The Confessor

was dressed as a priest, and instead of a Beretta it was a crucifix he aimed at Gabriel's head. Rossi's death, with his arms flung wide and his side pierced by a bullet, Gabriel saw as a Caravaggio.
    Leah came to him. She stepped down from her altarpiece and shed her robes. Gabriel stroked her skin and found that her scars had been healed. Her mouth tasted of olives; her nipples, pressed against his chest, were firm and cool. She took him inside her body and
    brought him slowly to climax. As Gabriel released inside her, she asked him why he had fallen in love with Anna Rolfe. It's you I love, Leah, he told her. It's you I'll always love.
    He awakened briefly; the dream was so real he expected to find Leah in the room with him. But when he opened his eyes, it was the face of Chiara he saw, sitting in her chair, watching over him, a gun in her hand.
    ROME
    SHIMON PAZNER ARRIVED at the safe flat at eight o'clock the next morning. He was a squat and powerfully built man, with hair like steel wool and acne scars on his broad cheeks. Judging from his unshaven face and the red rims around his eyes, it was a safe assumption that he had not slept. Wordlessly he poured himself a cup of coffee and dropped the morning newspapers on the kitchen table. The shootout in the San Lorenzo Quarter was the lead of each paper. Gabriel, still groggy from the painkillers, looked down at them but was powerless to summon an expression. "You made quite a mess in my town." Pazner tipped half a cup of coffee down his throat and pulled a face. "Imagine my surprise when I get the flash that the great Gabriel Allon is on the run and needs to be pulled in. You'd think someone at King Saul Boulevard would have the common sense to inform the local station chief when Gabriel Allon is in town to take someone down."
    "I didn't come to Rome to take anyone down."
    "Bullshit!" Pazner snapped. "That's what you do."
    Pazner looked up as Chiara entered the kitchen. She wore a toweling robe. Her hair, still wet from the shower, was combed straight back. She poured herself some coffee and sat down next to Gabriel at the table.
    Pazner said, "Do you know what's going to happen if the Italians ever figure out who you are? It will destroy our relationship. They'll never work with us again."
    "I know," Gabriel said. "But I didn't come here to kill anyone. They tried to kill me."
    Pazner pulled out a chair and sat down, his thick forearms resting on the table. "What were you doing in Rome, Gabriel? And don't bullshit me."
    When Gabriel informed Pazner that he was in Rome on a job for Shamron, the station chief tilted his round head back and emptied his lungs toward the ceiling. "Shamron? That's why no one at King Saul Boulevard knows what you're working on. For Christ's sake! I should have known the old man was behind this."
    Gabriel pushed away the newspapers. He supposed he did owe Pazner an explanation. It had been reckless to come to Rome after the murder of Peter Malone. He'd underestimated the capabilities of his enemies and left Pazner with a colossal mess to clean up. He drank a cup of coffee to clear his head and told Pazner the story from the beginning. Chiara's gaze remained fixed on him the entire time. Pazner managed to remain calm for the first half of Gabriel's account, but by the end of the story he was smoking nervously.
    "Sounds as if they were following Rossi," Pazner said. "And Rossi led them to you."
    "He seemed to know he was under surveillance. He never left the window while he was in my room. He saw them coming for us,
    but it was too late."
    "Was there anything in that room that could link you to the
    Office?"
    Gabriel shook his head, then asked Pazner whether he'd ever
    heard of a group called Crux Vera.
    "One hears all sorts of rumors about secret societies and Vatican intrigue in Italy," Pazner said. "Remember the P2 scandal back in
    the eighties?"
    Vaguely, thought Gabriel. Quite by chance the Italian police had come across a document revealing the existence of a secret right-wing society that had wormed its way into the highest reaches of the government, military, and intelligence community. And the Vatican,
    apparently.
    "I've heard the name Crux Vera," Pazner continued, "but I've
    never put much stock into it. Until now, that is." "When do I get to leave?" "We'll move you tonight."
    "Where?"
    Pazner inclined his head toward the east, and by the look of finality in his dark eyes, it was clear to Gabriel that he was referring
    to