He gave a sly smile. “It wasn’t difficult.”
“Did the Holy Father show the book to anyone else?”
“A Jesuit.” Father Joshua frowned. “For some reason, my word wasn’t good enough. The Jesuit agreed with me that the book was authentic.”
“He’s an American, this Jesuit?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know his name?”
“The Holy Father refused to tell me. He said he was going to give the gospel to you when the Jesuit was finished with it.”
“Finished with what?”
“His Holiness didn’t say.”
“Where were you when you had this conversation?”
“The papal study. But why do you ask?”
“The men who murdered the Holy Father were listening. They could hear his voice but not yours.”
His expression darkened. “You must feel guilty.”
“About what?”
“His death.”
“Yes,” admitted Gabriel. “Terribly guilty.”
“Don’t,” said the priest. “It wasn’t your fault.”
He turned to leave.
“Father Joshua?”
The priest stopped.
“When did you remove the first page of the gospel?”
He raised a bandaged hand. “I’m afraid I must be on my way. May the peace of the Lord be with you always. And with your wife and children as well. Go to them, Gabriel. They’re searching for you.”
With that, he set off between the columns of St. Mark and St. Theodore. Gabriel quickly drew his phone and engaged the camera, but he could see no trace of the priest on the screen. He hurried over to the gondola station on the Riva degli Schiavoni and looked to the right and then the left.
Father Joshua was gone.
At two p.m. the following afternoon, Gabriel received a phone call from General Cesare Ferrari of the Art Squad. He claimed to have come to Venice on an unrelated matter and washoping Gabriel might have a moment to answer a few questions before his return to Israel.
“Where?”
“Carabinieri regional headquarters.”
Gabriel suggested Harry’s Bar instead. He arrived a few minutes before four; the general, a few minutes after. They ordered Bellinis. Gabriel’s immediately gave him a headache. He drank it nonetheless. It was irresistibly delicious. Besides, it was his last day of vacation.
“The perfect end to an imperfect day,” said the general.
“What is it now?”
