Read Online The Last Pope by Luis Miguel Rocha - Free Book Online

seen this car before, she realized. The image of that dark vehicle came to Sarah’s mind, but she couldn’t figure out where or when she’d seen it. Her photographic memory came to her aid. It was the same car that had suddenly stopped in front of her taxi. The driver had opened the window, shouted “Sorry, mate,” at the taxi, and sped away. Which meant that it could have been there for more than three hours. It could mean everything, or nothing at all—an imminent danger, or simply a spy movie running in her head. And her second hypothesis seemed closer to the truth.
    A ring from her cell phone startled her.
    “Hello?”
    “Hello, Sarah.”
    “Dad, finally! Where were you?”
    At last he was calling her back. The relief of hearing Captain Raul Brandão Monteiro’s calm, deep voice brought her down to earth. It was over now, her fears dissipated.
    “I was taking your mother to—”
    “Where?”
    “Sarah . . .”
    Her father’s voice wasn’t that calm. In fact, she’d never heard him so agitated. The sudden relief of a few seconds before changed to anxious doubt, intensified by the shift in his usually warm, affectionate voice.
    “I received an envelope from a man named—”
    “Don’t mention names, Sarah. From now on, do not mention names. Don’t say where you are, either. To anyone, you hear me? Unless you’re talking to someone who can be entirely trusted.”
    “Dad, you’re scaring me. Do you know anything about those papers?”
    Silence.
    “Dad, please don’t hide things from me. Your name appears on a list—”
    “I beg you, Sarah. Don’t say another word about this. I know what you received,” he said, sounding constrained, like someone who had lost his grip on something he had somehow once controlled. “I know what you received,” he repeated, making an effort to sound more at ease. “But they don’t know it, and I’m completely sure they’re listening to us now.”
    “They—who are they, Dad?” she asked, panic in her voice.
    “This is no time to talk, but to act, my dear. Do you remember Grandma’s home?”
    “What—why are you bringing that up now?”
    “Do you remember it, or don’t you?”
    “The house? Of course. How could I ever forget it?”
    “Great.”
    Suddenly she saw a pair of eyes at the window. A chill ran down her spine.
    “Sarah,” her father’s voice called out. He repeated her name again and again, but she didn’t answer. She was petrified, staring at the window, where those eyes had been watching her without her noticing. “Sarah,” her father insisted anxiously.
    Then she heard unhurried, heavy steps. The sound paralyzed her. They were getting close to her door.
    “Sarah.” Her father’s voice broke her stupor.
    “Yes, I’m listening.”
    Ding-dong.
    “Someone’s at the door. I’ve got to get it.”
    “Don’t!” her father warned, alarmed.
    “Dad, I’m your daughter, not one of your soldiers.”
    “Guard those papers at all times, always keep them with you. Understand? And remember what your grandma told you when you were afraid to go out, to get too close to the cattle.”
    “I’ll try.”
    Sarah thought about what her father had said. As a child in Escariz, where they spent some time every year, she had been afraid of the cows. She remembered how she hated to get close to those enormous animals. Her grandmother had to move the always threatening cows aside for her to go out. At some point her grandmother stopped clearing her way.
    “You make them move aside,” she’d say. “It’s about time you stopped being scared of them.”
    “There’s always a solution.” Her grandma’s words of wisdom.
    Sarah kept the papers sent to her by that man, Valdemar Firenzi. She looked for her handbag and found it next to her computer. She took out her wallet and credit cards, and walked to the stairs, glancing anxiously back at the door. Whoever was outside was now twisting the doorknob violently after repeatedly pounding on the door