The Confessor

Gabriel liked what he saw so far.
    They climbed out of the Fiat. Gabriel could not help but feel the shadow of history hanging over the place. Rome was the oldest Diaspora settlement in Western Europe, and Jews had been living in its center for more than two thousand years. They had come to this place long before the fisherman named Peter from the Galilee. They had seen the assassination of Caesar, witnessed the rise of Christianity and the fall of the Roman empire. Vilified by popes as murderers of God, they had been ghettoized on the banks of the Tiber, humiliated, and ritually degraded. And on a night in October 1943, a thousand were rounded up and sent to the gas chambers and ovens of Auschwitz, while a pope on the other side of the river said nothing. In a few hours' time, Pope Paul VII, a witness to the sins of the men in the Vatican, would come here to atone for the past. If he lives long enough to accomplish his mission.
    Father Donati seemed to sense Gabriel's thoughts, for he placed a hand gently on his shoulder and pointed toward the river. "The protesters will be kept behind barricades over there, next to the embankment."
    "Protesters?"
    "We're not expecting anything terribly large. Just the usual lot." Donati shrugged helplessly. "The birth-control crowd. Women in the priesthood. Gays and lesbians. That sort of thing."
    They climbed the steps of the synagogue and went inside. Father Donati seemed perfectly at ease. He sensed Gabriel was looking at him, and he smiled confidently in response.
    "When we were still in Venice, it was my job to build better relations between the patriarch and the Jewish community there. I'm quite comfortable in a synagogue, Mr. Allon."
    "I can see that," Gabriel said. "Tell me how the ceremony will unfold."
    The papal procession would form at the entrance of the synagogue, Father Donati explained. The Pope would walk up the center aisle accompanied by the chief rabbi, and take a seat next to him in a gilded chair on the bimah. Father Donati and Gabriel would trail the Holy Father during the walk to the front of the synagogue, then take their position in a special VIP section, a few feet from the Pope. The chief rabbi would make a few introductory remarks, then the Holy Father would speak. In a break with usual protocol, an advance text of the Pope's remarks would not be released to the Vatican press corps. The speech was bound to provoke an immediate reaction among the reporters, but no one would be permitted to leave their seat until the Pope had completed his remarks and left the synagogue.
    Gabriel and the priest walked to the front of the synagogue, the spot where they would be standing during the Pope's remarks. A carabiniere with a bomb-sniffing dog straining at its leash was making steady progress up the left side of the hall. A second dog team was working the opposite side. A few meters from the bimah, a handful of television cameramen were setting up their equipment on a raised platform under the watchful gaze of an armed security man.
    "What about the other entrances to the synagogue, Father Donati?"
    "They've all been sealed. There's only one way in and out now,
    and that's the main entrance." Donati looked at his watch. "I'm afraid we haven't much time, Mr. Allon. If you're satisfied, we should be getting back to the Vatican." "Let's go."
    Father Donati waved his Vatican ID badge at the Swiss Guard standing watch at St. Anne's Gate. Before the guard could question the identity of the man in the passenger seat, the priest pushed his foot to the floor and sped along the Via Belvedere toward the Apostolic Palace.
    Father Donati left the car in the San Damaso Courtyard, hustled Gabriel around the security checkpoints, and headed upstairs toward the papal apartments. Gabriel's feet felt light on the marble floor, his pulse quickened. He thought of Shamron, standing in the half-light of the Campo di Ghetto Nuovo, summoning him to find the men who had murdered Benjamin Stern. Now his search had brought him here, to the epicenter of the Roman Catholic Church.
    At the entrance to the papal apartments, they slipped past a Swiss Guard and went inside. Father Donati led him into the study, where the Pope was seated at his desk, working through a stack of morning correspondence. He looked up at Gabriel as he entered the room and smiled warmly.
    "Mr. Allon, so good of you to come." With the tip of his pen, he pointed toward the seating area next to the fireplace. "Please make