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"Sure you did."
Michener stared down from the raised pulpit, eight feet above Ambrosi.
"Just come on out, Michener. Let's resolve this."
As Ambrosi turned, his back momentarily to him, Michener leaped down. Together they pounded the floor and rolled.
Ambrosi pushed himself away and sprang to his feet.
Michener started to rise, too.
Movement to his right caught his attention. He saw Katerina rushing toward them, a gun in hand. Ambrosi pivoted off a row of pews and vaulted toward her, thrusting his feet into her chest, sending her to the floor. Michener heard a thud as skull found stone. Ambrosi disappeared over the pews and came back into view with the gun in his grip, yanking a limp Katerina to her feet and ramming the gun barrel into her neck. "Okay, Michener. Enough."
He stood still.
"Give me Tibor's translation."
Michener took a few steps toward them and withdrew the envelope from his pocket. "This what you want?"
"Drop it on the floor and back away." The hammer on the gun clicked into place. "Don't push me, Michener. I possess the courage to do what needs to be done because the Lord gives me the strength."
"Perhaps He's testing to see what you will do?"
"Shut up. I don't need a theology lesson."
"I might be the best person on earth for that at the moment."
"Is it the words?" The tone was quizzical, like a schoolboy inquiring of his teacher. "They give you courage?"
He sensed something. "What is it, Ambrosi? Valendrea didn't tell you everything? Too bad. He held back the best part."
Ambrosi tightened his grip on Katerina. "Just drop the envelope and back away."
The desperate look in Ambrosi's eyes signaled that he might well make good on the threat. So he tossed the envelope to the floor.
Ambrosi released his hold on Katerina and shoved her toward Michener. He caught her and saw she was dazed from the head blow.
"You okay?" he asked.
Her eyes were glassy, but she nodded.
Ambrosi was examining the envelope's contents.
"How do you know that's what Valendrea wants?" he asked.
"I don't. But my instructions were clear. Get what I can and eliminate the witnesses."
"What if I made a copy?"
Ambrosi shrugged. "A chance we take. But, fortunately for us, you will not be here to offer any testimony." The gun came level, pointed straight at them. "This is the part I will truly enjoy."
A form emerged from the shadows and slowly inched close to Ambrosi from behind. Not a sound came from the approaching steps. The man was clad in black trousers and a loose-fitting black jacket. The outline of a gun appeared in one hand, and it was slowly raised to Ambrosi's right temple.
"I assure you, Father," Cardinal Ngovi said. "I, too, will enjoy this part."
"What are you doing here?" Ambrosi asked, surprise in his voice.
"I came to speak with you. So lower the weapon and answer some questions. Then you're free to go."
"You want Valendrea, don't you?"
"Why else do you think you're still breathing."
Michener held his breath as Ambrosi weighed his options. When he'd telephoned Ngovi earlier, he was banking on Ambrosi's survival instincts. He assumed that though Ambrosi might profess great loyalty, when it came to a choice between himself or his pope, there really was no choice at all. "It's over, Ambrosi." He pointed to the envelope. "I read it. Cardinal Ngovi read it. Too many know now. You can't win this one."
"And what was worth all this?" Ambrosi asked, the tone signaling that he was considering their proposal.
"Lower the gun and find out."
Another long moment of silence passed. Finally, Ambrosi's hand came down. Ngovi grabbed the weapon and stood back, his gun still trained on the priest.
Ambrosi faced Michener. "You were bait? The idea was to get me to follow?"
"Something like that."
Ngovi stepped forward. "We have some questions. Cooperate and there will be no police, no arrest. Just disappear. A good deal, considering."
"Considering what?"
"Father Tibor's murder."
Ambrosi chuckled. "That's a bluff and you know it. This is about you two bringing down Peter II."
Michener stood. "No. It's about you bringing Valendrea down. Which shouldn't matter at all. He'd do the same to you if the roles were reversed."
Without question the man standing before him had been involved in Father Tibor's death, most likely the actual murderer. But Ambrosi was surely smart enough to realize that the game had changed.
"Okay," Ambrosi said. "Ask away."
The cardinal reached into his jacket pocket.
A tape recorder came into view.
Michener helped Katerina into the Konigshof. Irma Rahn met them at the front door.
"Did it go all right?" the older woman asked Michener. "I've been frantic for the last hour."
"It went well."
"Praise God. I was so worried."
Katerina was still woozy, but feeling better.
"I'm going to take her upstairs," he said.
He helped her to the second floor. Once inside the room she immediately asked, "What in God's name was Ngovi doing there?"
"I called this a
fternoon and told him what I'd learned. He flew to Munich and arrived here right before I headed to the cathedral. It was my job to lure Ambrosi to St. Gangolf's. We needed a place away from the festivities. Irma told me the church wasn't displaying a crib scene this year. I had Ngovi talk with the parish priest. He doesn't know anything, only that Vatican officials needed his church for a little while." He knew what she was thinking. "Look, Kate, Ambrosi wouldn't hurt anyone until he had Tibor's translation. He could never be sure of anything until then. We had to play it out."
"So I was bait?"
"You and me. Defying him was the only way to make sure he'd turn on Valendrea."
"Ngovi's a tough one."
"He was raised a street kid in Nairobi. He knows how to handle himself."
They'd spent the past half hour with Ambrosi, recording what would be needed tomorrow. She'd listened and now knew everything, except the entire third secret of Fatima. He removed an envelope from his pocket. "Here's what Father Tibor sent to Clement. It's the copy I offered Ambrosi. Ngovi has the original."
She read the words, then commented, "That's similar to what Jasna wrote. You were just going to give Ambrosi the Medjugorje message?"
He shook his head. "Those are not Jasna's words. Those are the Virgin's, from Fatima, written by Lucia dos Santos in 1944, and translated by Father Tibor in 1960."
"You can't be serious. Do you realize what that would mean if the two messages were essentially the same?"
"I've realized that since this afternoon." His voice was low and calm and he waited while she considered the implications. They'd talked many times about her lack of her faith. But he'd never been one to judge, considering his own lapses. After which in the seven hilled city the dreadful judge will judge all people. Maybe Katerina was the first of many to judge themselves.
