The Road to Omaha by Robert Ludlum Read Free Book Online Page B

lamps lit up the three visible walls of a large pine-paneled office. The walls themselves, however, could barely be seen, as they were covered with framed photographs and, contrarily, Scotch-taped newspaper articles, many askew as if hastily, perhaps angrily, stuck to the surfaces between the profusion of photographs. “This place is a bloody mess!” exclaimed the mother of the inhabitant. “I’ll insist he clean it up!”
    “I wouldn’t even consider it,” remarked Pinkus, approaching the nearest newspaper clippings on the left wall. In the main, they depicted a white-habited nun dispensing food and clothing to indigent people—white, black, and Hispanic—in various parts of the world, SISTER ANNE THE BENEVOLENT CARRIES HER MESSAGE TO ALL POINTS OF THE GLOBE , cried one headline over a photograph of a slum in Rio de Janeiro, the mountain crucifix seen clearly in the upper distance of that jet-set city. The other clippings were a variation of the same theme—photos of a markedly attractive nun in Africa, Asia, Central America, and the leper islands in the Pacific, SISTER ANNE, SISTER OF CHARITY, SISTER OF HOPE and, finally, ANNE THE BENEVOLENT, A CANDIDATE FOR SAINTHOOD ?
    Aaron, putting on his steel-rimmed glasses, studied the photographs. They were all taken at some extravagant retreat reeking of edelweiss, the Alps generally in the background, the subjects in the photographs happy and carefree, the enjoyment of life lighting up their faces. Several were instantly recognizable: a somewhat younger Sam Devereaux; the tall, aggressive figure of the maniac general,‘Madman’ MacKenzie Hawkins; an ash-blond woman in shorts and a halter—voluptuous, indeed, and unmistakably Anne the Benevolent; and a fourth figure, a stout, smiling, jovial fellow in a short chef’s apron that barely concealed his lederhosen. Who
was
he? The face was familiar but—no,
no, NO
!
    “The God of Abraham has deserted us,” whispered Aaron Pinkus, trembling.
    “What in the name of the Celtics are you talking about?” asked Eleanor Devereaux.
    “You probably wouldn’t remember, because it meant nothing to you,” answered Aaron rapidly, unsteadily, a distinct quaver in his soft voice. “But a number of years ago the Vatican was in disarray—financial disarray. Monies were flowing out of its treasury in … in megabuckets, supporting causes so unlikely as third-rate opera companies and carnivals and houses throughout Europe to rehabilitate prostitutes, all manner of
insanities
. The people thought the Pope had gone
crazy
, that he was, as they say,
pazzo
! Then, just before the Eternal City’s complete collapse, which would have resulted in panic throughout the investment world, everything suddenly returned to normal. The Pontiff was back in control, his old self! The media everywhere said it was like he had been
two people
—one
pazzo
, the other the fine good man they all knew and loved.”
    “My dear Mr. Pinkus, you’re not making the slightest bit of sense.”
    “Look,
look
!” cried Aaron, pointing at a smiling, fleshed-out face in one of the photographs. “That’s
him
!”
    “Who?”
    “The Pope! That’s where the money came from. The ransom! The press was right, they
were
two people! General Hawkins and your son
kidnapped
the
Pope
!… Eleanor,
Eleanor
?” Aaron turned from the wall.
    Lady Devereaux had collapsed to the floor unconscious.

4
    “
Nobody’s
that clean,” said Director Mangecavallo quietly, his voice laced with incredulity as he addressed the two dark-suited men seated across the table in the DCI’s dimly lit kitchen in McLean, Virginia. “It’s not natural, you know what I mean? Maybe you didn’t scrounge around hard enough, huh, Fingers?”
    “I tell you, Vinnie, I was shocked,” replied the short, obese man who answered to the name of Fingers as he touched the knot of his white silk tie that fell over his black shirt. “Like you say, it ain’t natural—it ain’t even
human
. What