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female curator is supposed to meet with powerful private secretary. Instead, attractive female curator ends up dead.”
    “Leaving every conspiracy theorist in the world to speculate that the powerful private secretary was somehow involved in the curator’s death.”
    “Which explains why he’s asking you to help with a cover-up.”
    “That’s not how I would describe it.”
    “How would you?”
    “A private fact-finding mission, like the ones we used to carry out for King Saul Boulevard.”
    King Saul Boulevard was the address of Israel’s foreign intelligence service. It had a long and deliberately misleading name that had very little to do with the true nature of its work. Even retired agents like Gabriel and Chiara referred to it as the Office and nothing else.
    “This has all the makings of yet another Vatican scandal,” Chiara warned. “And if you’re not careful, your friend Monsignor Luigi Donati is going to drop you right in the middle of it.”
    She switched off the television without another word and carried their wineglasses into the sitting room. On the coffee table was a tray of assorted bruschetta. Chiara watched Gabriel intently as he selected one smeared with artichoke hearts and ricotta cheese and washed it down with the Sangiovese. Her eyes, wide and oriental in shape, were the color of caramel and flecked with gold. They tended to change color with her mood. Gabriel could see she was troubled. She had a right to be. Their last assignment for the Office, an operation against a jihadist terror network, had been a particularly violent affair that ended in the Empty Quarter of Saudi Arabia. Chiara had hoped the Caravaggio restoration would prove to be the final stage of Gabriel’s long and difficult recovery, the start of a new life free from the gravitational pull of the Office. It was not supposed to include an investigation carried out on behalf of the pope’s private secretary.
    “Well?” she asked.
    “It was delicious,” said Gabriel.
    “I wasn’t talking about the bruschetta.” Chiara rearranged the pillows at the end of the couch. She always rearranged things when she was annoyed. “Have you considered what the Italian security service is going to do if they find out you’re freelancing for the Vatican? They’ll run us out of the country. Again .”
    “I tried to explain that to Donati.”
    “And?”
    “He invoked the name of his master.”
    “He’s not your pope, Gabriel.”
    “What should I have said?”
    “Find someone else,” she replied. “They’re three lovely little words you need to learn.”
    “You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen Claudia’s body.”
    “That’s not fair.”
    “But it happens to be the truth. I’ve seen many dead bodies in my life, but I’ve never seen one that had fallen more than a hundred and fifty feet and landed on a marble floor.”
    “What a terrible way to die.” Chiara watched the rain pattering on the little terrace overlooking the Spanish Steps. “How certain are you that Donati is telling you the truth?”
    “About what?”
    “About his relationship with Claudia Andreatti.”
    “If you’re asking whether I think they were romantically involved, the answer is no.”
    “You grew up with a mother who never told you about the things that happened to her during the war.”
    “Your point?”
    “Everyone keeps secrets. Even from the people they trust the most. Call it female intuition, but I’ve always felt there was more to Monsignor Donati than meets the eye. He has a past. I’m sure of it.”
    “We all do.”
    “But some of us have more interesting pasts than others. Besides,” she added, “how much do you really know about his personal life?”
    “Enough to know that he would never do anything as reckless as having an affair with an employee of the Vatican.”
    “I suppose you’re right. But I can’t imagine what it’s like for a man who looks like Luigi Donati to be celibate.”
    “He deals with it by