Private Rome

Chapter 11

Luna was right, of course. I was a newcomer, an outsider, with no idea how Rome worked, but it was clear there were complex, deep networks here linking law with crime, politics with corruption, and the street with the corridors of ultimate power. Such networks could be found in every city, but Rome was so old I could easily imagine some of the links here going back hundreds of years.

And then there was the Church, standing in the very center of the city with such power it was its own state. The Holy Roman Church, the beating heart of Catholicism, preyed on my mind, not just because Father Brambilla was a priest or because I had been approached by a senior member of the Vatican Bank, but because my current proximity to the Holy See had reminded me how far I had strayed from the faith of my childhood.

I don’t think I felt guilt, more disappointment that somewhere along the way my belief in something greater had faltered; that I had not only lost faith in my Church, but in the goodness of the world around me as I’d been exposed to more of its cruelties and evil.

My mind churning, I returned the Fiat Coupé to the parking lot outside the Pleasure Hall. There was a gang of men gathered around the crashed BMW who eyed me coldly while I parked the Fiat at the edge of the lot, but they made no attempt to approach me. Had Luna spoken to them? What was her connection to this place? And why did she have more faith in the criminal underworld than in her fellow cops? I regretted letting her go without getting answers to those questions, but our best thoughts often come to us after the opportunity to implement them has passed.

I walked along Via Giovanni Battista Cigola and finally reached Via di Tor Bella Monaca, where there was a steady flow of traffic heading for the highway to the south. I finally managed to hail a cab and told the drive to take me to the Hassler.

Once I was in my room, I checked my messages on Private’s secure email server and found one from Mo-bot asking me to call her.

“Jack,” she said when she picked up. “How are things over there?”

“Interesting,” I replied. “Matteo Ricci swears he’s innocent but can’t explain what happened. You got anything on his former partner, Luna Colombo?”

“Not yet. I’m still working on it,” Mo-bot said. “But I’ve got the background on Faduma Salah. I’ll send you the full file, but she’s vanilla. What you see is what you get. Child refugee who came to Italy with her family and built a life for herself as an investigative journalist. Brave, thorough, and, more importantly, honest. No red flags at all.”

“Good to know,” I replied.

“How long do you think you’ll be out there?”

“Until this gets done,” I said.

“We’ve been talking about coming over to help.”

“Don’t. I’m okay.”

“But the Rome office isn’t even up and running,” she protested. “You’re on your own.”

“I’ll let you know if I need help. There’s no point disrupting our other operations. What’s happened here is disruption enough. Stay focused on the day-to-day.”

“Yes, boss,” she snapped back.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know,” she said, her tone softening. “You’re too stubborn. But you’re also right, which is infuriating. Keep in touch.”

“Will do,” I said, before hanging up.

Outside the bells of a nearby church were tolling, divine sound rising above the mundane noises of the city. It was beautiful, and I could understand why churches had seemed magical places in the days before recorded music. Where else would ordinary people have heard such beautiful sounds?

I crossed my room and picked up a card from my desk. I dialed the cell-phone number printed on the front, and my call was answered after a couple of rings.

“Sì?”

“Mr. Stadler? It’s Jack Morgan.”

“Mr. Morgan. Good to hear from you. Have you reached a decision?”

“Yes,” I replied. I was going to be investigating the death of Father Brambilla anyway. I might as well be paid for my efforts, and I suspected the Chief Operating Officer of the Vatican Bank would be a useful client. With his political and business connections, Joseph Stadler could probably open many doors around the city that would remain closed to me if I went it alone. “I’ll take the case,” I told him. “I’ll find out what really happened to Father Brambilla.”