“Later,” he said.
We watched as the man in the brown coat detached himself from the group and wandered close to one of the Swiss Guard at his post near the bronze doors. The guard looked up toward Monsignor O’Flaherty, and the man headed our way.
“Another guest,” O’Flaherty said. “The Swiss Guard are under orders to turn away anyone seeking asylum. Which they do, following their orders to the letter. They also mention that they may wish to return during the times I stand here, to gather them in.”
“You know how to walk a fine line, Monsignor.”
“It’s all about having friends in high places who can adjust the line when needed.” He raised his eyes and looked at the Papal Palace, rising above the north side of the colonnade. I caught a glance of a figure in white, standing at an open window. Then he was gone.
“Was that the Pope?” I asked.
“His Holiness himself,” O’Flaherty said. “He watches me most days. We both act the part of the careful shepherd. You need a haircut. Come to my room tonight. Rino will give you a trim.”
“What? Wait-”
O’Flaherty flashed a grin as he descended the steps to greet the guy in the brown coat, steering him through the Arch of the Bells to a safe haven. I wondered if I could bring Diana to safety as well, get her to neutral territory. Anywhere but in the Regina Coeli. It seemed possible, now that O’Flaherty confirmed she was alive, and I was so close. I needed to find the right way in. As for the haircut, I had no idea what O’Flaherty’s game was. But I’d play it, that I knew for sure.
Thoughts of Diana preyed on my mind as I stood looking out over the square and down the long avenue that led to the Tiber River. All I had to do was head that way, take a right, and in a few minutes I could knock on the prison door. Or walk under the windows, calling for Sister Justina. Foolish thoughts, but they were all I had.
A prayer wouldn’t hurt, I thought, as I walked into Saint Peter’s Basilica. Saint Jude, the patron saint of lost causes and long shots, might give a listen if I sent up a prayer from here. Inside, it was another world. Hushed. Magnificent. Huge. Marble floors that reflected like glass, statues and paintings adorned with gold. I walked along the nave, watching two German officers, cameras around their necks, consulting a guidebook and speaking in whispers as they stood at the Chapel of the Pieta. The sculpture of Mary, with the body of Jesus draped across her lap, silenced even the conquerors. I had to pull myself away from that terrible beauty of a woman mourning her son and move on, not liking to be so close to my enemies, even here, in the safest of sanctuaries. Or was it death that drew my eye?
I came closer to the tomb of Saint Peter, if I remembered my Sunday school lessons right. It was in front of the massive Papal Altar, with four black-and-gold curved columns reaching to the ceiling under the great dome. At that moment, sunlight streamed in from the windows at the base of the dome, lighting the people standing underneath, bathing them in luminous brilliance. I spotted Kaz, shoulder to shoulder with Princess Nini, their necks craned as they studied the altar.
I wasn’t as close as I’d thought. The scale of the basilica threw me off as the vastness and grandeur of the building overwhelmed my senses. Kaz and the princess were tiny, as if they were miles away, or was it a trick of the light? I looked up to the ceiling and the room swirled around me, the colors thick and heavy, the weight of centuries pressing on me. I covered my eyes and looked again, and Kaz was still distant, mingling and disappearing into a crowd as clouds killed the sunlight, turning the interior into a cold, gray murkiness.
I left the holy place as if it spit me out.
I sat on the cold steps, my head in my hands. Something terrible had happened to Diana, I was sure of it. It wasn’t the Pieta, or the Germans, or the dazzling light. It was a scream in my brain, and I was certain where it was coming from.
The Regina Coeli.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I wandered through the gardens, making my way back to the German College. My brain was in high gear trying to figure some angle that would get Diana out of that damned prison. But this wasn’t my town and I had less pull here than a hooker in a monastery.
“Father Boyle,” said a voice from behind. I nearly jumped out of my skin. It was Robert Brackett, the American deputy charge d’affaires. I didn’t like being surprised, especially by a heavy-footed civilian. Stay focused, I told myself. Diana worried me, a lot. But I needed to worry about a murder as well. Not to mention the murderer.
“Out for a walk, Mr. Brackett?”
“I was looking for you, actually. You asked about seeing Soletto.”
“Right,” I said. I’d forgotten we’d asked Brackett to arrange that, since he seemed less than enthusiastic about our investigation. “You have any news?”
“Yes, he’s agreed. I had to go through the Pontifical Commission for the Vatican City State,” Brackett said, knocking ashes from his pipe and tucking it into a pocket of his rumpled suit.
“That’s a mouthful,” I said, pleasantly surprised at Brackett’s sudden interest.
“It did take some talking. The commission is the executive branch of the Vatican government, and they take any hint of a violation to their sovereignty very seriously. But given the severity of the crime, they approved it, with one restriction.”
“What’s that?”
“A representative of the commission must be present at all times, to insure that the rights and privileges of the Vatican City State are respected. That’s an exact quote, by the way.”
“So who’s my minder?”
“Bishop Krunoslav Zlatko. I’m not sure if they did us any favors with that one,” Brackett said.
“Why?”
We sat on a bench near a grove of small pines as the wind swayed the branches, creating a sound like waves on the shore. But Brackett didn’t look like he was having a day at the beach.
“Zlatko is here as the representative of Archbishop Ivan saric in Sarajevo, Yugoslavia,” he said, as if that explained everything. “Or, as he’d insist, in Croatia. Zlatko is one of the Ustashi. You know what they are?”
“Yeah,” I said, remembering what Sterling Hayden and his Partisans had told me. “Killers.”
“There are a lot of killers these days,” Brackett said. “The Ustashi are a fanatical Croatian militia. They hate Serbs, Jews, and the Eastern Orthodox Church with equal passion. They’ve killed thousands, tens of thousands, maybe more. As you can imagine, precise information is hard to come by.”
“My guide to justice within the Vatican is one of them? Is that someone’s idea of a joke?”
“It may well be,” Brackett said. “There are factions within factions among the cardinals. Some support the Croatian state and the Ustashi as a bulwark against Communism. They hate Tito and Stalin, and the feeling is mutual. If a strong Catholic state gets created out of the ruins of Yugoslavia, then they figure the godless Marxists can be held at bay.”
“So thousands of bodies are a small price to pay?”
“Yes. Especially when the bodies don’t contain Catholic souls. The Croatian government has a policy of dealing in thirds. One third of the Serbs to be driven out, one third to be forcibly converted to the Roman Catholic Church, and one third to be killed. There are cardinals within the Holy See who consider it a bargain.”
“Let me guess. Those are the same cardinals who would not care for the work Corrigan was doing with Bruzzone and O’Flaherty,” I said.
“Now you’re getting the hang of how things work around here. But Bruzzone has eased up a bit on the cloak-and-dagger stuff. He hasn’t left the Holy See for months.”
“Are the police on the lookout for him?”
“That’s what I figure. Word must have gotten around. O’Flaherty himself takes to a disguise now and then, so he won’t be recognized visiting his safe houses.”
“These guys deserve a medal,” I said.
Brackett shrugged, as if their work was nothing remarkable. “Now don’t expect Zlatko to be a big help. Of course, the official line is that he speaks good English and Italian, and since he doesn’t know the people involved, he can be fair to all sides-your need to investigate, the Vatican’s desire for secrecy. Say, you happen to have any cigarettes?”