"That way," he said. "Across the main road, past the gendarmerie, then up the hill."

The road was narrow, little more than a one-lane paved track, and the grade of the hill was steep. There were villas among the olive and pepper trees. Some were modest homes owned by locals; others were opulent, well-tended, and shielded by hedges and high stone walls.

The villa where the Italian woman purportedly lived fell into the second category. It was a stately old estate house with a turret "sing above the main entrance. The garden was a terraced affair, surrounded by a stone wall. There was no name on the daunting, iron gate.

 When Gabriel pressed the button on the intercom, dogs began to bark. A few seconds later, a pair of Belgian shepherds came galloping from the back of the villa, teeth bared, barking fanatically They charged the gate and snapped at Gabriel through the bars. He took a quick step back and put a hand on the door latch of the car He did not like dogs to begin with, and not long ago he'd had a run-in with an Alsatian that had left him with a broken arm and several dozen stitches. He inched forward cautiously so as not to further incite the dogs and pressed the intercom button once again. This time he received a response: a woman's voice, barely audible above the wild barking.

"Out?"

"Madame Carcassi?"

"My name is Huber now. Carcassi was my maiden name."

"Was your mother Regina Carcassi from Tolmezzo in the north of Italy?"

A moment's hesitation, then: "Who is this, please?"

The dogs, hearing the note of anxiety in their master's voice, began to bark even more ferociously. During the night, Gabriel had been unable to decide how to make his approach to the daughter of Regina Carcassi. Now, with the shepherds trying to tear his legs off and a gale-force wind beating down on him from the Alps, he had little patience for subterfuge and cover stories. He reached out and pressed the button once more.

"My name is Gabriel," he said, shouting over the commotion of the dogs. "I work for the government of Israel. I believe I know who killed your mother, and I believe I know why."

There was no response from the intercom, only the rapid snarling of the dogs. Gabriel feared he had taken it too far too quickly. He

reached for the intercom button again but stopped himself when he saw the front door swing open and a woman step into the courtyard. She stood there a moment, black hair flying in the wind, arms folded beneath her breasts, then walked slowly across the courtyard and examined Gabriel through the bars of the gate. Satisfied, she looked down at the dogs and scolded them in rapid French. They stopped barking and trotted off, disappearing behind the villa. Then she reached into her coat pocket, produced the remote for the gate, and pressed it with her thumb. The gate slowly opened, and she gestured them to come inside.

SHE SERVED coffee and steamed milk in a rectangular sitting room with a terracotta floor and damask-covered furniture. The French doors rattled in the mistral. Several times Gabriel found himself looking at the doors to see if someone was trying to get in, but he saw only the elaborate garden writhing in the wind.

Her name was Antonella Huber, an Italian woman, married to a German businessman, living in the south of France--a member of that itinerant class of European wealthy who are comfortable in many countries and many cultures. She was an attractive woman, mid-forties, with dark shoulder-length hair and deeply tanned skin. Her eyes were nearly black and radiated intelligence. Her gaze was direct and without apprehension. Gabriel noticed the edges of her nails were soiled with clay. He glanced around the room and saw that it was decorated with ceramics. Antonella Huber was a skilled potter.

"I'm sorry about the dogs," she said. "My husband travels for his work, so I spend a great deal of time here alone. Crime is a major  problem all along the Cote d'Azur. We were robbed a half-dozen times before we bought the guard dogs. Lately, we haven't had any problems."

"I can see why."

She managed a brief smile. Gabriel used the lull in the small talk to come to the point. He leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, and gave Antonella Huber a selective account of the events that had brought him here. He told her that his friend, the historian Benjamin Stern, had discovered that something unusual had taken place at the Convent of the Sacred Heart in Brenzone during the war--the same convent where her mother had lived before renouncing her vows. He told her that his friend had been killed by someone who wanted that unusual event to remain a secret. He told her that her mother was not the only person to vanish without a trace in Italy. Two priests, Felici and Manzini, had disappeared around the same time. An Italian detective named Alessio Rossi believed the disappearances were linked, but he was ordered to close his investigation after Italian police came under pressure from a man named Carlo Casagrande, who worked for the Vatican Security Office. Antonella Huber remained motionless throughout Gabriel's presentation, her eyes locked on him, her hands folded across her knee. He had the distinct impression he was telling her nothing she did not already know or suspect.

"Your mother didn't renounce her vows simply in order to marry, did she?"

A long silence, then: "No, she didn't."

"Something happened at that convent, something that made her lose her faith and renounce her vows?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Did she discuss it with Benjamin Stern?"

"I begged her not to, but she ignored my warning and spoke to him anyway."

"What were you afraid of?"

"That she would be harmed, of course. And I was right, wasn't I?"

"Have you spoken to the Italian police?"

"If you know anything about Italian politics, you'd realize that the Italian police are not to be trusted in a matter like this. Wasn't Alessio Rossi one of the men who was killed in Rome the night before last? A papal assassin?" She shook her head slowly. "My God, they'll do anything to protect their dirty little secrets."

"Do you know why they killed your mother?"

She nodded and said, "Yes, I do. I know what happened in that convent. I know why my mother renounced her vows, and her faith, and why she was killed for it."

"Will you tell me?"

"It's probably better if I show you." She stood up. "Please wait here. I won't be a moment."

She left the room and walked upstairs. Gabriel sat back and closed his eyes. Chiara, seated next to him on the couch, reached out and laid her hand on his forearm.

When Antonella Huber returned, she was holding a stack of yellowed writing paper. "My mother wrote this the night before she married my father," she said, holding up the papers for Gabriel and Chiara to see. "She gave a copy of this to Benjamin Stern. This Js the reason your friend was killed."

She sat down, placed the papers in her lap, and began to read aloud.

 My name is Regina Carcassi, and I was born in Brunico, a mountain village near the Austrian border. I am the youngest of seven children and the only girl. Therefore, it was almost preordained that I become a nun. In 1937, I took my vows and became a member of the Order of Saint Ursula. I was sent to the Convent of the Sacred Heart, an Ursuline convent in the town of Brenzone on Lake Garda, and I took a position teaching in a local Catholic school for girls. I was eighteen years old.

I was very pleased with my assignment. The convent was a lovely place, an old castle located on the shores of the lake. When the war came, little about our life changed. Despite the shortages of food, we received shipments of supplies each month and always had enough to eat. Usually, we had some left over to disperse among the needy in Brenzone. I continued my teaching duties and administered to the needs of those unfortunate souls affected by the fighting.