“Yes,” Rafael answered without hesitation. “And I would’ve killed myself next. Believe me, it would have been a favor for you if things had turned out badly. It’s better to be dead than in their hands. Not having the list with you, whether you forgot it or not, was the best thing that could have happened. It was wonderful.”

“So if we find ourselves in the same situation again, but with no cards to play, you wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger, first on me and then on yourself?”

“Exactly,” Rafael affirmed, without showing the slightest emotion.

“Did my father give you that order?”

Rafael looked at the girl, who looked back at him, both of them for a moment taking their eyes off the street traffic.

“No. But I’m sure that, given the situation, he’d approve.”

“Of course.” Sarah looked ahead again. “Of course, Jack.” She pronounced the name with deliberate emphasis, as if it were the key to all the lies, doubts, and frustrations torturing her. “Is your real name Rafael?”

“Who knows?”

“Jack?”

“No.”

“So?”

“It’s better for you not to know. Look, Rafael is the name of your savior, who hasn’t turned out bad, so far. A few ups and downs, of course, but also with a certain success. Jack is the alias of John Payne, member of the P2, who was unmasked as a double agent. So, technically because of that, John Payne is dead.”

“And Geoffrey Barnes-who is he?”

“A director of the CIA. Immoral and corrupt. I did some operations under his orders, and I assure you, if he left his office to come looking for us in person, it’s because we’re giving him a devil of a time.”

“Fine. Jack Payne or Archangel Rafael, I have to ask again, what is your real name?”

Rafael laughed for the first time since they’d met.

“Nice try.”

“You can’t lose by trying.” Sarah took her eyes off the road for a few seconds. “Rafael Jack Payne, what do we do now?”

He looked at her closely before answering.

“Now? We’re going to disappear.”

TO CAESAR THAT WHICH IS CAESAR’S SEPTEMBER 1978

Reviewing his schedule, checking his audiences and meetings for that morning, the Holy Father frowned when he came across a commission from the New York Department of Justice. There was a note stating that this commission would arrive accompanied by representatives of the FBI and of the National Bank of Italy.

The petition had been sent months ago, when Paul VI was still alive. The pope’s illness must have prevented that very strange meeting. In the notes for August, besides the indefinite postponement of the meeting, it was specified that the members of said commission would be received in a public audience, between a group of Belgian nuns from Liège and a group of orphans from Genoa.

The last note did not suspend the meeting, but wedged it between a representation of pious widows from Piedmont and of a religious school from Spain.

Pope John Paul I went into one of the auxiliary offices and observed at length the two priests acting as personal secretaries.

“These gentlemen will feel uncomfortable at the audience. Call them and tell them to come to my office now, as soon as possible. Oh! It’s a courtesy visit, so it’s not necessary for them to inform Cardinal Villot. Thank you.”

A few minutes later, while Don Albino Luciani was preparing coffee for himself, one of the young secretaries came in to tell him there were six men waiting in the next room. The pope felt a bit intimidated by the imposing presence of those gentlemen. Nevertheless, they all humbly bowed their heads when they attempted to shake hands with the pope. Hours later he couldn’t precisely remember all the names-there were the two Italian inspectors or auditors from the Bank of Italy and the four Americans representing the FBI and the Department of Justice-but they all were assigned to units dealing with financial crimes.

“Sir,” said one of the Americans, obviously unacquainted with Vatican protocol, “we greatly appreciate your having permitted us-”

“Oh!” John Paul I interrupted, smiling, and speaking in respectable English. “You’re missing out on the good hospitality of the Lord’s House! Would you like some coffee? I’m afraid that I, at least, will need some.”

They sat in comfortable chairs on one side of the office, around a low table with a silver crucifix in the center. John Paul I seemed ready to listen to these men, who were somewhat awed in the presence of a cleric who had millions of followers worldwide. One of the FBI agents, as if afraid the entire meeting would dissolve in their coffee, spoke too soon.

“Sir, we have brought you a report that provides evidence of criminal malfeasance in the financial institutions linked with the Holy See.”

Albino Luciani gave the agent a deeply serious look.

“Tell me what the report shows. The Lord, as you say, is listening.”

“The finances of the Vatican,” the agent said, failing to catch the pontiff’s joke, “are linked with the IOR, and this to the Banco Ambrosiano of Roberto Calvi, and this, in turn, to the businesses of Michele Sindona and his Banca Privada. We know that Sindona is the link between Roberto Calvi and Archbishop Marcinkus. I remind you that Sindona is known as ‘the Mafia’s banker,’ and that a seek-and-capture order has been issued against him in the United States, for fraud, financial crimes, and racketeering. And, if you’ll permit me, I would also remind you that Roberto Calvi belongs to the Masonic P2 Lodge, headed by the fascist Gelli, instigator of Operation Gladio. Surely you’ll not have forgotten the bombing of the Piazza Fontana in 1969.”

“Are you telling me that they’re planting bombs in Milan, using the Vatican ’s money?”

“No. I’m telling you that they’re planting bombs in Rome and in many other places around the world. From Poland to Nicaragua.”

Don Albino Luciani didn’t move a single muscle, though the burning in his throat could have incinerated the Apostolic Palace.

The FBI agent was not inclined to hold back.

“In 1971 Roberto Calvi and Paul Marcinkus founded the Cisalpine Overseas Bank in Nassau, Bahamas. And that bank is used to launder money from drug and arms trafficking; to conceal fraudulent real estate speculations; to launder money produced by prostitution, pornography, and other similar activities. From there, by means of a network described in the report, funds are diverted to distinct destinations. For example, the labor organizations in Poland, dictatorships like Somoza’s, and revolutionary or terrorist organizations.”

“Doesn’t it seem strange that we would be financing fascists and revolutionaries at the same time?” Pope John Paul I inquired.

“They’re not financing politics, they’re financing crimes. In Italy they are bribing and blackmailing politicians of all stripes. Just from a close reading of the Corriere della Sera, you can see it clearly. It’s the official paper of the Gellis, the Sindonas, the Calvis, and the Marcinkuses.”

“Holy Father,” one of the auditors from the Bank of Italy said, “the Banco Ambrosiano has a deficit of $1.4 billion. And, as you know, the Vatican Bank has twenty percent of Banco Ambrosiano’s stock. You need to take measures, because the Bank of Italy cannot risk-”

“Sir,” the Department of Justice official interrupted, “the president is going to take action anyway. It will be difficult to keep this scandal from splattering on the Holy See. I’m fulfilling my superiors’ orders by providing you with this report. It may take a year or two for us to bring it to light, but we will. During that time, sir, you could intervene to distance the Vatican from this network.”

“Yes, my son. But I don’t know if I have that much time available.”

“Your Holiness!” one of the Italian auditors exclaimed. “You must distance yourself from Marcinkus, from De Bonis, from Calvi.”