“If honesty doesn’t have to be absolute, how do you know when you can lie?” I asked.
“Sometimes it is hard to tell. Sometimes it is easy. Today was easy.”
“It seems so much of faith is subject to human interpretation,” I remarked. “It can be used for good or evil, depending on who wields it.”
“Like a gun,” Father Vito counted. “But unlike a gun, there is a book that gives us the key principles. Follow it and life becomes easier to decipher, because that’s what we’re all trying to do here: read the signs that allow us to find our way.”
“And the Bible is our map?” I suggested.
He nodded. “Exactly. It is a guide. The closer you stay to it, the better your life will be—here and in the hereafter. But of course you can stray. The good stray only when necessary, the bad whenever they feel like it.”
“And if you follow its tenets without being a believer?” I asked.
“That’s okay too,” he replied. “Substance is much better than form. Whatever path you find to God, the important thing is that you take it.”
I heard commotion in the yard outside and rose to see the Vatican police leaving. I drained my cup.
“Thank you for helping me,” I said. “And for the coffee.”
“You’re welcome,” Father Vito replied. “I hope you find peace, Mr. Morgan.”
“So do I,” I said, before I moved to the door. “So do I.”
“Mr. Morgan, there is a side exit through the kitchen,” Father Vito told me. “You might find it useful for a quiet departure.”
“Thank you again,” I said, before I opened the door to the deserted corridor and stepped out.
CHAPTER77
I MOVED SWIFTLY through the old building. I went to the front door and checked Via Sant’Anna where I saw a squad of Vatican police officers. I moved down the hallway to the kitchen, where I found the side entrance Father Vito had told me about. A covered walkway led between the bank and the papal residence. I followed this to an arch that brought me out at the car park a short distance from the Gallery of the Candelabra.
When I was halfway across the car park, I saw two men in suits heading in my direction. I was ready to retaliate if they attempted to stop me but they paid no attention to me. I went to the narrow alleyway beside the gallery and found the metal grille over the entrance to the secret tunnel.
I sensed movement nearby and tensed, ready for a fight.
Faduma stepped out of an alcove farther along the alley, and I grinned with relief.
“You made it, then?” she asked.
“I made it,” I replied. “You weren’t arrested?”
“I just told them I was your hostage,” she replied. “That you’d grabbed me in the street and forced me to go with you. By shouting and pretending to panic, I managed to slow them down a little.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“And you?” she asked, as we headed toward the grille.
“There’s a priest,” I said. “He’s been a friend to me a couple times now. He hid me from the cops.”
“Wow,” she replied. “Someone is looking out for you. It’s useful to have those kinds of friends.”
“I think he believes he can bring me back to the faith,” I said.
“Oh. Ulterior motive,” Faduma remarked, reaching toward the grille.
She put her hand through a four-inch square that had been cut into the metal and felt around for the catch.
A moment later, it clicked open and she pushed the grille wide open.
