Page 105 of The Medici Return

STEFANO DROVE THE CAR AS HE ANDASCOLANI LEFTSANTAMARIAdi Castello. His distrust of Ascolani had magnified tenfold, and he found himself remembering more of his Entity training.Good actors make good spies.Absolutely. Role-playing was essential. Sometimes critical. But he’d been taught that eventually any impersonation could be penetrated. No one could keep the fiction up forever.Like identical twins. They cannot be the other for long.Ascolani was indeed a good actor. He played his part as a senior prelate to perfection, revealing next to nothing about his innermost thoughts. But Stefano had caught that faintest curl of a smile on the old man’s lips as he’d read whatever had last appeared on his phone.

Definitely good news.

And now they were headed away from the Carthusians. Down the road, back toward the valley. He’d seen splatters of flickering light off beyond the asphalt, down the embankment.

Fire?

“I have people dealing with this,” Ascolani said as they drove past. “We need to return to Siena. Immediately. All will be fine here.”

So they had not stopped.

Nor had he believed a word Ascolani had said.

THOMAS ENTERED THE CAMPO.

He’d returned to Siena, driving through a light rain that had enveloped the countryside. He was tired. Some sleep would be welcomed. He’d parked beyond the city walls in a public lot that was only about half full. People were still out and he could hear the far-off celebrations of music and shouting. But the rain had probably placed a damper on some of the festivities. He’d taken a moment and examined what was inside the plastic sleeve. Some sort of document. Aged. Brittle. Signed. Still legible, though in what appeared to be Latin. He wondered about its importance, but knew he would never be told.

Which was okay. No concern of his.

He left the car and walked into town. The rain had stopped but the cobbles were slick with moisture. Inside the campo the racetrack was illuminated only by the ambient light from the surrounding buildings. It had served its purpose and was now just an eyesore. A fountain occupied the highest point of the ancient sloping plaza. He looked around and did not see Ascolani. He had no idea where the cardinal was, but he’d certainly been close to that monastery as the orders he’d received were quite specific. He had an urge to pray, so he sat on the fountain’s edge and closed his eyes, offering up a Hail Mary and an Our Father.

Which calmed him.

He hoped this assignment was over and he could shrink back into the shadows, where he preferred to dwell.

Maybe by tomorrow at this time he would be back in England.

STEFANO KNEW THE CAUSE OF THE NAMELESS FEAR THAT HELD HIM IN Afirm grasp. Disappointment. He’d been lied to and used, expected to go along, obey, be swept up by the strength of the Entity’s zeal,surrendering himself to Ascolani’s unexplained actions without question. Yet he could not. Even worse, he could not just walk away. If it meant the end of his career with the Entity, then that’s what it would be. But he was going to honor his oath of service and learn the truth.

It had started to rain a few kilometers out of town, but had stopped by the time he dropped Ascolani off just outside Siena’s walls, watching as the older man walked away.

“Head back to Rome,” Ascolani ordered. “Your mission here is complete.”

“What did we accomplish?”

“Exactly what was necessary.”

More aggravating obtuseness.

So he’d quickly parked the car and headed off in foot pursuit. His mind seethed with an assortment of conflicting emotions. A burgeoning excitement, a chilly dread, an irrational anger. He could not fall victim to fear and paranoia, as those two could dog every operation and usually caused failure. He also had to resist the urge to better demonstrate his own brilliance with unnecessary foolishness. He was a priest. Ascolani a cardinal. The second most powerful man in the Catholic Church. He was taking enough chances already. What he was doing now was clearly wrong. A termination offense. He’d be banished to some parish far off the beaten path. Forgotten. He’d thought about heading back to Rome and talking to the right people, then waiting for everything to clear itself up naturally. But would it? No. This had to be pursued. Here. Now.

By him.

Alone.

He followed Ascolani at a distance, mindful that the damp streets were clearing of people, though the city remained awake and alive, seemingly not surrendering to sleep. He imagined that, as with the Calico Storico, it would take a few days for the adrenaline to work its way out of Siena’s veins. The tourists and visitors, though, would be gone by tomorrow, if not already.

He broke his pace with halts here and there and short dashes accompanied by checks back over his shoulder just in case he wasmore prey than predator. He always smiled at books and television that depicted the complex ways of trailing people with unmarked cars, relays of footmen, and frequent switches. Overkill. None of that was needed if you were just careful. And besides, the last thing a self-important prelate like Ascolani would think was that a subordinate was watching him. He noticed, though, that Ascolani took a circuitous route through the wet streets, turning corners and doubling back before finally ending at the campo.

A hundred or so people were there, getting their last look at the racetrack, which would almost certainly be gone tomorrow. Ascolani headed for the open center, which had earlier been filled with tens of thousands of spectators. He stopped at the fountain and talked with another man.

One Stefano recognized.

From the pictures he’d taken.

From the Palazzo Tempi.

THOMAS BOWED HIS HEAD IN RESPECT ASASCOLANI APPROACHED.“Eminence.”

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