The Fifth Gospel(174)
“Now,” he says, leaning forward again, “your brother needs my help. Tell me what I want and I’ll put the original copies of this evidence in your hand.” The corner of his upper lip rises. “You can burn them in my fireplace.”
He’s right. Without this evidence, the tribunal can’t convict Simon. But I have nothing to offer him. Only the truth.
When I hesitate, Boia’s eyes flash as if I’m about to give him what John Paul has been unable to get out of Simon. And I would, if I knew the answers he wanted.
“Nogara never told me what he discovered,” I say. “And I don’t think he told my brother either.”
Cardinal Boia’s eyes narrow.
“In fact,” I continue, “as far as I know, the only controversial discovery Ugo ever made was about the Fourth Crusade.”
Boia thrusts a finger in the air. “Don’t lie to me! You’re the gospel teacher. You’re the one who taught Nogara. You know the truth.”
I blink at him.
His eyes never leave me as his hand engulfs the tape recorder at his side. His thumb presses a single button, and suddenly I hear an automated voice.
Tuesday, August third. Four seventeen PM.
A pause. Then:
Simon, it’s Ugo again. Where the hell are you? Why won’t you answer your phone?
His voice is barely recognizable, so full of anger and emotion that it almost quakes.
I won’t change the galleries. You and your uncle don’t have my permission to alter one iota of the exhibit. The purpose of my work is to present the truth. Not cater to some political agenda.
A long silence follows. My hands are already gripping my cassock. This is the same Ugo I remember, fearless in support of the truth, but with a frightening, alien ferocity. His voice is even wilder than I remember it being when we met on the roof of Saint Peter’s and he told me he refused to let me work with him anymore. But it’s nothing compared to what follows.
When he speaks again, his voice is transformed. The ferocity has vanished. There is almost no trace of life in him at all.
Forget it. It doesn’t matter. The real reason for this phone call is to tell you it’s over, Simon. 1204 is irrelevant. The exhibit can’t go forward. I’m sending you something in the mail that explains what I found. Read it carefully and . . . and call me, Simon. For God’s sake. Just call me.
Cardinal Boia stops the recording. I can only stare at him in horror. So this is what the tribunal admitted into evidence yesterday after Corvi confirmed the voice was really Ugo’s.
“You had Simon’s phone bugged,” I say.
I still can’t believe what I’ve heard. Ugo sounded so enraged.
“I was made aware of this voice message promptly enough,” Boia says, “that I was able to have your brother’s nunciature mail opened and copied before it was delivered to him.”
He digs one more sheet from his stack of papers and slides it over to me. My chest tightens.
“Your expression suggests you recognize it,” he says.
A photocopy of the letter I found with Simon’s day planner. The letter Ugo wrote about their meeting at the Casina.
Cardinal Boia’s finger points to a particular line.
I’ve taken my gospel lessons from Alex very seriously.
This must be how Boia knew who I was.