Page 88 of The Medici Return

Which was also devoid of people.

A bell rang.

And the train began to ease its way from the station.

His phone vibrated.

He checked and found an incoming text tagged with the same coded identification.

Along with new instructions.

ERIC LEFTPANZITTA.

He’d decided not to attempt to force, coerce, or bribe the young priest. Let the bishop be contacted. That might actually work in his favor, sending more messages back to Rome. He was 99 percent certain that any DNA test would link him to Raffaello de’ Pazzi. There really was no other logical conclusion. So at this point, the more attention the better.

Especially within the church itself.

He was also convinced that Anna Maria and Raffaello were married, and a check of the archives for the Basilica of Santa Croce might reveal definitive proof of a mid-eighteenth-century marriage, reinforcing what Anna Maria herself had written. But given the nature of this particular marriage, and its volatile political consequences, no record may have been entered. Which could present a problem. But he would have to take a look. Thankfully, access to Santa Croce’s archives would not be an issue. They were open to all. From the diaries he knew when the two first met and when Raffaello had died. So the marriage had to have happened during that interval.

At this point, then, he had one thing left to determine. Where was the Medici copy of the Pledge of Christ?

Anna Maria had specifically pointed the way to her husband’s grave, where she left a message.Ne’er will the sweet and heavenly tones resound, Silent be the one nature feared, and when he was dying, feared herself to die. Forever silent be his harmonies, only in his third son’s bright world be justice found.

A puzzle? Clearly.

But where did it lead?

He had to find out.

STEFANO KEPT SILENT.

Everything about this situation seemed wrong. He was not some novice priest or rookie recruit who stood in awe of anyone and everyone who wore a red hat. Cardinals were to be admired, for sure. Most were good, decent men who worked hard and tried to do what was best. Most people did not know that cardinals had two jobs. First they were either high-ranking Vatican officials or the bishop or archbishop of a large diocese. Their day job. Being named cardinal added a whole other layer of more responsibility. A second job. One that connected them directly to the pope. They became bishops with special rights and privileges, the most prominent of which was their right to participate in a conclave to elect a new pope. Every cardinal, upon receiving the red hat, chose a motto, opening a window into their spirituality and priorities. The sayings were varied and usually intensely personal. Ascolani’s was particularly unique.Virtus in infirmitate.

Power in weakness.

Perhaps irony was the point since Ascolani was anything but weak. Though he’d come to learn that the Italian loved for others to underestimate him.

But again, Stefano was no initiate.

And a lesson he’d learned early on in his Entity training kept repeating through his brain.

One night he and three other recruits were out late, enjoying themselves, and had not studied for a written test scheduled the next day. In the morning one of them thought of a plan. So they all went to the cardinal-instructor, an older man from Africa who’d worked with the Entity for decades, and said they had gone to a wedding the night before and, on their way back, the tire of their car burst and they had been up all night, in no condition now to take the test. The cardinal was understanding and offered them a retest in three days’ time. When that day came the cardinal told them that it would be a special retest, with each of them occupying a separate classroom alone. They all agreed, since they had each prepared for the test by now and were ready. But this specialexam came with only two questions. (1) Your name? (2) Which tire burst? Four options were offered. Front driver’s. Front passenger’s. Back driver’s. Back passenger’s.

He learned two things that day.

Take responsibility, and always tell the truth.

Sergio Cardinal Ascolani certainly had learned the first lesson, but not the second. He was lying. No question.

They had left Siena by car. Stefano was driving them through the dark Tuscan countryside to God-knows-where. Ascolani had not offered any explanation, nor had he asked for one. He’d received a text from the two men following the man from the Palazzo Tempi saying that he’d boarded the train for Florence. But an hour later another text had come that said the man had not departed at the end of the trip. In fact, he was not on the train at all.

They’d lost him.

“You have stayed quiet,” Ascolani said.

“There is nothing to be said until you explain to me what we are doing.”

“That is what I like about you. Never crossing the line. Always respectful of authority.”

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