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member of the elder man’s confraternity. While Peter had spent a fair amount of time in Girolamo’s presence, he had never been here, to the inner sanctum of the confraternity offices. This was a private place, and as the old man closed thedoor behind them, Peter knew that there was a secret about to be revealed here. It no longer surprised him. He had come to the understanding that Vatican City was built on secrets, with secrets, by secrets, and for secrets.
    Resting in a central place on Father Girolamo’s antique desk was the document Maureen had received in New York. Peter wasn’t clear on what was happening here; he had not given the document to this priest. He had given it to Tómas Cardinal DeCaro, his mentor.
    “Sit.” It was a gentle command, and Peter took his seat across the desk from the old man. “You brought this document to Tómas, and he has brought it to me. He would be here himself but he is in Siena on Church business. But he trusts me, and so can you. Now, here is why he brought it to me. I am a Tuscan. And my passion through eighty years of life has been the study of Tuscan history and how it relates to the Church. And so when this rare and important document surfaced, our friend knew that I would understand its import. And I do. This relates to the grand contessa Matilda Toscana. Matilda of Tuscany. Do you know who she is?”
    Peter shook his head.
    “You will now. Tell me, how many times have you been inside the Basilica of Saint Peter?”
    Peter shrugged. “I don’t know. Hundreds.”
    “Then you have walked past Countess Matilda hundreds of times. She is buried in a place of honor, under a great marble tomb designed by the Baroque master Bernini and within fifty meters of the first apostle himself.”
    “She’s buried inside the basilica?” Peter was incredulous. He had no idea that any woman was buried in Saint Peter’s, much less in a place of such enormous honor. “Why?”
    Father Girolamo gave a small, soundless laugh. “That depends on whom you ask. But as you are asking me, I will tell you that it is because she was a pious woman and generous donor to the Church who left all her property to the pope.”
    “Why do you think someone sent Maureen a document about this Countess Matilda?”
    “I have deep concerns about the intentions of the person or persons who sent such a document anonymously, and until we can determine identity or intention, it is critical that we stay very close on this.”
    “You think this is dangerous?”
    The old man nodded. “I do. Peter, you are one of the finest linguistic scholars that the Jesuits have ever produced. You did not deliver this document for translation. You already know what it says. Am I correct?”
    Peter nodded. “I was hoping to have it authenticated, just to be sure.”
    “It is indeed authentic. Which is why it concerns me. Be very careful here, my son. I know that such a gift may appear benevolent, but I do not believe that it is. I believe that someone may be using your cousin. Tómas believes this too, which is why he came to me.”
    “Using her in what way?”
    “Think, Peter. Our friend Tómas came to me because, in addition to being Tuscan, I am also an expert in visionary experience. And if there is one thing I have learned over my many years of study, it is this: true visionaries are born, not made. You can’t aspire to it or study to be one. You are or you are not, and there is nothing in between. Therefore an authentic prophet, or prophetess, is both rare and valuable. And your cousin is something of a celebrity here, as you know.”
    Peter smiled. Maureen was mostly notorious within the walls of Vatican City, where she was a curiosity—a heretic and a renegade, and worse still, a woman—but also a force that could not be entirely discounted. She had, after all, made the most remarkable Christian discovery of the era as a result of following her dreams and visions.
    “So whether or not the more conservative