The Brotherhood of the Rose by David Morrell

convenient for conversation." Turning left, he entered a room.
    Chrisfollowed him. He'd read the old man's file and knew that Father Gabriel Janin was seventy-two. His white whisker stubble matched the bristle of his close-cropped hair. Emaciated, stooped and wrinkled, the priest wore muddy canvas shoes and dingy pants below a shapeless mildewed surplice. Both his age and slovenly appearance were misleading. From 1929 to 1934, he'd been a member of the French Foreign Legion. Bored by the challenge he'd met and exceeded, he'd entered the Cistercian Order of monks at Citeaux in 1935. Four years later, he'd left the order and, during the war years, trained to become a missionary priest. After the war, he'd been transferred to Saigon. In 1954, he'd been transferred again, this time to Bangkok. In 1959, he'd been blackmailed by the KGB, because of his preference for young Thai girls, to be the house keeper for this internationally sanctioned safe house. Chris was well aware that, to protect his guests, the priest would kill.
    The office was narrow, cluttered, musty. The priest shut the door. "Would you like some refreshment? Tea perhaps, or-?" Chris shook his head. The priest spread his hands. He sat with a desk between them. A bird sang in the pepper garden. :"How may I help you?" "Father---' Chris's voice was hushed as if he were going to confession, I'll need you to tell me the name of a dentist who'll extract teeth and stay quiet about it."
    Father Janin looked troubled. :"What's the matter?" "Your fine organization -should not need this information," the old priest said. "It has dentists of its own."
    "I need the name of yours."
    The priest leaned forward, frowning. "Why does this concern you?
    Why come here? Forgive my bluntness. Has this dentist wronged someone or destroyed the cover of someone? Are you returning a favor by removing him?"
    "No favor," Chris assured him. "My employers worry about information leaks in our network. Sometimes we have to go outside our sources."
    Father Janin considered. He kept frowning as he nodded. "Understandable. But all the same..." He tapped his fingers on his desk. "When you make inquiries, my cryptonym is Remus."
    The priest stopped tapping his fingers. "In that case, if you'll stay the night, I'll try to have your answer by the morning." That's not soon enough, Chris thought.
    In the dining room, he sat at a table eating chicken and noodles laced with hot peppers, as the Thais preferred it. His eyes watered; his nostrils flared. He drank warm Coke, glancing out the window toward the back. The clouds had reached the city, rain falling densely, like molten lead. He couldn't see the crosses in the graveyard.
    Father Janin's reluctance disturbed him. He was sure that at this moment the priest was making phone calls, investigating his background. the phone, of course, would not be bugged. Neither would the safe house. The place was neutral territory. Anyone who violated its sanctity would be exiled from his network, hunted by the world's intelligence community, and executed.
    All the same, Chris felt troubled. As soon as the agency learned he was here, the local bureau chief would wonder why. He'd contact his superior. Since cryptonyms gained their significance from their first two lettersam, for example, referred to Cuba; thus AMALGAM would be the cryptonym for an operation in that country-the bureau chief's superior would check the first two letters in Chris's cryptonym REMUS and learn that RE meant Chris was answerable only to headquarters in Langley, Virginia, and in particular to Eliot. Soon Eliot would be informed that Chris had arrived unexpectedly at the Bangkok safe house. Eliot, of course, would be puzzled since he hadn't directed Chris to come here.
    That was the problem. Chris didn't want Eliot to follow his movements. Given what Chris intended to do, he didn't want Eliot to know the consequences, didn't want Eliot to grieve or feel embarrassed.
    He tried not to show impatience.