Page 64 of The Order

“The rich Italians didn’t come cheap. The poorer prelates from the Third World fetched a few hundred thousand each. Most were more than happy to take the Order’s money. But a few were blackmailed into accepting it.”

“How?”

“Asprefettoof the Secret Archives, Cardinal Albanese had access to a great deal of dirt, most of it sexual in nature. I’m told Bishop Richter used it quite ruthlessly.”

“How were the bribes paid?”

“The Order considers them donations, Excellency. Not bribes. Which means it’s all perfectly permissible as far as the Church is concerned. In fact, it happens all the time. Do you remember that American cardinal who got caught up in the sexual abuse scandal? He was spreading money around the Curia like chicken feed in a bid to save his career. It wasn’t his personal money, of course. It was donated by the parishioners of his archdiocese.”

“Who’s your source?” asked Donati. “And don’t try to hide behind some gallant front of journalistic integrity.”

“Let’s just say that my source has firsthand knowledge of Richter’s scheming.”

“He was offered a payment?”

Ricci nodded.

“Did he show you any proof?”

“The offer was made verbally.”

“Which explains why you haven’t gone to print.”

“Print? You’re dating yourself, Excellency.”

“I work for the oldest institution on the planet.” Donati crushed out his cigarette as though he were vowing never to smoke again. “And now you think I’m going to tell you everything I know so you can write your story and throw the conclave into turmoil?”

“If I don’t report what I know, Bishop Richter and his friend Jonas Wolf will be in control of the Church. Is that what you want?”

“Are you even a practicing Catholic?”

“I haven’t been to Mass in twenty years.”

“Then please spare me the sanctimony.” Donati reached for his cigarette case but stopped. “Give me until Thursday night.”

“It won’t hold that long. I have to publish by tomorrow at the latest.”

“If you do, you’ll be making the biggest mistake of your career.”

Ricci glanced at his watch. “I have to get back to the Vatican for my appearance on CNN. Are you sure you don’t have anything for me?”

“The Holy Spirit will determine the identity of the next Roman pontiff.”

“Hardly.” Ricci turned to Gabriel, who had yet to look up from the book. “Did you find what you were looking for, Mr. Allon?”

“Yes,” said Gabriel. “I believe I have.” He held up the book. “Is there any chance I can keep this?”

“I’m afraid it’s my last copy. But it’s still in print.”

“Lucky you.” Gabriel returned the book to Ricci. “I have a feeling it’s going to be a bestseller again.”

32

Trastevere, Rome

For a long timeafter leaving Alessandro Ricci’s apartment, Gabriel and Donati wandered the streets of Trastevere—Regio XIV, as Pilate would have known it—seemingly without direction or destination. Donati’s mood was as black as his cassock. This was the Luigi Donati, thought Gabriel, who had made so many enemies inside the Roman Curia. The pope’s ruthless son of a bitch, a hard man in black with a whip and a chair. But he was also a man of enormous faith who, like Gabriel, was cursed with an unyielding sense of right and wrong. He was not afraid to get his hands dirty. Nor did he often turn the other cheek. In fact, given the opportunity, he usually preferred to return the favor.

A rectangular piazza opened before them. On one side wasa gelateria. On the other was the church of Santa Maria della Scala. Despite the lateness of the hour, the doors were open. Several young Romans, men and women in their twenties, were sitting on the steps, smiling, laughing. They seemed to temporarily lift Donati’s spirits.