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“Exactly. So, I’ve gathered a lot of information about Koenhein and his boss, but a good chunk of it’s in Italian. I need help with the translation.”

“Sure. What do we know so far about this Koenhein guy? Who does he work for at the Vatican?”

“An Italian cardinal by the name of Jacopo Lazo. Lazo happens to be the president of the Vatican.”

She whistled. “Wait. The Vatican has a president? I didn’t know that.”

“I didn’t either.” I reached into a folder on the counter and pulled out two photos I’d printed, then pushed them toward her. “But apparently they have one. The first is Julian Koenhein, the clerk. The second photo is Lazo.”

Basia studied Lazo’s photo. “I think I’ve seen this guy on television.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. Apparently he’s pretty important.”

Basia took another bite of pizza and wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Okay, so why would the clerk of the president of the Vatican go to all the trouble of summoning Slash in a really bizarre, threatening way by sending you an statue from the Congo?”

“I don’t have the slightest idea. Obviously it was a message of some kind. Slash knew what it meant, but he wouldn’t tell me. Shortly thereafter, he left for Rome. I think by sending it to me, someone wanted it made clear that if Slash didn’t return to the Vatican, something might happen to me.”

“Wow.” Basia frowned. “Priest or not, I don’t like this clerk, and possibly not the Vatican president either.” She paused. “I hope lightning doesn’t strike me for that.”

“No worries, I happen to agree with you. Anyway, that’s where I’m at. I’ve collected data on Koenhein, Lazo, political relations between the Vatican and the Congo, and everything I could find on thenkondistatue. I’d like you to review the documents on Lazo and Koenhein in Italian to see if something unusual pops. I’ve got Grayson reviewing the international developments between the Vatican and Congo relations for the past ten years. It’s a lot of material in an area that’s not my skill set, so I need some additional eyes on all of this.”

“Well then, let’s get to work.”

I handed Basia the papers and a pad of paper and pen for her to jot notes as needed. We ate pizza and drank coffee and wine while we worked, mostly in silence.

I was deep into reading the English-language sources about the life of Jacopo Lazo when the doorbell rang. I exchanged a worried glance with Basia.

“You expecting someone at nine o’clock?” she asked.

“I’m not.” I pulled out my cell phone and checked the front door camera on the security feed. It was Grayson, dressed in shorts, a T-shirt and sandals.

“It’s Gray.” I pocketed my phone. “What’s she doing here?”

I disengaged the alarm and opened the door. “Hey, Gray, what’s up?”

She didn’t waste time with any simple niceties. She stepped across the threshold, her expression serious. “Lexi, I’ve got something important to show you.”

“Well, by all means, come in. We’re having a girls’ night...sort of. Basia is in the kitchen. We’re going through some documents while eating pizza and drinking wine—that’s my version of a girls’ night. There is plenty of pizza left, so please help yourself.”

Basia scooted around the counter to give Gray a quick hug. Gray declined the pizza and wine. She seemed worried and that triggered my anxiety. What could be so important that she would drive over at nine o’clock at night without calling me first? The pizza, wine and coffee suddenly rolled around my stomach.

Gray glanced at the documents we had spread out and then pushed them to the side, pulling a laptop out of the bag over her shoulder, setting it on the counter and opening it up. She perched on a stool as she logged in, then tapped some commands before pulling up a document.

“Lexi, you tasked me with finding out what I could about relations between the Vatican and the Congo over the past ten years,” she said. “Interestingly enough, there’s been a lot of activity on that front.”

I pulled a stool around the counter on one side of her and sat while Basia scooted closer to her on the other.

“Like what?” I asked.

“About ten years ago a man by the name of Harun Apeloko overthrew the government in the Congo and seized control. He implemented martial law and began executing anyone who disagreed with him.”

“Typical despot,” I muttered.

“Exactly. The country plunged into worse poverty while Apeloko built himself lavish palaces and hoarded cars and jewels. It wasn’t long before the immense suffering of the people sparked the protest of the Vatican, that has deeply entrenched roots in the country. Apeloko certainly wished to silence the bishops who spoke out against him, but by doing so he threatened his tenuous grip on power. Christian institutions were highly revered by the people and acted as a social and cultural stabilizing force. Removing the bishops would have certainly caused riots and protests. So, instead Apeloko was clever. He placated the population by meeting regularly with the clergy in his country, as well as entertaining Vatican representatives and presenting himself as aligned with them. He pretended to consider progressive concepts like elections and representation.”

I took some more milk from the fridge and added it to my coffee. “When you say ‘pretend,’ I take that to mean he never really considered them.”

“He did not,” Gray answered. “The Congolese bishops, Vatican priests and local representatives wrote and drew up an accord with a blueprint for free elections, a peaceful transfer of power and other democratic measures, then presented it to Apeloko. Several human rights groups and other governments signed the accord, praising the plan. But there was a problem.”