“The gendarme station is right next door. Agent Martelli is keeping watch in the hall. And everyone here takes special care of guests. We’re completely safe.”
He frowns at the Bible in the top drawer. It’s the Vulgate, the fourth-century translation that Roman Catholics consider the gold standard. Written in Latin, it seems intended to suit men from all nations, just as this hotel is. But Peter sighs. He knows the evangelists wrote in Greek, the first universal language. The contribution of our people is always undervalued.
“I’m going to call Leo and ask him to bring up some food,” I say. It will give us more privacy than the dining room, and I could use the company. “What do you want?”
“Pizza margherita from Ivo,” he says.
“He’s not getting takeout.”
Peter shrugs. “Then anything.”
Leaving him to peruse the Bible he can’t read, I go to the small desk in the attached room. After phoning Leo, I brace myself. My next call is to Simon.
“Alex?” my brother says.
I start right in. “What happened to Michael Black?”
“What?”
“I found a photo in Ugo’s office. Is he still alive?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“What did they do to him?”
“You shouldn’t have gone there, Alex. You need to stay safe.”
“There was a warning written on the back of the photo. Why would someone have sent Ugo a warning? Because of his exhibit?”
“I don’t know.”
“He never mentioned this to you?”
“No.”
“I don’t think he was robbed last night, Simon. I think all of this is connected. What happened to Michael; what happened to Ugo; what happened at the apartment. How could you not tell me Michael was attacked?”
His silence is longer now.
“Last night at the cantina,” I say, “when I showed you that e-mail from Ugo, you said it was nothing.”
“Because it is nothing.”
“Ugo was in trouble, Sy. He was scared.”
Simon hesitates. “The reason I didn’t tell you about Michael is that I’m under oath not to talk about it. And what happened at the apartment—I spent every minute of last night thinking about it, and I don’t understand it. So please, I’m asking you to stay out of this. I don’t want to get you involved.”
Pressure builds behind my eyes. My hand pulls at my beard. “You knew he was in trouble?”
“Stop, Alex.”
It’s all I can do to keep from shouting. Instead, I decide to hang up.
An oath. He said nothing because of an oath.
* * *
IN ANGER, I DIAL the main number at the nunciature in Turkey. An expensive call, but I’ll keep it short.
When the nun at the switchboard answers, I ask for Michael Black.
“He’s on leave,” she says.
“I’m calling from the Vatican on important business. Could you please give me his mobile number?”
She offers it without a hitch.