Donati nodded.

“So Albanese was aware of every document that passed through the Holy Father’s hands?”

“Not necessarily.” An unrepentant smoker, Donati removed a cigarette from an elegant gold case and tapped it against the cover before lighting it with a matching gold lighter. “As you might recall, His Holiness developed serious sleeping problems late in his papacy. He was always in bed at the same time each evening, about half past ten, but he rarely stayed there long. On occasion he was known to visit the Secret Archives for a bit of nocturnal reading.”

“How did he get documents in the middle of the night?”

“He had a secret source.” Donati’s eye was caught by something over Gabriel’s shoulder. “My God, is that—”

“Yes, it is.”

“Why doesn’t she join us?”

“She’s busy.”

“Watching your back?”

“And yours.” Gabriel asked about the missing Swiss Guard.

“His name is Niklaus Janson. He recently completed his required two-year term of service, but at my request he agreed to remain for an additional year.”

“You liked him?”

“I trusted him, which is far more important.”

“Were there any black marks on his record?”

“Two missed curfews.”

“When was the last violation?”

“A week before the Holy Father’s death. He claimed he was out with a friend and lost track of the time. Metzler gave him the traditional punishment.”

“What’s that?”

“Scrubbing the rust off breastplates or chopping up old uniforms on the execution block in the courtyard of the barracks. The Guards call it the Scheitstock.”

“When did you realize he was missing?”

“Two days after the Holy Father’s death, I noticed that Niklaus wasn’t one of the Guards chosen to stand watch over the body while it was on display in the basilica. I asked Alois Metzler why he had been excluded and was told, much to my surprise, that he was missing.”

“How did Metzler explain his absence?”

“He said Niklaus was grief-stricken over the death of His Holiness. Frankly, he didn’t seem terribly concerned. Neither did the camerlengo, for that matter.” Donati tapped his cigarette irritably against the rim of the ashtray. “After all, he had a globally televised funeral to plan.”

“What else do you know about Janson?”

“His comrades used to call him Saint Niklaus. He told me once that he briefly considered a vocation. He joined the Guard after completing his service in the Swiss Army. They still have compulsory service up there, you know.”

“Where’s he from?”

“A little village near Fribourg. It’s a Catholic canton. There’s a woman there, a girlfriend, perhaps his fiancée. Her name is Stefani Hoffmann. Metzler contacted her the day after the Holy Father’s death. As far as I can tell, that was the extent of his efforts to determine Niklaus’s whereabouts.” Donati paused. “Perhaps you might be more effective.”

“At what?”

“Finding Niklaus Janson, of course. I wouldn’t think it would be too difficult for a man in your position. Surely you have certain capabilities at your disposal.”

“I do. But I can’t use them to find a missing Swiss Guard.”

“Why ever not? Niklaus knows what happened that night. I’m sure of it.”

Gabriel was not yet convinced that anything at all had happened that night, other than that an old man with a weakened heart, a man whom Gabriel loved and admired, had died while praying in his private chapel. Still, he had to admit there were enough troubling circumstances to warrant further investigation, beginning with the whereabouts of Niklaus Janson. Gabriel would try to find him, if only to put Donati’s mind at ease. And his own mind, as well.

“Do you know the number for Janson’s mobile?” he asked.

“I’m afraid not.”

“Do they have a computer network over there in the Swiss Guard barracks, or are they still using parchment?”

“They went digital a couple of years ago.”

“Big mistake,” said Gabriel. “Parchment is much more secure.”

“Is it your intention to hack into the computer network of the Pontifical Swiss Guard?”

“With your blessing, of course.”

“I’ll withhold it, if you don’t mind.”

“How jesuitical of you.”

Donati smiled but said nothing.

“Go back to the Curia and keep your head down for a couple of days. I’ll contact you when I have something.”

“Actually, I was wondering whether you and Chiara might be free tonight.”

“We were planning to go back to Venice.”

“Is there any chance I can convince you to stay? I thought we might have dinner at a little place near the Villa Borghese.”

“Will anyone be joining us?”

“An old friend.”

“Yours or mine?”

“As a matter of fact, both.”

Gabriel hesitated. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Luigi. I haven’t seen her since—”

“She was the one who suggested it. I believe you remember the address. Drinks are at eight o’clock.”

9

CAFFÈ GRECO, ROME

WHAT DO YOU THINK?” ASKED Chiara.

“I definitely think I could get used to living here again.”

They were seated in the elegant front room of Caffè Greco. Beneath their small round table were several glossy shopping bags, the plunder of a costly late-afternoon excursion along the Via Condotti. They had traveled from Venice to Rome without a change of clothing. They both needed something appropriate to wear for dinner at Veronica Marchese’s palazzo.

“I was talking about—”

Gabriel gently cut her off. “I know what you were talking about.”

“Well?”

“All of it can be explained rather easily.”

Chiara was clearly unconvinced. “Let’s start with the phone call.”

“Let’s.”

“Why did Albanese wait so long to contact Donati?”

“Because the Holy Father’s death was Albanese’s moment in the spotlight, and he didn’t want Donati interfering or second-guessing his decisions.”

“His overinflated ego got the better of him?”

“Nearly everyone in a position of power suffers from one.”

“Everyone but you, of course.”

“That goes without saying.”

“But why did Albanese take it upon himself to move the body? And why did he close the curtains and the shutters in the study?”

“For the exact reasons he said he did.”

“And the teacup?”

Gabriel shrugged. “One of the household nuns probably took it.”

“Did they take the letter off Lucchesi’s desk, too?”

“The letter,” admitted Gabriel, “is harder to explain.”

“Almost as hard as the missing Swiss Guard.” A waiter arrived with two coffees and a creamy Roman fruit tart. Fork in hand, Chiara hesitated. “I’ve already gained at least five pounds on this trip.”