generals, and the next pope will be chosen from our ranks. Marcus probably just had a few too many glasses of his favorite Merlot that night and was feeling a little overly protective of one of his own.”
“I disagree, Leo. It was deeper than that. There was something definitive in his statement. As soon as the virus hit Rome he wanted you out of there. I mean, with so many people dying, the Vatican is practically under siege right now, yet the pope sent his best people to guard us. The captain in charge of all those well-armed men standing over there said he’s never seen so much security for a cardinal before. He said we’re receiving more protection than the pope himself right now. His Holiness values your friendship, Leo, but something else is going on. He’s making double sure nothing happens to you, and it’s not just because you two are friends.”
Leo stared back at Morelli with a blank look on his face. His uncanny ability to read people had failed him this time. He had completely misread the pope earlier when he thought the pontiff had lost trust in him.
“What are you two conspiring about? Is it some kind of Catholic plot?”
Morelli and Leo turned to see a sullen-looking Lev Wasserman standing behind them. Morelli grinned back at him and pulled a small yellow box from his coat pocket.
“Here, Professor. This might help to make up for your poker losses with the Cardinal.”
Lev whistled softly to himself as he gingerly opened the box and inhaled the unmistakable and overpowering aroma of twenty-five genuine Cuban cigars.
“Cohibas!”
“Yes. The Church is making significant inroads back into Cuba. Raul Castro gave them to Bishop Hernandez when he was meeting with Fidel last month. Hernandez doesn’t smoke, so he mailed them to me and I’ve been saving them for you ever since.”
“Your thoughtfulness has just earned you a special place in heaven, Anthony!” Lev stepped back and eyed the bishop suspiciously. “What do you want?”
Morelli laughed. “Well, go ahead … we know you’re dying to try one.” They both watched as Lev expertly clipped the end from one of the precious cigars and lit it with a match. Closing his eyes, he exhaled and let the thick, bluish smoke drift upwards around his head and through his hair as his face widened with a huge grin. “I don’t know how to thank you, Anthony. How did you know these are my favorites?”
“I didn’t, but I knew they must be good considering where they came from and who sent them.”
Those entrenched in the cigar world knew that only ten farms in the Vuelta Abajo region of Cuba supplied their best leaves for the Cohiba. That, plus the fact that they are the only brand to use three fermentations-one of many small details that make it one of the finest cigars in the world. First introduced in 1968, the Cohiba was an instant sensation. Back then, the Cuban government was looking for something special. Their cigars were a point of pride, and Fidel wanted the best of the best when it came to giving a special gift to foreign dignitaries. The Cohiba exceeded his wildest expectations, and when word of its velvety flavor spread among cigar aficionados the world over, the new cigar became almost impossible to obtain, making it one of the most expensive and sought-after tobacco products in the world. Needless to say, Lev was ecstatic.
Morelli relished watching Lev’s reaction. The bishop was truly a man who enjoyed giving more than he enjoyed receiving, and those who counted themselves among his close friends quickly got used to receiving little gifts from him for no special reason.
Morelli glanced down at his watch. It was time for him to leave. Not one for long goodbyes, he turned away and walked quickly down the red dirt road to the little white car that had followed them all the way from Rome. Looking back at Leo and Lev, he gave a quick wave before climbing into the back seat. Moments later, the little car had disappeared from sight.
“Nice cigars.” Leo and Lev glanced over to see Francois standing next to them.
Lev sighed as he reached into the box and handed Leander one of his precious stogies. Running the prized cylinder of tobacco beneath his nose, Francois nodded his head in the direction of a group of fit-looking men sporting an array of automatic weapons. “As you can see, one of my quick response teams arrived during the night. I think it’s time we leave for Portofino.”
While Leo and Lev settled into the back of one of the armored SUVs, Francois conferred with the Swiss Guard captain before hopping behind the wheel and starting the engine. Flanked by several additional vehicles full of heavily-armed men, the procession pulled away from the farmhouse and headed up the coast highway toward the stair-stepped houses that made up the seaside village of Portofino.
Considered by many to be one of the most beautiful seaside ports in all of Europe, millions of would-be travelers had gazed upon pictures of the tiny Mediterranean village on posters displayed in windows of travel agencies all over the world. One look at the idyllic seaside setting was usually all it took to make customers reach for their wallets and hand over their credit cards as they stared at the poster, hypnotized by thoughts of rubbing elbows with the rich and famous on the Italian Riviera.
Although the harbor at Portofino was too small to accept a super yacht the size of the Carmela, the port was filled with smaller yachts along with brightly-painted fishing boats that appeared to float on air in the clear aquamarine water that lapped at a dock populated with sidewalk cafes. The laid-back, seaside retreat of Portofino was a place where the rich and not-so-rich mingled in a setting untouched by time, drinking and eating late into the night as the velvety sea air filled their lungs with the sweet perfume of the ocean.
After parking on a sloping cobblestoned street, Francois walked with Leo and Lev down to the waterfront. Predictably, the cafes were deserted as a slight breeze ruffled the multicolored umbrellas over the empty tables.
Squinting out at the dazzling harbor, they could see an enormous blue and white yacht pulling at its anchor chain in the softly rolling swell of the sea beyond the protective rock jetty. It was a welcome sight to the weary men who, only the day before, were not sure if they would live to see another sunrise.
“Daddy!” The startled men turned to see a shapely young woman with long brown hair running toward them.
“Ariella! I thought we sent word … no one was supposed to come ashore.”
“John and I brought the speedboat in, Father. You weren’t planning on swimming out to the yacht, were you?”
“I see.” Lev’s futile attempt to look stern brought a smile to Ariella’s face. Ever since she was a child, Lev had learned that his efforts to control his headstrong daughter were met with about as much success as an attempt to shape dry sand.
“Where’s everyone else?”
“On the yacht. John is across the harbor looking to buy some fresh fish for supper tonight … he should be along in a minute.”
“Leo!” Ariella threw her arms around the cardinal’s neck. “We’ve missed you so much. It’s been almost a year since my wedding. Where’s Bishop Morelli?”
“On his way back to the Vatican. Is that John?” Leo pointed to a tanned and shirtless young man who was slowly edging a gleaming white speedboat up against the dock. As soon as he spotted Leo, he jumped from the boat and reached out with an eager handshake.
“It’s good to see you again, sir. Ariella and I have been meaning to come to Rome for the past several months, but the house … school …”
Leo stood back and admired the young couple. They were the closest thing to having children of his own that he had ever experienced. “You two are still newlyweds. You need to feather your nest.”
John grinned. “Come on … hop in the boat. We need to get going. There’s a storm coming and the captain wants to put to sea as soon as possible.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Lev said, looking around at all the empty tables. “I’m not convinced this epidemic is over yet. It’s only a matter of time before it pops up again.”
Ariella shuddered. Looking down into the speedboat, she spotted an empty wire basket lying on the floorboards. “No luck finding any fresh fish for supper, hon?”
“No fishermen. This town is locked up tight. I saw a few people watching me from their windows, but they closed their shutters when they saw me looking up at them.”
Speaking into his radio, Francois hurried over to the group. “I’ll be saying goodbye for now. My men and I need to get back to the Vatican.”
