The Doomsday Conspiracy (17 page)

Robert's thoughts were going around in a futile circle. Back to the beginning. How did the priest get to Switzerland? The chances are pretty good that he doesn't own a car. Someone could have given him a lift, but more probably he traveled by plane or train or took a bus. If he were on vacation, he wouldn't have a lot of time. So let's assume he took a plane. That line of reasoning led nowhere. Airlines did not list the occupations of their passengers. The priest would be yet another name on the passenger manifest. But if he were part of a group...

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The Vatican, the official residence of the pope, rises majestically on Vatican Hill, on the west bank of the Tiber, in the northwest end of Rome. The dome of St. Peter's Basilica, designed by Michelangelo, towers over the huge piazza, filled day and night with avid sightseers of all faiths.

The piazza is surrounded by two semicircular colonnades completed in 1667 by Bernini, with 284 columns of travertine marble placed in 4 rows and surmounted by a balustrade on which stand 140 statues. Robert had visited there a dozen times, but each time the sight took his breath away.

The interior of the Vatican, of course, was even more spectacular. The Sistine Chapel and the museum and the Sala Rotonda were indescribably beautiful.

But on this day, Robert had not come here to sightsee. He found the Office of Public Relations for the Vatican in the wing of the buzilding devoted to secular aliais. The young man behind the desk was polite.

"May I help you?"

Robert flashed an identification card.

"I'm with Time magazine.

I'm doing an article on some priests who attended a convocation in Switzerland in the past week or two. I'm looking for background information." The man studied him for a moment, then frowned.

"We had some priests attend a convocation in Venice last month. None of our priests was in Switzerland recently. I'm sorry, I'm afraid I can't help you."

"It's really very important," Robert said earnestly.

"How would I go about getting that information?"

"The group you are looking for-what branch of the church do they represent?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"There are many Roman Catholic orders. There are Franciscans, Marists, Benedictines, Trappists, Jesuits, Dominicans, and several others. I suggest you go to the order they belong to and inquire there." Where the hell is "there"? Robert wondered.

"Do you have any other suggestions?"

"I'm afraid not."

Neither have I, Robert thought I found the haystack. I can't find the needle.

He left the Vatican and wandered through the streets of Rome, heedless of the people around him, concentrating on his problem. At the Piazza del Popolo, he sat down at an outdoor cafe and ordered a Cinzano. Page 99

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It sat in front of him, untouched.

For all he knew, the priest could still be in Switzerland. What order does he belong to? I don't know. And I have only the professor's word that he was Roman.

He took a sip of his drink.

There was a late-afternoon plane to Washington. I'm going to be on it, Robert decided. I give up. The thought galled him. Out, not with a bang, but with a whimper. It was time to leave.

"Il conto, per favore."

"Si, signore."

Robert's eyes swept idly around the piazza. Across from the cafe, a bus was loading passengers. In the line were two priests. Robert watched as the passengers paid their fares and moved toward the back of the bus. When the priests reached the conductor, they smiled at him and took their seats without paying.

"Your check, signore," the waiter said. Robert didn't even hear him. His mind was racing. Here, in the heart of the Catholic church, priests had certain privileges. It was possible, just possible... The offices of Swissair are located at 10 Via Po, five minutes from the Via Veneto.

Robert was greeted by a man behind the counter.

"May I see the manager, please?"

"I am the manager. Can I help you?"

Robert flashed an identification card.

"Michael Hudson.

Interpol."

"What can I do for you, Mr. Hudson?"

"Some international carriers are complaining about illegal price discounting in Europe-in Rome, particularly. According to international convention-"

"Excuse me, Mr. Hudson, but Swissair does not give discounts. Everyone pays the posted fares."

"Everyone?"

"With the exception of employees of the airline, of course.

"Don't you have a discount for priests?"

"No. On this airline, they pay full fare." On this airline.

"Thank you for your time." And Robert was gone. His next stop-and his last hope-was Alitalia.

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"Illegal discounts?"

The manager was staring at Robert, puzzled.

"We give discounts only to our employees.

"Don't you give discounts to priests?" The manager's face brightened.

"Ah, that, yes. But that is not illegal. We have arrangements with the Catholic church."

Robert's heart soared.

"So, if a priest wanted to fly from Rome, say, to Switzerland, he would use this airline?"

"Well, it would be cheaper for him. Yes." Robert said, "In order to bring our computers up-to date, it would be helpful if you could tell me how many priests have flown to Switzerland in the past two weeks. You would have a record of that, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, of course. For tax purposes."

"I would really appreciate that information."

"You wish to know how many priests have flown to Switzerland in the past two weeks?"

"Yes. Zurich or Geneva."

"Just a moment. I will talk to our computers." Five minutes later, the manager returned with a computer printout.

"There was only one priest who flew Alitalia to Switzerland in the past two weeks." He consulted the printout.

"He left Rome on the seventh and flew to Zurich. His return flight was booked for two days ago."

Robert took a deep breath.

"His name?"

"Father Romero Patrini."

"His address?"

He looked down at the paper again.

"He lives in Orvieto. If you need any further-" He looked up. Robert was gone.

Day Seven Orvieto, Italy

Robert stopped the car on a hairpin bend on route 5-71, and there across the valley, high on a rise of volcanic rock, was a breathtaking view of the city. It was an ancient Etruscan center with a world-famous cathedral, half a dozen churches, and a priest who had witnessed the Page 101

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crash of a UFO.

The town was untouched by time, with cobblestone streets and lovely old buildings, and an open-air market where farmers came to sell their fresh vegetables and chickens.

Robert found a parking place in the Piazza del Duomo. He crossed to the cathedral and went inside. The enormous interior was deserted, except for an elderly priest who was just leaving the altar.

"Excuse me, Father," Robert said.

"I'm looking for a priest from this town who was in Switzerland last week. Perhaps you-" The priest drew back, his face hostile.

"I cannot discuss this."

Robert looked at him in surprise.

"I don't understand. I just want to find-"

"He is not of this church. He is from the Church of San Giovenale." And the priest hurried past Robert.

Why is he so unfriendly?

The Church of San Giovenale was in the Quartiere Vecchio, a colorful area with medieval towers and churches. A young priest was tending the garden next to it. He looked up as Robert approached.

"Buon giorno, signore."

"Good morning. I'm looking for one of the priests who was in Switzerland last week. He "Yes, yes. Poor Father Patrini. It was a terrible, terrible thing that happened to him."

"I don't understand. What terrible thing?"

"Seeing the devil's chariot. It was more than he could stand. The poor man had a nervous breakdown."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Robert said.

"Where is he now? I would like to talk to him."

"He's in the hospital near the Piazza di San Patrizio, but I doubt if the doctors will allow anyone to see him." Robert stood there, troubled. A man suffering a nervous breakdown was not going to be much help.

"I see. Thank you very much."

The hospital was an unpretentious one-story building near the outskirts of the city. He parked the car and walked into the small lobby. There was a nurse behind the reception desk.

"Good morning," Robert said.

"I would like to see Father Patrini."

"Mi scusi, ma-that is impossible. He cannot speak with anyone." Page 102

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Robert was determined not to be stopped now. He had to follow up the lead Professor Schmidt had given him.

"You don't understand," Robert said smoothly.

"Father Patrini asked to see me. I've come to Orvieto at his request."

"He asked to see you?"

"Yes. He wrote to me in America. I've come all this way just to see him."

The nurse hesitated.

"I do not know what to say. He is very ill. Molto."

"I'm sure it would cheer him up to see me."

"The doctor is not here-" She made a decision.

"Very well. You may go into his room, sjgnore, but you may only stay a few minutes."

"That's all I'll need," Robert said.

"This way, per piacere."

They walked down a short corridor with small, neat rooms on either side. The nurse led Robert to one of the doors.

"Only a few minutes, signore."

"Grazie."

Robert entered the little room. The man in the bed looked like a pale shadow lying on the white sheets. Robert approached him and said softly, "Father The priest turned to look up at him, and Robert had never seen such agony in a man's eyes.

"Father, my name is-" He grabbed Robert's arm.

"Help me," the priest mumbled.

"You must help me. My faith is gone. All my life I have preached of God and the Holy Spirit, and now I know that there is no God. There is only the devil, and he has come for us-"

"Father, if you-"

"I saw it with my own eyes. There were two of them in the devil's chariot, but, oh, there will be more! Others will come! Wait and see. We are all doomed to hell."

"Father-listen to me. What you saw was not the devil. It was a space vehicle that-" The priest let go of Robert and looked at him with sudden clarity.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

Robert said, "I'm a friend. I came here to ask you about the bus trip Page 103

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you took in Switzerland."

"The bus. I wish I had never gone near it." The priest was becoming agitated again.

Robert hated to press him, but he had no choice.

"You sat next to a man on that bus. A Texan. You had a long conversation with him, remember?"

"A conversation. The Texan. Yes, I remember."

"Did he mention where he lived in Texas?"

"Yes, I remember him. He was from America."

"Yes. From Texas. Did he tell you where his home was?"

"Yes, yes. He told me."

"Where, Father? Where is his home?"

"Texas. He talked of Texas."

Robert nodded encouragingly.

"That's right."

"I saw them with my own eyes. I wish God had blinded me. I-"

"Father-the man from Texas. Did he say where he was from? Did he mention a name?"

"Texas, yes. The Ponderosa."

Robert tried again.

"That's on television. This was a real man. He sat next to you onThe priest was becoming delirious again.

"They're coming! Armageddon is here. The Bible lies! It is the devil who will invade the earth."

He was shouting loudly now.

"Look out! Look out! I can see them!" The nurse came hurrying in. She looked at Robert reprovingly.

"You will have to leave, signore."

"I need just one more minute-"

"No, signore. Adesso!"

Robert took one last look at the priest. He was raving incoherently. Robert turned to go. There was nothing further he could do. He had gambled on the priest giving him a lead to the Texan, and he had lost. Robert returned to his car and headed back toward Rome. It was finally over. The only clues he had left-if they could be called clues-were the mention of a Russian woman, a Texan, and a Hungarian. Page 104

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But there was no way to pursue them any farther. Check and check mate. It was frustrating to have come this far and then to be stopped. If only the priest had remained coherent long enough to give him the information he needed! He had been so close. What was it the priest had said? The Ponderosa. The old priest has been watching too much television and, in his delirium, he obviously associated Texas with the once-popular TV

show, "Bonanza." The Ponderosa, where the mythical Cartwright family lived. The Ponderosa. Robert slowed the car and pulled over to the side of the road, his mind racing. He made a U-turn and sped back toward Orvieto.

Half an hour later, Robert was talking to the bartender in a small trattoria in the Piazza della Repubblica.

"You have a beautiful town here," Robert said.

"It's very peaceful."

"Oh, si, signore, we are quite content here. Have you visited Italy before?"

"I spent part of my honeymoon in Rome."

"You make all my dreams come true, Robert. I've wanted to see Rome ever since I was a little girl."

"Ah, Rome. Too big. Too noisy."

"I agree."

"We live simple lives here, but we are happy." Robert said casually, "I noticed television antennas on many of the roofs here."

"Oh, yes, indeed. We are quite up-to-date in that respect."

"One can see that. How many television channels does the town receive?"

"Only one."

"I suppose you get a good many American shows?"

"No, no. This is a government channel. Here we receive only shows made in Italy."

Bingo! "Thank you."