possessed a unique talent for extracting antiquities from the mounded fields of Lazio, a talent matched only by his ability to keep the Carabinieri and the Mafia at bay. He grew wealthy from his digging, though everyone in Tarquinia believed he was an ordinary stonemason. So, too, did his twin daughters.
“When did they learn the truth about him?”
“He confessed his sins as he was dying of cancer. He also told them about the buried steel container where he stored his discoveries. Claudia and Paola waited until after the funeral to alert the Carabinieri. They were just sixteen at the time.”
“The entire incident seems to have slipped Paola’s mind.”
“I’m not surprised she didn’t tell you. It’s not something a daughter likes to think about. Unfortunately, most of us have a criminal somewhere in the family tree. I’m afraid it is the curse of Italy.”
“Rather ironic, don’t you think?”
“That the daughter of a
Gabriel nodded.
“Actually, it was no accident. Claudia was deeply ashamed of her father and wanted to make up for some of the damage he had done. Needless to say, she guarded her past carefully. If it ever became known in the curatorial community that her father was a thief, it would have hung over her like a cloud.”
“But
“She told me during the Medici investigation. She felt that she had to because we were working with General Ferrari.” Veronica Marchese paused, then added, “Claudia had an exaggerated sense of right and wrong. It was one of the things I loved most about her.”
“Do you know what Falcone told her?”
“She wouldn’t tell me. She said it was necessary to protect the integrity of her investigation.”
They walked past the shuttered museum bookshop and emerged from the front portico. The rain was coming down in torrents. She fished a set of keys from her handbag and with the click of her remote started the engine of a gleaming Mercedes SL coupe. The car looked out of place at the museum. So did Veronica Marchese.
“I’d offer you a lift,” she said apologetically, “but I’m afraid I have another appointment. If there’s anything more I can do to help, please don’t hesitate to call. And do give my best to Luigi.”
She started toward her car, then stopped suddenly and turned to face him. “It occurs to me you have one thing working in your favor,” she said. “General Ferrari just took millions of euros worth of antiquities from the men who killed Claudia. That means they’ll be anxious to replenish their stock. If I were you, I’d find something irresistible.”
“What then?”
“Smash it to pieces,” she replied. “And feed it to them slowly.”
She lowered herself into the car and then guided it into the frenetic traffic of the Roman evening rush. Gabriel stood there for a moment wondering why Luigi Donati had neglected to mention that he was acquainted with Claudia Andreatti’s best friend. Priests sin, too, he thought. Even the good ones.
13
APOSTOLIC PALACE, VATICAN CITY
“WHAT’S THE SOUP OF THE DAY?” asked Gabriel.
“Stone,” replied Donati.
He raised a spoonful of the thin consommé to his lips and tasted it warily. They were seated in the Holy Father’s austere dining room on the third floor of the Apostolic Palace. The tablecloth was white, as were the habits of the household nuns who floated silently in and out of the adjoining kitchen. His Holiness was not present; he was working at the desk in his small private office located directly across the hall. It had been fourteen years since the diminutive Patriarch of Venice ascended to the throne of St. Peter, yet he still maintained a crushing daily schedule that would exhaust a far younger man. He did so in part to preserve his power. The Church faced too many challenges for its absolute monarch to give the appearance of being incapacitated by age. If the princes perceived that His Holiness was beginning to fail, the positioning for the next conclave would commence in earnest. And the papacy of Pope Paul VII, one of the most turbulent in the history of the modern Church, would come to a grinding halt.
“Why the punishment rations?” asked Gabriel.
“As a result of our reduced financial circumstances, the fare at some of the colleges and religious houses in Rome is starting to suffer. His Holiness has asked the bishops and cardinals to avoid lavish dining. I’m afraid I have no choice but to lead by example.”
He held his glass of red wine up to the sunlight slanting through the window and then took a cautious sip.
“How is it?”
“Divine.” Donati placed the glass carefully on the table and then pushed a thick black binder toward Gabriel. “It’s the final itinerary for our trip to Israel and the Palestinian territories. We’ve decided to do it over Holy Week, which will allow His Holiness to take the unprecedented step of celebrating Christ’s death and resurrection in the city where it actually occurred. He will commemorate the passion on the Via Dolorosa and celebrate Easter Mass in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. The schedule also includes a stop in Bethlehem and a courtesy call at the al-Aqsa Mosque, where he intends to issue an unequivocal apology for the Crusades. The soldiers of the cross killed ten thousand people on the Temple Mount when they sacked Jerusalem in 1099, including three thousand who had taken shelter inside al-Aqsa.”
“And they warmed up along the way by killing several thousand innocent Jews in Europe.”
“I believe we’ve already apologized for that,” Donati said archly.
“When do you plan to announce the trip?”
“Next week at the General Audience.”
“It’s too soon.”
“We’ve waited as long as possible. I’d like you to have a look at the security arrangements. The Holy Father also asked whether you would consider serving as his personal bodyguard during the trip.”
“Something tells me it wasn’t his idea.”
“It wasn’t,” Donati conceded.
“The best way to place His Holiness in danger is for me to stand next to him.”
“Think about it.”
Donati raised another spoonful of the consommé to his lips and blew on it pensively—odd, thought Gabriel, because his own soup was already lukewarm.
“Something else on your mind, Luigi?”
“Rumor has it you paid a visit to the Villa Giulia yesterday.”
“It’s filled with many beautiful objects.”
“So I’ve heard.” Donati lowered his voice and added, “You should have told me you were going to see her.”
“I didn’t realize I needed your permission.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“When I took this case,” Gabriel said, pressing him gently, “you assured me that all doors would be open.”
“Not the doors to my past,” Donati said evenly.
“What if your past had something to do with Claudia’s death?”
“My past had
The monsignor’s words were spoken with an air of liturgical finality. All that was missing was the sign of the cross and the benedictory amen.
“Would you like some more soup?” he asked, trying to ease the tension of the moment.
“I’ll resist,” replied Gabriel.
