108

Lugano, Switzerland. Still Wednesday, July 15. Noon.

Elena had not really looked at Harry since she'd helped him dress Danny and get him into the van. He wondered if she'd been embarrassed by coming to him the way she had and telling what she did and now didn't know what to do about it. What surprised him was the extent to which the whole thing had affected him, and continued to affect him. Elena was a bright, beautiful, ballsy, and caring woman who had suddenly found herself and wanted the freedom to express it. And from the way she'd presented herself – coming barefoot into his room in the dark and talking in the intimate way she had – in his mind there was no doubt she'd wanted him to be the one to help her do it. The trouble was, as he'd told himself right then, this was not the time, and he had to stop thinking about it – other things were far too pressing. So now – as they wound down out of the hills from the north and turned along Lake Lugano to drive into Lugano itself, Viale Castagnola, across the Cassarate River, and up Via Serafino Balestra to the small, storied, private home at Via Monte Ceneri, 87 – he deliberately turned his attention to what had to be done next.

It was a given that they couldn't keep traveling as hunted criminals from one place to another, trusting that somehow someone would help them. Danny needed a place safe enough and secure enough to rest and recover to the point where he could talk to Harry in a thoughtful, coherent manner about the murder of the cardinal vicar of Rome. Moreover, and as important, they needed to acquire powerful legal representation. And those two things, Harry knew, had to be his only priorities.

'We here?' Danny asked weakly as Father Renato set the hand brake and turned off the engine.

'Yes, Father Daniel.' Father Renato half smiled. 'Thankfully.'

Getting out, Elena saw Harry glance at her briefly as he opened the van's sliding door and then he turned away as Father Natalini brought the wheelchair from the back. Father Daniel had said almost nothing during the trip, just stared out the window at the passing countryside. Elena was certain he was still exhausted from the events of the past forty-eight hours. He needed to eat and then to sleep for as long as he could.

Elena stepped back, watching as Harry and Father Natalini hefted Danny into the wheelchair then carried him up the steps into the second-floor living room of the house on Via Monte Ceneri. What had happened the night before made her feel more awkward than embarrassed. In the exhilarated, emotional rush she'd had when she'd gone to Harry, she'd revealed more about herself and her feelings than she'd intended, or at least more than was appropriate when she was yet to give up her vows. But she'd done it nonetheless, and there was no taking it back. The question was how to act now. It was why she had been unable to look at him directly all day, or to say more than the few words that were necessary. She just didn't know how.

Suddenly the door at the top of the stairs opened, and their hostess appeared.

'Come in quickly,' Veronique Vaccaro said and stepped back to make way for them.

Once they were inside, she immediately closed the door and looked at everyone in turn, as if sizing them up. Diminutive, temperamental, and middle-aged, Veronique was an artist and sculptor who dressed in earth colors and whose quickly spoken sentences came in a bewildering mix of French, English, and Italian. Abruptly she looked to Father Renato.

^'Merci. Now you must go. Capisce?'

No offer to rest, use the washroom, even a glass of water. No, he and Father Natalini had to go.

'A vehicle from a Bellagio church parked in front of a private house in Lugano? Might as well call the police and tell them where you are.'

Father Renato smiled and nodded. Veronique was right. And as he and Father Natalini turned to leave, Danny surprised everyone by suddenly perking up and moving his wheelchair forward to take their hands.

'Grazie. Grazie mille,' he said with genuine gratitude, understanding what the two men had risked to bring them there.

And then the priests were gone, and Veronique, saying she was preparing something for them to eat, left, passing one of half a dozen large abstract sculptures that sat like characters in the small, sunny room, and disappeared through a doorway on the far side of it.

'Father Daniel should rest,' Elena said almost the moment she had gone. 'Let me ask Veronique where.'

Harry watched her cross the room and push through the same door Veronique had used. He stared at the closed door for a moment longer, then turned to Danny – the two bearded and in black, with the black zucchettos on their heads, looking the way they were supposed to, like rabbis.

Until now Harry had held back, trying to give his brother as much time as he needed to heal, both physically and mentally. But Danny's sudden responsiveness in thanking the priests made Harry begin to suspect Danny was more cognizant than he was letting on. And now alone with him, he felt a rush of anger. He didn't need Danny keeping him in the dark and at bay for reasons of his own. He'd been through enough for him already. Whatever the truth was, the time had come to get it out.

'You called me, Danny. You left word on my answering machine… Do you remember?' Abruptly Harry took off his zucchetto and stuck it in his pocket.

'Yes…'

'You were scared to death of something. It was a hell of a way to say hi after so many years – especially on an answering machine… What were you afraid of?'

Slowly Danny's eyes traveled over Harry's face. 'I want you to do me a favor.'

'What?'

'Get out of here right now.'

'Get out of here?'

'Yes.'

'Just me. By myself?'

'If you don't, Harry… they'll kill you.'

Harry stared at his brother. 'Who is "they"?'

'Just go. Please.'

Abruptly Harry looked off, his gaze going around the room. Then his eyes came back to Danny. 'Maybe I should fill you in on what you either don't remember or don't know… We're both wanted for murder, Danny. You for-'

'-killing the cardinal vicar of Rome, and you for shooting a Rome detective,' Danny finished for him. 'I saw a newspaper I wasn't supposed to see…'

Harry hesitated, trying to find the way to put it. Finally he just said it. 'Did you kill the cardinal, Danny?'

'Did you kill the cop?'

'No.'

'Same answer.' Danny's reply was direct and unwavering.

'The police have a lot of evidence against you, Danny… Farel took me to your apart-'

'Farel?' Danny cut him off sharply. 'That's where your evidence came from…'

'What do you mean?'

For a long moment Danny said nothing, then he glanced off. It was a retreat, a look that meant he'd said too much already and it was as far as he was going to go.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Harry looked off at Veronique's collection of sculptures. Finally he turned back.

'You were in a bus explosion, Danny. Everybody thought you were dead… How'd you get out?'

Danny shook his head. 'Don't know…'

'Not only got out,' Harry pressed him. 'You managed to stuff your Vatican ID, your passport, and your glasses in somebody else's jacket…'

Danny said nothing.

'The bus was going to Assisi. Do you remember that?'

'I… go there often.' Danny's eyes flashed anger.

'Do you?'

'Yes! – Harry, just get out of here. Now. While you still can.'

'Danny – we haven't talked in years. Don't make me go yet.' Picking up the chair again, Harry turned it around beside Danny and sat down on it backward.

'Who were you afraid of when you called me?'

'I don't know…'

'Farel?'