The Order (Gabriel Allon #20) - Daniel Silva Page 0,21
now that Saviano is prime minister.”
Veronica made a face. “Have we learned nothing from the past?”
“Apparently not.”
She sighed. “He visited the museum not long ago. He was perfectly charming, as most demagogues are. It’s easy to see why he appeals to Italians who don’t live in palazzos near the Via Veneto.” She placed her hand briefly on Donati’s arm. “Or behind the walls of the Vatican. Saviano hated the Holy Father for his defense of immigrants and his warnings about the dangers posed by the rise of the far right. He saw it as a direct challenge orchestrated by the Holy Father’s leftist private secretary.”
“Was it?” asked Gabriel.
Donati sipped his wine thoughtfully before answering. “The Church remained silent the last time the extreme right seized power in Italy and Germany. In fact, powerful elements within the Curia supported the rise of fascism and National Socialism. They saw Mussolini and Hitler as a bulwark against bolshevism, which was openly hostile to Catholicism. The Holy Father and I resolved that this time we would not make the same mistake.”
“And now,” said Veronica Marchese, “the Holy Father is dead, and a Swiss Guard is missing.” She looked at Gabriel. “Luigi tells me you’ve agreed to find him.”
Gabriel frowned at Donati, who was suddenly brushing lint from the front of his spotless cassock.
“Did I speak out of turn?” asked Veronica.
“No. The archbishop did.”
“Don’t be angry with him. Life in the gilded cage of the Apostolic Palace can be very isolating. The archbishop often seeks my advice on temporal matters. As you know, I’m rather well connected in Roman political and social circles. A woman in my position hears all sorts of things.”
“Such as?”
“Rumors,” she replied.
“What kind of rumors?”
“About a handsome young Swiss Guard who was spotted at a gay nightclub with a curial priest. When I told the archbishop, he warned me that unproven allegations can do irreparable harm to a person’s reputation, and advised me not to traffic in them.”
“The archbishop would know,” remarked Gabriel. “But one wonders why he didn’t mention any of this at lunch this afternoon.”
“Perhaps he didn’t think it was relevant.”
“Or perhaps he thought it would make me reluctant to help him if I thought I was going to get involved in a Vatican sex scandal.”
Gabriel’s phone pulsed against his heart. It was a message from King Saul Boulevard.
“Something wrong?” asked Donati.
“It appears as though Janson’s file was deleted from the Swiss Guard’s computer network a few hours after the Holy Father’s death.” Gabriel exchanged a glance with Chiara, who was suppressing a smile. “My colleagues at Unit 8200 are now searching the system’s backup.”
“Will they find anything?”
“Computer files are a bit like sin, Excellency.”
“How so?”
“They can be absolved, but they never really go away.”
THEY HAD DINNER ON THE palazzo’s magnificent rooftop terrace, beneath gas heaters that burned the chill from the night air. It was a traditional Roman meal, spinach ravioli topped with butter and sage, followed by roasted veal and fresh vegetables. The conversation flowed as easily as the three bottles of vintage Brunello that Veronica unearthed from Carlo’s cellar. Donati seemed perfectly at ease in his black clerical armor, with Veronica at his right hand and the lights of Rome glowing softly behind him. It might have been broken and filthy and hopelessly corrupt, but viewed from Veronica Marchese’s terrace, with the air clear and crisp and scented with the aroma of cooking, Gabriel thought it was the most beautiful city in the world.
Carlo’s name was never spoken over dinner, and there was no hint of the violence and scandal that bound them. Donati speculated on the outcome of the conclave but avoided the subject of Lucchesi’s death. Mainly, he seemed to hang on Veronica’s every word. The affection between them was painfully obvious. Donati was walking along the edge of an Alpine crevasse. For now, at least, God was watching over him.
Only Gabriel’s phone served as a reminder of why they had gathered that night. Shortly after ten o’clock it shivered with an update from Tel Aviv. The cybersleuths at Unit 8200 had retrieved Niklaus Janson’s original application to join the Swiss Guard. The next update came at half past ten, when the Unit found his complete service file. It was written in Swiss German, the official language of the Guard. It contained a reference to the two missed curfews, but there was nothing about a sexual relationship with a curial priest.
“What about his phone number? It has to be there. The guards are always