Day of Confession Part 14

40.

Noon.

THE DOGS SNIFFED AND STRAINED AGAINST their harnesses, leading their handlers forward-with Roscani, Scala, and Castelletti scrambling after them-through a series of dirty, dimly lit tunnels to finally stop at the end of an air shaft above Manzoni Station.

Castelletti, the smallest of the three detectives, pulled off his jacket and crawled into the air shaft. At the far end he found the cover loosened. Sliding it off, he stuck his head out and looked down onto a public walkway that led out of the station itself.

"He went out here." Castelletti's voice echoed as he inched his way backward on elbows and knees.

"Could he have come in that way?" Roscani yelled back.

"Not without a ladder."

Roscani looked to the lead dog handler. "Let's find where he came in.

Ten minutes later they were back in the main tunnel, following the path Harry had taken when he left Hercules' encampment, the dogs following by the scent from a pullover sweater taken from Harry's room at the Hotel Ha.s.sler.

"He's in Rome for only four days-how the h.e.l.l does he know his way around here?" Scala's voice bounced off the walls, the harsh beam of his flashlight cutting a path behind the dogs and their keepers, whose own flashlights lit the way ahead for their animals.

Suddenly the lead dog stopped, its nose upward, sniffing. The others stopped behind it. Quickly, Roscani moved ahead.

"What is it?"

"They've lost the scent."

"How? They got this far. We're in the middle of a tunnel. How could they-?"

The lead handler moved past his animal, sniffing the air himself.

"What is it?" Roscani came up beside him.

"Smell."

Roscani sniffed. Then sniffed again.

"Tea. Bitter tea."

Stepping forward, he flashed his light on the tunnel floor. There it was, scattered over the ground for fifty or sixty feet. Tea leaves. Hundreds, thousands of them. As if they had been broadcast by the handful for the very purpose of throwing the dogs off.

Roscani picked a few from the floor and brought them to his nose. Then let them fall in disgust.

"Gypsies."

41.

The Vatican. Same time.

MARSCIANO LISTENED PATIENTLY AS JEAN Tremblay, cardinal of Montreal, read from the thick dossier on the table before him.

"Energy, steel, s.h.i.+pping, engineering and construction, energy, earth-moving equipment, construction and mining, engineering equipment, transportation, heavy-duty cranes, excavators." Tremblay turned the dossier's pages slowly, skipping over the names of corporations listed, emphasizing instead the businesses in which they were engaged. "Heavy equipment, construction, construction, construction." Finally he closed the doc.u.ment and looked up. "The Holy See is now in the construction business."

"In a manner of speaking, yes," Marsciano answered Cardinal Tremblay directly, fighting the dryness in his mouth, trying not to hear the echo of his own voice inside his head as he spoke. Knowing that to show weakness would be to lose. And if he lost, Father Daniel would be lost too.

Cardinal Mazetti of Italy, Cardinal Rosales of Argentina, Cardinal Boothe of Australia-like members of a high court, each man sat with his hands folded on top of the now-closed dossiers, staring at Marsciano across from them.

MAZETTI: Why have we gone from a balanced portfolio to this?

BOOTHE: It's too heavily weighted and ungainly. A world recession would leave us and every one of these companies literally stuck in the mud. Factories frozen, equipment parked like so many mult.i.ton sculptures, useless, except to look at and marvel at the expense. It's too heavily weighted and ungainly. A world recession would leave us and every one of these companies literally stuck in the mud. Factories frozen, equipment parked like so many mult.i.ton sculptures, useless, except to look at and marvel at the expense.

MARSCIANO: True.

Cardinal Rosales smiled and raised his elbows to lean on his chin. "Emerging economies and politics."

Marsciano lifted a gla.s.s of water and drank, then set the gla.s.s down. "Correct," he said.

ROSALES: And the guiding hand of Palestrina.

MARSCIANO: His Holiness believes the Church should extend, in both spirit and manner, encouragement to less fortunate countries. His Holiness believes the Church should extend, in both spirit and manner, encouragement to less fortunate countries.

Help them take their place in the expanding world marketplace.

ROSALES: His Holiness or Palestrina? His Holiness or Palestrina?

MARSCIANO: Both. Both.

TREMBLAY: We are to encourage world leaders to bring the emerging nations up to speed in the new century, while at the same time profiting from it? We are to encourage world leaders to bring the emerging nations up to speed in the new century, while at the same time profiting from it?

MARSCIANO: Another way to look at it, Eminence, is that we are following our own beliefs, and in doing so, attempting to enrich them. Another way to look at it, Eminence, is that we are following our own beliefs, and in doing so, attempting to enrich them.

The meeting was running long. It was nearly one-thirty and time to break. And Marsciano did not want to report to Palestrina that a vote had not yet been taken. Moreover, he knew that if he let them go now without a positive consensus, they would talk about it among themselves at lunch. The more they talked, the more, he knew, they would begin to dislike the entire plan. Maybe even sense there was something intangibly wrong with it, maybe suspect they were being asked to approve something that had other purposes than what was apparent.

Palestrina had purposely kept himself out of it, wanting none to sense his influence over something he ostensibly had no part in. And as much as Marsciano despised him, he knew the power of his name and the respect and fear that came with it.

Pus.h.i.+ng back from the table, Marsciano stood. "It is time to break. In all fairness I should tell you I am meeting with Cardinal Palestrina over lunch. He will ask me about your reaction to what has been discussed here this morning. I would like to tell him that in general your response has been positive. That you like what we have done and-with a few minor changes-will approve it by the end of the day."

The cardinals stared back in silence. Marsciano had taken them by surprise and knew it. In essence he had said, "Give me what I want now or risk dealing with Palestrina yourselves."

"Well-?"

Cardinal Boothe raised his hands as if in prayer and stared at the table.

"Yes," he murmured.

CARDINAL TREMBLAY: -Yes. -Yes.

CARDINAL MAZETTL: -Yes. -Yes.

Rosales was the last. Finally he looked up at Marsciano. "Yes," he said sharply, then stood and walked angrily from the room.

Marsciano looked to the others and nodded. "Thank you," he said. "Thank you."

42.

Still Friday, July, 10. 4:15 P.M P.M.

ADRIANNA HALL SAT IN HER TINY OFFICE AT the Rome bureau of World News Network watching the Harry Addison video for something like the tenth time, trying to make some sense of it.

She'd spent less than three hours with him-granted, a very pa.s.sionate and provocative three hours-but in that short time, after all the men she'd known, the one thing she knew about Harry Addison, if she knew nothing else, was that he was not someone who could kill a policeman. Yet the police believed he had, and had his fingerprints on the murder weapon to prove it. She also knew that a Spanish-made Llama pistol recovered from the scene of the a.s.sisi bus explosion was missing from Pio's car, and the police believed Harry took it as he fled after killing Pio.

Abruptly she put both hands flat on her desk and pushed back in her chair. She didn't know what the h.e.l.l to think. Then her phone rang, and for a moment she let it before picking up.

"Mr. Vasko," her secretary said. He was calling for the third time in the last two hours. He hadn't left a call-back number before because he was traveling but said he would call back again. And now he was on the phone.

Elmer Vasko was a former professional hockey player and Chicago Blackhawks teammate of her father's who had later worked with him when he'd coached the Swiss team. In his halcyon days on the ice they'd called him "Moose." Now he was a gentle giant, a kind of distant uncle she hadn't seen for years. And here he was in Rome calling her at the worst of all possible times, when an enormous story was on fire and burning all around her.

Adrianna had come back from Croatia early that morning at her own request when news of the Harry Addison story first broke. Going straight to the Questura, she'd arrived at the tail end of Marcello Taglia's impromptu interview. She'd tried to corner him afterward without success and then looked for Roscani, ending with the same result.

Going home for a shower and quick change of clothes, she'd been drying her hair when the Metro tunnel business happened. She'd gone there on the back of her cameraman's motor scooter with her hair still wet. But the media, all media, were being kept out of the tunnels and away from the action. After an hour, she'd retreated to the studio to start putting the story together and to watch the Harry Addison video for the first time. And then she'd gone out, and when she came back, there were the Elmer Vasko messages. And now he was calling again. She had no choice but to take it.

"Elmer. Mr. Vasko. How are you?" She tried to sound up and gracious even if she wasn't. "Mr. Vasko...?"

The phone was silent and she started to hang up when the voice came on.

"I need your help."

"Oh f.u.c.k!" Adrianna felt the breath go out of her.

It was Harry Addison.

HARRY STOOD IN A PHONE BOOTH near a small cafe across the Piazza della Rotonda from the ancient circular structure that was the Pantheon. By now he had his hat, a black beret bought easily at a corner shop selling hats of all kinds and pulled down to cover the bandage at the top of his forehead. His still-bandaged left hand he kept in his jacket pocket.

"Where are you?" The surprise was gone from Adrianna's voice.

"I..."

There'd been no way to know if she was back from Croatia, but he'd taken the chance she was. He'd called her because he'd added up his options and realized she was the only one he could call. The only one who would know what was going on and whom he dared trust. But now that he actually had her on the phone, he wasn't sure if he could trust anyone. She knew the police, relied on her relations.h.i.+p with them for access to stories she might not otherwise have; would she agree to meet him somewhere and then bring the police with her?

"Harry, where are are you?" Her voice came again, stronger than before. you?" Her voice came again, stronger than before.

Again he hesitated. Unsure. The dull ache still in the back of his head, reminding him he wasn't as alert as he might have been.

"I can't help you if you don't talk to me."

A group of schoolgirls suddenly walked past, giggling and joking among themselves. They were loud, and he turned away trying to hear. As he did, he saw two mounted carabinieri carabinieri on horseback slowly crossing the piazza toward him. They were in no hurry, simply on patrol. But still every policeman in the country was on the lookout for him, and he had to take every precaution he possibly could to avoid them. In this case it probably meant staying right where he was until they pa.s.sed. Turning ever so slightly away from them, he spoke into the phone. on horseback slowly crossing the piazza toward him. They were in no hurry, simply on patrol. But still every policeman in the country was on the lookout for him, and he had to take every precaution he possibly could to avoid them. In this case it probably meant staying right where he was until they pa.s.sed. Turning ever so slightly away from them, he spoke into the phone.

"I didn't kill Pio."

"Tell me where you are."

"I'm scared to death the Italian police are going to kill me."

"Harry, where where are you?" are you?"

Silence.

"Harry, you you called me. I a.s.sume because you trust me. You don't know Rome, you don't know Italian, and if I told you to meet me somewhere, you'd have to ask someone, and that could get you into trouble. If I know where you are, I can come to you. Reasonable?" called me. I a.s.sume because you trust me. You don't know Rome, you don't know Italian, and if I told you to meet me somewhere, you'd have to ask someone, and that could get you into trouble. If I know where you are, I can come to you. Reasonable?"

The carabinieri carabinieri were closer now. Both young. Both on big white horses. Both with side arms. And they weren't just on patrol, they were watching the people they pa.s.sed carefully. were closer now. Both young. Both on big white horses. Both with side arms. And they weren't just on patrol, they were watching the people they pa.s.sed carefully.

"Police on horseback coming toward me."

"Harry, for Crissake, where are you?"

"I... don't..." Turning, he glanced around, trying not to look at the police but to see a street sign, the name of a building, a cafe, anything that would tell him where he was. Then he saw it. A plaque on the side of a building twenty feet away.

"Something rotunda."

"Piazza della Rotonda. At the Pantheon?"

"I guess."

"Big circular building with columns."

"Yes."

The carabinieri carabinieri were almost on top of him, their horses moving slowly, their eyes searching the crowd in the piazza, the people at the outdoor cafes surrounding it. Now one officer pulled up and both stopped, only feet away. were almost on top of him, their horses moving slowly, their eyes searching the crowd in the piazza, the people at the outdoor cafes surrounding it. Now one officer pulled up and both stopped, only feet away.

"Holy f.u.c.k," Harry breathed.

"What is it?"

"They're right here. I could touch the horse."