“Erich Müller, a member of my palace guard…” The Pope’s voice trailed off. “I still can’t believe it. How did they do it, Gabriel? How did they get an assassin into the Swiss Guard?”

“The details are sketchy, Holiness, but it appears Müller was recruited sometime after he left the Swiss army. He didn’t have a job waiting for him, so he spent about a year and half traveling around Europe and the Mediterranean. He spent several months in Hamburg, and several more in Amsterdam. He was known to be a frequent participant in anti-American, anti-Israel demonstrations. He may have actually converted to Islam. We believe he was recruited into the terrorist network by a man named Professor Ali Massoudi.”

“Massoudi? Really? Good God, Gabriel, but I think Professor Massoudi submitted some of his writings to my special commission on improving ties between Islam and the West. I think he may have actually visited the Vatican at some point.”

“Improving ties between Islam and the Church was not part of Professor Massoudi’s real agenda, Holiness.”

“Obviously,” said the Pope. “I suppose we now know who opened the Door of Death for the suicide bombers in October. It was Müller, wasn’t it?”

Gabriel nodded and looked at the television as the video of the attack began again.

“I wonder how many people have seen this image today,” the Pope said.

“Billions, Holiness.”

“Something tells me your days as a secret agent are over. Welcome back to the real world, Gabriel.”

“It’s not a world in which I’m comfortable.”

“What are your plans?”

“I have to return to Israel.”

“And then?”

“My future is somewhat uncertain.”

“As usual,” the Pope said. “Francesco Tiepolo tells me you and Chiara have reunited.”

“Yes, Holiness. She’s in Israel now.”

“What are your plans?”

“I have to marry her before she leaves me again.”

“Wise man. And then?”

“One step at a time, Holiness.”

“Will you allow me to give you one more piece of advice?”

“Of course.”

“As of this moment, you are the most famous man in Italy. A national hero. Something tells me the country would welcome you back with open arms. And this time not as Mario Delvecchio.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“If I were you, I’d make it a bridge back to Venice.”

The Pope gazed silently for a moment through the open door. “I don’t know what I’ll do if God takes him from me. I can’t run the Roman Catholic Church without Luigi Donati.”

“I remember the day he came to Jerusalem to see me,” Gabriel said. “When we were walking through the Old City, I foolishly described him as a faithless man at the side of a man of great faith. But it took a great deal of faith to step in front of those bullets.”

“Luigi Donati is a man of extraordinary faith. He just doesn’t realize it sometimes. Now I have to have faith. I have to believe that God will see fit to let me have him a little longer-and that He will now see fit to end this madness.”

The next question the Pope asked was the same one he had posed to Gabriel at the end of the attack in October.

“Is it over?”

This time Gabriel gazed at the television and said nothing.

No, Holiness, he thought. Not quite.

PART FOUR

39.

THE SENATE SELECT COMMITTEE convened one month after the attempt on the president’s life. In their opening statements the ranking members assured the American people that their investigation would be thorough and unsparing, but by the end of the first week senators from both parties were openly frustrated by what they came to regard as a lack of candor by the president’s security and intelligence chiefs. The president’s men explained in painstaking detail how the forces of global Islamic extremism had managed to penetrate the center of Christendom, and how Professor Ali Massoudi had managed to recruit a young Swiss named Erich Müller and insert him into the Pontifical Swiss Guard. But when it came to who had masterminded the two attacks on the Vatican -and more important, who had footed the bill-the president’s men could offer up only informed opinion. Nor could they explain to any of the committee members’ satisfaction the presence at the Vatican of one Gabriel Allon, the now-legendary Israeli agent and assassin. After much internal deliberation, the senators decided to subpoena him for themselves. Because he was a foreign national he was under no obligation to obey the summons and, as expected, he steadfastly refused to appear. Three days later he abruptly changed his mind. He would testify, he told them, but only in secret. The senators agreed, and asked him to come to Washington the following Thursday.

HE ENTERED the subterranean hearing room alone. When the committee chairman asked him to stand and state his name for the record, he did so without hesitation.

“And your employer?”

“The prime minister of the State of Israel.”

“We have many questions we would like to ask you, Mr. Allon, but we have been told by your ambassador that you will not answer any question that you deem inappropriate.”

“That’s correct, Mr. Chairman.”

“We have also been informed that you wish to read a statement into the record before we begin the questioning.”

“That is also correct, Mr. Chairman.”

“This statement deals with the country of Saudi Arabia and America ’s relationship to it.”

“Yes, Mr. Chairman.”

“Just a reminder, Mr. Allon. While this testimony is being taken in secret, there will still be a transcript made of your remarks.”

“I understand, sir.”

“Very well. You may proceed.”

With that he looked down and began to read his statement. In the far corner of the room, one man visibly winced. Hercules has come to the United States Senate, the man thought. And he’s brought a quiver full of arrows dipped in gall.

“CONGRATULATIONS, GABRIEL,” said Adrian Carter. “You just couldn’t help yourself, could you? We gave you the stage, and you put it to good use.”

“The senators needed to know about the true nature of the Saudi regime and its support for global terrorism. The American people need to know how all those petrodollars are being spent.”

“At least you kept Zizi’s name out of it.”

“I have other plans for Zizi.”

“You’d better not. Besides, you need to keep your eye on the ball right now.”

“Eye on the ball? What does this mean?”

“It’s a sports metaphor, Gabriel. Play any sports?”

“I don’t have time for sports.”

“You’re getting more like Shamron with each passing day.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Gabriel said. “Which ball should I be keeping my eye on?”

“Bin Shafiq.” Carter gave Gabriel a sideways glance. “Any sign of him?”

Gabriel shook his head. “You?”

“We may be on to something, actually.”

“Anything you want to tell me about?”

“Not yet.”

Carter drove across Memorial Bridge and turned onto the George Washington Parkway. They rode in silence for a few minutes. Gabriel looked out the window and admired the view of Georgetown on the other side of the river.

“I saw from your travel itinerary that you’re stopping in Rome on your way back to Israel,” Carter said. “Planning to undertake another assignment for the Vatican?”

“I just want to spend some time with Donati. When I left Rome, he still wasn’t conscious.” Gabriel looked at his watch. “Where are you taking me, Adrian?”

“You have a few hours before your flight. There’s a little place out in the Virginia horse country where we can have lunch.”