A Matter of Honor Read online

  “Au nom du Père, du Fils et du Saint-Esprit.”

  Adam looked up from the paper, startled, and considered making a dash for it. But he allowed his long-ago training to take hold, and he found himself saying automatically, “Father, bless me, for I have sinned and wish to confess.”

  “Good, my son, and what form has this sin taken?” asked the priest in accented but clear English.

  Adam thought quickly, I must give him no clue as to who I am. He looked out through the gap in the curtain and was alarmed to see two policemen questioning another priest by the west door. He drew the curtains tight and turned to the only accent he could ever imitate with conviction.

  “I’m over from Dublin, Father, and last night I picked up this local girl in a bar and took her back to my hotel.”

  “Yes, my son.”

  “Well, one thing led to another, Father.”

  “Another what, my son?”

  “Well, I took her up to my room.”

  “Yes, my son?”

  “And she started to undress.”

  “And then what happened?”

  “She started to undress me.”

  “Did you try to resist, my son?”

  “Yes, Father, but it got harder.”

  “And did intercourse take place?” asked the priest.

  “I’m afraid so, Father, couldn’t stop myself. She was very beautiful,” Adam added.

  “And is it your intention to marry this girl, my son?”

  “Oh, no, Father, I’m already married and have two lovely children, Seamus and Maureen.”

  “It is a night you must forever put behind you.”

  “I’d like to, Father.”

  “Has this happened before?”

  “No, Father, it’s the first time I’ve been abroad on my own. I swear to it.”

  “Then let it be a lesson to you, my son, and may the Lord find it in his mercy to forgive you this abominable sin, and now you must make your act of contrition.”

  “Oh, my God … .”

  When Adam had completed the act of contrition the priest pronounced absolution and told him he must as penance say three decades of the Rosary.

  “And one more thing.”

  “Yes, Father?”

  “You will tell your wife everything the moment you return to Ireland, or you cannot hope for atonement. You must promise me that, my son.”

  “When I see my wife I will tell her everything that happened last night, Father,” Adam promised, as he once again checked through the curtains. The police were no longer anywhere to be seen.

  “Good, and continue to pray to our Blessed Lady to keep you from the evils of temptation.”

  Adam folded up his paper, pushed it in the trench coat, and bolted from the little box and took a seat on the end of a pew. He lowered his head and began to whisper the Lord’s Prayer as he opened the map of Geneva and began to study the road plan. He had located the British consulate on the far side of a large garden square by the time he reached, “Deliver us from evil.” He estimated that it was just over a mile away from the cathedral, but seven streets and a bridge had to be negotiated before he would be safe. He returned to the Lady Chapel and his knees. Adam checked his watch. It was too early to leave Saint Peter’s, so he remained head in hands for another thirty minutes going over the route again and again. He watched a party of tourists being conducted through the cathedral. His eyes never left them as they began to move nearer and nearer to the great door at the west end of the aisle. He needed to time it to perfection.

  Suddenly Adam rose and walked quickly down the side aisle reaching the porch only a yard behind the party of tourists. They shielded him out on to the square. Adam ducked under a shop awning at the side of the road, then walked round three sides of the square to avoid the one policeman on duty by the north corner. He crossed the first road as the light turned red and headed up a one-way street. He kept on the inside of the pavement, knowing he had to turn left at the end of the road. Two uniformed policemen came round the corner and walked straight toward him. He jumped into the first shop without looking and turned his back on the pavement.

  “Bonjour, monsieur,” said a young lady to Adam. “Vous désirez quelque chose?” Adam looked around him. Lissome dummies in panties and bras with garters and fasteners and long black nylon stockings stood all around him.

  “I’m looking for a present for my wife.”

  The girl smiled. “Perhaps a slip?” she suggested.

  “Yes,” said Adam, “definitely a slip. Do you have one in burgundy?” he asked, as he half turned to watch the policemen stroll past.

  “Yes, I think so, but I’ll have to check in the stock room.”

  Adam had reached the next streetcorner long before she had returned with “just the thing.”

  He managed the next three crossings without incident, and with only two hundred yards to go could already feel his heart thumping as if it were trying to escape from his body. On the final corner there was only one policeman in sight, and he seemed intent on directing traffic. Adam kept his back to the officer. He could now see the garden square that had only shown up on the map as a tiny green blob. On the far side of the road he spotted a Union Jack hanging above a blue door.

  Never run the last few yards, especially when it’s open ground, his sergeant had told him many times when on patrol in the Malayan jungle. He crossed the road and stood on the edge of the small park, only fifty yards away from safety. A policeman was patrolling aimlessly up the road, but Adam suspected that was only because there were several consulates standing adjacent to one another. He watched the officer carefully. It took the man two minutes to reach the French consulate before he turned and continued his leisurely walk back. Adam ducked behind a tree in the corner of the little park and selected another tree on the far side of the road only yards from the consulate front door that would shield him from the oncoming policeman. He estimated that by walking at a speed that wouldn’t attract attention he could cover the last thirty yards in under ten seconds. He waited for the policeman to reach his farthest point.

  He checked the consulate door again, relieved to see a girl go in and a man carrying a briefcase come out on to the street. There seemed to be no guard in sight as the door remained half open. He looked up at the bay window on the first floor. He could see two men staring out at the park as if waiting expectantly for someone to arrive. Lawrence had succeeded. In moments he would be home. Adam pulled up the collar of his trench coat and set off as the cathedral clock behind him struck eleven. The policeman was now a few paces from reaching his farthest point but still walking in the opposite direction. Adam crossed the road at a measured stride. When he reached the streetcar lines in the center he had to stop suddenly to let a car pass by. The policeman turned to start his journey back.

  For several seconds Adam remained motionless between the streetcar lines as he stared at the tree he had selected to shield him if the policeman turned before he could reach the front door. He took a confident pace toward the consulate. A tall man of athletic build, his head covered in a stubble of short fair hair, stepped out to greet him.

  Adam would not have recognized him but for the eyes.

  PART II

  10 DOWNING STREET

  LONDON S.W.1

  June 16, 1966

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  10 DOWNING STREET

  JUNE 16, 1966

  WHEN SIR MORRIS Youngfield left the Prime Minister he still was unable to work out why the possession of any icon could be that important.

  Leaving Number Ten behind him, Sir Morris marched quickly into the Foreign Office courtyard and within moments was stepping out of the lift on the seventh floor. When he walked into his office, Tessa, his secretary, was sorting out some papers for him.

  “I want a D4 assembled immediately,” he said to the woman who had served him so loyally for fourteen years. “And ask Commander Busch to join the team.”

  Tessa raised her eyebrows, but Sir