“With the help of your associates in the Camorra, of course. They’re quite good at stealing things. They’re also good at killing people. You had the unhappy task this evening of informing the CFO of Camorra Incorporated that the painting he sold to a Russian oligarch for five hundred million dollars was undoubtedly a copy. And then the CFO of Camorra Incorporated told you that a hacker had rerouted the money to Oschadbank in Kyiv. Which means that you are once again on the hook for a loan you cannot possibly repay.”
Bertoli offered Gabriel a wintry smile. “A highly entertaining story, Signore Allon. You have a vivid imagination.”
Gabriel tapped the keyboard of his laptop once.
Forgive me, Franco, but I’m afraid I don’t have four hundred million lying around at the moment...
Gabriel paused the recording. “Shall we listen to the rest of the conversation? It leaves little to the imagination.”
Donati came to the cardinal’s rescue—temporarily, at least. “That won’t be necessary. I think it is now abundantly clear to His Eminence that he isn’t going to be able to lie his way out of this mess. Isn’t that right, Matteo?”
“My conscience is clear, Holiness.”
“Do you have one? I’m not so sure.” Donati regarded Bertoli through the blue-gray smoke rising from the end of his cigarette. “Perhaps it would be better if you didn’t accompany me to Lampedusa and Palermo tomorrow.”
Bertoli absorbed this news without expression. “Is it your intention to dismiss me?”
“Two people are dead because of your actions, Matteo. What would you do if you were in my position?”
“I had nothing to do with that woman’s death. She would still be alive if she hadn’t...” His voice trailed off.
“Hadn’t what, Matteo? Make a clean breast of it, for God’s sake. Confess your sins before it’s too late.” Receiving no reply, Donati said, “As for your future, I will withhold any decision pending a thorough outside audit of the investment portfolio. If, as expected, it uncovers misconduct on your part, I will have no choice but to take disciplinary action. In the meantime, you are to have no further contact with Nico Ambrosi or Franco Tedeschi.”
“But, Holiness, that’s not possible. We have—”
“None,” snapped Donati. “Is that clear?”
Bertoli rose to his feet, slowly this time. “You are making a grave mistake.”
“The mistake,” said Donati evenly, “was allowing you to oversee the Curia’s investments. For whatever reason, be it greed or incompetence, you’ve managed to get yourself and the Church into business with some of the very worst people in the world.”
“But you were the one who put me in the job—remember, Holiness? And you approved each and every one of my investments.”
“You’re not threatening a pope, are you, Matteo?”
“I am offering His Holiness sage advice. And he would be wise to heed it.”
“I should turn a blind eye to your conduct? Sweep it under the Curial rug?”
“What I am suggesting, Holiness, is that you give me time to put our financial house in order. Otherwise there will be a scandal that will do irreparable harm to the Holy Mother Church.”
“But it will be your scandal, Matteo. Not mine. And it will provide me with the leverage I need to finally institute real reform.”
“Turn over the tables of the money changers? Force the princes of the Church to give up their large apartments and live in squalid little rooms like this one? The Curia will rise up in rebellion against you. You will tear this Church to pieces and destroy your papacy in the process.”
“No, Matteo. I will save this Church from the likes of you before it’s too late. Now get out of my sight.”
Bertoli, in one final act of defiance, stood motionless for a long moment before finally leaving the papal suite. Donati, his hand shaking, crushed out his cigarette.
“My God, Gabriel, what have I done?”
“I believe you just declared war, Holiness.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “But against whom?”
49
Palazzo San Carlo
