Donati paused. “Someone who apparently didn’t want him talking to you .”
“I concur.”
“Because he’s a Russian, and because the Russians have a history of this sort of thing, there’s bound to be speculation about a Kremlin connection.”
“It’s already begun, Luigi. A hundred reporters are camped at the edge of St. Peter’s Square saying that very thing.”
“What do you believe?”
“Ostrovsky told us he was afraid of the siloviki . It’s the word Russians use to describe the gang of former KGB men who’ve set up shop inside the Kremlin. He also told us that the information he had concerned a grave threat to the West and to Israel.”
“What sort of threat?”
“He didn’t get a chance to tell us that.”
Donati clasped his hands behind his back thoughtfully and looked down at the marble floor. “For the moment, Ostrovsky’s death is a matter for the police and security services of the Vatican, but it is unlikely to remain so. I anticipate pressure will build rather quickly for us to grant the Italian authorities primacy in the investigation. Fortunately, murder is not a common occurrence at the Vatican—except when you come to town, of course. We simply don’t have the technical expertise necessary to carry out an inquiry of this complexity, especially if sophisticated poisons or toxins are involved.”
“How long before you’ll have to let the Italians take over?”
“If I had to guess, the request will be on my desk by tomorrow. If we refuse, we’ll be accused of engaging in a cover-up. The press will spin wild theories about dark forces at play behind the walls of the Vatican. Which brings us back to the photographs of you inside the Basilica at the time of Ostrovsky’s death.”
“What about them?”
“Dropping the prints into the pontifical shredder is only a temporary solution. As you might expect, the images are stored permanently in the memory of our computers. And don’t even think about asking me to delete them. I won’t countenance the destruction of evidence— not with the Italians about to take over the case.”
“No one is going to recognize me from those images, Luigi. There’s only one way the Italians will find out I was here.”
“Don’t worry, Gabriel. Your secret is safe with us. Three people know of your involvement: the Holy Father, myself, and the Vigilanza detective who’s leading our investigation. I’ve sworn him to secrecy and he’s agreed to remain silent. He’s what we Italians call an uomo di fiducia : a man of trust. He used to work for the Polizia di Stato.”
“If it’s all right with you, Luigi, I’d like to have a brief word with the inspector.”
“About what?”
“It’s possible the security cameras in the Basilica picked up someone other than me.”
“Who?”
“The man who killed Boris Ostrovsky, of course.”
9
VATICAN CITY
Gabriel did not require an escort to find the Vatican Central Security Office. Unfortunately, he knew the way. It was there, shortly before the attack on St. Peter’s Basilica, that he had engaged in a frantic search for evidence of an al-Qaeda infiltrator at the Vatican. Had he been able to start a few minutes sooner, he might have prevented the deadliest single act of Islamic terrorism since 9/11.
Ispettore Mateo Cassani, a trim figure in a well-cut dark suit, was waiting in the reception foyer. He regarded Gabriel with a pair of weary, bloodshot eyes, then extended his hand. “Welcome back, Signore. Come with me, please.”
They headed down a narrow corridor and paused briefly in an open doorway. Inside, two uniformed Vigilanza officers were seated before a wall of video monitors. Gabriel quickly scanned the images: St. Anne’s Gate, the Arch of Bells, St. Peter’s Square, the San Damaso
“I concur.”
“Because he’s a Russian, and because the Russians have a history of this sort of thing, there’s bound to be speculation about a Kremlin connection.”
“It’s already begun, Luigi. A hundred reporters are camped at the edge of St. Peter’s Square saying that very thing.”
“What do you believe?”
“Ostrovsky told us he was afraid of the siloviki . It’s the word Russians use to describe the gang of former KGB men who’ve set up shop inside the Kremlin. He also told us that the information he had concerned a grave threat to the West and to Israel.”
“What sort of threat?”
“He didn’t get a chance to tell us that.”
Donati clasped his hands behind his back thoughtfully and looked down at the marble floor. “For the moment, Ostrovsky’s death is a matter for the police and security services of the Vatican, but it is unlikely to remain so. I anticipate pressure will build rather quickly for us to grant the Italian authorities primacy in the investigation. Fortunately, murder is not a common occurrence at the Vatican—except when you come to town, of course. We simply don’t have the technical expertise necessary to carry out an inquiry of this complexity, especially if sophisticated poisons or toxins are involved.”
“How long before you’ll have to let the Italians take over?”
“If I had to guess, the request will be on my desk by tomorrow. If we refuse, we’ll be accused of engaging in a cover-up. The press will spin wild theories about dark forces at play behind the walls of the Vatican. Which brings us back to the photographs of you inside the Basilica at the time of Ostrovsky’s death.”
“What about them?”
“Dropping the prints into the pontifical shredder is only a temporary solution. As you might expect, the images are stored permanently in the memory of our computers. And don’t even think about asking me to delete them. I won’t countenance the destruction of evidence— not with the Italians about to take over the case.”
“No one is going to recognize me from those images, Luigi. There’s only one way the Italians will find out I was here.”
“Don’t worry, Gabriel. Your secret is safe with us. Three people know of your involvement: the Holy Father, myself, and the Vigilanza detective who’s leading our investigation. I’ve sworn him to secrecy and he’s agreed to remain silent. He’s what we Italians call an uomo di fiducia : a man of trust. He used to work for the Polizia di Stato.”
“If it’s all right with you, Luigi, I’d like to have a brief word with the inspector.”
“About what?”
“It’s possible the security cameras in the Basilica picked up someone other than me.”
“Who?”
“The man who killed Boris Ostrovsky, of course.”
9
VATICAN CITY
Gabriel did not require an escort to find the Vatican Central Security Office. Unfortunately, he knew the way. It was there, shortly before the attack on St. Peter’s Basilica, that he had engaged in a frantic search for evidence of an al-Qaeda infiltrator at the Vatican. Had he been able to start a few minutes sooner, he might have prevented the deadliest single act of Islamic terrorism since 9/11.
Ispettore Mateo Cassani, a trim figure in a well-cut dark suit, was waiting in the reception foyer. He regarded Gabriel with a pair of weary, bloodshot eyes, then extended his hand. “Welcome back, Signore. Come with me, please.”
They headed down a narrow corridor and paused briefly in an open doorway. Inside, two uniformed Vigilanza officers were seated before a wall of video monitors. Gabriel quickly scanned the images: St. Anne’s Gate, the Arch of Bells, St. Peter’s Square, the San Damaso
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