Page 23 of The Medici Return

“Why can’t I stay here, or in Cologne at my residence?”

“You know the answer. This will not stay secret. We do not want you having anything to do with the diocese, and I certainly do not want you here in the Vatican. Better for you to be isolated. Away. Cardinal Schultz has assured me he will keep a close eye on you.”

Maybe not so good a friend after all.

He started to speak, but the older man lifted a hand to halt the protestation that he was about to make.

“No matter how I might personally feel about you,” Ascolani said. “For the good of the church I hope all of this is explainable.”

He said nothing. Shock was taking hold. This could not be happening.

“Is there anything else you need to say?” Ascolani asked.

“Like what?”

“Would you like me to hear your confession? Forgiveness from the Lord may help.”

“No, thank you.”

“As you wish. Go with God.”

And his enemy walked off.

What in the world was happening?

He’d had no involvement whatsoever in those shady real estate dealings. He was as surprised as everyone else when it all came to light. And money found in Dillenburg? How? His salary was modest, to say the least. He had no more than a few thousand euros saved in the bank. Four hundred thousand euros? Found there? In cash? And there were pictures? As he’d said, somebody was setting him up.

But who?

And why?

CHAPTER 13

7:40P.M.

COTTON DROVE ACROSS THERHINERIVER AND ENTERED THE HEARTof old Cologne. He’d visited the German city before, a place of churches and ancient museums and universities—once a Roman fortification, later the seat of archbishops and cardinals. Both had left indelible marks on the landscape.

Outside the car window he spied the towering twin spires of the cathedral, massive even from half a mile away. He used the structure as a beacon and began a trek through a series of one-way streets. The oxidized copper roof cast the titanic structure in a pale-green halo, adding an appropriate touch of omnipresence, the building squatting like a massive four-legged creature, the bell towers ears, transepts paws, the creature silently studying its territory, assuring in all directions it remained inviolate.

He’d taken his time driving the seventy miles west from Dillenburg, but stayed contemplative, considering the consequences of all that had happened. No one had followed him. His instructions had been to meet a contact in Cologne at 8:00P.M. after the sneak and peek for a face-to-face debrief. He assumed a recorded statement would be taken to serve as evidence to the tribunal. Then his task would be complete. Perhaps he could catch a late train north to Copenhagen and be home by midnight.

He navigated his way through the maze of streets and found a public parking lot. Then he crossed the open square that fanned out around the Dom, staring up at the towering façade. He’d visited the National Cathedral in Washington and churches all around the world, but they were nothing like this. Its main façade was all handcrafted, loaded with finial turrets, crockets, spires, intricate stone filigree, and stepped windows. It had stayed in a constant state of building and repair for the past fifteen hundred years. He knew the popular local saying.When the cathedral is completed, the world will end.

He followed a group of tourists chatting incessantly in French through the central portal in the west façade, the tympanum filled with scenes from the Old Testament. The jamb statutes portrayed biblical figures, the theme one of salvation. He hoped it was a good omen as he passed underneath. A soft melody from a pipe organ drifted across the interior. His eyes were immediately drawn up to the vaulted nave. The Gothic choir loomed at the far end, the ornate high altar beyond. Towering stained-glass windows lined the outer walls, their colorful images darkened by the ever-dimming sun outside.

He walked through the vestibule, down the center aisle between parallel rows of oak pews. A few worshipers knelt in contemplative prayer. Not many people around. Maybe fifty or so. At a side altar hundreds of tiny candles flickered, and he watched while a couple of veiled dowagers lit two more and crossed themselves. Atop the music was the echo of heels off stone. Occasionally, a photo flash pierced the semi-darkness.

The rows of pews ended before the altar.

He turned right and entered the south transept, following the ambulatory east to the far end. The golden reliquary sarcophagus stood to his left sparkling under floodlights behind a plexiglass shield. Supposedly, the remains of the Three Magi had been brought to Cologne in the twelfth century and had rested there ever since. He stood at the extreme east end of the massive church, away from the majority of visitors, at the crest of the ambulatory’s semicircle, easy to see from either side if anybody approached.

He checked his watch. Nearly 8:00P.M.

Right on time.

So where was his contact?

Stephanie had texted a picture of who to expect, so he was on the lookout for the right face. An elderly couple rounded the curve, strolling arm and arm admiring the chapels, chatting in German. Five minutes passed. Then ten. Something was off. Not right. Like what he’d felt in Dillenburg. He had no dog in this fight. None at all. He was asked to take a look, snap some pictures, then make a report. That’s all.

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