Courtyard, the Vatican Gardens, the interior of the Basilica.
“This is our main observation room. It also serves as our command center in times of crisis, such as the morning of the attack. Everything is recorded and stored digitally. For all eternity,” he added with a tired smile. “Just like the Holy Mother Church.”
“I was afraid of that.”
“Don’t worry, Signore. I know who you are, and I know exactly what you did the day those terrorists attacked this place. The Church lost four cardinals and eight bishops in a matter of seconds. And if it wasn’t for you, we might have lost a pope as well.”
They left the observation room and entered a cramped office overlooking the darkened Belvedere Courtyard. Cassani sat down before a desktop computer and invited Gabriel to look over his shoulder.
“Monsignor Donati told me you wanted to see every image we had of the dead Russian.”
Gabriel nodded. The detective clicked the mouse and the first image appeared, a wide-angle shot of St. Peter’s Square, taken from a camera mounted atop the left flank of the Colonnade. The shot advanced at the rate of one frame per second. When the time code in the bottom left portion of the screen reached 15:47:23, Cassani clicked the PAUSE icon and pointed to the top right-hand corner.
“There’s Signore Ostrovsky. He enters the square alone and makes his way directly to the security checkpoint outside the Basilica.” Cassani glanced at Gabriel. “It’s almost as if he was intending to meet someone inside.”
“Can you set the shot in motion?” Gabriel asked.
The 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.
“This is our main observation room. It also serves as our command center in times of crisis, such as the morning of the attack. Everything is recorded and stored digitally. For all eternity,” he added with a tired smile. “Just like the Holy Mother Church.”
“I was afraid of that.”
“Don’t worry, Signore. I know who you are, and I know exactly what you did the day those terrorists attacked this place. The Church lost four cardinals and eight bishops in a matter of seconds. And if it wasn’t for you, we might have lost a pope as well.”
They left the observation room and entered a cramped office overlooking the darkened Belvedere Courtyard. Cassani sat down before a desktop computer and invited Gabriel to look over his shoulder.
“Monsignor Donati told me you wanted to see every image we had of the dead Russian.”
Gabriel nodded. The detective clicked the mouse and the first image appeared, a wide-angle shot of St. Peter’s Square, taken from a camera mounted atop the left flank of the Colonnade. The shot advanced at the rate of one frame per second. When the time code in the bottom left portion of the screen reached 15:47:23, Cassani clicked the PAUSE icon and pointed to the top right-hand corner.
“There’s Signore Ostrovsky. He enters the square alone and makes his way directly to the security checkpoint outside the Basilica.” Cassani glanced at Gabriel. “It’s almost as if he was intending to meet someone inside.”
“Can you set the shot in motion?” Gabriel asked.
The 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.
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