The Fallen Angel

tablecloth was white, as were the habits of the household nuns who floated silently in and out of the adjoining kitchen. His Holiness was not present; he was working at the desk in his small private office located directly across the hall. It had been fourteen years since the diminutive Patriarch of Venice ascended to the throne of St. Peter, yet he still maintained a crushing daily schedule that would exhaust a far younger man. He did so in part to preserve his power. The Church faced too many challenges for its absolute monarch to give the appearance of being incapacitated by age. If the princes perceived that His Holiness was beginning to fail, the positioning for the next conclave would commence in earnest. And the papacy of Pope Paul VII, one of the most turbulent in the history of the modern Church, would come to a grinding halt.
    “Why the punishment rations?” asked Gabriel.
    “As a result of our reduced financial circumstances, the fare at some of the colleges and religious houses in Rome is starting to suffer. His Holiness has asked the bishops and cardinals to avoid lavish dining. I’m afraid I have no choice but to lead by example.”
    He held his glass of red wine up to the sunlight slanting through the window and then took a cautious sip.
    “How is it?”
    “Divine.” Donati placed the glass carefully on the table and then pushed a thick black binder toward Gabriel. “It’s the final itinerary for our trip to Israel and the Palestinian territories. We’ve decided to do it over Holy Week, which will allow His Holiness to take the unprecedented step of celebrating Christ’s death and resurrection in the city where it actually occurred. He will commemorate the passion on the Via Dolorosa and celebrate Easter Mass in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. The schedule also includes a stop in Bethlehem and a courtesy call at the al-Aqsa Mosque, where he intends to issue an unequivocal apology for the Crusades. The soldiers of the cross killed ten thousand people on the Temple Mount when they sacked Jerusalem in 1099, including three thousand who had taken shelter inside al-Aqsa.”
    “And they warmed up along the way by killing several thousand innocent Jews in Europe.”
    “I believe we’ve already apologized for that,” Donati said archly.
    “When do you plan to announce the trip?”
    “Next week at the General Audience.”
    “It’s too soon.”
    “We’ve waited as long as possible. I’d like you to have a look at the security arrangements. The Holy Father also asked whether you would consider serving as his personal bodyguard during the trip.”
    “Something tells me it wasn’t his idea.”
    “It wasn’t,” Donati conceded.
    “The best way to place His Holiness in danger is for me to stand next to him.”
    “Think about it.”
    Donati raised another spoonful of the consommé to his lips and blew on it pensively—odd, thought Gabriel, because his own soup was already lukewarm.
    “Something else on your mind, Luigi?”
    “Rumor has it you paid a visit to the Villa Giulia yesterday.”
    “It’s filled with many beautiful objects.”
    “So I’ve heard.” Donati lowered his voice and added, “You should have told me you were going to see her.”
    “I didn’t realize I needed your permission.”
    “That’s not what I meant.”
    “When I took this case,” Gabriel said, pressing him gently, “you assured me that all doors would be open.”
    “Not the doors to my past,” Donati said evenly.
    “What if your past had something to do with Claudia’s death?”
    “My past had nothing to do with her death.”
    The monsignor’s words were spoken with an air of liturgical finality. All that was missing was the sign of the cross and the benedictory amen.
    “Would you like some more soup?” he asked, trying to ease the tension of the moment.
    “I’ll resist,” replied Gabriel.
    Two nuns entered and cleared the dishes. They returned a moment later with the entrée—a thin slice of veal, boiled potatoes, and green beans drizzled in olive oil. Donati used the change in course as an opportunity to gather his thoughts.
    “I asked for your help,” he said at last, “because I wanted this inquiry handled with a certain discretion. Now General Ferrari and the Carabinieri are involved, which is exactly the outcome I had hoped to avoid.”
    “They’re involved because my inquiry led me to a dead tombarolo named Roberto Falcone.”
    “I realize that.”
    “Would you have