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Authors: Daniel Silva
Tags: thriller
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detective clicked the PLAY icon and Boris Ostrovsky began moving across the square, with Eli
Lavon following carefully in his wake. Ninety seconds later, as Ostrovsky was passing between the
Obelisk and the left fountain, he slipped out of the range of the camera atop the Colonnade and into the
range of another camera mounted near the Loggia of the Blessings. A few seconds later, he was
surrounded by a group of tourists. A solitary figure approached from the left side of the image; rather than
wait for the group to pass, he shouldered his way through it. The man appeared to bump several members
of the group, including Ostrovsky, then headed off toward the entrance of the square.
Gabriel watched the final three minutes of Boris Ostrovsky’s life: his brief wait at the security
checkpoint; his passage through the Filarete Door; his stop at the Chapel of the Pietà; his final walk to the
Monument to Pius XII. Precisely sixty-seven seconds after his arrival, he fell to his knees before the
statue and began clutching his throat. Gabriel appeared twenty-two seconds after that, advancing spiritlike
across the screen, one frame per second. The detective appeared moved by the sight of Gabriel lowering
the dying Russian carefully to the floor.
“Did he say anything to you?” the detective asked.
“No, nothing. He couldn’t speak.”
“What were you telling him?”
“I was telling him that it was all right to die. I was telling him he would be going to a better place.”
“You are a believer, Signore Allon?”
“Take it back to the shot at fifteen-fifty.”
The Vatican detective did as Gabriel requested and for the second time they watched as Ostrovsky
advanced toward the Basilica. And as the solitary figure approached him from the left…
“Stop it right there,” Gabriel said suddenly.
Cassani immediately clicked PAUSE.
“Back it up to the previous frame, please.”
The Vatican detective complied with the request.
“Can you enlarge the image?”
“I can,” Cassani said, “but the resolution will be poor.”
“Do it anyway.”
The Vatican detective used the mouse to crop the image to the necessary dimensions, then clicked the
ENLARGE icon. The resolution, as promised, was nebulous at best. Even so, Gabriel could clearly see
the right hand of the solitary figure wrapped around the upper portion of Boris Ostrovsky’s right arm.
“Where’s Ostrovsky’s body?”
“In our morgue.”
“Has anyone examined it yet?”
“I gave it a brief examination to see if there were any signs of physical trauma or wounds. There was
nothing.”
“If you check again, I suspect you’ll find a very small perforation to the skin of his upper arm. It’s
where the assassin injected him with a Russian poison that paralyzes the respiratory system within
minutes. It was developed by the KGB during the Cold War.”
“I’ll have a look right away.”
“There’s something I need from you first.” Gabriel tapped the screen. “I need to know what time this
man entered the square and which direction he went when he left. And I need the five best pictures of him
you can find.”
He was a professional, and, like all professionals, he had been aware of the cameras. He had
lowered his guard just once, at 15:47:33, ten seconds after Boris Ostrovsky was first picked up by
Vatican surveillance on the edge of the square. The image had been captured by a camera near the Bronze
Doors of the Apostolic Palace. It showed a sturdy-jawed man with wide cheekbones, heavy sunglasses,
and thick blond hair. Eli Lavon examined the photograph by the glow of a streetlamp atop the Spanish
Steps. Fifty yards away, an Office security team was hastily searching the safe flat for traces of toxins or
radioactive material.
“The hair is artificial, but I’d say those cheekbones are real. He’s a Russian, Gabriel, and he’s not
someone I’d ever care to meet in a dark alley.” Lavon studied the photo showing the
Lavon following carefully in his wake. Ninety seconds later, as Ostrovsky was passing between the
Obelisk and the left fountain, he slipped out of the range of the camera atop the Colonnade and into the
range of another camera mounted near the Loggia of the Blessings. A few seconds later, he was
surrounded by a group of tourists. A solitary figure approached from the left side of the image; rather than
wait for the group to pass, he shouldered his way through it. The man appeared to bump several members
of the group, including Ostrovsky, then headed off toward the entrance of the square.
Gabriel watched the final three minutes of Boris Ostrovsky’s life: his brief wait at the security
checkpoint; his passage through the Filarete Door; his stop at the Chapel of the Pietà; his final walk to the
Monument to Pius XII. Precisely sixty-seven seconds after his arrival, he fell to his knees before the
statue and began clutching his throat. Gabriel appeared twenty-two seconds after that, advancing spiritlike
across the screen, one frame per second. The detective appeared moved by the sight of Gabriel lowering
the dying Russian carefully to the floor.
“Did he say anything to you?” the detective asked.
“No, nothing. He couldn’t speak.”
“What were you telling him?”
“I was telling him that it was all right to die. I was telling him he would be going to a better place.”
“You are a believer, Signore Allon?”
“Take it back to the shot at fifteen-fifty.”
The Vatican detective did as Gabriel requested and for the second time they watched as Ostrovsky
advanced toward the Basilica. And as the solitary figure approached him from the left…
“Stop it right there,” Gabriel said suddenly.
Cassani immediately clicked PAUSE.
“Back it up to the previous frame, please.”
The Vatican detective complied with the request.
“Can you enlarge the image?”
“I can,” Cassani said, “but the resolution will be poor.”
“Do it anyway.”
The Vatican detective used the mouse to crop the image to the necessary dimensions, then clicked the
ENLARGE icon. The resolution, as promised, was nebulous at best. Even so, Gabriel could clearly see
the right hand of the solitary figure wrapped around the upper portion of Boris Ostrovsky’s right arm.
“Where’s Ostrovsky’s body?”
“In our morgue.”
“Has anyone examined it yet?”
“I gave it a brief examination to see if there were any signs of physical trauma or wounds. There was
nothing.”
“If you check again, I suspect you’ll find a very small perforation to the skin of his upper arm. It’s
where the assassin injected him with a Russian poison that paralyzes the respiratory system within
minutes. It was developed by the KGB during the Cold War.”
“I’ll have a look right away.”
“There’s something I need from you first.” Gabriel tapped the screen. “I need to know what time this
man entered the square and which direction he went when he left. And I need the five best pictures of him
you can find.”
He was a professional, and, like all professionals, he had been aware of the cameras. He had
lowered his guard just once, at 15:47:33, ten seconds after Boris Ostrovsky was first picked up by
Vatican surveillance on the edge of the square. The image had been captured by a camera near the Bronze
Doors of the Apostolic Palace. It showed a sturdy-jawed man with wide cheekbones, heavy sunglasses,
and thick blond hair. Eli Lavon examined the photograph by the glow of a streetlamp atop the Spanish
Steps. Fifty yards away, an Office security team was hastily searching the safe flat for traces of toxins or
radioactive material.
“The hair is artificial, but I’d say those cheekbones are real. He’s a Russian, Gabriel, and he’s not
someone I’d ever care to meet in a dark alley.” Lavon studied the photo showing the
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