Page 40 of The Medici Return

“Can we not do this?” Cotton asked. “What is it?”

“The pope is contemplating quitting,” Richter said. “He wants to retire and enjoy his final years without the pressures of the Vatican. He and I have privately discussed it.”

“Ascolani most certainly knows,” Stamm said. “So he is making a play. A big one. In secret. Before the gathering storm clouds appear. And Eric Casaburi just gave him an unexpected gift.”

“So let’s find that document first,” Cotton said. “And take the wind out of his sails.”

Stamm nodded. “Precisely. But I am afraid it will not be easy.”

He did not like the sound of that.

“When Ghislieri fled Rome in 1559, he took with him a great many records,” Stamm said. “We have long known that. Documents from the more recent popes, Julius II being one of those, included. Julius II is the one who supposedly offered the pledge to the Medicis. My guess is that, if the church’s copy still exists, it is within those papers. But those have long been secreted away in a Tuscan monastery. Santa Maria di Castello. I learned of the cache decades ago. That is where you must look.”

“How do we get in?” Cotton asked.

“That is the hard part. The Carthusian Order controls the site. They will never allow you in voluntarily. They will not even allow the Vatican in. But there is one person who might be able to open the way. A friend of mine, who lives in Siena.”

“You said it won’t be easy,” Cotton said. “What’s the problem?”

“She’s an opportunist. Not to be trusted.”

CHAPTER 26

STEFANO HAD LEFT THE ARCHIVES AND HEADED STRAIGHT FORCardinal Richter’s Rome apartment, the address provided by the Entity’s main command. It seemed the best place to start his search. Central operations was located in a building toward the rear of the Vatican, near the outer wall, beyond the gardens, close to an array of satellite dishes.

Richter lived in one of the many apartment buildings that the Holy See owned across Rome. Part of the countless investments the Vatican Bank made with church money. Most of the occupants paid market-price rent, but cardinals working in the Curia were granted a subsidy and paid little to nothing. Clergy like himself lived much more modestly. He’d been assigned a room within the rectory for the Archbasilica of the Most Holy Savior at the Lateran across town. He owned little more than a few clothes and a laptop. He stayed constantly on the move, shifting from one assignment to the next. The room at the rectory was just a place to sleep when he was in Rome. Everything else he required was provided, including a specially made mobile phone for secure communications. His meager salary was appreciated and he’d managed to bank almost all of it, as the Entity covered travel expenses and the rectory fed him. He liked the freedom he enjoyed. Connected to nowhere inparticular. Unbound by material things. His focus entirely on getting the job done.

He would like to stay attached to the Entity and rise through its ranks. Most who were selected were either promoted or fired. Few ever left on their own. Surely there was a place for him there, and he intended to do his job to the best of his ability and find that place.

Arriving at Richter’s apartment building he discovered that the cardinal was there. Excellent. His hunch played out. So he’d maintained surveillance, prepared to stay all night if need be. But Richter had emerged from the building dressed in street clothes and headed off in a hurry. Thankfully the cardinal had decided to walk to wherever he was headed.

He’d followed.

Ascolani had made clear that this was not an assignment that would involve the Gruppo Intervento Rapido. A dozen men worked under Stefano in the rapid intervention group.

“At present, this job is for you alone,” Ascolani said. “But that could change.”

Which meant he had to be ready to pivot.

Richter hustled through Rome’s maze of intersecting streets, never hesitating, taking each turn with confidence. He was headed somewhere familiar.

And fast.

The euphoria from the win earlier in Florence had faded. Calcio Storico had been an important part of his life since he was a teenager. But he was nearing the end of his time to participate. It was definitely a young man’s game, and he was approaching middle age. His body could take only so much pounding. He’d always returned home in June to play in the annual matches. Something he looked forward to. He’d been part of winning and losing teams. Definitely winning was better. As a kid he’d dreamed of making the final goal, with the match on the line, the crowds cheering him on.

Today he’d done just that.

A one-bouncer. But enough.

He’d miss those matches.

He grabbed his bearings. Richter was a kilometer or so away from the Vatican, deep into Rome central.

Where were they headed?

His parents had no idea what he did for the church. They thought him assigned to the Curia, working in the secretary of state’s office as a junior administrator. He used the secrecy of the office as an excuse not to discuss any particulars, which they’d seemed to understand. His extended absences were chalked up to the work of the church. They were clearly proud of him on two levels. First, he was a priest, a servant of the Lord. And second, he was part of the Curia, something special, working for the pope. He wanted to tell them the truth, and maybe someday he could.

But not now.

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