The Order by Daniel Silva

deleted his personnel file from the Swiss Guard computer network.” Gabriel looked at Chiara. “The same men
     who murdered the Holy Father.”
    â€œDo you believe me now?” asked Donati.
    â€œTen minutes ago, I had my doubts. Not anymore.” Gabriel stared at the Ponte Vecchio. It was ablaze with flashing blue lights.
     “Were you able to make out what he was whispering before he died?”
    â€œHe was speaking in Aramaic. Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani? It means—”
    â€œMy God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
    Donati nodded slowly. “They were the last words Jesus cried out before dying on the cross.”
    â€œWhy would he say such a thing?”
    â€œMaybe the other guards were right,” said Donati. “Maybe Niklaus was a saint after all.”

15
Venice─Fribourg, Swizterland
    They returned to Venice , collected two sleeping children from a house in the ancient ghetto, and carried them across the city’s only iron bridge
     to an apartment on the Rio della Misericordia. There they passed a largely sleepless night, Donati in the spare room. At breakfast
     the following morning he could scarcely take his eyes off Raphael, who bore a striking resemblance to his famous father. The
     child had even been cursed with Gabriel’s unnaturally green eyes. Irene looked like Gabriel’s mother, never more so than when
     she was annoyed with him.
    â€œIt will only be a day or two,” he assured her.
    â€œThat’s what you always say, Abba.”
    They said their goodbyes downstairs on the Fondamenta dei Ormesini. Chiara’s final kiss was decorous. “Do try not to getyourself killed,” she whispered into Gabriel’s ear. “Your children need you. And so do I.”
    Gabriel and Donati settled into the aft seating compartment of a waiting motoscafo and skimmed across the gray-green waters of the lagoon to Marco Polo Airport. In the crowded concourse, passengers were gathered
     beneath the television monitors. Another bomb had exploded in Germany. This time the target was a market in the northern city
     of Hamburg. A claim of responsibility had appeared on social media, along with a professionally edited video from the purported
     mastermind. In perfect colloquial German, his face concealed behind an Arab headdress, he promised the bombings would continue
     until the black flag of the Islamic State flew over the Bundestag. Having suffered two terrorist attacks in just forty-eight
     hours, Germany was now on high alert.
    The bombing immediately snarled air travel across Europe, but somehow the late-morning Alitalia flight to Geneva departed
     on time. Despite the increased security at Switzerland’s second-busiest airport, Gabriel and Donati cleared passport control
     with no delay. Transport had left a BMW sedan in the short-term car park, with the key taped beneath the front bumper. In
     the glove box, wrapped in a protective cloth, was a 9mm Beretta.
    â€œIt must be nice,” remarked Donati. “I always have to pick up my gun at the counter.”
    â€œMembership has its privileges.”
    Gabriel followed the airport exit ramp to the E62 and headed northwest along the shore of the lake. Donati took note of the
     fact he was driving without the aid of a navigation device.
    â€œCome to Switzerland often?”
    â€œYou might say that.”
    â€œThey say it’s going to be another bad year for snow.”
    â€œThe state of Switzerland’s winter tourism industry is the least of my concerns.”
    â€œYou don’t ski?”
    â€œDo I look like a skier to you?”
    â€œI never saw the point of it.” Donati pondered the mountain peaks rising above the opposite shore of the lake. “Any fool can
     slide down a mountain, but it takes someone of character and discipline to walk up one.”
    â€œI prefer to walk along the sea.”
    â€œIt’s rising, you know. Apparently, Venice will