“Why is everyone in such a panic over this conclave?”
“Picking a pope is a big deal.”
“Really? I hadn’t realized.”
She caught his sarcasm.
“That’s not the only thing in play,” she said. “Gallo came here to meet with an archbishop named Danjel Spagna.”
That name he knew. “He manages the Entity. I assume that’s unusual.”
“To say the least.”
He loved a good book and spent much of his mandatory downtime reading. History was a favorite subject. He especially enjoyed books that dealt with the intelligence business. The exploits of the Entity were legendary, dating back centuries. It had been involved in one way or another with Britain’s Elizabeth I, France’s St. Bartholomew’s Eve Massacre, the Spanish Armada, the assassinations of a Dutch prince and a French king, the attempted assassination of a Portuguese ruler, the War of Spanish Succession, the French Revolution, Napoleon’s rise and fall, Cuba’s war against Spain, several South American secessions, the fall of Kaiser Wilhelm during World War I, Hitler in World War II, and communism in the 1980s.
An amazing résumé.
He recalled what Simon Wiesenthal, the famed Nazi hunter, once said. The best and most effective espionage service in the world belongs to the Vatican.
Now here he was, at odds with it.
Ahead, he spotted the small parking lot where he’d started this morning. He hurried over and found his phone inside the rental, along with his Beretta, which he tucked at the base of his spine beneath his shirt.
“You do know that it’s illegal to carry a weapon on this island without a special permit, which they rarely grant,” she said.
“It’s also illegal to assault and kidnap somebody. But that didn’t stop you.”
“I had no choice.”
Maybe. But he was still pissed about it.
“Don’t let the local police see that gun. Agent or no agent, they’ll arrest you, and I don’t have time to get you out.”
“Not a problem.”
“We need to head toward central downtown.”
He wondered if Stephanie Nelle had really approved this joint operation. His last instructions had been to get rid of Laura Price. He should call in, but he decided to give this little venture a bit more time and see where things led before bothering the boss.
A few minutes’ walk and they found themselves on busy Republic Street, which ran from the southern city gate, past Freedom Square, to bastions at the water’s edge. An impenetrable mass of people had taken possession of it, many surely from the cruise ships he’d seen earlier. Cars were obviously not allowed. The steady breeze sponged away what would surely be the cloying, musty smell of crowded humanity. The shops and eateries, lined one after the other like rabbit hutches, were all doing a brisk business. The co-cathedral and grand master’s palace were closed, but the cobbled squares radiating from both were choked with visitors. Valletta seemed to be living up to its reputation as a popular tourist destination.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
But she did not answer him.
Instead they plunged into the chaos.
Among the crowd he spotted three uniformed police on Segways, one of whose gazes lingered a bit longer in their direction than it should. He might have dismissed it as paranoia, but that same officer found a handheld radio and started speaking into it. His gaze raked more of the faces around him and he spied another uniformed officer, on foot, who also stared their way just long enough to grab his attention.
“You catching this?” he said to her.
“I count four. They’re definitely watching.”
He liked that she was alert, aware of what was around her.
He surveyed the crowd again, his professional curiosity at its max. The nearest threat was fifty feet away, but the cops were situated in every direction, blocking the alleys radiating off Republic Street.
“I’ll identify myself and deal with them,” she said.
Seemed like the right course. One good guy to another. Surely she was known to the locals. There might be some animosity between law enforcement agencies, like back home, but in the end everyone tried to get along. What bothered him was that none of the police had approached. Instead they’d assumed a perimeter, held their positions, and used their radios.
Calling who?
“Stay here,” she said.
Thirty yards away a blue-and-white police car turned out of one of the alleys, lights flashing, and inched its way through the pedestrian-only crowd toward the square that fronted the co-cathedral. From its front passenger side a man emerged. Tall, older, heavily built, with a mat of silver-white hair and white sideburns, dressed casually. He paused to look around and