Metzler looked up from the sketch. “I assume this has something to do with the English woman.”
Gabriel nodded.
“When was the theft?”
“The night of the power failure.”
“It happened around eleven, if memory serves.”
“Eleven twenty-seven,” said Gabriel. “Leaving our priestly friend plenty of time to slip out of the Vatican before the gates closed at midnight. But someone had to have cleared him into the Vatican earlier that evening.”
“He could have come through the Arch of Bells, the Bronze Doors, or St. Anne’s Gate.”
“Can you find out which halberdiers were working that night?”
Metzler consulted the old duty rosters on his computer, then placed a series of terse phone calls. Three youthful Swiss Guards were soon standing at attention in his office. One wore a dress uniform, one wore a simple blue night uniform, and the third, having been roused from sleep, was clad in jeans and a Swiss Army fleece pullover.
Metzler held up the sketch. “Did any of you see this man leave the Vatican the night of the power outage?”
“I did, Colonel Metzler.”
It was the halberdier in the colorful dress uniform. He had been stationed at St. Anne’s Gate.
“Was he carrying anything?”
“A large nylon satchel.”
“You didn’t think it odd?”
“No, Colonel Metzler. I did not.”
“Did he speak to you?”
“Not a word.”
Metzler gritted his teeth. “And who was the idiot who allowed him to enter the Vatican?”
“It was me,” said the halberdier dressed in jeans and a fleece. He had been working that night at the Arch of Bells.
“Do you remember the time?”
“Around eight thirty.”
“You spoke to him, I hope.”
“Yes, Colonel.”
“What was his name?”
“Father Spada.”
“First name?”
“Giuseppe.”
“Did he have a Vatican identification?”
“No, Colonel.”
