"The Holocaust was not a Catholic crime, but the Church sowed the seeds of the poisonous vine known as anti-Semitism and provided the water and nourishment those seeds needed to take root and thrive in Europe. We must acknowledge this sin, and we must beg forgiveness."

Gabriel thought he could detect unrest among the cardinals. Dark looks, heads shaking, shoulders rising and falling. He looked at Father Donati and whispered, "Which one is Cardinal Brindisi?"

The priest shook his head. "He's not here today."

"Why not?"

"He said he was under the weather. Truth is, he'd rather be burned at the stake than listen to this speech."

The Pope pressed on. "The Church could not have halted the Shoah, but it is quite possible we could have lessened its severity for many more Jews. We should have put geopolitical interests aside and shouted our condemnation from the top of our mighty basilica. We should have excommunicated those members of our Church who were among the murderers and the enablers. After the war, we should have spent more time caring for the victims instead of tending to the perpetrators, many of whom found sanctuary in this blessed city on their way to exile in distant lands."

The Pope spread his arms wide. "For these sins, and others soon to be revealed, we offer our confession, and we beg your forgiveness. There are no words to describe the depth of our grief. In your hour of greatest need, when the forces of Nazi Germany pulled you from your houses in the very streets surrounding this synagogue, you cried out for help, but your pleas were met by silence. And so today, as I plead for forgiveness, I will do it in the same manner. In silence."

Pope Paul VII lowered his head, folded his hands beneath his pectoral cross, and closed his eyes. Gabriel looked at the Pope in disbelief, then glanced around the synagogue. He was not alone. Mouths hung open throughout the audience, including the usually cynical press corps. Two of the cardinals had joined the Pope in prayer, but the rest seemed as stunned as everyone else.

For Gabriel, the sight of the Pope in silent prayer on the altar of the synagogue meant something else. He had spoken. His initiative could not be undone, even if he were not alive to see it through. If Crux Vera had intended to kill him, they would have done so before he made his remarks. Killing him after the fact would only make him a martyr. The Pope was safe, at least for the time being. Gabriel had only one concern now--getting him safely back inside the papal apartments.

 A movement caught Gabriel's eye--an arm in motion--but it was only Karl Brunner, raising his right hand and touching his earpiece. Immediately his demeanor changed. His shoulders squared and he seemed to be leaning forward on the balls of his feet. Blood rushed to his face, and his eyes were suddenly alive and on the move. He raised his wrist to his lips and mouthed a few words into the microphone concealed in his shirt cuff. Then he took a quick step toward Father Donati.

The priest leaned forward and said, "Is something wrong, Karl?"

"There's an intruder at the Vatican."

AFTER LEAVING the papal apartments, Eric Lange walked downstairs one level to the office of the Vatican Secretary of State. In the antechamber he encountered Father Mascone, Cardinal Brindisi's trusted private secretary.

Lange said, "I'd like to see the cardinal, please." "That's impossible." Father Mascone shuffled some papers and bristled visibly. "Just who in God's name do you think you are marching in here and making demands like that?"

Lange reached into his pocket and in a fluid motion withdrew the silenced Stechkin. Father Mascone murmured, "Mother Mary,

pray for me."

Lange shot him through the center of the forehead and walked

quickly around the desk.

Gabriel and father Donati scampered down the steps of the synagogue. The papal limousine stood outside, glistening from a light drizzle, surrounded by several carabinieri straddling idol motorcycles. Father Donati approached the closest officer and said, "There's an emergency at the Vatican. We need a motorbike."

The carabiniere shook his head. "I can't, Father Donati. It's completely against regulations. I could be fired if I let you take my motorcycle."

Gabriel put a hand on the officer's shoulder. In Italian, he said: "Il papa has personally dispatched us on this mission. Do you really wish to refuse a direct request from His Holiness?"

The carabiniere quickly dismounted the motorcycle.

Gabriel took the handlebars and swung his leg over the saddle. Father Donati climbed on the back.

"Can you drive one of these things?"

"Hold on."

Gabriel turned onto the deserted Lungotevere and opened the throttle full. As he raced north toward the Vatican, he could hear Father Donati reciting the Lord's Prayer in his ear.

Marco Brindisi stood in the center of the room before a bank of television screens. His arms were spread wide, his palms were open, his face seemed to have drained of blood. In his rage, the red. zucchetto had fallen from his pate and lay on the carpet at his feet.

"Will no one silence this heretic?" the cardinal screamed. "Damn you, Carlo! Cut him down! Where is your man?"

"I'm right here," Eric Lange said calmly.

Cardinal Brindisi turned his head a few degrees and took note of the man in a humble clerical suit who had slipped silently into his office.

"Who are you?"

 Lange's arm swung up, the Stechkin in his hand.

"Would you like to make a last confession, Eminence?"

The cardinal narrowed his eyes. "May the fires of hell consume your soul."

He closed his eyes and prepared himself for death.

Lange indulged him.

He pulled the trigger three times in rapid succession. The Stechkin spit fire but emitted no sound. Three shots struck the cardinal in the chest, forming a perfect triangle over his heart.

As the cardinal collapsed onto his back, Lange stepped forward and stared into the lifeless eyes. He placed the tip of the silencer against the prelate's temple and fired one last shot.

Then he turned and walked calmly out.

VATICAN CITY

It took three minutes for Gabriel to reach the entrance of St. Peter's Square. As he skidded to a halt at the metal barricades, a startled carabiniere leveled his automatic weapon and braced himself for assault. Father Donati waved his Vatican badge.

"Put your gun down, you idiot! I'm Luigi Donati, the Pope's private secretary. We have an emergency. Move the barricade!"

"But--"

"Move it! Now!"

The carabiniere lifted a section of the barricade, creating a passage wide enough for a motorcycle. Gabriel nosed through and started across the crowded square. Startled tourists leapt out of the way to safety, screaming insults at him in a half-dozen languages.

By the time they reached the Bronze Doors, the Swiss Guard had dispensed with his halberd and was holding a Beretta pistol in his outstretched hands. He lowered the gun when he saw that it truly was Father Donati on the back of the motorcycle.

"We were told there was an intruder," Donati said.

The Swiss Guard nodded. "Now there's been a report of a shooting inside the palace."

In another life, Father Luigi Donati must have been a track star or a footballer. With his long legs and lean build, he bounded up staircases three steps at a time and charged down hallways like a sprinter hurtling toward the finish line. Gabriel was doing all he could do just to keep the cleric in sight.

It took less than two minutes to reach Cardinal Brindisi's apartment on the second floor of the palace. Several Swiss Guards were already there, along with a trio of Curial priests. The body of Father Mascone was slumped over the desk in the antechamber in a pool of blood.