of the Corps of Gendarmes, with command of the Directorate of Security Services, responsible for protecting the pope and the Vatican State. He wondered what was so important that the head of the Curia had summoned him to his office.
Ryan’s personal history was an outlandish mix. He had at various times been a police detective with the Irish police, An Garda Síochána, an amateur heavyweight boxer, a champion target shooter, a gambler, boozer, and a womanizer until, at age twenty-eight, the car he was driving recklessly while he was over the alcohol limit had caused the deaths of his pregnant young wife and their two-year-old son. After that, there seemed nowhere for Ryan to deliver himself but into God’s hands. Soon after came the priesthood.
Ryan looked up as a flock of pigeons scattered in front of the car when it approached St. Peter’s Square, and he replaced the handkerchief in his pocket.
The Mercedes didn’t go through the Vatican front entrance—that was for the pilgrims and tourists—but instead veered right. There was a barrier down, three blue-uniformed Swiss Guards on duty. Ryan thought the young men looked blatantly ridiculous in their medieval uniforms, their private parts bulging through their skintight pants.
But of course, the real security was more discreet—inside the gate and off to the right was a long, gray brick building where a heavily armed plainclothes unit of the Vatican’s security services was stationed. At that moment, one of the doors to the security building opened and a man with a mustache stepped out, a holstered Beretta clipped under his leather jacket, his eyes cautiously scrutinizing the Mercedes’ occupants.
Ryan recognized Angelo Butoni at once. He was one of the young detectives with the security office, and Butoni waved when he saw Ryan roll down the window.
“Monsignor Ryan, always a pleasure to see you.”
“Angelo, it’s yourself. Keeping busy, I hope?”
Butoni raised his eyes in mock despair. “As always. You’ll be glad to know we’ve improved the security patrols, just as you ordered.”
Ryan smiled. “No trouble to you Angelo, me boy, and that’s the truth of it. Keep up the good work.”
One of the Swiss Guards lifted the barrier and Ryan’s Mercedes passed into the Vatican.
22
CARDINAL UMBERTO CASSINI was seated behind the ornate desk made of dark Brazilian mahogany in his office overlooking St. Peter’s Square, working through some papers, when the floor-to-ceiling oak doors opened softly and a young prelate in a black soutane appeared. “Monsignor Ryan has arrived, Your Eminence.”
Cassini looked tired as he threw down his eighteen-karat-gold pen on his desk blotter. “Good. Then let’s not keep the man waiting. Send him in.”
The prelate bowed and withdrew.
Cassini stepped over to a bookshelf behind him. He pressed on a red leather-bound book, there was a soft click, and the entire shelf swung open on hinges. A short hallway was revealed behind the bookcase. Cassini pulled a string and a light sprang on.
A stone spiral stairway led up and down, part of the maze of ancient stairways and tunnels that honeycombed the Vatican. In a recess was Cassini’s private safe with an electronic keypad. He punched in the code and the safe door opened.
Inside was a brown leather briefcase with an elaborate security chain. He removed the briefcase and lay it on his desk, then crossed to the open French windows and looked out over a stone balcony.
Since he had presided over the election of the new pope, life had been hectic indeed, so many pressing things on his mind, and Cassini anxiously fingered the cross around his neck. He turned back as the door opened and Sean Ryan entered.
He looked younger than his fifty years, with a boxer’s broken nose and a rugged physique, and he smiled as he stepped into the room. Cassini was aware of a man of considerable, hearty charm. But he also knew that behind the charm lurked a brain as sharp as a
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