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Eminence. It is to be “Ave Maria” tonight. A little untraditional but Cardinal Bertole is dining in the main room and it’s his favourite.’
    She went out leaving the door open. Versano grimaced.
    ‘I think I’d better stay here. You two frequently have reason enough to be talking, but for the three of us to be seen together - that might look too suspicious.’
    The other two nodded in understanding, picked up their cups of coffee and moved to the door.
    The serving sisters had all gathered in front of the plaster statue of the Virgin Mary. There was a silence in the full room. Mennini nodded at a few familiar faces. At a signal from Sister Maria the girls raised their heads and began to sing. It is a tradition in the L’Eau Vive that they always sing over coffee; usually a hymn. The patrons are urged to join in. Most of them did so this night and the room was filled with rich sounds. Van Burgh added his deep baritone and, after a verse, Mennini chimed in with a cracked tenor. The chorus of serving sisters sang in perfect harmony as they gazed rapturously at the statue.
    The last angelic tones died away. There was no applause but everyone in the room felt somehow uplifted and satisfied.
    Mennini and Van Burgh turned back into the private room and closed the door behind them. Versano was pouring, from a very old bottle, three tots of brandy of an age lost in antiquity. As they settled themselves he said, ‘We must decide on a modus operandi.’
    Mennini immediately agreed. ‘We are sworn to secrecy. This thing must be accomplished by us alone and those whom we recruit. In their tasks they must never know the objective except of course for the envoy.’ He turned to the Dutchman. ‘Father Pieter, how long will it take you to evaluate this man Scibor?’
    ‘No more than a few days, Your Eminence.’
    ‘Then I suggest we meet again here in two weeks’ time.’
    Versano nodded in agreement and pulled his chair closer. In a low voice he said, ‘We may have to communicate by phone. I suggest a simple code is in order.’
    The others leaned closer, drawn by the lure of conspiracy. Versano said, ‘The envoy shall be known as just that. It’s an innocuous word. The woman who travels with him will be known as la cantante - the singer.’ He gestured towards the outside room, presumably indicating that the inspiration for this had come from the singing sisters. ‘And Andropov, the target, will be known simply as l’uomo - the man.’
    ‘And we?’ Van Burgh asked. ‘What will we be known as?’
    There was a silence for thought, then Mennini, with a thin smile, supplied the answer.
    ‘ Nostra Trinita. Our trinity.’
    They all liked it. Versano raised his glass.
    ‘ Nostra Trinita. ’
    The other two echoed the toast, then the Bacon Priest proposed another and they raised their glasses and toasted: ‘The Papa ’s envoy!’
    Then Mennini, as if determined not to allow his co-conspirators to forget the full implications of what they were doing, gravely proposed a toast of his own.
    ‘In the name of the Father.’
     

 
     
     
    Chapter 3
     
    Mirek Scibor sat on the third bench on the second path after the clock tower in Vienna’s Schönbrunn Palace Park. It was exactly the spot that he had been told to sit and wait. Sitting further down the bench was a fat old woman dressed in black. She wore a grey lace scarf over grey hair and she irritated Mirek. His contact was to arrive in five minutes and she showed no signs of moving. She had been there twenty minutes, frequently coughing into a grubby handkerchief. He looked down at her black stockinged feet. They bulged arthritically out of scuffed pinch-buckle shoes. She also emitted a rancid, unwashed odour. Distastefully he looked away and around him at the city, and his irritation faded. This was only his second day in the West and he was elated by his escape and by the wonders of what he had seen, an elation that sometimes almost dampened the hatred that was an