The Messenger

5.

BY SUNRISE THE RAIN was gone. Gabriel left the safe flat early and headed back to the Vatican through the empty streets. As he crossed the river, dusty pink light lay on the umbrella pine atop the Janiculum Hill, but St. Peter’s Square was in shadow and lamps still burned in the Colo

By eight o’clock, preparations were under way in St. Peter’s Square for the general audience. Vatican work crews were erecting folding chairs and temporary metal dividers in the esplanade in front of the Basilica, and security perso

“My apologies,” the carabiniere said, and moved off.

“Wait,” Gabriel said.

The carabiniere stopped and turned around.

“Aren’t you going to ask to see my identification?”

The carabiniere held out his hand. He gave the ID badge a bored glance, then handed it back.

“Don’t trust anyone,” Gabriel said. “Ask for identification, and if it doesn’t look right, call your superior.”

Gabriel turned and walked over to St. A

Gabriel decided to check security at the other main entrance of the Vatican, the Arch of Bells. He arrived five minutes later, just in time to see a Curial cardinal and his two aides passing through the arch without so much as a glance from the Swiss Guard standing at attention near his weather shelter. Gabriel held his badge in front of the Guard’s eyes.

“Why didn’t you ask that cardinal for some identification?”

“His red hat and pectoral cross are his identification.”

“Not today,” Gabriel said. “Check everyone’s ID.”

He turned and walked along the outer edge of the Colo

HE CROSSED the square to the Bronze Doors. There were no magic words to gain admittance to what was essentially the front door of the Apostolic Palace. Gabriel’s badge was examined outside by a Swiss Guard in full dress uniform and a second time inside the foyer by a Guard in plain clothes. His Security Office clearance allowed him to enter the palace without signing in at the Permissions Desk, but he was required to surrender his firearm, which he did with a certain reluctance.

The marble steps of the Scala Regia rose before him, shimmering in the glow of the vast iron lamps. Gabriel climbed them to the Cortile di San Damaso and crossed the courtyard to the other side, where a waiting elevator bore him upward to the third floor. He paused briefly in the loggia to admire the Raphael fresco, then hurried along the wide corridor to the papal apartments. Donati, wearing a cassock with a magenta sash, was seated behind the desk in his small office adjacent to the Pope’s. Gabriel slipped inside and closed the door.

“How many people work inside the Vatican?” Donati said, repeating Gabriel’s question. “About half.”

Gabriel frowned.

“Forgive me,” Donati said. “It’s an old Vatican joke. The answer is about twelve hundred. That includes the priests and prelates who work in the Secretariat of State and the various congregations and councils, along with their lay support staff. Then there are the laypeople who make the place run: the tour guides, the street sweepers, the maintenance people and gardeners, the clerks in places like the post office, the pharmacy, and the supermarket. And then there’s the security staff, of course.”

Gabriel held up his Vatican ID badge. “And they all get one of these?”

“Not everyone can get into the Apostolic Palace, but they all have credentials that get them beyond the public sections of the Vatican.”

“You mean the square and the Basilica?”

“Correct.”

“What kind of background check do you perform on them?”

“I take it you’re not referring to the cardinals, bishops, monsignori, and priests.”

“We’ll leave them aside.” Gabriel frowned, then added, “For now.”

“Jobs at the Vatican are highly coveted. The salaries aren’t terribly high, but all our employees have shopping privileges at the pharmacy and the supermarket. The prices are subsidized and much lower than those at Italian markets. The same is true for the prices at our gas station. Aside from that, the hours are reasonable, vacations are long, and the fringe benefits are quite good.”

“What about a background check for the people who get those jobs?”

“The jobs are so coveted-and there are so few of them-that they almost always go to someone with a family co

“I was afraid of that,” Gabriel said. “And what about people like me? People with temporary credentials?”

“You’re asking how many?” Donati shrugged. “At any given time, I’d say there are several hundred people with temporary access to the Vatican.”

“How does the system work?”

“They’re usually assigned to one of the various pontifical councils or commissions as support staff or professional consultants. The prefect or an undersecretary vouch for the character of the individual, and the Vatican Security Office issues the badges.”

“Does the Security Office keep all the paperwork?”

“Of course.”

Gabriel lifted the receiver of the telephone and held it out to Donati.

TWENTY MINUTES ELAPSED before Donati’s phone rang again. He listened in silence, then replaced the receiver and looked at Gabriel, who was standing in the window overlooking the square, watching the crowds streaming into the square.

“They’re starting to pull the paperwork now.”

“Starting?”

“It required authorization from the chief. He was in a meeting. They’ll be ready for you in fifteen minutes.”

Gabriel looked at his wristwatch. It was nearly ten-thirty.

“Move it indoors,” he said.