A Death in Vienna

their own. The portly little bishop made the sign of the cross and padded slowly away down the arched passageway.
    IT WAS GABRIEL,two hours later, who found it. Erich Radek had arrived at the Anima on March 3, 1948. On May 24, the Pontifical Commission for Assistance, the Vatican’s refugee aid organization, issued Radek a Vatican identity document bearing the number 9645/99 and the alias “Otto Krebs.” That same day, with the help of Bishop Hudal, Otto Krebs used his Vatican identification to secure a Red Cross passport. The following week he was issued an entrance visa by the Arab Republic of Syria. He purchased second-class passage with money given to him by Bishop Hudal and set sail from the Italian port of Genoa in late June. Krebs had five hundred dollars in his pocket. A receipt for the money, bearing Radek’s signature, had been kept by Bishop Hudal. The final item in the Radek file was a letter, with a Syrian stamp and Damascus postmark, that thanked Bishop Hudal and the Holy Father for their assistance and promised that one day the debt would be repaid. It was signed Otto Krebs.
    20
    ROME
    BISHOP DREXLER LISTENEDto the audio tape one final time, then dialed the number in Vienna. “I’m afraid we have a problem.”
    “What sort of problem?”
    Drexler told the man in Vienna about the visitors to the Anima that morning: Monsignor Donati and a professor from Hebrew University in Jerusalem.
    “What did he call himself?”
    “Rubenstein. He claimed to be a researcher on the Historical Commission.”
    “He was no professor.”
    “I gathered that, but I was hardly in a position to challenge his bona fides. Monsignor Donati is a very powerful man within the Vatican. There’s only one more powerful, and that’s the heretic he works for.”
    “What were they after?”
    “Documentation about assistance given by Bishop Hudal to a certain Austrian refugee after the war.”
    There was a long silence before the man posed his next question.
    “Have they left the Anima?”
    “Yes, about an hour ago.”
    “Why did you wait so long to telephone?”
    “I was hoping to provide you with some information that can be put to good use.”
    “Can you?”
    “Yes, I believe so.”
    “Tell me.”
    “The professor is staying at the Cardinal Hotel on the Via Giulia. And he’s checked into the room in the name of René Duran, with a Canadian passport.”
    “I NEED YOUto collect a clock in Rome.”
    “When?”
    “Immediately.”
    “Where is it?”
    “There’s a man staying at the Cardinal Hotel on the Via Giulia. He’s registered in the name of René Duran, but sometimes he’s using the name of Rubenstein.”
    “How long will he be in Rome?”
    “Unclear, which is why you need to leave now. There’s an Alitalia flight leaving for Rome in two hours. A business-class seat has been reserved in your name.”
    “If I’m traveling by plane, I won’t be able to bring the tools I’ll need for the repair. I’ll need someone to supply me those tools in Rome.”
    “I have just the man.” He recited a telephone number, which the Clockmaker committed to memory. “He’s very professional, and most important, extremely discreet. I wouldn’t send you to him otherwise.”
    “Do you have a photograph of this gentleman, Duran?”
    “It will be coming over your fax machine momentarily.”
    The Clockmaker hung up the phone and switched off the lights at the front of the shop. Then he entered his workshop and opened a storage cabinet. Inside was a small overnight bag, containing a change of clothing and a shaving kit. The fax machine rang. The Clockmaker pulled on an overcoat and hat while the face of a dead man eased slowly into view.
    21
    ROME
    GABRIEL TOOK Atable inside Doney the following morning to have coffee. Thirty minutes later, a man entered and went to the bar. He had hair like steel wool and acne scars on his broad cheeks. His clothing was expensive but worn poorly. He drank two espressos rapid-fire and kept a cigarette working the entire time. Gabriel looked down at hisLa Repùbblica and smiled. Shimon Pazner had been the Office man in Rome for five years, yet he had still not lost the prickly exterior of a Negev settler. Pazner paid his bill and went to the toilet. When he came out, he was wearing sunglasses, the signal that the meeting was on. He headed through the revolving door, paused on the pavement of the Via Veneto, then turned right and started walking. Gabriel left money on the table and