“You did well,” Faduma said. “You all did.”
“So did you,” Sci replied. “I see your stories being covered everywhere.”
“You did great,” I said. “In fact, Private is still looking for a second-in-command for the Rome office.”
Faduma smiled. “That’s very kind, Jack, but I’m a journalist, not a detective. I have an obligation to my readers, and quite frankly, I don’t like the idea of being shot at all the time.”
“It’s not all the time,” Sci replied. “Just on weekdays.”
Everyone chuckled.
The maître d’ approached. “Your table is ready, Mr. Morgan.”
“If you won’t join our company, at least keep us company for dinner,” I said to Faduma.
She nodded. “It would be my pleasure.”
CHAPTER102
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, we packed what luggage we had and loaded it into the back of the silver Range Rover Vogue the hotel had provided as an airport shuttle.
Mo-bot sat beside the driver, an older man with thinning gray hair, a warm smile, and mischievous eyes. Justine, Sci and I were in the back, and I didn’t pay much attention to what was happening until I realized we weren’t heading toward the airport.
“Excuse me?” I said to the driver.
“Yes?”
“Where are we going?”
“Signor Antonelli would like to show his thanks to you before you leave Rome,” the driver replied as calmly as if he was giving us a weather update.
I had no idea how Antonelli had subverted a hotel driver, or how he knew about our travel plans, but he was one of the mostpowerful men in Rome, and for now was free from threat or worries because he had somehow been able to conceal his association with Propaganda Tre. His reach must go very high indeed.
He certainly seemed happy when I saw him standing with Luna in the car park at the end of Via Sant’Anna in Vatican City.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he said as we all stepped out of the SUV.
“Sorry, Mr. Morgan,” Luna added as we approached. “He likes grand gestures.”
“What is wrong with a grand gesture to the people who saved our lives?” he asked. “Come. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
He led us through the brick archway onto Via Sant’Anna and we walked along the ancient road to the Papal Palace near the Vatican Bank.
“We’re going to meet the Pope, aren’t we?” Mo-bot remarked.
She wasn’t Catholic, but for some reason the prospect clearly excited her. I wasn’t so eager to be confronted by God’s representative on earth. My own feelings about my faith were unclear and hadn’t been helped by the discovery that an institution like the Church had been used by evil men to spread their poison.
Thankfully, once we passed through security we were shown into the vast and opulent office of Cardinal Sala, the Pope’s personal representative. Unlike Cardinal Peralta, Cardinal Sala wore the customary royal purple, but with no air of vanity or pomp. When his assistant showed us in, the cardinal rose from his desk and greeted us warmly.
“Mr. Morgan, Ms. Smith, Ms. Roth, Mr. Kloppenberg, the Church owes you a great debt. His Eminence the Holy Father has asked me to convey his gratitude.”
I nodded. “You’re welcome.”
“The Church will of course honor your engagement and pay any bills you present in relation to this investigation.”
“Thank you,” I replied.
I had thought the arrest of our original client would result in this being a pro bono case, so was relieved to know the Vatican would make good.
