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But I reserved most of my passion for my final argument against the war. I told the president that America would win a quick battlefield victory. ‘You are powerful,’ I said, ‘and your enemy is weak.’ But I also predicted that for years after the war America would face a violent insurgency. I warned him that in trying to solve one crisis with violence, he would only create another more dangerous crisis. That war would be seen by the Muslim world as a new Crusade by white Christians. That terrorism could not be defeated by more terrorism but only through social and economic justice.”
    The Pope, having finished his homily, looked at his small audience for reaction. His eyes moved back and forth several times before settling on Gabriel’s face. “Something tells me you wish to take issue with something I’ve said.”
    “You are a man of great eloquence, Holiness.”
    “You are among family, Gabriel. Speak your mind.”
    “The forces of radical Islam have declared war on us—America, the West, Christianity, Israel. Under God’s law and the laws of man, we have the right, indeed the moral duty, to resist.”
    “Resist the terrorists with justice and opportunity rather than violence and bloodshed. When statesmen resort to violence, it is humanity that suffers.”
    “You seem to believe that the problem of terrorism and radical Islam can be swept away if they were more like us—that if poverty, illiteracy, and tyranny weren’t so prevalent in the Muslim world, there would be no young men willing to sacrifice their lives in order to maim and kill others. But they’ve seen the way we live, and they want nothing of it. They’ve seen our democracy, and they reject it. They view democracy as a religion that runs counter to the central tenets of Islam, and therefore they will resist it with a sacred rage. How do we deliver justice and prosperity to these men of Islam who believe only in death?”
    “It certainly cannot be imposed on them by the barrel of a white man’s gun.”
    “I agree, Holiness. Only when Islam reforms itself will there be social justice and true prosperity within the Arab world. But in the meantime we cannot sit idly by and do nothing while the jihadists plot our destruction. That, Holiness, is immoral, too.”
    The Pope rose from his desk and pushed open the large window overlooking St. Peter’s Square. Night had fallen. Rome stirred beneath his feet.
    “I was right about the war, Gabriel, and I’m right about the future that awaits us all—Muslim, Christian, and Jew—if we do not choose another path. But who’s going to listen to me? I’m just an old man in a cassock who lives in a gilded cage. Even my own parishioners don’t listen to me anymore. In Europe we are living as if God does not exist. Anti-Americanism is our only religion now.” He turned and looked at Gabriel. “And anti-Semitism.”
    Gabriel was silent. The Pope said, “Luigi tells me you’ve uncovered evidence of a plot against my life. Another plot,” he added with a sad smile.
    “I’m afraid so, Holiness.”
    “Isn’t it ironic? I’m the one who tried to prevent the war in Iraq. I’m the one who has tried to build a bridge between Christians and Muslims, and yet I’m the one they want to kill.” The Pope looked out his window. “Perhaps I was mistaken. Perhaps they don’t want a bridge after all.”

    M OST EVENINGS Pope Paul VII and Monsignor Donati dined alone in the private papal apartments with one or two invited guests for company. Donati tended to keep the mood deliberately light and relaxed, and talk of work was generally restricted to the sort of Curial gossip that the Pope secretly loved. On that evening, however, the atmosphere in the papal dining room was decidedly different. The hastily assembled guest list consisted not of old friends but of men responsible for protecting the pontiff’s life: Colonel Karl Brunner, commandant of the Pontifical Swiss Guard, General Carlo Marchese of the