“He gave you a warning?”
“A vision.”
“And when the bullets hit you?”
“I felt as though I had stepped in front of a speeding train. For a minute or two, I could scarcely breathe or speak. I remained in theappartamentofor the remainder of the afternoon until we were certain the Vatican was secure. During that time I received only one member of the Roman Curia.”
“His Eminence Cardinal Bertoli?”
Donati nodded. “As you might imagine, he expressed profound relief that I had suffered only minor injuries. But I was left with the nagging sense that he was rather disappointed I was still alive.”
“Was he behind it?”
“I believe the plot against me was hatched on Friday evening after our confrontation with Cardinal Bertoli. It was Don Lorenzo Di Falco of the Camorra who ordered my assassination.”
“That would explain why I was the second target. Bertoli told them that I was the one who switched the paintings.”
“And stole their money?”
“Rerouted it, Holiness.”
“Powerful circumstantial evidence of the cardinal’s guilt,” said Donati. “Even so, the charges that I will soon level against Bertoli will not include conspiracy to murder a pope. There is some laundry that is far too dirty to air in public. The world must never know what really happened today.”
“An act of madness by a lone gunman?”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s all going to come out, Luigi. Sooner rather than later.”
“And what happens when the press discovers the name of the woman who tried to disarm the gunman? Or that many years ago she had a passionate affair with the supreme pontiff of the Roman Catholic Church?”
“You will ignore the story and carry on with your important work.”
“Leaving her to face the scandal alone?” Donati shook his head slowly. “I couldn’t possibly do that. After all, I was the one who invited her to attend the Angelus today. I’m the reason she’s lying in that bed.”
“It’s my fault, Luigi. I lost track of her when the shooting started. And when I saw her again, she was trying to take the gun out of the assassin’s hands.”
“What could have possessed her to do something like that?”
“Do you really need me to answer that question?”
Donati directed his gaze toward the television screen. A pope under fire, mayhem in the square below. “It’s much different than it was in my vision.”
“How?”
“There was a different pope in the window. An old man with snow-white hair.” Donati rose to his feet. “How long are you planning to stay?”
“Until I’m sure she’s going to make it.”
“Would you like some company?”
“I would advise His Holiness to return to the Vatican.”
He went into the next room instead and knelt on the wooden prie-dieu at the foot of Veronica’s bed. She had been wrong about the ending of the story, thought Gabriel. If the girl died tonight, she would not die alone.
***
He remained there, hour after hour, as doctors came and went, and Veronica’s vital signs steadily improved. And at half past six the next morning, when her eyes finally opened, the first face she saw was his. She stared at him as though wondering whether he was real or a dream, then began to weep. Donati wiped the tears from her cheek, and she slid once more beneath the veil of unconsciousness.
