Private Rome

Chapter 92

Justine’s phone rang as she and Faduma crossed St Peter’s Square on their way to the headquarters of the Vatican Bank. She saw it was Mo-bot and answered the call.

“Hey.”

“Trotta is dead. Murder staged to look like suicide.”

“Jeez,” Justine replied. “Whatever this thing is, everyone who touches it ends up dead.”

“Let’s hope not everyone,” Mo-bot said. “I’ve been trying to get hold of Jack. If you reach him before I do, let him know.”

“Will do,” Justine responded.

“And let me know if you get anything from the Vatican.”

“Of course,” Justine said, before hanging up.

“Everything okay?” Faduma asked.

“Trotta is dead. Murdered.”

Faduma shook her head slowly. “What the hell is this thing? Why are all these people being killed?”

Justine was unsure what to make of the journalist next to her. Faduma was clearly whip smart, diligent and inventive, but Justine had previously had bad experiences with journalists. Most seemed to value their next story above all else and would willingly toss people into the fire of a smoking-hot headline.

They passed through the border security checkpoint, walked along Via Sant’Anna and went inside the rotunda that housed the ancient bank.

Ten minutes later they were being led to Stadler’s office by a somber-faced assistant who didn’t give her name. When they reached the open-plan room on the top floor, Justine saw what she guessed was Altmer’s desk covered in bouquets of flowers and condolence cards. It had become a small and poignant shrine. She lowered her head as she passed, and saw Faduma do the same.

They were taken in to see Joseph Stadler, and Justine was surprised to find him with the man Jack had identified as Father Vito, who was in fact Cardinal Vito Peralta. They were seated on a couch near the window.

“Ms. Smith, Ms. Salah,” Stadler said, crossing the room to greet them. “I hope you don’t mind but I’ve asked Cardinal Peralta to join us. He would like to bring his subterfuge to an end.”

“Subterfuge?” Justine asked as she and Faduma sat down opposite the men.

“I have not been completely honest,” Cardinal Peralta said.

“I’m sorry for your loss by the way,” Faduma interjected.

Stadler looked puzzled and Cardinal Peralta nodded sagely.

“The loss of Signor Altmer,” Faduma explained. “It must be a blow.”

“It is,” Stadler replied. “It has been very difficult. Thank you.”

“Do go on, Your Eminence,” Faduma said.

Cardinal Peralta nodded.

“I was not entirely honest with Jack Morgan. I sit on the board of this bank and have suspected for some time that it is being used by someone to launder money.”

“Someone?” Justine asked.

“Criminals,” he replied. “I have been studying the employees and my fellow clergy who perform various functions here, looking for clues to what’s happening.”

“And what have you learnt?” Faduma asked.

“Christian Altmer was doing business with a man called Milan Verde,” Cardinal Peralta revealed. “I believe Verde works for an organized crime figure called Elia Antonelli.”

Justine shot Faduma a look of concern. Cardinal Peralta had just confirmed her worst fears about the man Jack was on his way to confront.

“After Signor Altmer died, we discovered secret records that show money being transferred to criminal and extremist groups around the world. Money that seems to have originated from Milan Verde, and ultimately, I suspect, Elia Antonelli.”

“Can you show us these records?” Justine asked.

“Of course,” Cardinal Peralta replied, getting to his feet. “Follow me.”