"No, he's not, but there's something about him that makes him seem like he's… like he's not of this world, if you know what I mean, as though he were kind of floating above all of us mortals down here… I don't know, it's a strange feeling, I can't quite explain it."

"He seemed to hang on your every word."

"But no more than on anybody else's. I'd like to think he was interested in me, but he's not, Marco, and I'm not going to delude myself. I'm old enough to know when a man's interested in me."

"What did he say to you?"

"The short time we were alone, he asked me about the investigation. I avoided telling him what we were doing here, except that you wanted to meet the committee that deals with the shroud."

"What did you think about Bolard?"

"It's odd, but he's the same kind of man as D'Alaqua and Padre Yves. Now we know that they know one another-I guess that was predictable, huh?"

"You know what? I've thought the same thing- there's something really striking and unusual about them. I'm not sure exacdy what it is. It's got me a little spooked. I'm used to studying people-it's part of my nature-but there's something different going on here. These men are incredibly imposing, almost otherworldly, as you say. Maybe it's their physical presence, their elegance, their self-assurance. They're accustomed to giving orders. Our talkative Professore Bonomi told me that Bolard is entirely dedicated to science, which is why he's never married."

"Why do you think he's so devoted to the shroud, when carbon-fourteen dates it only from the Middle Ages?"

"I don't know. But when he talked about it tonight there was no doubt he considers it his life's work. We'll see how my meeting with him goes tomorrow. I want you to come. What's happening with dinner at Bonomi's?"

"He insisted that D'Alaqua take me to the opera and then to his house, to the dinner he's giving for Cardinal Visier. D'Alaqua had no choice but to agree. But I don't know whether I should go."

"Oh, you're definitely going. And you're going to keep your eyes and ears open. It's a mission, and you accept; all those respectable, powerful men have skeletons in their closets, and one of them may know something about our case."

"Marco, please! It's absurd to think that those men have anything in the world to do with any of this-"

"No, it's not absurd, dottoressa. Now it's the cop talking to you. I don't trust the high and mighty. To get where they've gotten they've had to wade through a lot of shit and step on a lot of toes. You'll recall, too, that every time we dismantle some team of art thieves we find the receiver of the artwork is some eccentric millionaire who just has to have objects that belong to all of humanity in his own private gallery.

"You're a princess, like I said, but they're sharks, and they consume everything that stands in their way. Don't forget that tomorrow night. All their perfect manners, their refined conversation, the luxury they live in-facade, pure facade. I trust them less than the thieves and pickpockets in Trastevere, believe me."

THE BRIDE WAS RADIANT AS SHE RECEIVED congratulations from her countless relatives. The ballroom was filled to overflowing. It was the perfect cover, thought Addaio.

He had traveled with Bakkalbasi, one of the eight secret bishops of the community, officially a prosperous merchant in Urfa. The wedding of the bishop's niece had allowed the pastor to meet with most of the members of the community in Berlin.

With the seven leaders of the community in Germany and the seven in Italy, he stepped into a discreet alcove off the enormous ballroom, where they all lit up long cigars. One of Bakkalbasi's nephews kept watch near them so that no one would approach unexpectedly.

He patiently listened to the men's reports, the details of the life of the community in those barbarian lands. Then one of the Italian leaders broached the subject uppermost in Addaio's mind.

"This month Mendib will be set free. The warden has spoken several times by telephone with the head of the Art Crimes Department. They're putting on a charade of sorts, to allay any suspicions Mendib might have. The social worker and the psychologist have protested, but it is clear the plan is moving forward."

"Who is your contact inside the jail?" Addaio asked.

"My sister-in-law. She works there as a cleaning woman. She has cleaned the administrative offices and other areas of the jail for years, and she says they are all so accustomed to her being there that they pay her no attention. When the warden comes in in the morning he just motions to her to keep working even when he is involved in sensitive phone conversations or is meeting with one or another official. They trust her. She is more than sixty years old, and no one ever suspects a gray-haired old lady with a mop and pail."

"Can we find out the exact day that Mendib will be released?"

"Yes, of course," the man replied.

"How?" Addaio persisted.

"The release orders come in to the warden's office by fax. My sister-in-law is there before the warden arrives, and she already has orders to go through whatever may be there to see whether Mendib's early-release order has come in. If it does, she will telephone me immediately. I bought her a cell phone specifically for that call."

"Who else do we have inside the jail?"

"Two brothers serving a sentence for murder. One of them worked as a chauffeur for a high-ranking official in the Turin regional government; the other had a vegetable stand. One night, at a discotheque, they got into a fight with some men who were saying things to their girlfriends. Our men took umbrage, you might say, and one of the other men died of a stab wound. They are good men and true to our cause."

"May God forgive them! Do they truly belong to our community?"

"No, no, but one of their relatives does. He has talked to them and asked them if they could… you know, if they could…"

The man shuffled uncomfortably under Addaio's fixed gaze.

'And what did they say?"

"It depends on the money. If we give their family a million euros they will do it."

"How can we get word to them?"

"Someone from their family will visit them and tell them whether we have the money and when they should… proceed… with what you have ordered."

"You shall have the money. But we must prepare ourselves for the possibility that Mendib may leave the jail alive."

A young man with a thick mustache and an elegant manner spoke up.

"Pastor, should that come to pass, he would try to make contact with us through the usual channels."

"Review them."

"He would go to Parco Mario Carrara, in the northern part of the city, at nine a.m. and walk around in the southern area of the park, near the Corso Appio Claudio. Every day at that hour, my cousin Arslan passes by as he takes his daughters to school. For years, members of the community who are in trouble have gone there if they are certain they aren't being followed. When they see Arslan pass by, they drop a piece of paper saying where they can be found a few hours later. When the teams you send arrive in Turin, we give them these instructions.

'Arslan then contacts me, tells me where the meeting is to be held, and we organize a team to find out whether our men are being followed; if they are, we do not approach them, but we do follow them and get in touch if we can.

"If contact is not possible, the brother or brothers know that something is wrong, and they try for another meeting. This time they must go to a greengrocer's on the Via dell'Accademia Albertina, in the center of the city, and buy apples; when they pay, they give the grocer a piece of paper with the place for the next meeting. The greengrocer is a member of our community, and will contact us.