In The Name of The Father Read Online Free

the whole project might well be dropped.
    At the mention of Andropov the Pope rose and walked over to the windows and stood silently gazing down at St Peter’s Square. Then he turned and said quietly, ‘Mario, if it is the will of God then that evil man will die before he can perpetrate that atrocity. If not, then it is we who may die.’
    Versano also rose and walked slowly across the room. They stood facing each other. The Pope was a big man, but the American was a head taller, if not as thick-set. Versano drawled huskily, ‘It will be the will of God. Your Holiness is a beacon to mankind. A unique force for good. Such evil cannot and will not overcome that.’
    He went down on one knee, pulled the Pope’s hand towards him and fervently kissed the ring.
     
    Back in his office, Archbishop Mario Versano gave instructions that he was not to be interrupted. Then he sat behind his desk and for the next hour smoked a series of Marlboros and exercised his considerable intellect. In spite of his happy-go-lucky appearance, the desk was remarkably neat. A telephone console close to his right hand; filing trays on the left; neat stacks of paper to the front; a solid silver Dunhill table lighter exactly centred. On the walls were framed and signed photographs of leading personalities from the banking, diplomatic, ecclesiastical and even showbusiness worlds. Some - in the banking section - had been taken down in the light of continuing investigation by authorities outside the Vatican, but Versano did not feel touched by that. He had tilted his chair on to two legs and was resting his broad back against the wall. After an hour he tipped his chair forward, reached for the lighter, lit another cigarette and punched a button on his telephone console.
    There came the tinny voice of his very private personal secretary. The one who knew almost all the secrets.
    ‘Yes, Your Grace?’
    ‘Is the Bacon Priest still in town?’
    ‘Yes, Your Grace, he is at the Collegio Russico. He leaves for Amsterdam in the morning.’
    ‘Good. Get him on the line for me.’
    A short pause, then Versano said heartily, ‘Pieter, Mario Versano. When did you last eat at L’Eau Vive?’
    ‘Too long ago, my young friend. I’m just a poor priest, you know.’
    Versano’s answering laugh was conspiratorial.
    ‘Nine o’clock tonight then, in the back room.’
    He hung up and summoned his secretary, a pale thin priest with spectacles thick enough for a telescope. Brusquely Versano ordered, ‘Book the back room at L’Eau Vive for tonight. And tell Ciban that I would deem it a favour if he would have the entire restaurant carefully “swept” this afternoon.’
    The secretary made a note and then said diffidently, ‘It’s very short notice, Your Grace. What if the room is already booked . . . by a Cardinal, say?’
    Versano smiled broadly. ‘Speak to Sister Maria personally. Tell her that no one, apart from His Holiness himself, will be more important than my guests.’
    The secretary nodded and left. Versano reached for a fresh Marlboro, lit it, dragged appreciatively and then made one more phone call and issued one more invitation. Then he tilted his chair, rested his back against the wall and sighed contentedly.
     

 
     
     
    Chapter 2
     
    It was raining lightly but Father Pieter Van Burgh left his taxi near the Pantheon and walked the last few hundred yards. Habits die hard, especially when they protect a life. He pulled his cloak around him and hurried down the narrow Via Monterone. It was a cold night and there were few people on the street. With a quick backward look he ducked into the recessed doorway.
    It was brightly lit; not at all plush. At first an ordinary looking restaurant. But his cloak was taken by a tall black girl dressed in a long batik gown; she wore a gold crucifix at her neck. The priest knew that she was a nun, as were all the serving girls. They came from a French missionary order that worked in West Africa.
    Another woman