Day Of Confession

140

'Roscani and Castelletti,' Adria

Now the Fiat's door opened, and they saw Scala get out and go to the Alfa. The men chatted for a few moments, then Scala went back to the Fiat and drove off.

'This is a timing thing,' Eaton said. 'Harry Addison goes out two hours ago and doesn't come back. Now Roscani shows up. He's gotta be waiting for Father Daniel to make the next move and make certain nothing happens when he does-'

There was a shrill chirp as Eaton's beeper suddenly went off. Immediately he picked a two-way radio off the seat beside him and clicked it on.

'Yes-'

Adria

'When?'

Eaton's jaw strained more, and she could see him grind his teeth.

'Not a word from our office, we know nothing about it. – Right.' Abruptly he clicked off and stared into space.

'Li Wen confessed to poisoning the lakes. A few minutes later he was shot and killed by an assailant who was then killed by the security force. Convenient? – Whose stamp does that echo?'

Adria

Eaton turned back toward the apartment building. 'I don't know what the fuck Roscani's thinking, but if he lets them go into the Vatican after Marsciano, there's every chance somebody's going to get killed, especially if Thomas Kind is in there waiting.'

'James,' Adria

Roscani was getting out of his car, looking around, a cell phone to his ear. Castelletti was getting out, too, walking along the sidewalk, an automatic held down alongside his leg. He was looking up at the buildings on either side of the street as if he were Secret Service.

Now Roscani was talking into the phone, nodding, then looking up and motioning to Castelletti. Immediately they both got back into the Alfa.

At the same moment the front door to number 22 Via Nicolo V opened, and a bearded man in a wheelchair and wearing a Hawaiian shirt was pushed into the morning sunshine by a young woman in jeans and sunglasses. The man had a camera case in his lap, the woman carried another over her shoulder.

'It's fucking him,' Adria

There was an abrupt squeal of tires as Roscani swung the Alfa from where it was parked. Cutting directly across the street, he swerved sharply, then pulled abreast of the wheelchair couple, slowing and staying with them as they moved along the sidewalk toward the Vatican as if they were tourists out for an early stroll.

'Christ, he's going to baby-sit them right into St Peter's.'

Eaton was turning the ignition key, starting the engine, his fingers already tugging at the gearshift. Slowly he eased the green Ford out and down Via Nicolo V. He was angry and frustrated and helpless; the most he could do without creating an international incident was keep the Alfa in sight.

They were turning now, moving from Largo di Porta Cavalleggeri onto Piazza del Sant' Uffizio, a stone's throw from the southern colo

141

Eaton raced on for two short blocks, then turned a quick left and then left again onto Via della Conciliazione. Accelerating past a tour bus, he cut sharply into the right lane and brought the Ford to an abrupt stop in a taxi zone directly across from St Peter's.

In an instant he and Adria

Fifty yards away, Harry traversed the square in a crowd heading for the basilica, Scala's pistol in his waistband, the black beret pulled almost rakishly over his forehead, and the papers Eaton had provided in his pocket identifying him as Father Jonathan Roe of Georgetown University, just in case. Unseen beneath the priest's clothing, he wore chinos and a work shirt. Da

Reaching a flight of steps, he climbed them with the crowd and then stopped. In front of him several hundred more people were massed, waiting for the doors to the basilica to open. It was now eight-fifty-five. The doors would, be opened at nine. Two hours exactly before the work engine came. Head down, praying someone wouldn't suddenly look over and recognize him, Harry took a deep breath and waited.

142

Hercules crouched in the battlements of the ancient fortified wall abutting the Tower of San Giova

It had taken nearly three hours to work his way up the far side of the wall, handhold to handhold, using the morning shadows to hide him. But then he'd made the top and scrambled to where he was now, cramped and thirsty, but precisely where he was supposed to be and when he was supposed to be.

Below, he could see two of Farel's black-suited men hidden in bushes near the tower entrance. Two more waited behind the cover of a high hedge across the narrow roadway. The main door, directly beneath him, appeared unprotected. How many more black-suited men were inside the tower he had no way of knowing. One, two, twenty, none? What was clear was what Da

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