Day Of Confession

113

5:25 p.m.

The rabbi look was out, the priest look back in. Once again Father Jonathan Arthur Roe of Georgetown University, Harry was making his way through the rush-hour streets of Lugano, looking for the rented gray Mercedes Father Bardoni had supposedly left parked on Via Tomaso across the tracks and up the hill from the railroad station.

Following Veronique's directions, he took the funicular up to the Piazza della Stazione and then crossed to the railroad station itself and went inside. Keeping his head down, doing his best to avoid looking at people directly, he worked his way through the crowds waiting for trains, trying to find a place where he could cross the tracks to the stairs leading up to Via Tomaso.

His mind was on Rome and getting there without getting caught. And what to do about Elena. It was a mental turmoil that left him totally unprepared for what happened next, as he turned a corner inside the station.

Uniformed police, six of them, suddenly materialized out of a crowd directly in front of him, walking forcefully toward a train that had just come into the station. But it wasn't just the police – it was who they had with them: three prisoners in chains and handcuffs. The second, and now passing directly in front of Harry, was Hercules. The shackles were making it all but impossible for him to move on his crutches, but he was doing it anyway. And then he saw Harry, and their eyes met. Even as they did, he abruptly looked away, protecting Harry from any happened glance from the police that might make them single him out, wonder why he recognized one of their prisoners. And then they were gone, Hercules hustled with the others, up the steps and onto the train.

Harry saw him a moment later as one of the police took his crutches and helped him into a seat beside a window. Immediately, Harry pushed through the crowd, moving alongside the train toward the window. Hercules saw him coming and quickly shook his head, then looked away.

Station chimes sounded, and with Swiss precision the train moved off, leaving the station exactly on time. Heading south for Italy.

Harry turned away, stunned, absently looking for the stairs to Via Tomaso. The whole thing had taken no more than sixty seconds. Hercules had looked pale and resigned until he had seen Harry, and then everything seemed to change as he worked to protect him. For a moment at least, life and the fire of it, had seemed to come back to him. What he had regained, if fleetingly, had been a purpose.

Siena, Italy. Police headquarters. 6:40 p.m.

It had come to this. An unlit cigarette held between the fingers. Then, once in a while, snuggled into the corner of the mouth for a minute or two. But that, Roscani promised himself, was as far as it would go. No matter how much more frustrating or anxious things became from here on in, he would not go for the match. In a ceremonial gesture for himself, and just to make sure, he took the one packet of matches he had from his jacket pocket, tore one match off, then put the packet into an ashtray, struck the lone match, and touched it to the others. For the briefest moment he felt a pang of remorse, then, as quickly, turned back to the telephone company print-outs spread across the desk in front of him and went over them again. Logs were numbered in date/time order, the path of telephone calls coming to and going from Mother Fenti's office and the private number in her apartment, from the day of the Assisi bus explosion up through today. Thirteen days altogether.

Two police researchers stationed in the hallway to assist Roscani saw him suddenly turn, pick up the telephone, and dial. He waited for a moment, then said something and hung up. Abruptly he stood up and walked across the room, an unlit cigarette put in his mouth, taken out, then put back in. Suddenly the phone rang. He turned and came back quickly, immediately picking it up. Nodding, he scrawled something on a piece of paper, underlined it, then said something brief and hung up. A half second later, he threw the cigarette into a wastebasket, snatched up the paper, and headed out the door.

'I need one of you to drive me to the helicopter pad,' he said as he came into the hallway.

'Where are you going?' The first researcher was already up and on his feet, moving with Roscani down the hallway.

'Lugano, Switzerland.'