“Ask yourself two questions, Colonel Metzler. How did he know I would be coming? And what is he so afraid of?”
Metzler exhaled heavily. “What time is Cardinal Francona expecting you?”
“Four minutes from now.”
“Then you have two minutes to tell me exactly what’s going on.”
Like all the cardinal-electors who entered the Casa Santa Marta that evening, Domenico Albanese had surrendered his phone to the dean of the Sacred College. He was not, however,without a mobile device. He had concealed one in his suite earlier that week. It was a cheap disposable model. A burner, he thought wickedly.
He was clutching the phone in his left hand. With his right he was parting the gauzy curtain in the sitting room window. As fortune would have it, it overlooked the small piazza at the front of the guesthouse, where Cardinal Angelo Francona was pacing the paving stones. Clearly, the dean was expecting someone. Someone, thought Albanese, who was no doubt trying to talk his way past the Swiss Guards at the Arch of Bells.
At 5:25 Francona checked his phone and then started toward the entrance of the guesthouse. He stopped suddenly when one of the Swiss Guards pointed toward the three men running across the piazza. One of the men was the sentry’s commanding officer, Colonel Alois Metzler. He was accompanied by Gabriel Allon and Archbishop Luigi Donati.
Albanese released the curtain and dialed.
“Well?” asked Bishop Richter.
“He made it through.”
The connection went dead. Instantly, two firm knocks shook Albanese’s room. Startled, he slipped the phone into his pocket before opening the door. Standing in the corridor was Archbishop Thomas Kerrigan of Boston, the vice dean of the College of Cardinals.
“Is something wrong, Eminence?”
“The dean requests your presence in the chapel.”
“For what reason?”
“He has invited Archbishop Donati to address the cardinal-electors.”
“Why wasn’t I told?”
Kerrigan smiled. “You just were.”
Donati followed Cardinal Franconainto the lobby. The first face he saw belonged to Kevin Brady of Los Angeles. Brady was a doctrinal soul mate. Still, he appeared stunned by Donati’s presence. They exchanged a terse nod, then Donati looked down at the marble floor.
Francona seized his arm. “Excellency! I can’t believe you brought that in here.”
Donati hadn’t realized his phone was ringing. He snatched it from the pocket of his cassock and checked the screen. The name on the caller ID shocked him.
Father Brunetti...
It was the pseudonym Donati had assigned to Veronica Marchese in his contacts. Under the rules of their relationship, she was forbidden to phone him. So why on earth was she calling now?
Donati tappeddecline.
Instantly, the phone rang again.
Father Brunetti...
“Turn it off, will you, Luigi?”
“Of course, Eminence.”
Donati placed his thumb on the power button but hesitated.
He has two million reasons to keep his mouth shut.
Two million and one...
