the life of the Protestant Elizabeth I and support her cousin, the Catholic Mary, Queen of Scots, for the English throne. Though it failed in that mission, ever since it had served popes through schisms, revolutions, dictators, persecutions, attacks, world wars, even assassination attempts. First called the Supreme Congregation for the Holy Inquisition of Heretical Error, then the much shorter Holy Alliance. In the 20th century it was changed to the Entity.
Its motto?
With the Cross and the Sword.
Never once had the Holy See acknowledged the Entity’s existence, but those in the know regarded it as the oldest and one of the best intelligence agencies in the world. A model of secrecy and efficiency. Respected. Feared. Overseen for the past thirty-six years by Archbishop Danjel Spagna.
The pope’s spymaster.
A Belgian, Spagna first came to the attention of John Paul II when, as a young priest, he learned that the Vatican might be bugged. Eight listening devices were found inside the Apostolic Palace, all of Soviet origin. The world was never told, but a grateful pope elevated Spagna to monsignor and assigned him to the Entity. There he became the Pole’s personal envoy, a conduit between Rome and Warsaw, making many clandestine visits to Eastern Europe. Some said he was the one who secretly worked with the Americans to help bring down the Soviet Union, ferrying information to and from Washington. But again, nothing was ever confirmed or denied. After the Soviet Union fell, Spagna was elevated to archbishop and given full operational control of the Entity. A cardinal served as its titular head, but Spagna ran things on a daily basis. No publicity had ever surrounded him. No scandal. No controversy. Only the strongest had run with John Paul II, and Spagna may have been the toughest of them all. He’d even acquired a label.
Domino Suo.
Lord’s Own.
“What do you want with me?” Kastor asked. “I worked in the Vatican a long time, and never once did we speak.”
“Don’t be offended,” Spagna said, his aging eyes the color of lead. “I only speak to a red vulture when absolutely necessary. They don’t care for me, and I don’t care for them. You, though, I have studied in detail.” Spagna’s lips twitched into an ironic smile. “You were born and raised on this barren rock of an island. A true Maltese. There aren’t many of those left in this world. You said mass right in this church, as a young priest, back when you were fresh and new—and silent.”
Kastor caught the jab.
“You have superb academic credentials from the finest institutions. A credit to a superior intelligence. You’re handsome, photogenic, and articulate. Together those are rare qualities among the red vultures. In many ways you are almost too good to be true. That raised warning flags with me. So I took the time to look deeper.” Spagna pointed. “That’s where you really learn about someone.”
He agreed.
“I spoke with one of the nuns who raised you. She’s an old woman now, living out her retirement in Portugal, but she remembers you from the orphanage. Amazing how some things can stick in the mind.” Spagna pointed again. “You stuck in hers. She told me a story about the festival of Our Lady of the Lily. Every town on this island holds at least one big festival each year. Quite the celebrations, I’m told. Seems like a lovely tradition. You were thirteen at the time, I believe. That nun watched as you stole three pasti from one of the street vendors. The owner never saw what you did. But she did. Halliel ftit, she called you. Little thief.”
He said nothing.
“She told me how you took those pastries, went off, and devoured them like a rat. Amazingly, all of the nuns at the orphanage knew you liked to steal. Did you know that?”
No, he didn’t.
“Some of them wanted to punish you. But the mother superior forbid it.”
He was surprised at the show of generosity. He remembered that cranky old woman as a cold bitch.
“The old nun told me the mother superior wanted to see how far you’d go,” Spagna said. “And you showed her. You stole trinkets, clothes, books, money, and never once did you show an ounce of remorse. The old nun said that the mother superior wanted you to destroy yourself. To be caught, chastised, shamed, ridiculed. She wanted you to mete out your own punishment. Yet that never happened. Instead, you left the orphanage and went off to become a priest. The mother superior thought perhaps