The Order (Gabriel Allon #20) - Daniel Silva Page 0,60

in Venice.”

“Did he mention a missing Swiss Guard?”

“He might have. And a missing letter, too.” The general held the page aloft. “Is this the document Lucchesi wanted you to see?”

Gabriel nodded.

“In that case, there’s no need to test it. The Holy Father wouldn’t have tried to give it to you if it wasn’t genuine.”

“I’d feel better if I knew when it was written and where the paper and ink came from.”

The general raised it to the light of an overhead chandelier. “You’re right, it’s definitely paper.”

“How old could it be?”

“The first mills in Italy were established in Fabriano in the late thirteenth century, and during the fifteenth century paper gradually replaced vellum in bookbinding. There were mills in Florence, Treviso, Milan, Bologna, Parma, and your beloved Venice. We should be able to determine if this was produced in one of them. But it’s not something that can be done quickly.”

“How long will it take?”

“To do the job right … several weeks.”

“I’m going to need the results a bit sooner than that.”

The general sighed.

“If it wasn’t for you,” said Gabriel, “I’d still be in Venice with my family.”

“Me?” The general shook his head. “I was only the messenger. It was Pietro Lucchesi who summoned you.” He glanced at the manila folder. “Those photos are yours to keep. A small souvenir of your brief visit to our country. Don’t worry about the Polizia. I’ll think of something to say to them. I always do.”

With that, the general departed. Gabriel checked his phone and saw that he had received a text message from Christoph Bittel, his friend from the Swiss security service.

Call me as quickly as you can. It’s important.

Gabriel dialed.

Bittel answered instantly. “For God’s sake, what the hell took you so long?”

“Please tell me she’s all right.”

“Stefani Hoffmann? She’s fine. I’m calling about the man in that sketch of yours.”

“What about him?”

“It’s not something we should discuss on the phone. How quickly can you get to Zurich?”

34

SISTINE CHAPEL

FROM INSIDE THE SISTINE CHAPEL came the unholy clamor of hammering. Cardinal Domenico Albanese climbed the two shallow steps and entered. A newly installed wooden ramp sloped toward the opening in the transenna, the marble screen that divided the chapel in two. Beyond it stretched a temporary wooden floor covered in pale tan carpeting. Twelve long tables stood along the edges of the chapel, two rows of three on each side, covered in tan baize, with pleated skirts of magenta.

In the center of the space stood a small ornate table with thin curved legs. For now, the table was empty. But on Friday afternoon, when the cardinal-electors processed into the chapel to begin the conclave, there would be a Bible open to the first page of the Gospel of Matthew. Each cardinal, including Albanese, would lay his hand on the Gospel and swear an oath of secrecy. He would also swear not to conspire with “any group of people or individuals” who might wish to intervene in the election of the next Roman pontiff. To break such a sacred vow would be a grievous sin. A cardinal sin, thought Albanese.

The sound of hammering intruded on his reverie. The workmen were constructing a camera platform near the stoves. The first hour of the conclave—the opening procession, the singing of “Veni Creator Spiritus,” the swearing of the oath—would be televised. After that, the master of pontifical liturgical celebrations would announce “Extra omnes,” and the doors would be closed and locked from the outside.

Inside, a first ballot would be taken, if only to get a sense of the room. The Scrutineers and Revisers would perform their due diligence, checking and rechecking the count. If the preconclave hype was to be believed, Cardinal José Maria Navarro would emerge as the early front runner. The ballots would then be burned in the older of the two stoves. The second stove would simultaneously release a chemically enhanced plume of black smoke. And thus the faithful gathered in St. Peter’s Square—and the unfaithful poised over their laptops in the press center—would learn that the Church of Rome was still without a pontiff.

Cardinal Navarro’s lead would shrink on the second ballot. And on the third, a new name would emerge: Cardinal Franz von Emmerich, the archbishop of Vienna and a secret member of the Order of St. Helena. By the fifth ballot, Emmerich would be unstoppable. By the sixth, the papacy would be his. No, thought Albanese suddenly. The papacy would be the Order’s.

They planned to waste little time in undoing the modest