The Devil Will Come

life.’

‘Look at the way you’re treated.’

‘I’m treated fine. I’m treated like the other Sisters.’

‘What about today?’

‘You don’t think this kind of thing can happen in academia? Look at how they’re treating you – like a pair of worn-out shoes.’

Carlo looked hurt and Elisabetta regretted the remark the moment it left her lips.

‘I’m sorry, Papa, I shouldn’t have said that.’

‘I’m sure you’re right. Injustices are everywhere. But if you must know, my biggest regret is not seeing you with children. You would have been a fantastic mother.’

She sighed. ‘If I tell you about these numbers, if I tell you everything, do you promise to speak to no one about it.’

‘What about Micaela and Zazo?’

Elisabetta laughed. ‘You’re negotiating with me. Okay, Micaela and Zazo, but only if I’m there too.’

‘All right,’ Carlo said. ‘Let’s try to solve your puzzle.’

Elisabetta had to admit that she took a good bit of pleasure in the intimacy of that evening, a father and daughter alone with one another for the first time in many years. She made his favorite dish, ravioli stuffed with goat’s cheese, and while she cooked, he smoked, read Marlowe and filled several lined pages with notes and mathematical ideas. As they dined, they happily discussed the pact that Faustus had made with the Devil. They drank wine – Elisabetta half a glass, Carlo the rest of the bottle.

She thought he’d drunk more than his limit but he insisted on bringing out a bottle of grappa and having two glasses while she cleared the table. For years she’d only seen him for Sunday lunches and she really had no idea whether he’d become a heavy drinker. When his speech slurred, Elisabetta moved him to the sitting room and when he dozed in his chair she woke him gently, saw him off to his bedroom and started on the dishes with a new set of worries on her mind.

The Gendarmerie operations center was a well-appointed modern room of video monitors providing real-time feeds of strategic locations around Vatican City. Zazo was huddled in one corner with the two other men of his rank, Lorenzo and a fellow a few years their senior named Capozzoli.

Zazo pointed at the monitor that showed the entrance to the Domus Sanctae Marthae. ‘What’s the current census? Do you know, Cappy?’

Capozzoli checked his small notebook. ‘As of six tonight there were twenty-six Cardinals checked in.’

Lorenzo’s men were in charge of airport pickup and delivery. ‘I’ve got seven more coming in tonight.’

Zazo nodded. ‘Tomorrow’s T-minus-two for the Conclave start. It’s going to be a ball-buster.’

‘We’ve got fifty-eight red-hats arriving tomorrow,’ Lorenzo said.

‘Christ …’ Capozzoli said.

‘Christ is right,’ Zazo agreed. ‘I’ve had a couple of minor skirmishes with the Guards. Either of you had any problems?’

‘They’ve been up my butt all day,’ Lorenzo said, ‘but nothing I can’t handle.’

‘We swept the Domus for bugs and bombs this afternoon and we’ll keep doing it daily until our final sweep the night before the Conclave,’ Zazo said. ‘Are the Guards on the same schedule for the Sistine Chapel, Cappy?’

‘That’s what I understand,’ he answered. ‘They’ve been cagey about it.’

Zazo swiped the air in disgust. ‘We already invited them to observe our last sweep of the Domus. I’ll be damned if I’m not going to participate in their last sweep of the Chapel.’

‘Don’t hold your breath,’ Lorenzo said.

Micaela picked at her tray of food. The cafeteria wasn’t bad for a hospital but her boyfriend was blunting her normally exuberant appetite.

‘Why won’t you come with me?’ she asked Arturo.

Everything about Arturo was oversized: his hands, his nose, his girth and even, as Micaela liked to tease him, his ‘baby-maker’. There was a lot that she liked about him, including the way he could pick her up like a doll, but there were more than a few things she would have changed if she’d had half the chance.

‘I had a tough day. Three emergencies, a long clinic. I’m wrecked.’

‘All I want you to do is stop off with me to see Elisabetta at my father’s place. I’m worried about her. We won’t stay for more than a few minutes.’

‘I know how these things go,’ he moaned. ‘A few minutes turns into an hour.’

Micaela pursed her lips angrily and her fierce look made Arturo flinch. ‘You don’t like my sister, do you?’

‘I like her fine.’

‘No, you don’t. Why? What’s she ever done to you.’

Arturo moved some peas around his plate. ‘When I was in school, the nuns beat the crap out of me. I guess it’s transference.’

‘Oh come on!’ Micaela said. ‘A big strong man like you afraid of what my poor little sister represents to your fragile psyche!’

‘You’re not being sensitive,’ Arturo complained. ‘Where’s your bedside manner?’

Micaela stood up and grabbed her shoulder bag. ‘You’re coming with me or you’re sleeping by yourself for the next thirty years. There’s your bedside manner!’

Elisabetta was immersed in Faustus when her father’s phone rang. She would have let it go but didn’t want him to be awoken. To her surprise, it was for her.

‘Elisabetta, it’s Professor De Stefano.’ His voice sounded thin, squeezed.

‘Professor!’

‘I called over to the convent. They were reluctant to give out your contact number but I told your Sister Marilena that it was urgent.’

‘What’s wrong? You don’t sound yourself,’ she said.

There was a pause. ‘Stress of the day. Not to mention how badly I feel for dismissing you.’

‘It was tough being on the receiving end.’

‘Will you forgive me?’ Elisabetta was struck by his strange pleading tone.

‘Of course I will,’ she said. ‘I’m good at that.’

‘I need you to come over to my apartment straight away,’ he said suddenly. ‘You’re back on the job. I have important new information to discuss. I think I know what the message means – B is the key.’

‘Tonight?’ she asked, looking through the dark windows.

‘Yes, tonight,’ De Stefano said hastily. There was another pause. ‘And bring your copy of the Faustus book.’ He gave her his address and hung up abruptly.

Micaela rang the apartment’s buzzer several times, then used her spare key to let herself in. Inside the apartment the lights were on but no one had been answering her calls. Elisabetta’s bedroom was empty, her father’s door shut.

She poked her head into her father’s room and heard snoring coming from the darkness.

Arturo tapped her on the shoulder and she shut the door behind her quietly.

‘There’s a note from Elisabetta on the dining-room table,’ he said.

It was on a piece of note paper, in Elisabetta’s neat handwriting:

I know Zazo told me not to leave the apartment but I had an urgent call to see Prof. De Stefano at his flat at 14 Via Premuda. I’ll be fine. Will be back before 11. Elisabetta.

‘I’m calling Zazo,’ Micaela said, fishing through her bag for her mobile phone.

Zazo flipped his phone shut and looked at his watch. ‘Unbelievable,’ he muttered.

‘What’s up?’ Lorenzo asked. They were walking together through one of the Vatican staff parking lots.

‘Besides my father, my sister Elisabetta’s the smartest Celestino but sometimes she’s so dumb. I’ve got to run over to the Via Premuda. It’ll take me five minutes to get there. I’ll be back in fifteen and we can finish up for the night.’

The taxi driver was held up by some road-repair works that doubled the duration of the ride. Despite carrying a nun as a fare, he insisted on cursing and making lewd gestures out the window most of the way.

He left Elisabetta in front of a smart apartment block clad in pink limestone with freshly painted green