through the gates of the Passegiata del Gianicolo, she’d relaxed slightly. Had they been driving toward some dark, deserted alleyway, she might have reason to be more concerned, but it seemed Dumas was keeping his promise, to take them to somewhere open and public. This was definitely public. Up the hill she caught sight of a carousel with children riding horses, giraffes, and even a Cinderella’s pumpkin-coach. Just beyond that, a handful of boys and girls were riding in a cart drawn by a quartet of red Shetland ponies. All the trappings of an amusement park, she thought, except for the tall and somber marble busts, who stood like silent sentinels on either side of the street. No one seemed to pay the statues the slightest bit of attention as entire families strolled under the giant plane trees with their dappled trunks, and everywhere one turned there were children, some holding cones of gelato, others clutching the strings of helium balloons.
“What makes this location better than, say, the police station?” Sydney asked, as Dumas circled around a huge statue of a man on horseback. She thought about asking who it memorialized, then caught sight of the cityscape beyond it, one of the most magnificent views of Rome, to rival any postcard she’d ever seen. Too bad she didn’t have time to enjoy it.
“Passegiata del Gianicolo,” Dumas said, glancing at her in the rearview mirror, “is a good place to get lost in the crowd, while we attempt to sort this matter out.”
Professor Santarella looked out the window, focusing on a group of children clustering around the puppet hut. “We could have stayed at the academy and waited for Mr. Griffin there. After all, we do have a guard and electric gates.”
“I told you, Professor. I shall explain all, if you are patient,” Dumas said, pulling neatly into a parking space just vacated by a Ferrari. “We can have a little chat at the wall. It will be my pleasure to buy you a gelato—anything you wish.”
Both women decided on coffee, and Sydney got out of the car, feeling reassured by the presence of so many people milling about, as well as the carabinieri mounted on white horses. When she glanced over at the skyline of Rome, visible just over the low stone wall, Father Dumas suggested that Francesca take Sydney to claim a seat there, while he ordered coffee for them from the kiosks.
The two women walked over to the wall, and Sydney was again taken aback by the magnificent view of the city and the Alban Hills beyond. Francesca rested her briefcase on the wall, then directed Sydney’s attention to some of the major points of interest, the cupola of Sant’Andrea della Valle, the rotunda of the Pantheon, and to the right, the white elephantine Vittorio Emanuele monument and the Forum and Palatine beyond.
“And what’s that ugly brick building with the tower just down the hill?”
“That’s the Regina Coeli—the Queen of Heaven Prison,” she said, taking a seat on the wall as Father Dumas walked toward them with their drinks.
On his return, Sydney told Dumas, “I think it’s time to get down to business. Why, exactly, are you involved, and what are the Vatican’s interests in this matter?”
“The Vatican’s interests are to protect that which belongs to the church. My interests are to do what is right.”
“You were at the Smithsonian,” Sydney said, taking a seat on the wall next to the professor. “I saw you.”
“True,” he finally replied. “I was at the Smithsonian. Alessandra was supposed to contact me after she’d been there. The last time I spoke with her, she told me that if we missed each other, it meant she’d had to leave in a hurry and that she’d send the information home.”
“And do you know what happened to her?” Sydney asked.
“I understand she was murdered.”
“Murdered?” the professor said, her face blanching. “Alessandra?”
He looked over at her, his expression filled with compassion. “I am sorry you had to hear it this way, Professor. But it is as I explained, a dangerous situation, and we had no time.”
“Alessandra’s murder is what brought me to Rome,” Sydney added. “That’s why I need to know what it was she sent to you.”
Francesca sat on the low wall and hugged the briefcase to her chest. A few tears coursed down her cheeks. “Alessandra wanted this to go to Mr. Griffin.”
“And I work with him,” Dumas said, handing her his handkerchief.
Sydney looked at him in disbelief. “You? And Griffin?”
“You seem surprised.”
“You