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C ardinal Bertoli gazed silently at the object in the padded box as though he were a mourner paying his final respects to a distant relative.

Father Keegan, seemingly oblivious to the cardinal’s reverie, was reviewing the schedule for the next day’s trip to Lampedusa and Palermo.

His Holiness, a cigarette burning between the first two fingers of his right hand, was skimming his daily news digest. For once, it contained nothing salacious about the Vatican.

The favorable press coverage, he reckoned, would likely end soon enough.

Bertoli raised a hand to his mouth and coughed gently. “And where, exactly, did the Art Squad find it, Holiness?”

Donati was slow in looking up from the news digest. “Find what, Eminence?”

Bertoli inclined his head toward the portrait of the young woman. With his angular face, aquiline nose, and hooded eyes, he looked like a figure from an El Greco painting. His gold pectoral cross dwarfed the simple cross of silver worn by Donati.

“I’m afraid, Eminence, that General Ferrari declined to answer that question.”

“May I ask why?”

“Apparently only one of the suspects is in custody. The Art Squad is still trying to identify any accomplices.”

“But the Art Squad has no jurisdiction in this matter. Not if the painting was really stolen from the Pinacoteca.”

Donati crushed out his cigarette. “You have reason to doubt that, Cardinal Bertoli?”

“No theft was ever reported.”

“Which means the thief undoubtedly had help from someone on the inside.”

The El Greco face adopted a pained expression.

“Shocking, I know.”

“May I point out something else, Holiness?”

“Please,” said Donati amiably.

“I’m quite familiar with the paintings in the Pinacoteca’s inventory.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“And I am almost certain,” Bertoli continued, “that I have never seen this painting in our storerooms.”

“But that’s the fascinating part of the story, Eminence. You see, it was hidden beneath another painting, a rather pedestrian Madonna and Child by an imitator of Raphael.”

“With all due respect, Holiness, there is no such thing as a pedestrian Madonna and Child.”

“Would you like to hear the rest of the story, Cardinal?”

“Forgive me, Holiness.”

“A number of art historians have examined the painting.”

“And?”

“They have concluded that it might well be a lost work by Leonardo.”

“Astonishing,” breathed the cardinal.

Donati nodded his head slowly in agreement. “And that, of course, would explain why someone at the Vatican helped the thieves to steal it.”

“Is there a suspect?”

Donati sighed heavily. “Antonio Calvesi.”

“The chief conservator? Impossible, Holiness.”

“General Ferrari led me to believe an arrest is imminent. I asked him to wait until I return from Palermo.”

Bertoli closed the transport case and engaged the locks.

“May I ask what you’re doing, Matteo?”

“I’m going to take the painting back to the museum.”

“The painting will remain in my apartment until such time as we can announce its discovery.”

“But it isn’t safe here.”

“If the painting isn’t safe here, Cardinal Bertoli, then neither am I.” Donati lit another cigarette. “Shall we review the itinerary for tomorrow’s trip?”

***

The trip would be only a few hours in duration, but it was a logistical nightmare, with two flights, two helicopter rides, and a brief sea voyage aboard a Coast Guard patrol boat.

Archbishop Cordero of Palermo anticipated a crowd of two hundred thousand pilgrims at the open-air mass.

Donati had rejected several drafts of his homily, and the hasty rewrite that Cardinal Bertoli handed him now was Curial mush.

Not for the first time, he planned to speak extemporaneously.

“The Vatican Security Office believes there are no threats beyond the usual,” said Bertoli. “Nevertheless I would implore His Holiness to use the bulletproof popemobile for the procession to the cathedral.”

“I shall not process through the streets of Palermo like a goldfish in a bowl. I must have physical contact with my flock. ”

“Palermo is a dangerous city, Holiness.”

“Not for me, it isn’t.”

With that, the cardinal moved on to other Curial matters, including an appointment to the Council for Justice and Peace and a gathering storm at the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith.

“What is it now?” asked Donati wearily.

“Cardinal Byrne.”

A retired archbishop emeritus from the American Midwest and a conservative thorn in Donati’s side. “I’ve made it abundantly clear to Cardinal Byrne that he is no longer permitted to celebrate the Traditional Latin Mass.”

“He believes he’s being persecuted.”

“And I believe that champions of the Latin rite like Cardinal Byrne are exploiting the issue in order to oppose me.”

“He has supporters inside the Holy Office.”

“So do I, Eminence. And if it’s a showdown he wants, he shall have one.”

It was on that contentious note that Cardinal Bertoli, after a final glance at the art transport case lying on the coffee table, gathered his papers and took his leave.

Donati and Father Keegan repaired to the sitting room windows, which gave them an overhead view of the cardinal’s departure. His Eminence had a phone to his ear.

“Who do you suppose he’s calling?” asked Donati.

Father Keegan’s phone pinged with an incoming text message. “He’s talking to Nico Ambrosi, Holiness.”

“About what?”

Another text message landed on Father Keegan’s phone. “He was wondering whether Nico was free for dinner this evening.”

“Is he?”

“Seems so.”

“And where will they be dining?”

A few seconds passed before the answer appeared on Father Keegan’s phone. “Pipero, Holiness.”

“On a Friday evening? How do you suppose Nico was able to get a reservation?”

“He must know someone.”

“Do you think that I could get a reservation at Pipero on short notice on a Friday evening?”

“No, Holiness. Not a chance.”