and blew out the smoke. 'Did your cousin tell you how to get into the monastery?'
'I used to visit him,' Angela said. 'He is a Passionist.'
'What is that?'
'A Catholic religious order founded by St Paul of the Cross. Its real name is the Congregation of Discalced Clerks of the Most Holy Cross and Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ.'
Mazara gave her a broad smile. 'Did you make this up?'
'No,' Angela said. 'It happens to be true. Only they are not a full order, but a congregation. Founded to teach people how to pray. I think you could use some help in that area.'
'What is there to teach? You want to pray, you pray.'
'What do you know about it?'
'Praying? Not very much any more,' Mazara said.
Angela lit a cigarette.
'You said women are allowed in the monastery?'
'If you are related,' Angela said.
'Or if you are a prostitute,' Mazara said.
'Why are you so negative about priests?' She pulled her sunglasses down and looked at him.
'You would understand if one tried to molest you.'
Angela said, 'This really happened?'
'The priest from our village invited me to his office in the rectory,' Mazara said. 'It was a great honor. He told me to sit on his lap and I felt something hard poking into me. He said, 'Do you know what that is?''
Angela said, 'How old were you?'
'Eleven,' Mazara said. 'Old enough to know better.'
'What did you say?'
He gave her a questioning look. 'What do you think?'
Angela said, 'What did the priest say?'
'It was the staff of God, and he wanted me to hold it.'
'What did you do?'
'I ran,' Mazara said.
'I'm sure it was shocking,' Angela said, 'but I have to ask you — can you do this? Because if you are not sure, I will dress like a nun and pick up the money.'
He said, 'I like to see that. You would be a sexy nun.'
She said, 'Let's go over it again.'
'You sound like your father. You have to be in control.'
She had to be careful what she said or he felt threatened. 'I'm being cautious,' Angela said. 'Are you sure you know what to do?'
He gave her a hard look. 'That's enough.'
She dropped him off on Clivo di Scauro, and he walked up the hill to the monastery next to the church. He felt like a fool wearing the coarse brown robe with the hood pulled over his head and a rope belt — like he was going to a costume party. The robe was made out of wool and it was hot and itched.
They had discussed the plan a dozen times. He would enter the monastery and walk through to the rectory and enter the church from the altar side. Angela told him if he saw anyone to press his hands together in prayer, close his eyes and pretend he was praying. She also told him some monks took the vow of silence. At that moment he wished she had taken a vow of silence — just close her mouth, stop talking and let him do it.
He walked through to the sacristy, entering the church behind the main altar. He turned and genuflected, making the sign of the cross the way he had been taught as a schoolboy — so long ago he barely remembered the words to the prayers and the ritual of the mass.
He looked down the main aisle into the darkness of the church, past the chairs set up for evening service. He expected to see a brigade of carabinieri, but instead he saw tourists scattered around the front of church, staring up at the ceiling the way he once had, studying the murals depicting the lives of apostles and saints, what else? He approached the altar from behind. The soccer bag was on the tile floor where Signor Tallenger had placed it. He pretended not to notice, taking care of his pre-mass duties, lighting candles and trying to stay calm, relaxed.
Now he pressed his hands together in prayer, picked up the bag and moved to the back wall of the nave. There was a door. He opened it and walked down a staircase leading to the passages under the church. It was cool and dark. He turned on the flashlight and saw ancient rooms of the house of worship the church was built on.
Mazara put the bag down and pulled the robe over his head, happy to remove it, the coarse fabric itching him like crazy. Above him he heard voices and the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. He picked up the bag, fit the strap over his shoulder and started running down a narrow passageway that was cut through the soft tufa rock. He imagined the graves of martyrs filling the walls. It was cool and smelled like the woods on a wet day, like soil, the air musty and heavy, difficult to breathe. He heard voices behind him but he did not stop to look.
Arturo and Luciano followed the monk down the stairs into the darkness under the church, Arturo using his silver Zippo for illumination. He felt foolish. What was he going to do — chase the kidnapper through the scavi with a lighter? He stepped on something and almost tripped. He held the lighter down and saw the monk's robe on the brick floor. He tried to radio his backup units, but could not make contact through the thick stone foundation of the church.
He went back up and moved through the church, running outside. There was an old man sweeping debris near the entrance to the church. Arturo identified himself and asked if the man knew where the tunnels under the church led.
The man pointed at a green gate that resembled a stable door.
'Come this way, I will show you.'
Arturo and Luciano followed him. The man unlocked the gate to reveal ancient ruins, large Roman-style arches that wrapped around the ceiling and extended down fifteen feet under the foundation of the church. There were underground columns, and two bricked passageways that appeared to continue for some distance. There were also crushed pieces of statues against the underground wall. The scene reminded Arturo of an architectural dig. He fixed his attention on the man and said, 'How far do the tunnels go?'
'Two hundred meters,' the man said.
'Two hundred meters?' Arturo scratched his head. 'What is on the other side?' he said, pointing in the direction of the Colosseum.
The man said. 'Ruins, I think, but I do not know for sure.'
Arturo thanked him and ran to the car for his laptop, breathing hard as he sat in the front passenger seat. Luciano was standing at the edge of the square talking to Signor Tallenger. He opened the laptop and put his cursor on the map and clicked. The red icon did not appear. He clicked again and nothing happened, and it occurred to him that GPS probably could not pick up the sensor underground. The kidnappers, who Arturo assumed were a ragtag ''Ndrangheta gang, had surprised him. They were more organized and better prepared than he had imagined. It was almost as if they knew where the police were, and knew a sensor was in the bag.
Luciano opened the door and sat in the front passenger seat.
'Where is Signor Tallenger?'
'I told him to go back to his hotel and we would contact him when it was over.' He paused. 'Do you see the kidnapper?'
Arturo was going to tell him, no. But he glanced down at his computer screen and saw the red icon appear, moving toward the Colosseum. Then they were too, Luciano taking charge, speeding down Clivo di Scauro under the five arches that had once been part of an aqueduct that brought water to the ancient Romans. He turned right on Viale del Parco del Celio, the Colosseum looming in front of them now. Arturo glanced over his shoulder and saw the backup units with heavily armed GIS behind them. The red icon stopped. Arturo's eyes were fixed on the computer screen. Then it was moving again, and moving fast along Foro Romano.
Siesta was over, traffic was heavy. Arturo called headquarters for patrol units, giving their co-ordinates, and then felt foolish when the dispatcher asked the make and color of the vehicle they were chasing, and Arturo realized
