The Confessor

enter the Vatican?"
    "I'm expected at the Bronze Doors at six o'clock this evening. Customarily, Father Donati greets me there and escorts me up to the third floor, to the papal apartments."
    "Are you certain this man Donati is to be trusted?"
    "I have known Father Donati as long as I have known the Holy Father. He is intensely loyal."
    Shimon Pazner entered the room and handed Tiepolo a cup of espresso.
    "It is important that the Pope and his aides feel comfortable," Shamron resumed. "We will meet with His Holiness under any circumstances of his choosing. Obviously, we would prefer a secure location, someplace where our presence will not be noted by certain elements of the Curia. Do you understand what I'm trying to say to you, Signor Tiepolo?"
    Tiepolo raised the coffee to his lips and nodded vigorously.
    "The information we wish to pass to the Holy Father is of a sensitive nature. If necessary, we will meet with a trusted aide, but we believe it would be best for the Pope to hear it with his own ears."
    Tiepolo swallowed the espresso in a gulp and set the cup gently on the saucer. "It would be helpful to me if I had some idea of the nature of this information."
    Shamron allowed his face to register discomfort, then he leaned forward. "It concerns the actions of the Vatican during the Second World War and a meeting that took place in a convent on Lake Garda a long time ago. You'll forgive me, Signor Tiepolo, if I say no more."
    "And the nature of the threat to his life?"
    "We believe the threat to the Holy Father originates from forces inside the Church, which is why he needs to take additional steps to protect himself and those around him."
    Tiepolo inflated his cheeks and expelled the air slowly. "You have one thing working to your advantage. Father Donati has told me on any number of occasions that he is concerned about the security around the Holy Father. So this will come as no surprise to him. As for the war--" Tiepolo hesitated, clearly choosing his words carefully. "Let me just say that it is a topic to which the Holy Father has given a great deal of thought. He calls it a stain on the Church. A stain that he is determined to remove."
    Shamron smiled. "Obviously, Signor Tiepolo, we're here to help."
    AT 5:45 P.M., a black Fiat sedan pulled up outside the entrance of the apartment house. Francesco Tiepolo settled himself in the backseat. Shamron and Shimon Pazner appeared briefly on the terrace and watched the car set out along the river toward the dome in the distance.
    Fifteen minutes later, the Fiat deposited the Venetian at the entrance of St. Peter's Square. Tiepolo slipped through the metal guard barrier and made his way along Bernini's Colonnade as the bells of the Basilica tolled six o'clock. At the Bronze Doors, he presented his name and Italian identity card to the Swiss Guard. The Guard consulted a clipboard, then compared Tiepolo's face to the photograph on the identity card. Satisfied, he allowed Tiepolo to enter the Apostolic Palace.
    Father Donati was waiting at the foot of the Scala Regia. As usual, he wore a grim expression, like a man perpetually bracing himself for bad news. He shook Tiepolo's hand coldly and led him upstairs to the papal apartments.
    As always, Tiepolo was taken aback by the appearance of the papal study. It was a simple room--much too austere for so powerful a man, he thought--yet completely in keeping with the humble clergyman he had come to know and admire in Venice. Pope Paul VII was standing in the window overlooking St. Peter's Square, a white figure posed against the crimson drapery. He turned as Tiepolo and Father Donati entered the room and managed a fatigued smile. Tiepolo fell to his knees, kissing the fisherman's ring. Then the Pope took Tiepolo by the shoulders and guided him to his feet. He seized the Venetian by his biceps and squeezed, seemingly drawing strength from the bigger man.
    "You look well, Francesco. Obviously life in Venice continues to treat you well."
    "Until yesterday, Holiness, when I learned about a threat to your life."
    Father Donati sat down, carefully crossed one leg over the other, and smoothed the crease of his trousers--a busy chief executive, eager to move the proceedings along. "All right, Francesco," Donati said. "Enough of the dramatics. Have a seat and tell me exactly what in God's name is going on."
    POPE Paul VII was scheduled to dine that evening with a delegation of visiting bishops from Argentina. Father Donati telephoned