Private Rome

Chapter 75

I sprinted south, across the courtyard, away from the police officers and through a small parking lot toward a high wall and the San Pellegrino Gate, which opened onto the North Colonnade and St Peter’s Square. When I glanced over my shoulder, I saw Faduma intercepting the two Vatican police officers, hands raised, arms outstretched, yelling in Italian. Christian Altmer retreated inside the Vatican Bank Headquarters.

The border officers at the San Pellegrino Gate noticed me, and their colleagues pushed past Faduma and yelled at them in Italian. The gate officers started moving toward me as their colleagues resumed pursuit, so I veered east toward the wall. I jumped onto the hood of a delivery wagon, stepped onto its roof and leapt up to grab the lip of the high wall that marked the perimeter of St Peter’s Square.

I ran along the top, ignoring the shouts of my pursuers, and clambered onto a battlement, before jumping down into a concrete yard on the other side.

My path was blocked by high walls that ran around three sides of the 20 x 60-foot paved yard. The fourth side was occupied by a building. It looked like some kind of residence. I saw what had to be the back entrance a few yards away from me. I ran over to it and peered through the partly glazed door to see a corridor that connected the rear entrance to the front of the house. On the other side of the far door was Via Sant’Anna.

I tried the black iron handle and was surprised when it gave under my touch. Inside four interior doors led off the central corridor: a well-equipped kitchen, dining room with twelve tables, sitting room with lots of couches, and a library well stocked with books. To my left the staircase wall was lined with photographs of former pontiffs.

I was almost at the front door when I glanced over my shoulder and saw three Vatican police officers sprint into view in the yard. Their leader was a forty-something man with gray hair and hungry eyes. He caught sight of me through the door.

He yelled a command.

I swerved left and sprinted upstairs as the cops ran into the corridor behind me. More shouts, which I ignored.

By the time I reached the next floor up, the sound of my thundering steps and the cries of the officers behind me had drawn priests to doorways set close together either side of a long corridor. Two lines of faces surveyed me fearfully.

I rounded the landing and bounded up the next flight of stairs, lungs burning, legs aching, and was soon on the next floor, which had fewer doors. I could hear the cries and shouts of the Vatican police behind me and the hammering of their shoes against the wooden stairs. There was another flight and I started toward it, but stopped in my tracks when a door opened ahead of me.

Father Vito appeared in the doorway. Once he got over the shock of seeing me, breathless and harried, he beckoned me over.

“Come, my son,” he said. “I will give you sanctuary.”