Page 82 of Skotos
We followed the Monsignor back into the main hallway. He was right. The much wider space of the marbled halls offered some measure of comfort after being cramped inside a glorified phone booth. Rinaldi led us outside to the piazza, where a cool breeze made the fountains dance and splash. Had we not been discussing the safety of men’s lives, it would’ve been a picturesque day for a stroll.
“Now,” Rinaldi whispered. “Tell me what you can, please.”
Will stepped forward. “Our people are concerned, but they want us to dig deeper before we share anything official.”
Rinaldi’s lips parted, a flicker of disbelief flashing in his eyes. “Are you telling me thatnothingwill be communicated to my superiors?”
“No, we’re not saying that,” I said calmly. “But for now, we need time, just a few days. Washington doesn’t like guesses, and that’s all we have at this point. We believe there’s a larger picture, and we’re very close to seeing it. The last thing either of us wants is for the killers to catch wind of our efforts and vanish.”
The Monsignor stopped walking and looked from me to Will and back again. “You think the Vatican has a leak.”
“Someone does,” Will said. “Until we’re sure, we can’t really say more than that.”
Rinaldi didn’t nod. He didn’t speak. He just stared for a long moment.
Then he stepped aside, motioning toward the doors. “Then I will pray that your superiors are correct—and that His Holiness remains unharmed.”
Not waiting for a response, he turned and left us to the piazza’s splendor.
“That went well,” I said after a moment.
Will ambled over to a fountain and stared into its rippling waters. Coins of every size, shape, and nationality lay on the tiled surface below, an interesting reflection of the church surrounding them.
“Are we doing the right thing?” he asked. I wasn’t really sure if he was asking me or his own conscience.
“We’re doing what we have to. Spies don’t always get the luxury of right and wrong.”
“That’s for damn sure,” he muttered, reaching into his pocket and tossing a coin into the water.
“What did you wish for?” I asked.
He stared at the ripples a moment longer, then looked up. “A miracle.”
I let that thought settle before patting his shoulder. “We should go. We have killers to catch.”
Will turned and fell in beside me as we headed to where a row of taxis waited for the throngs of tourists milling about. It was a pleasant day. Civilians outnumbered clergy. Still, those in robes or cassocks—or whatever those nun hats were called—were everywhere. We’d almost made it to the taxi line when a young priest of unremarkable height, indeterminable age, and forgettable features stumbled into Will.
“Scusi!” the priest muttered and hurried off before either of us could reply.
Will frowned but said nothing.
I climbed into the back seat of the first taxi in line. Oddly, Will didn’t immediately follow, so I leaned across the seat and stuck my head out the open door.
“Planning to stay and see the sights?” I asked.
Will was staring at something in his hand. Before I could ask what he held, his head whipped around, then his whole body, as he scanned the piazza, searching desperately.
“Will, what is it?”
He ignored me, continuing to search, until finally giving up and climbing into the taxi.
“Someone put this in my pocket,” he said, holding out yet another folded note.
“Passing notes in class again?” I quipped.
Will scowled. “You read it. I can’t take any more right now.”
As the taxi’s engine roared to life, I unfolded the note to find a garbled message with many of its words smeared and illegible:
