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        "During the week. Aragones on Sunday, Zafer on Tuesday, and Sigfried disappeared on Wednesday. We don't know when the Isaacs disappeared."
        "Did the entire family disappear?" Schmidt wanted to know.
        "Yes, the wife and the son also," Tarcisio concluded.
        "Who's going to handle this?"
        "Our liaison officer with SISMI and a special agent."
        "Who?"
        "Father Rafael. Do you remember him?"
        "Of course. Very competent. You don't need me," Schmidt remarked. "The situation is in good hands."
        Tarcisio did not seem convinced, to the contrary. He was nervous and agitated, tapping his foot on the fl oor.
        "If this explodes in our face . . ."
        "The church always survives everything and everyone," Schmidt offered. "I don't see any reason it shouldn't survive now."
        "You don't see? They're after documents that prove—"
        "That don't prove anything," Schmidt deliberated. "No one knows who wrote them or with what motives. They're only words."
        "An order in words wounds and kills," Tarcisio objected.
        "Words only have the power we give them," Schmidt disagreed without altering the tone of his voice.
        "Is this your defense now?"
        "Nothing needs my defense. Much less the church."
        "Tarcisio got up, irritated, and began to pace back and forth with his hands behind him.
    "We're at war, Hans."
        "We've been at war for two thousand years. I've always heard this war talked about, and we don't even have an army," Schmidt said ironically.
        "Can't you see what will happen if these documents fall into the wrong hands?"
        "If I remember well, Pope Roncalli took steps to avoid that sce nario. The agreement—"
        "The agreement expired," Tarcisio interrupted, raising his hands in the air. "It ran for fifty years. It ended a few days ago."
        "I know, Tarcisio. Personally I don't believe that Ben Isaac would have appropriated the docu—"
        "Why not? The contract had expired."
        For the first time Schmidt looked at him apprehensively. "Because I knew Isaac when he was renewing the agreement. Ben Isaac could be a victim, but not a villain."
        "That was twenty-five years ago. You saw him two or three times. Let's not forget that he is . . . Jewish." He said it as if it were a grave fault.
        "He's not a Jew, he's a banker. And we also pray to a Jew, Tarcisio."
        "It's not the same thing," the cardinal said, excusing himself.
        "I don't see the difference. He never knew any other religion."
        "Jesus founded the Catholic Church."
        "Tarcisio, please. You are the most influential cardinal in the Roman Catholic Apostolic Church today. Jesus never knew the Catho lic Church or any other inheritor of His name. He never founded it or, much less, asked that we construct it."
        The subject disturbed Tarcisio. It was a point of friction between the two men. This freethinking of Schmidt's exasperated him and only gave trouble to his friend. He remembered just then that this was the principal reason that his friend found himself in Rome tonight. He sat down again and let the silence spread through the office. Hans remained immobile, his legs crossed, the Austrian iceman, imperturbable.
    "Are you prepared for tomorrow?" Tarcisio fi nally asked.
    "I'll see when tomorrow comes."
        "I'm not going to be able to help you in front of the congregation, Hans. I'm sorry," he said awkwardly. He was genuinely sorry.
        "I'm not asking for your help, Tarcisio, nor would I accept it. Don't be sorry, don't worry about it. The congregation will make their deci sion. If they think my opinions fit with the church, fine. If not, fi ne as well. Either way serves me, and none will affect me."
        The confidence with which Schmidt offered these words impressed Tarcisio. They came from deep within him; they were sincere, without any