The Confessor

surrounding the Colosseum. He kept to the darkened footpaths. Carabinieri units were already searching by flashlight, which made them easy to see and avoid.
    Ten minutes later, Gabriel came to the river. At a public telephone
    on the embankment, he dialed the number he had never before been forced to use. It was answered after one ring by a young I woman with a pleasant voice. She spoke to him in Hebrew. It was the sweetest sound he had ever heard. He spoke a code phrase, then recited a series of numbers. There were a few seconds of silence while the girl punched the numbers into a computer.
    Then she said: "What's wrong?"
    "I'm in trouble. You need to bring me in."
    "Are you hurt?"
    "Not badly."
    "Are you safe in your present location?"
    "For the moment, but not for long."
    "Call back in ten minutes. Until then, keep moving."
    ROME
    THE Via Gioberti was ablaze with flickering blue emergency lights. Achille Bartoletti stepped out of the Pensione Abruzzi and spotted Carlo Casagrande's car amid the turmoil. The Italian security chief came over at an easy executive stroll and climbed into the backseat.
    "Your assassin is damned good with a gun, General. I hope he never gets anywhere near the Holy Father."
    "How many dead?"
    "Four carabinieri killed, six others wounded."
    "Dear God," Casagrande murmured.
    "I'm afraid there's one other casualty--a Polizia di Stato detective named Alessio Rossi. Apparently he was inside the assassin's room when the carabinieri went in. For some reason, Rossi tried to escape with him."
    Casagrande feigned surprise. The tone of Bartoletti's next question
    revealed that he did not find his performance altogether convincing. "Is there something about this affair you've neglected to tell me, General?"
    Casagrande met Bartoletti's quizzical stare and slowly shook his head. "I've told you everything I know, Achille." I see.
    Casagrande tried to quickly change the subject.
    "What is Rossi's condition?"
    "He's dead, too, I'm afraid."
    "Was it the Israeli?"
    "No, it appears he was shot by carabinieri."
    "Is there anything in the room?"
    "Just a change of clothes. No papers, no identification. Your man is good."
    Casagrande looked up at the open window on the second floor of the pensione. He had hoped the matter could be handled quietly. Now he had to use the circumstances to his advantage.
    "Based on his performance tonight, it is clear to me that this man is a professional."
    "I cannot argue with that conclusion, General."
    "As for Rossi, perhaps he was involved somehow in the conspiracy."
    "Perhaps," Bartoletti said with little conviction.
    "Whatever the circumstances, the Israeli must not be allowed to leave Rome."
    "A hundred officers are looking for him right now."
    "He won't stay in Rome long. He'll leave at the first opportunity. If I were you, I'd seal the city. Put a watch on every train station and bus terminal."
    Bartoletti's expression betrayed that he didn't appreciate being
    treated like an incompetent who needed to be told how to mount a search for a fugitive. "I'm afraid this affair has little to do with the Vatican at this point, General Casagrande. After all, five Italian policeman were killed on Italian soil. We will conduct the search in the manner we see fit and inform the Vatican Security Office as events warrant."
    The pupil has turned on his master, thought Casagrande. Such was the nature of all relationships like this. "Of course, Achille," he said submissively. "I meant no disrespect."
    "None taken, General. But I wouldn't hold out much hope that this man is going to simply vanish. Speaking for myself, I'd like to know what Inspector Rossi was doing in his room. I would think you'd like to know that too."
    Bartoletti climbed out of the car without waiting for a reply and walked briskly away. Casagrande's driver looked up into the rear-view mirror.
    "Back to the Via Pinciana, General?"
    Casagrande shook his head. "Il Vaticano."
    IN A SOUVENIR KIOSK near the Forum, Gabriel bought a dark blue hooded sweatshirt with the words Viva Roma! emblazoned across the chest. In a public toilet, he removed his shirt and stuffed it into a rubbish bin. Only then did he notice that a bullet had grazed his right side, leaving a bloody furrow below his armpit. He used toilet paper to wipe away the blood, then carefully pulled on the new sweatshirt. Rossi's Beretta was still wedged into the waist of his jeans. He went out and headed north toward the Piazza Navona. He had made his second call on