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bank. I understand that Padre Yves will be coming with us."
    "Yes, yes, but that wasn't why I wanted to speak with you. I wanted you to know that the Vatican is very concerned about this matter, this fire. Monsignor Aubry has stressed that the pope himself is troubled, and the monsignor has asked me to keep him informed of all new developments so he can report them direcdy to the Holy Father. So, Signor Valoni, I must insist that you keep me up-to-date as to how your investigation is proceeding. You may of course count on our absolute discretion."
    "Your Eminence, we don't know anything yet-the only thing we have is a body in the morgue. A man of about thirty, unidentified, without a tongue. We don't know whether he's Italian or Swedish or what. We're working around the clock to develop more leads."
    "Of course, of course… I'll give you my private number, in my residence, and my cellular number, so you can get in touch with me twenty-four hours a day should you discover anything of importance. I'd like to know every step you're taking."
    The cardinal wrote out his telephone numbers on a card, which Marco slipped into his shirt pocket. He had no intention of keeping the cardinal informed of the blind alleys his investigation was taking him down, so that the cardinal, in turn, could report to Monsignor Aubry, who could report to the Under-Secretary of State, who could report to the Secretary of State, who could report to God knew who-and then there was the pope.
    But he didn't say that to the cardinal. He just nodded.
    "When the shroud is safely in the armored vault at the bank, Signor Valoni, I want you and Padre Yves to call me immediately."
    Marco raised a questioning eyebrow. The cardinal was treating him as though he worked for him, not the Art Crimes Department. He decided, though, that he'd let the episcopal impertinence pass. He stood up, and Sofia followed suit.
    "If you'll excuse us, Your Eminence; the armored car must be almost here."

5
    THE THREE MEN WERE LYING ON COTS. REST-ing, each lost in his own thoughts. They had failed, and they had to leave Turin in the next few days. The city had become dangerous for them.
    Their brother had died in the fire, and the autopsy would surely reveal that he had no tongue. None of them did. Trying to go back into the cathedral at this point would be suicide; their contact had told them that the carabinieri were everywhere, interrogating everyone, and that he wouldn't rest easy until they were out of the city.
    They would go, but for at least a couple of days, until the carabinieri loosened the noose and the media rushed off to some new catastrophe, they would stay hidden in their underground retreat.
    The basement was humid, musty; it smelled of mold and mildew, and there was barely room to walk. Their contact had left them food and water for three or four days. He'd told them that he wouldn't be back until he could be sure the danger had passed. Two days had gone by, and it seemed an eternity.
    Thousands of miles from that basement, in New York, in a glass and steel tower, in an office completely soundproofed and equipped with state-of-the-art security measures, seven elegantly dressed men were celebrating the failure of the group in Turin with a glass of the finest burgundy.
    More than triumph, they felt relief. They had reviewed in detail the information they received. Events had veered perilously close to disaster and they had resolved to take different measures if-when-the need arose again.
    The men ranged in age from fifty to seventy. The oldest raised his hand slightly and the others fell silent, expectant.
    "My sole remaining concern is what we're being told about this detective, the director of the Art Crimes Department. It appears he's not going to let go of the matter very readily this time and may be looking beyond the immediate incident."
    "We'll double our security measures and be sure that our men continue to blend flawlessly into the background. I've spoken with