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“I was hoping you would bring the Leonardo,” said Veronica Marchese. “But I must admit, these documents are far more interesting. All the dirty laundry of Vatican Incorporated, right at our fingertips.”

“But one wonders why the Holy Father’s private secretary wanted you to see them.”

“The private secretary was only the messenger, I can assure you. It was the Holy Father himself who wanted me to see the quarterly reports.”

“The question still stands.”

“Why, you mean?” The doorbell tolled before Veronica could answer. “Our dinner has arrived. Will you excuse me?”

Gabriel listened to the clatter of Veronica’s pumps as she made the long walk from the palazzo’s kitchen to its front entrance. She returned a moment later with several bags bearing the name of a seafood restaurant on the Via Sicilia.

“Is someone else joining us?” asked Gabriel.

“I didn’t know what you wanted, so I ordered a little of everything. There’s a bottle of Alteni di Brassica sauvignon blanc in the fridge. It should pair nicely with the seafood.”

“In my experience, Alteni di Brassica pairs nicely with just about anything.” Gabriel pulled the wine from the refrigerator and removed the cork. He poured two glasses and handed one to Veronica. “You were saying?”

“Why would Luigi want me to see the documents?” Veronica removed the containers of food and began arranging them on the countertop.

“As you might remember, he often turned to me for advice on temporal matters while he was serving as private secretary to Pope Lucchesi. You know what it’s like inside the Curia, Gabriel.

The Apostolic Palace is a gilded cage filled with ruthless, sexually repressed men who know little of the world beyond the walls.

I was the only person Luigi could trust. Other than you, of course. ”

“But you were much better connected than I was.”

“At least here in Rome.” Veronica opened a cabinet and took down two plates.

“And despite the fact that I am an archaeologist by training, I know a thing or two about the business world and investing. But the princes of the Church know nothing of high finance. Therefore, they have no choice but to rely on the advice of experts, the so-called men of trust. Men like my late husband, Carlo. And Nico Ambrosi, of course.”

“General Ferrari thinks he’s connected to the Camorra.”

“He’s not alone. Everyone in Italian business circles knows that Nico is corrupt. And yet this is the person Cardinal Bertoli turned to for advice on how to invest the Curia’s money.”

“I assume you raised it with Luigi.”

“On numerous occasions. And he assured me that the Church’s finances were in good hands.

Evidently the fund was experiencing spectacular growth, something on the order of fifteen percent annually with no losses.

I told Luigi that it was too good to be true.

But I was most concerned about the massive investments in high-end real estate, especially the London deal. ”

“Because?”

“The amount of debt Bertoli was taking on. Four hundred million for the New Bond Street building alone. And he borrowed huge sums of money to purchase other properties as well, all on the advice of Nico Ambrosi. You can be sure that Nico and his partner Franco Tedeschi earned enormous fees for each loan.”

They filled their plates with food and settled atop stools at the end of the counter.

“Please forgive the informality,” said Veronica. “But it was all very last-minute.”

“It’s perfect. I only wish Luigi could join us.”

“I have to admit, I’m terribly envious that you were allowed to have dinner alone with him.”

“We were hardly alone.”

“How did he look in civilian clothes?”

“More handsome than ever.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that. But tell me something, Gabriel. Do you think he’s happy?”

“He seemed to enjoy himself for a few minutes. But I have a feeling he’s incredibly lonely.”

“Of course he is. I can see it every time he steps in front of the television cameras. Behind that benevolent pastoral smile that he’s perfected, His Holiness is dying of loneliness.”

“He doesn’t like it when I call him that. He insists that I refer to him as Luigi.”

“That’s because he’s desperately clinging to the man he was before the conclave. But I’m afraid that person is receding by the day. Soon no one will remember his real name.”

“His papal name does have a certain ring to it, don’t you think?”

“I’ll never forget that night in St. Peter’s Square when I heard it for the first time. Still, I was hoping for something with a bit more flair. Pope Alessandro would have been nice. Or perhaps Pope Gregorio. Luigi always struck me as a Gregorio.”

“What about Julius?” asked Gabriel.

“Or Marcellus,” suggested Veronica.

“There’s never been a Pope Gabriel, has there?”

“Or a Pope Veronica. And you can be certain there never will be.”

“His Holiness informed me that it’s doctrinally off the table.”

“The ordination of women?” Veronica turned her wineglass slowly on the countertop. “I have it on the highest authority that His Holiness personally believes that women should be allowed to serve as priests.”

“It will destroy the Church.”

“If anyone is going to destroy the Church, it’s Cardinal Bertoli.” She reached for the stack of quarterly reports. “Shall we make this a working dinner?”

“By all means.”

She handed Gabriel the most recent four years’ worth of reports and kept the rest for herself. Twenty minutes of silence ensued, broken only by the rustle of paper.

“Do you see what I see?” asked Veronica at last.

“I believe I do.”

“Is there any chance we can get a look at Cardinal Bertoli’s Vatican Bank account?”

“Yes,” replied Gabriel. “I believe there is.”

***

Previous occupants of the throne of St. Peter celebrated mass each morning in the private chapel of the appartamento pontificio .

His Holiness Pope Donati, however, chose to attend mass in the chapel at the Casa Santa Marta instead.

Sometimes he served as the celebrant, but usually he could be found sitting in the last row, as though he were an ordinary parishioner with a preference for white clothing.

On the morning after he secretly took possession of a lost painting by Leonardo da Vinci, he was accompanied by several Roman sex workers whom the Church had set on the path to redemption.

At the conclusion of the service, the women joined His Holiness for breakfast in the Casa’s dining room, much to the dismay of a visiting delegation of American priests from the traditionalist order Opus Dei.

The pope’s private secretary, Father Mark Keegan, was not at his master’s side that morning, which gave rise to speculation in certain quarters of the Curia that he did not approve.

In truth, he had other matters to attend to, including the collection of certain confidential documents from the Vatican Bank.

The task complete, he headed to Caffè Greco, the fabled coffeehouse on the Via dei Condotti.

There, in a quiet back room, he placed the documents in the hands of one of the Holy Father’s closest friends and confidants.

Gabriel started with Cardinal Bertoli’s most recent Vatican Bank statement. “It seems I’m in the wrong line of work.”

“Yes,” said Father Keegan vaguely.

“How much do Curial cardinals make?”

The priest pointed out the most recent automatic deposit of Cardinal Bertoli’s salary. “Do the math.”

“It’s not enough to explain a balance like that.”

“His Eminence has a number of wealthy benefactors who have supported him throughout his career. He caused a bit of a scandal not long ago when he undertook a major renovation of his apartment in the Palazzo San Carlo. It’s several times larger than the Holy Father’s suite in the Casa Santa Marta and includes a large rooftop terrace with a magnificent view of Rome.

The striking contrast in their living conditions has been a source of some controversy.

” Father Keegan handed over another Vatican Bank statement.

“The difference in the size of their accounts is even more glaring.”

“Forty-two thousand euros? After all these years?”

“He’s given away most of his money.”

“To whom?”

“Anyone who needed it more than he did.”

“Perhaps you should take away his ATM card.”

“He doesn’t have one. But it wouldn’t stop him. The Holy Father has said on numerous occasions that he wants the Church to be poor. And he insists on leading by example.”

“If Veronica and I are right, the Holy Father might soon get his wish.”

“How bad?”

“Pompeii.”

“Perhaps you could be a little more specific.”

“The numbers Cardinal Bertoli used for his quarterly statements aren’t real. And even if they were, they don’t add up.”

Father Keegan sipped his cappuccino. “Go on.”

“Bertoli has placed nearly the entirety of the Curia’s funds in the hands of a single adviser with a rather dubious reputation.

And that adviser has in turn invested most of that money in financial instruments and funds managed by a Swiss bank controlled by the Camorra.

According to the cardinal’s quarterly statements, those investments have almost doubled in value during his tenure. But it’s simply not the case.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I’ve seen the bank’s internal numbers. Furthermore, Cardinal Bertoli and his adviser have borrowed more than a billion dollars from the same bank to make a number of risky real estate investments. The New Bond Street property was the first to go under. But I suspect it won’t be the last.”

“And your theory is that Cardinal Bertoli somehow used the painting to pay off the loan?”

“Precisely.”

“But why didn’t he simply dip into the Curia’s cash reserves?”

“Because it’s possible there are no cash reserves.”

Father Keegan’s face drained of color. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m only drawing the logical inference.”

“How could such a thing be possible?”

“I believe the word is embezzlement.”

“On whose part?”

“Camorra Incorporated. But the fact Cardinal Bertoli participated in a scheme to steal a lost painting by Leonardo would suggest he’s been lining his pockets too.”

“Allegedly participated,” said Father Keegan. “But how did he know about the painting in the first place?”

“I was hoping you might be able to tell me.”

“He does have a number of very fine paintings in his newly renovated apartment in the Piazza San Carlo. In fact, it’s a bit like a private museum.”

“Gifts from wealthy benefactors?” asked Gabriel.

“Actually the cardinal borrows them.”

“From where?”

“The storerooms of the Vatican Museums.”