“No.”
I’m taken aback. If the libellus is out, then whoever killed Ugo knows he’s being prosecuted. Yet no one is even looking for him.
“I’ll make some calls,” Leo says to reassure me. “I’ll double-check with the guards on palace duty. Maybe their orders were different.”
But Leo is senior enough that I doubt orders go over his head. I’m about to dig back into the code when a sound in the hallway distracts me. The swish of something sliding under the door.
“Hold on, Leo,” I say.
It’s an envelope. My name is written on the front of it. The handwriting is somehow familiar.
When I open it, I find a single photograph. It shows the exterior of the Casa with an Eastern priest leaving the front doors.
My breath slips out.
“What’s wrong?” Leo asks.
The Eastern priest is me.
This picture was taken yesterday. Whoever took it was standing just across the courtyard.
There’s a note on the back, in the same handwriting.
Tell us what Nogara was hiding.
Below is a phone number.
I lurch toward the door and open it.
“Agent Martelli!”
Distantly I hear a sound. An elevator opening. When I turn to look, I see the tail of a black robe entering the car. A priest, leaving.
I turn back. “Martelli! ”
But this end of the hall is empty. Martelli is gone.
A knot of Eastern priests stands by the elevator bank. They stare at me with concern.
I feel Peter behind me, tugging at my cassock. Without a word I lift him in my arms and run to the nearest stairwell.
“What’s wrong?” he cries.
“Nothing. Everything’s okay.”
I pull the handle to the stairwell door, but it doesn’t budge. The door is locked.
We return to the room and bolt the door. I call Simon’s mobile, but there must be no reception at the museums. I dial gendarme headquarters instead.
“Pronto. Gendarmeria.”
“Officer,” I blurt, “this is Father Andreou. I was assigned a security escort, but he’s disappeared. I need help.”
“Yes, Father. Of course. One moment.”
But when he returns to the line, he says, “I’m sorry. There’s no escort under your name.”
“That’s a mistake. I—I need a way to find Agent Martelli.”
“Martelli’s right here. Please hold.”
I’m stunned. The voice that comes on the line is unmistakable. “This is Martelli.”
“Agent,” I fumble, “it’s Father Andreou. Where are you?”
“At my desk,” he says gruffly. “Your escort was canceled.”
“I don’t understand. Something’s happening. We need your help. Please come back to the Casa.”
“Sorry, Father. You’ll have to call security there like all the other guests do.”