know, only Lev Wasserman and his team in Israel.”
“Well, that kind of narrows it down then. We need time to think.”
“I know I’m probably overreacting, Leo. It’s just the timing and the shock of losing Father Morelli.”
“I’ll see you in a few minutes. Anthony was fortunate to have a friend like you, John.”
Leo hung up the phone and quickly dressed in the standard uniform of a Roman Catholic priest. Looking in the mirror, he brushed his teeth and combed his hair as the mental picture of Morelli’s smiling face caused a lump to form in his throat. The sudden loss of his best friend was a shock, but he was comforted by the knowledge that Father Morelli had prepared all of his life for the journey he had just taken.
Leo stepped from the elevator into the hotel lobby just as Arnolfo rushed up and handed the priest a tiny porcelain cup filled with dark, steaming espresso.
“I know you are in a hurry, Father. My wife and I, we pray for Father Morelli.”
“Thank you, Arnolfo. God bless you, my friend.”
Leo gulped down the thick, dark coffee and handed the empty cup back to Arnolfo before running outside and crossing the street to the Vatican.
The residence hall was located inside the main gate to the right. It was basically a large five-story apartment building for priests living at the Vatican. The rooms were sparse but comfortable, with private baths and small kitchenettes. The building included over one hundred apartments, plus a library, computer room, meeting spaces, and a small but ornate chapel. The fact that Lundahl’s assistant was having the whole building searched was raising all kinds of red flags to Leo, especially on the heels of the death of Father Morelli.
Arriving in front of the residence hall, Leo noticed a number of uniformed police officers milling about outside. Once inside the lobby area, he saw several Swiss Guard security men stationed in front of the staircase and talking on their radios.
The Swiss Guard dated back to the Renaissance when, in 1506, one hundred fifty fearless Swiss mercenaries under the leadership of the warrior-pope, Julius II, marched into Rome to protect the Vatican. For over five hundred years, the elite corps had protected the pope and had evolved into a force resembling the U.S. Secret Service.
Leo began walking toward the main stairway but found his path blocked by a large security man dressed in a suit.
“I’m sorry, Father, but the residence is temporarily closed. Do you live here?”
“No. I’m Father Leopold Amodeo. Father Morelli was a close friend of mine. Cardinal Lundahl called and requested that I come over here immediately.”
With the mention of Cardinal Lundahl’s name, the man stepped aside.
“One of my officers will escort you to Father Morelli’s apartment on the third floor. We are all sorry to hear of his death. He was much loved by everyone.”
A uniformed guard snapped to attention and led Leo up the marble staircase past several medieval paintings and statues to the third floor. They turned onto a wide hallway, where Leo noticed several men going in and out of the various rooms, apparently searching for something. A guard stationed at Morelli’s partially open door held his hand out in front of Leo, blocking the entrance to his room. “Excuse me, sir, but the cardinal has given me strict orders not to let anyone inside. He said you would be allowed to watch the last rites from the doorway.”
Leo was mystified. “But I was Father Morelli’s best friend.”
“Orders from the cardinal, Father. Please try to understand.”
Leo was unable to summon any anger at this strange turn of events; the sorrow of losing his friend was forcing him to hold all his emotions in check.
He peered through the doorway into Morelli’s tiny apartment. The curtains were pulled tightly over the closed windows, making the room especially dark and airless. Two priests, along with an older and very seasoned-looking security man, were
“Well, that kind of narrows it down then. We need time to think.”
“I know I’m probably overreacting, Leo. It’s just the timing and the shock of losing Father Morelli.”
“I’ll see you in a few minutes. Anthony was fortunate to have a friend like you, John.”
Leo hung up the phone and quickly dressed in the standard uniform of a Roman Catholic priest. Looking in the mirror, he brushed his teeth and combed his hair as the mental picture of Morelli’s smiling face caused a lump to form in his throat. The sudden loss of his best friend was a shock, but he was comforted by the knowledge that Father Morelli had prepared all of his life for the journey he had just taken.
Leo stepped from the elevator into the hotel lobby just as Arnolfo rushed up and handed the priest a tiny porcelain cup filled with dark, steaming espresso.
“I know you are in a hurry, Father. My wife and I, we pray for Father Morelli.”
“Thank you, Arnolfo. God bless you, my friend.”
Leo gulped down the thick, dark coffee and handed the empty cup back to Arnolfo before running outside and crossing the street to the Vatican.
The residence hall was located inside the main gate to the right. It was basically a large five-story apartment building for priests living at the Vatican. The rooms were sparse but comfortable, with private baths and small kitchenettes. The building included over one hundred apartments, plus a library, computer room, meeting spaces, and a small but ornate chapel. The fact that Lundahl’s assistant was having the whole building searched was raising all kinds of red flags to Leo, especially on the heels of the death of Father Morelli.
Arriving in front of the residence hall, Leo noticed a number of uniformed police officers milling about outside. Once inside the lobby area, he saw several Swiss Guard security men stationed in front of the staircase and talking on their radios.
The Swiss Guard dated back to the Renaissance when, in 1506, one hundred fifty fearless Swiss mercenaries under the leadership of the warrior-pope, Julius II, marched into Rome to protect the Vatican. For over five hundred years, the elite corps had protected the pope and had evolved into a force resembling the U.S. Secret Service.
Leo began walking toward the main stairway but found his path blocked by a large security man dressed in a suit.
“I’m sorry, Father, but the residence is temporarily closed. Do you live here?”
“No. I’m Father Leopold Amodeo. Father Morelli was a close friend of mine. Cardinal Lundahl called and requested that I come over here immediately.”
With the mention of Cardinal Lundahl’s name, the man stepped aside.
“One of my officers will escort you to Father Morelli’s apartment on the third floor. We are all sorry to hear of his death. He was much loved by everyone.”
A uniformed guard snapped to attention and led Leo up the marble staircase past several medieval paintings and statues to the third floor. They turned onto a wide hallway, where Leo noticed several men going in and out of the various rooms, apparently searching for something. A guard stationed at Morelli’s partially open door held his hand out in front of Leo, blocking the entrance to his room. “Excuse me, sir, but the cardinal has given me strict orders not to let anyone inside. He said you would be allowed to watch the last rites from the doorway.”
Leo was mystified. “But I was Father Morelli’s best friend.”
“Orders from the cardinal, Father. Please try to understand.”
Leo was unable to summon any anger at this strange turn of events; the sorrow of losing his friend was forcing him to hold all his emotions in check.
He peered through the doorway into Morelli’s tiny apartment. The curtains were pulled tightly over the closed windows, making the room especially dark and airless. Two priests, along with an older and very seasoned-looking security man, were
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