“I’ll bring it to you, but then the boy and the woman go with me. And you leave us alone. I don’t care what you do with it.”

“You know me better than that, Ian.”

“No, I don’t.” He stared for a moment, then turned to Ivo. “I have to go for a little while, Ivi, but I’ll be back soon. You take care of Mommy, okay?” Another nod. Pearse winked, then stood. He moved past Mendravic. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the man.

Without acknowledging either guard, Pearse stepped through the doorway.

Two minutes later, all three were on the street, making their way to a Jaguar parked at the curb. The first man reached out to open the door, Pearse ducking his head to get in.

He was halfway there when he was suddenly pushed to the floor of the car. He tried to get up but was held immobile for perhaps fifteen seconds before being pulled back, the grip on his arm unbelievably strong. Outside the car, he saw the guards lying flat on the pavement, unconscious, two men in yellow boots standing over them. The sound of screeching wheels brought his focus to the road as a sedan drew up behind the Jag. Before he knew what was happening, Pearse found himself shuttled into its backseat, thick tinted glass all around him. The door slammed shut. The car pulled away.

Alone, Pearse sat stunned.

“That still doesn’t explain why you’re here,” said von Neurath. “It’s not the best timing.”

Seated across from him, the contessa stared in silence. He was strangely less imposing tucked behind his desk, deep within his bunker. He seemed much smaller by contrast, a man in need of protection. Hardly the image of a Manichaean Pope with the “Hodoporia” at his fingertips. Or maybe that was just what she wanted to see.

The stark quality of the Gabbia’s private room-a few chairs, a sofa, a bed up against the far wall-mirrored what she had just witnessed on her drive in from the airport. The height of the tourist season, and she’d seen no one at the Colosseum, no crowds in the Piazza Venezia or along the Corso, Rome all but deserted. Most jarring, though, had been the barricade barring entry to St. Peter’s from every direction, a surreal backdrop to the detachment of regular army stationed on the Vatican wall. They had made the vigilanza at the gate seem more than a little redundant.

The Catholic church at its most desperate, she had thought. Where was the accompanying titillation she had always expected?

“Watching Harris die and seeing Stefan pull the trigger?” she answered. “You don’t think that’s sufficient reason to pay you a visit?”

It was now von Neurath who took a moment. “I wasn’t aware you were there.”

“Well, then it looks like we’re all full of surprises, doesn’t it?”

He poured himself a glass of water. “You should know, the response has been extraordinary. Even in the last hour. Amazing how five hundred years of contention can melt away when the Devil himself makes an appearance.”

“I didn’t realize your aspirations were so high.”

He laughed. “You’ve got it backward, Contessa. I’m going to be their savior. The father of a new church that recognizes the need for a unified front against our common enemy. The message is already going out as we speak.”

“Everything according to plan.”

“Don’t sound so derisive. You’re hardly the innocent.”

“We’re not talking about me.”

For several seconds, von Neurath didn’t answer. “What are you really here about? I can’t imagine the loss of a lover would matter that much to a woman of your … stature. Or is it the fact that it was two in one day? My condolences.”

“Ever the gentleman, Erich. And no, it doesn’t matter to me in the slightest.”

“Then why come here? It only draws attention. As I said, not the best timing.”

“It might not be the best timing for many things.”

Silence. “Harris is already being touted as a martyr,” he continued. “He’s proving far more useful to us dead than alive. The ground swell is enormous. You made a very good choice there.”

“Did I?” She let the question sit. “I think we both know I didn’t have anything to do with that. At least not according to the late colonel. He wanted me to send on his congratulations, thank you for everything you’ve done.” She waited. “Was he meant to be some sort of distraction? Keep me preoccupied while you ascended the throne?”

“You have such a vivid imagination. I’ve always liked that about you.”

“Yes, I’m sure you have.” She watched as he placed his glass on the desk, slowly spinning it in a pool that was forming below it. “Was the fact that you had Arturo killed also part of my imagination?” Von Neurath looked up. “The distraction obviously worked. Blaney was much quicker on that than I was.”

He let go of the glass. “You two really have been spending entirely too much time together. John Joseph’s always been best when concentrating on his prayers. I wouldn’t put too much stock in anything else he has to say.”

“Why Stefan?”

“I don’t like betrayal.”

“To whom?”

Von Neurath started to answer, then stopped. “Did you enjoy the files he sent you?” The contessa remained silent. “I gave him the opportunity to make amends. He took it.” Again, she said nothing. “Blaney has the ‘Hodoporia.’ That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? Turns out the priest was an old friend of his. It took us a bit too long to figure that one out.” He waited. “Surprises all around.”

His response caught her off guard. Not a pleasant experience for a woman who had spent a lifetime making sure she knew exactly what was going on. It slowly dawned on her what he was talking about. “This has all been about jockeying for position, hasn’t it?” Before von Neurath could answer, she said, “My apologies. I’m usually much smarter than that. Neither of you really cares what the ‘Hodoporia’ has to say, do you?”

“Actually, that’s not true. To be fair to the good Father, I think he truly believes he’s preserving the ‘purity of the Word.’” He shook his head. “How many times have I heard that phrase? Rather endearing, don’t you think, if you let yourself forget everything we’re trying to accomplish.”

She stood and took a glass of her own. “And what exactly is that, Erich?”

Again he laughed. “You’re even beginning to sound like him.”

“I can almost accept the bombings. I’m not quite the idealist John J. is,” she said, pouring out the water. “But Arturo, Harris, Stefan … it’s hard for me to believe that they were sacrificed just to create greater panic. You can see how their deaths might look to someone like me, can’t you?”

“Rather threatening, I would imagine.”

“Interesting choice of words.”

“Yes.”

“Said the spider to the fly.” She took a sip, then looked around the room. “I like what you’ve done with the place. It has that cozy, insulated feel to it. One might even say … isolated.”

“We don’t have to do this, you know.”

“You never answered my question.” She looked back at him, placing her glass on the desk. “What is it, exactly, that we’re trying to accomplish here?”

“Why, our one true and holy church. Isn’t that right, Contessa?”

“Why does it sound so hollow when you say it, Erich?”

Von Neurath smiled. “More and more like John J. every minute.”

“He was right. The ‘Hodoporia’ means nothing to you.”

“That shows how little you understand.”

“No, I don’t think it does.”

For the first time, his composure seemed to dip. “What do you want?”

“Obviously, something you gave up a long time ago. I just never saw it until now.” She turned from him and reached up under her skirt. When she turned back, she was holding a revolver, barely the size of her palm.

Von Neurath didn’t flinch. “I won’t ask where you were keeping that toy.”

“Security’s rather tight for the Pope these days.” She waited. “It is a Manichaean Pope, isn’t it, Erich?”