The Confessor

entered the dining room. The Holy Father was entertaining a delegation of bishops from the American Midwest, and the conversation had come round to a topic His Holiness found revolting. He seemed relieved to see Donati stride into the room, even though Donati's demeanor was grim and businesslike.
    The priest stood next to his master and bent slightly at the waist, so that he could speak directly into his ear. The bishops took their cue from Donati's tense appearance and looked away. When Donati finished, the Pope laid down his knife and fork and closed his eyes for a moment. Then he looked up, nodded once, and returned his attention to his guests.
    "Now, where were we?" the Pope said as Donati strode from the room.
    THEY PACED the length of the campo a half-dozen times waiting for the phone to ring. Tiepolo filled the empty, anxious minutes by peppering Gabriel with a hundred questions--about his work for Israeli intelligence, about his life and family, about what it was like for a Jew to be surrounded day and night by the images of Christianity. Gabriel answered those he could and gently fended off those that strayed into uncomfortable waters. Still skeptical that Gabriel was indeed not an Italian, Tiepolo goaded him into speaking a few words of Hebrew. For the next several minutes he and Chiara carried on a lively conversation, mostly at Tiepolo's expense, until they were interrupted by the chirp of the Italian's cellular phone. He brought it to his ear, listened in silence for a moment, then murmured: "I understand, Father Donati."
    He severed the connection and slipped the phone back into his pocket.
    "Did he give you an answer?" asked Gabriel.
    Tiepolo smiled.
    ROME
    In the north of Rome near a lazy bend in the Tiber, lies a tidy little piazza where tourists rarely venture. There is an ancient church with a cracked belfry and a bus stop that few people use. There is a coffee bar and a small bakery that prepares bread on the premises, so that in the early morning the smell of flour and yeast mingles with the marshy scent of the river. Directly opposite the bakery is a teetering tenement block with a pair of potted orange trees marking the entrance. On the top floor, there is a large flat, from where it is possible to see the dome of St. Peter's Basilica in the distance. The flat is rented by a man who rarely uses it. He does so as a favor to his masters in Tel Aviv.
    The building contained no lift, and to reach the flat it was necessary to navigate four gloomy flights of stairs. Chiara went first, followed by Gabriel and Francesco Tiepolo. Before she could slip her
    key into the lock, the door flew open and Shimon Pazner's square physique filled the frame. The memory of Gabriel and Chiara's flight from the beach was visible in the expression on his face. Had Ari Shamron and Eli Lavon not been standing six feet behind him, each puffing away on a Turkish cigarette, Gabriel was quite certain Pazner would have pounced. Instead, he was forced to silently hold his ground as Gabriel brushed past without a word and greeted Shamron. There would be no family quarrels tonight, not in front of an outsider. But one day, when Shamron was gone, Pazner would take his revenge. That's the way things always went in the Office.
    Gabriel handled the introduction. "This is Francesco Tiepolo. Francesco, these are the guys. I won't insult you by giving them names, because they wouldn't be real in any case."
    Tiepolo seemed to take this news in good humor. Shamron stepped forward and took over the proceedings. He shook Tiepolo's hand and looked up directly into his eyes for a long moment. Tiepolo could see he was being appraised for trustworthiness but made no sign that he found Shamron's undisguised scrutiny at all uncomfortable.
    "I can't thank you enough for agreeing to help us, Signor Tiepolo."
    "The Holy Father is a dear friend of mine. If any harm ever came to him, I would never be able to forgive myself, especially if I had been in a position to somehow prevent it."
    "You may rest assured that our interests in this matter are in complete harmony." Shamron finally released Tiepolo's hand and looked at Shimon Pazner. "Bring him some coffee. Can't you see he's had a long journey?"
    Pazner shot Gabriel an icy look and stalked off to the kitchen Shamron ushered Tiepolo into the sitting room. The Venetian settled himself at the end of the couch, the rest gathered around him Shamron wasted no more time on small talk.
    "What time do you