She caught me looking at her in puzzlement.
“What?” she said. “It’s a religious symbol. We should ask a man of God.”
I shrugged and she opened the photo folder on her phone, scrolling to a drawing of the Jerusalem Cross tattoo I’d found on the body of the dead assassin.
Father Vito studied the image for a while before exhaling loud and slow.
“You don’t want to know this,” he said.
“We do,” Justine assured him. “We really do.”
He looked to me for confirmation and I nodded.
There was suddenly a weariness about him. “It is the mark of Propaganda Tre, a secret society here in Rome,” he replied. “They are extremely dangerous. Do you understand? They bring the touch of death with them wherever they go.”
CHAPTER55
“WHAT IS PROPAGANDA Tre?” I asked, grateful for Justine’s presence of mind.
“During the Second World War, a group of powerful Italians formed a secret chapter of the Freemasons. It was originally intended to be an anti-communist network if Italy ever fell to the left,” Father Vito revealed. “These men were supposed to occupy positions of power—political, financial, criminal, religious—and act against communism if it ever took root. A state within a state to protect the values these people held dear. But communism never came to Italy, so Propaganda Due lost its focus and morphed into a renegade group. It was expelled from the Masonic order and focused on financing right-wing governments around the world, funding this activity by laundering money for organized crime. It was finally dismantled in the early1980s, after a reign of terror blighting Italian politics and society for almost forty years.”
I vaguely recalled reading a review of a book about the group some years ago.
“Duemeans two,tremeans three. Propaganda Tre is the original group’s successor,” Father Vito said. “Or at least, that’s the rumor. No one really knows much about it.”
“But you recognized the symbol?” Justine asked.
“I am a student of Rome. I make it my business to know what goes on in the city. The Jerusalem Cross represents the crusader knights, and the three fleur-de-lys are the three orders of Propaganda, the most recent incarnation symbolized here on the head of the cross.”
“Knowledge is power,” I suggested.
“Knowledge is knowledge,” Father Vito responded without hesitation. “I leave power to the Almighty.”
He smiled and I almost envied him his boundless faith in an all-powerful God.
“Well, if you’ll excuse me, I have a busy day ahead,” he said. “I hope you find what you are looking for.”
“Thank you,” Justine said.
“Yes, thank you,” I told him.
Father Vito left us and we walked on through the Garden of Secret Confession.
“That was a smart move,” I said to Justine.
“I figured a priest might recognize the symbol, or at least give us some historical background. I wasn’t expecting him to know what it was being used for now.”
“I don’t think there are many genuine secrets in Rome,” I replied. “Too many hidden passages, peepholes, spies, priests, assassins. Too much power flowing through the streets. I think the secrets seep out.”
Justine looked at the monuments to God surrounding us. “How can a city so holy be so corrupt?” she asked.
“It’s human nature. We’re weak,” I replied. “Look at this garden. A place for priests to confess sins they wanted to keep hidden from God. Why would this exist if we truly were a strongly pious species?”
“You sound disappointed,” Justine remarked.
“I am,” I responded. “There was a time I believed humans were closer to the divine than the material.”
“And now?”
