He crossed himself, got to his feet in one smooth movement and turned to face them. Chavasse suddenly felt awkward under the keen scrutiny of that single eye. For a moment, he was a little boy again at his grandfather’s village in Finistere just after the war when France was free again, standing before the old, implacable parish priest, trying to explain his absence from mass, the tongue drying in his mouth.

Father Shedu smiled and held out his hand. “I am happy to meet you, my son. Liri has told me something of why you are here.”

Chavasse shook hands, relief flowing through him. “She seemed to think you might be able to help, Father.”

“I know something of what happened to the statue of Our Lady of Scutari,” the priest said. “It was my predecessor, Father Kupescu, who gave it into the charge of the young man who was later killed in the marshes. Father Kupescu has since paid for his actions with his life, I might add.”

“The girl who was with me was the young man’s sister,” Chavasse said. “She was the one who guided us to the position of Minetti’s launch.”

Father Shedu nodded. “She and an Italian named Orsini arrived in Tama earlier this afternoon. They were taken to the monastery.”

“Are you sure?”

“I was visiting sick prisoners at the time, one of the little privileges I still insist on.”

“I’m surprised you’re allowed to function at all.”

Father Shedu smiled faintly. “As you may have noticed, my name is the same as that of our beloved President, something for which the average party member holds me in superstitious awe. They can never be quite sure that I’m not some kind of third cousin, you see. There are things they can do, of course. We had a wonderful old church here. Now, it’s a restaurant. They use the altar as a counter and the nave is crammed with tables at which the happy workers can consume kebab and shashlik to the greater glory of Enver Hoxha.”

“All things in their own good time, Father,” Chavasse said.

The priest smiled. “As it happens, I can help you, Mr. Chavasse. Your friends are at the moment imprisoned in the back guardroom, which is inside the inner wall of the monastery. A colonel of Intelligence and a high sigurmi official named Kapo, who brought them in, left again almost at once with every spare soldier they could lay their hands on.”

“To look for me.”

“Obviously. I shouldn’t think there will be more than one man on duty at the guardroom – perhaps two.”

“But how could we get in, Father?” Liri demanded. “There are two walls to pass through and guards on each gate.”

“We go under, my dear. It’s really quite simple. The good fathers who built this monastery thought of everything. Come with me.”

He led the way out of the chapel and back along the passage to the door that led down to the landing stage. He took an electric torch from a ledge on which an icon stood and went down to the water’s edge. When he switched on the torch, its beam played against the rough walls of the tunnel, which ran on into the darkness, narrowing considerably.

“The monastery’s underground sewage system comes down through here to empty into the river,” he said. “Not a pleasant journey, I’m afraid, but one that will take you inside the walls without being seen.”

“Show me the way, that’s all I ask, Father,” Chavasse said. “You can leave the rest to me.”

“To require you not to use violence against violent men would be absurd,” Father Shedu said, “but you must understand that I myself could not possibly take part in any such action. You accept this?”

“Willingly.”

The priest turned to Liri. “You will stay here, child?”

She shook her head. “There may be a use for me. Please, Father. I know what I’m doing.”

He didn’t bother to argue, but hitched his trailing robes into the leather belt at his waist and stepped into the water on the left-hand side of the tunnel. It was no more than ankle-deep and Chavasse followed along a broad ledge, his head lowered as the roof dropped to meet them.

There was a strong earthy smell and a slight mist curled from the water, fanning out against the damp roof. The tunnel stretched into the darkness and gradually the water became deeper until he could feel it swirling about his knees.

By now the stench was appalling and he stumbled on, his stomach heaving. Finally, the priest turned into a side passage that came out into a cavern about fifty feet in diameter.

It was some three feet deep in stinking water and at least a dozen tunnels emptied into it. The Franciscan waded across and counted from the left.

“I think the eighth will be the one.”

The tunnel was no more than four feet high and Chavasse paused at the entrance and reached out to Liri. “Are you all right?”

“Fine.” She chuckled. “The swamps stink worse than this lot in the summer.”

They bent double and went after Father Shedu, who was now several yards ahead. A few moments later he stopped. Light filtered down through some sort of grille and a short tunnel sloped up toward the surface.

“If I am right,” the priest said, “we should be in a cell of the old cloisters behind the square containing the guardhouse.”

The tunnel was a good fifty feet in length, the stonework smooth and slippery, making it difficult to climb. The priest went first, Liri next and Chavasse brought up the rear. He jammed himself between the narrow walls, working his way up foot by foot. Once, Liri slipped, falling back against him, but he managed to hold her and they continued.

Above them, Father Shedu was already at the entrance, a large slab that had been carved by some master craftsman into a stone grille. He put his shoulder to it and it slid back easily. He climbed out and turned to give Liri a hand.

Chavasse clambered up after them and found himself in a small crumbling cell with a gaping doorway that opened into half-ruined cloisters, broken pillars lifting into the sky, grass growing between great, cracked stone slabs.

“Through the cloisters and you will come to the square,” Father Shedu said. “The guardroom is a small flat-roofed building of brick and concrete.” A slight smile touched his mouth. “From here, you are on your own. There is nothing more I can do for you. As I said earlier, I must not play any active part in this affair. I will wait here.” He turned to Liri. “You will stay with me?”

She shook her head stubbornly. “There may be something I can do. Something to help.”

“Father Shedu’s right,” Chavasse said. “You stay.”

“If you want my gun, then you take me.” She patted the stock of the old hunting rifle. “That’s my final word.”

Chavasse looked at the priest, who sighed heavily. “A will of iron, I’m afraid, and she hates the Reds.”

Chavasse said to Liri, “You can come as far as the edge of the square. You watch from there while I go in. If anything goes wrong, you’ll have plenty of time to join Father Shedu and get clear. All right?”

He moved out across the ruined courtyard and through the cloisters to the crumbling wall on the far side. The square stretched before him, quiet and still. The guardhouse was built against the wall halfway along the other side, just as Father Shedu had described, a difficult place to come at from the front. In the far wall, great double gates leading to the outer square were closed.

Chavasse turned to Liri. “You stay here, I’m going to work my way round the wall so that I come in from the other side where there’s no windows. If anything happens, get out of it fast and back to Father Shedu.” She started to protest, but he pulled the rifle firmly from her grasp. “Now be a good girl and do as you’re told.”

He moved along behind the ruined wall to the point where it joined the other, stepped into the open and ran, half crouching, until he reached the side of the guardhouse. He paused, conscious of the sweat soaking his shirt, and started forward. At that moment the guardhouse door opened and someone stepped out.