private secretary?’

‘Father Collins? He’s with me now. Hold on.’ There was a silence as he handed his phone over.

‘Mr Skinner,’ said the young Scots voice, ‘what can I do for you?’

‘How often do you speak to the Pope?’

‘Every day, even when I’m away on a mission like this: I have to call him this evening.’

‘When you do, will you ask him a question for me?’

He heard Angelo Collins hesitate. ‘I’m not sure. One does not interrogate the Holy Father.’

‘I know, but it’s a simple question. Does the name Auguste Malou mean anything to him? That’s all. It’s necessary, I assure you.’

‘I think I can ask him that. Can you repeat it?’

Skinner did as he asked, then folded his phone and put it away. ‘Let’s hope I get more out of that than I did out of the bloody Belgians.’