No one had ever mentioned to Sarah the existence of the Holy Alliance, the organization that seemed to include all the Vatican Secret Services. Numerous legends, stories, and fictions were told about this institution, none of them easy to verify. Some people thought that the Holy Alliance was made up of unscrupulous spy priests, prepared to sacrifice their lives for Rome and for the pontiff.
There was no official address for the Vatican secret services. The names of its agents didn’t appear on any payroll, nor could they possibly be identified. Nevertheless, the CIA and the Mossad, the CNI and the MI6, all readily believed not only that they existed, but also that they constituted one of the most powerful and most skilled spy and counterspy organizations in the world. Naturally, the Vatican agents were carefully selected from among the most capable, and they were probably trained in institutions unrelated to the Vatican.
Rafael Santini had received training very early with an objective in mind: to infiltrate the P2 and the CIA, and to come to light only when it became absolutely necessary. For almost two decades he had been a “sleeper,” watching institutions and organizations that needed to be controlled, until he received an order related to the Holy See, and then he did what he’d been trained for. There were not hundreds, but thousands of priests in the world who said Mass, taught in schools, and comforted the sick, who were just waiting for orders to act according to serious Vatican directives.
“SOMETIMES I WONDER how much we lost with the death of that pope,” Sarah commented thoughtfully, strolling around the outskirts of the Vatican after saying farewell to Rafael Santini.
“John Paul I?” her father asked.
“Yes. I even think, after all that happened, that nobody else would ever deserve to take his place.”
Her father tenderly put his arm around her shoulders.
“I know exactly how you feel. But you must realize that life goes on for the rest of us. One day Albino Luciani will receive his just consideration.”
“I hope so.”
“Don’t worry, Sarah,” her mother interrupted. “God never rests.”
Sarah wanted to believe that to be true. The secret would be well kept, this time by honorable men, in the same place where the murder was committed, as a kind of divine, mischievous wink. Where evil was king, good now reigned.
“Firenzi’s plan didn’t seem adequate to me.”
“He did what he could,” her father countered. “If you hadn’t been on vacation, or if he’d possessed another means of communicating with me, things would have turned out better.”
“Even so, they already had Marius Ferris.”
“The fact that they had Marius Ferris didn’t necessarily mean they could have forced him to reveal the location of the documents. And yet that was something we knew.”
“Do you think he would have died, rather than reveal anything?”
“Let me answer you with another question. Do you think Rafael would have given away the secret?”
“Of course not. What does one man have to do with the other? They have nothing in common.”
“Yes, they do. If your godfather sent the papers to Ferris, it was because he trusted him in the same way.”
Rafael. Just the name still sent chills down her spine, particularly now that she knew much more than before. Her rescuer, a man capable of doing what he did in London, was an Italian priest! Was he more of the devil than of God?
“Even so, I’m still not convinced,” she insisted, going back to Firenzi’s plan, ready to forget the man who saved her. “What was the purpose of those double portraits? I never understood that.”
“So that the two priests would recognize Marius Ferris. They knew he was the only one to be trusted. Unfortunately, Father Pablo didn’t think ahead enough to store his in a safe place.”
“How did you ever know it was a double portrait?”
Her father smiled.
“For someone who was very much into all of this, the letter was very explicit. A soft light had to be focused on the portrait.”
“Very clever. Why didn’t J.C. take the risk? He could have reached the last steps.”
“Because of fear.”
“Fear?”
“Yes. Fear. Those people are used to acting when they are sure they’re going to win. The mere possibility of losing stops them, and keeps them quietly in the shadows, waiting for a better opportunity.”
“Do you mean that someone may still try to recover the documents?”
“I don’t think so. J.C. won’t live forever. And this served his interests perfectly.”
“Will he try to do something against us in the future?”
“I doubt that, too. Bringing this matter up again could only hurt him. We can rest assured.”
CLOSE TO SIX that evening, Sarah’s parents decided to go back to their hotel and rest awhile before dinner. Their leisurely tour of Rome had been wonderful. It was a pity that Sarah couldn’t get the meeting with Rafael out of her head. At least, he’d never hidden his real name from her. She wandered through the streets and alleys of Rome until it was past seven.
On her ambling return to the Grand Hotel Palatino, on Via Cavour, not far from the Coliseum, she was planning to have a good bath and dinner. After such a long day that had started so early, she felt very tired, but still had the former Rafael on her mind.
Immersed in these thoughts, she entered the hotel lobby, totally unaware of the figure in black who had been following her for hours.
“Miss Sarah Monteiro,” the receptionist called her, but she was so lost in thought that she didn’t hear him. He had to call her again.
“Yes?” she finally answered.
“There’s a message here for you,” the clerk said, handing her a small envelope.
“Who gave it to you?”
“Sorry, I don’t know who brought it. I wasn’t on at the time.”
“Fine. No problem. Thanks.”
Sarah went to the elevator while opening the envelope, which was unsealed. She pulled out a small black object that resembled a button. Filled with curiosity, she got in the elevator, and realized there was also a note, which she read on her way up to the seventh floor. Seconds later she looked up, flabbergasted and nervous, thinking to herself, No, not this again. It can’t be.
The note was very brief.
Sarah hesitated, but she knew she couldn’t run away from destiny. She put the little object into her ear and waited. Perhaps it was just a practical joke. Even so, she couldn’t imagine her parents engaging in such a charade.
“Good evening, Miss Monteiro,” she heard a voice saying into her right ear.
“Who is it?” Her voice, though firm, betrayed her anxiety.
“Hello, my dear. I’m sure you haven’t forgotten me that fast.” There was sarcasm in the voice. “I’d be personally offended.”
“What do you want?” Sarah’s tone was even firmer now, trying to mask the fear that overcame her when she recognized the speaker.
“I just want to recover what rightfully belongs to me.” There was no doubt that it was the old man, the one who murdered John Paul I.
“I have nothing to do with that,” Sarah answered coldly. “Go to the Vatican.”
A loud, guttural guffaw was the annoying answer, hurting her ears. Sarah went to her room with some hesitation, still listening.
“That’s what I’m going to do, but I want you to be my messenger. Since you were the one responsible for the final destination of those papers, I think it’s only fair that you should be the one to recover them for me.”
Now it was Sarah’s turn to laugh.
“You think so?”
“Definitely.”
Sarah had the strange sensation that the old man was hiding something. She unlocked the door to her room.
“Tell me exactly what is it that you want. I’ve got other things to do.”
“Do you see the package on your bed?”
Seeing it terrified her.
“Yes,” she said in a muted voice.