“That’s absurd!” My uncle points at the stranger just visible through the doorway. “Who is that man? Send him away!”
But there’s a grandeur to Simon’s deafness. He turns and begins to walk away. Nothing can reach him now.
Almost nothing. From beside Diego’s desk, Peter comes running up. “Is your meeting done now?”
Simon, nearly at the door now, stops.
My son’s expression is angelic. “Can you read me a story?”
His eyes are so innocent, so hopeful. He is standing before his hero, the world-record holder in his life for always saying yes.
“I’m sorry,” Simon whispers. “I have to go.”
“Where?”
My brother kneels. His arms, as endless as albatross wings, enfold Peter. He says, “Don’t worry about that. Will you do something for me?”
Peter nods.
“No matter what you hear people say, believe in me. All right?” He presses his face against Peter’s, so that my son can’t see the emotion in his eyes. “And remember. I love you.”
THE MAN IN THE doorway says nothing. Does not shake Simon’s hand. Does not acknowledge the rest of us. Just waits for a signal from my brother, then leads him away.
Lucio has risen to his feet. “Come back!” he wheezes.
His breathing is shallow. Diego tries to ease him back into his seat, but Lucio stumbles toward the entryway and throws open the door.
The elevator in the distance is closing.
“Eminence,” Diego says, “I can call down and have the guards stop them.”
But Lucio only leans on the wall and croaks, “What is this? What does he think he’s doing?”
I hurry toward him and say, “Uncle, I think I might know what’s happening.”
I begin to explain about Ugo’s exhibit, about Turin and the threats. But Lucio only stares at the door my brother left by.
“That man who came for Simon,” I continue, “may have been sent by Cardinal Galuppo. He’s John Paul’s vicar. And he’s from Turin.”
But from the other room, Mignatto says, “No. The vicar would’ve issued a written order. There was no order. That man was probably a plainclothes gendarme.”
“If Cardinal Galuppo is trying to threaten Simon,” I continue, “he wouldn’t leave a paper trail.”
Lucio is still breathing hard. “If someone were trying to threaten your brother,” he says, “then Simon wouldn’t have gone willingly.”
Mignatto approaches us. “I can resolve this very quickly,” he says. Producing a phone from his briefcase, he dials a number and says, “Ciao, Eminence. Sorry to interrupt your dinner. Did you just send a man to pick up Andreou?” He waits. Then: “Thank you much.”
After hanging up, he turns back to us. “Cardinal Galuppo has no idea who that man was. And I should add that His Eminence has been my friend for twenty years, so I find your accusation absurd.”
I turn to him. “Monsignor, a Secretariat priest was attacked. My apartment was broken into. Someone sent me a threat this afternoon at my hotel room. They’re going after everyone who knew about the exhibit.”
Lucio’s breathing has grown even shallower. “No,” he pants. “This has nothing to do with Galuppo.”