Day Of Confession

At three-thirty in the afternoon, Friday, July seventeenth, Giacomo Pecci, Pope Leo XIV, ensconced under heavy guard at his summer refuge at Castel Gandolfo, in the Alban Hills near Rome, was informed of the violent happenings inside the Vatican walls, culminating with the death of Umberto Palestrina.

At six-thirty that same evening, nearly eight hours after he had left by helicopter, the Holy Father returned by car to the Vatican. By seven, he had gathered his closest advisers for a prayer mass for the dead.

On Sunday, at noon, the bells of Rome tolled in mourning for Cardinal Palestrina. And on the following Wednesday a massive state funeral was held for him inside St Peter's Basilica. Among the thousands in attendance was the newly appointed secretariat of state for the Holy See, Cardinal Nicola Marsciano.

At six o'clock that same evening Cardinal Marsciano met privately with Cardinal Joseph Matadi and Monsignor Fabio Capizzi. Immediately afterward he went to pray with the Holy Father in his private chapel, and later the two dined alone in the papal apartments. What was said there or transpired between them is not known.

Ten days later, on Monday, July twenty-seventh, Hercules had recovered sufficiently to be released from the hospital of St John and sent to a private rehabilitation center to recuperate.

Three days after that, murder charges against him were quietly dropped. A month later he was released from the rehabilitation center and given a job and a small apartment in Montepulciano in Tuscany, where he lives today as an overseer of an olive grove owned by Elena Voso's family.

In September, Gruppo Cardinale ranking prosecutor Marcello Taglia a

The Vatican maintained total silence.

On October first, exactly two weeks after prosecutor Taglia's formal a

THERE WAS ONE OTHER THING-

Los Angeles. August 5.

In the midst of a riotous workload after his return – including hammering out a contract for a sequel to Dog on the Moon – and i

It had begun with Harry thinking about unanswered questions. And in light of his restored relationship with his brother and because of what they had experienced together and the secrets they still shared, he felt it completely natural to ask Da

Harry: You called me early Friday morning Rome time and left word on my answering machine that you were scared and didn't know what to do. 'God help me!' you said.

Da

Harry: I assume it was because you had just heard Marsciano's confession and were horrified by it and by what the repercussions might be.

Da

Harry: What if I had been home and had answered the phone? Would you have told me about the confession?

Da

Harry: But you didn't get me, so you left word and a few hours later you were on a bus to Assisi. Why Assisi? There was hardly a church inhabitable after the earthquakes.

(It was here Harry remembered Da

Da

Harry: That maybe it wasn't just solace, that maybe you were going there for another reason.

Da

Harry: Like to meet someone.

Da

Harry: Eaton.

Da

Harry: You tell me…

Da

Harry: He was trying very hard to get to you, Da

Da

Harry: He got killed trying to find you. Maybe even protect you.

Da

Harry: What if I said the real reason you went to Assisi all those years was not for solace but to deliver information… to Eaton…

Da

Harry: Were you?

Da

Harry: Yes.

Da

Harry: No…

But there was, and finally Harry had to find out. Closing his office door, he picked up the phone and called a friend at Time in New York. Ten minutes later he was talking to the magazine's CIA expert in the Washington bureau.

What were the chances, he wanted to know, of the Central Intelligence Agency's having a mole inside the Vatican. The response was a laugh. Very unlikely, he was told. But possible? Yes, possible.

'Especially,' the Time correspondent explained, 'if someone assigned to watch Italy was concerned about the Vatican 's influence on the country, particularly after the Vatican banking scandals of the early 1980s.

'Banking – and or where they had their' – Harry chose the word carefully – 'investments?'

'Right… Decide it was that important, then place an operative as close to the source as possible.'

Harry felt the chill begin to slide down his spine. Close to the source – as in private secretary to the cardinal who manages the Holy See's investments.

'Might,' he went on, 'this someone watching Italy be the Rome station chief?'

'Yes.'

'Who would know about it?'

'There's a very guarded category of operative called HUMINTS – an acronym for Human Intelligence, people who are deep cover plants. Deeper still, and, in a situation as sensitive as Vatican- U.S. relations, more likely, are people known as NOCS – an acronym for Non-Official Cover. Operatives like this are so concealed and protected even the Director of Central Intelligence might not know. A NOC would be recruited directly by someone like a station chief for a very precise positioning. In all likelihood they would have been recruited sometime earlier so that they could work their way to a position of trust with no suspicion whatsoever.'

'Could an operative like this be… someone in the clergy?'

'Why not?'

Harry didn't remember getting off the phone, or leaving his office, or walking in the August heat and smog along Rodeo Drive or even where or how he crossed Wilshire Boulevard. All he knew was that somehow he was in Neiman-Marcus and a very attractive young woman was showing him ties.

'I don't think so.' Harry shook his head at a proffered Hermes tie. 'Why don't I just look around on my own…'

'Sure.' The woman smiled at him with the kind of flirtatious glow he used to do something about. But not now, maybe not ever again. Today was Wednesday. Saturday he was going back to Italy to meet Elena's family. Elena was all he thought about, saw in his dreams, felt with every breath. That was until now, after the phone call to the Time correspondent, and on the way here, when he had the sudden and all-too-clear memory of facing Thomas Kind in the Vatican railroad station and boldly telling him across his murderous machine pistol – 'I know my brother better than he thinks.'