Page 112 of The Medici Return

And he ended the call.

CHAPTER 75

STEFANO REALIZED THAT IF THIS DID NOT PLAY OUT AS PLANNED, HEwould surely be arrested and tried for an offense against an officer of the Holy See. The repercussions would be swift and certain. Ascolani would see to that. No mercy would be shown. He’d hoped to one day be a bishop. Cardinal Stamm himself had begun as a priest-clerk, moving to a field officer then all the way up to head of the Entity. It felt good to be working with Stamm again. When the pope had forced Stamm’s retirement, there’d been a genuine sense of loss within the Entity. Everyone respected the old Irishman. Then, when Ascolani assumed command, a sense of disbelief had permeated the air. Never had the secretary of state held that position. The conflicts of interest were inherent, but apparently no voices of concern had been raised.

Or not enough at least.

Ascolani was right in the middle of something far beyond the bounds of his official duties. And using a hired killer? That was unconscionable. He supposed, though, that was what ambition did to good judgment. He flushed all those disturbing thoughts from his mind and concentrated on the clangor and rush of the Piazza del Duomo around him. The ancient piazza was less open space and more a grand stage for the architectural gems that filledit. Florence’s famed Duomo, with its signature vermillion dome, stood to his left isolated, free from attached or adjoining buildings. The same was true for the much smaller Baptistery before him, with rows of tourists lined up outside its main doors waiting for entry. The great bell atop Giotto’s Campanile tolled for noon, as it had done for all of Florence for over five centuries.

A gust of wind swept across the open space. The day was warm, the pavement soaked in sunlight. Malone had asked him to reconnoiter the piazza focusing on the surrounding buildings that housed shops, restaurants, and boutique hotels.

Which led them here.

ERIC ENTERED THEPIAZZA DELDUOMO.

The voice on the phone told him to be here, at its center, by noon.

“I will be wearing a white hat,” the voice had said.

“Why should I come?”

“Because Cardinal Richter cannot give you what you want. I can. We can make a deal.”

That last part intrigued him.

So he’d had no choice.

But to come.

THOMAS WAS MOVING FAST.

Ascolani had called an hour ago and instructed him to assume a concealed position with privacy, and without witnesses, that overlooked the cathedral square. He carried the shoulder bag with the rifle tucked inside and was making his way toward a small hotel that occupied a spot where the Via de’ Martelli drained into the piazza. Four stories. With plenty of windows from rooms that overlooked the piazza. Ascolani’s instructions had beencrystal-clear.Use your toy and deal with Casaburi. Do not miss this time.

The jab at his failure in Siena cut deep. He was not accustomed to disappointing his benefactor. But that task during the Palio had been fraught with difficulties. This one would be much easier.

He kept walking.

Plenty of people filled the streets. Surely most of them tourists, here to enjoy the sights. Everything throbbed with activity. He checked his watch. 11:45A.M.

He had fifteen minutes to be in position.

COTTON STUDIED HIS PHONE AND THE PULSATING BLUE DOT, WHICHindicated that Thomas Dewberry was nearby. How close? Hard to tell from the dot. He was utilizing a special Magellan Billet program that could track a cell phone, once the relevant information for that phone was input. Which Stamm had obtained from the intermediary. He also had information on Ascolani’s Vatican phone, which indicated it was in the Piazza del Duomo, which opened at the end of the street about a hundred feet away.

He turned and backtracked down the street. At an intersection he hooked left and kept walking. The blue dot was ahead of him. Somewhere. A red dot indicated Stefano’s phone’s location.

Which he headed toward.

ERIC WAS UNSURE ABOUT THE UNEXPECTED TURN OF EVENTS. HE’Dacquired some new, unknown Vatican ally.

Or was it a trap?

He spotted an older man, dressed casually. Pants. Shirt. Sneakers. Looked to be in his mid- to late sixties, a close-curled head of steel-gray hair crowning an imperious, finely chiseled face. He stood straight with his hands behind his back, balanced on theballs of his feet, the posture finely taut. The face cast a gloomy, almost tyrannical expression. Atop his head he wore a white hat with a wide brim that shaded the sun.

He approached.

“Signore Casaburi, I am Cardinal Ascolani.”

He knew the name, just not the face associated with the name. The Vatican secretary of state. Just one rung removed from the pope.

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