departing ambulance was soon lost in the sounds of Rome.
Traffic on Via di San Marco edged around the tent as drivers' heads craned from car windows to get a closer look at what had happened. Behind the canvas walls of the tent, the doctor and paramedic fought to save Michellini's life. In the muted light, their moving shadows reminded bystanders of ministering angels.
After Bishop Renini left Barbo's office, the secretary of state asked Alessandri to brief him on the diplomatic mail that had been received during the past several days. Events in the Middle East had so preoccupied Barbo that he had been unable to focus on developments elsewhere in the world. As Alessandri worked his way through the dispatches, Barbo stared absentmindedly at his television monitor. A picture of an emergency tent and several ambulances suddenly flashed across the screen. The cardinal turned up the volume.
“This is Telegiornale's Giorgio Cucchi reporting live from Via di San Marco, the site of a fatal accident this evening. Two Americans were struck by a black Alfa Romeo as they ran across the busy thoroughfare.”
Split-screen photos of the professors flashed on the television monitor.
“Professor James Bielgard, a historian from the University of Michigan, died at the scene of the accident. His colleague from Bard College in New York, Professor Jane Michellini, was seriously injured. As you can see behind me, doctors have set up an emergency facility on the Via di San Marco in an attempt to stabilize her condition.”
Alessandri put down the dispatches in his hand. “My God, Your Eminence, it's the two professors who were in your office earlier today. I recognize the woman.”
The Telegiornale reporter paused for a moment and adjusted his earphone.
“We have just learned that Professor Michellini will be moved to Gemelli Hospital. Her condition is described as critical. We have also been informed that Professors Bielgard and Michellini were visiting scholars at the Vatican Library.”
The cardinal shifted uncomfortably in his chair as he switched off the television monitor. “Call Gemelli Hospital, Enrico. Make sure Professor Michellini gets the best medical care available.”
“Of course, Your Eminence. Do you wish to finish the dispatches?”
“Not now. We'll do the rest tomorrow.”
Once Alessandri had left the room, Barbo hastily dialed a number on his cell phone.
“Visconti?”
There was a long pause at the other end of the phone.
“Ah, Eminenza, I didn't recognize your voice.”
“One of your clients is dead and the other seriously injured. I assume you will return the parchment to its rightful owner, the Church.”
“We must meet.”
Barbo played nervously with a pencil. “Why?”
“There are matters still to be discussed with respect to the ownership of the manuscript. Perhaps we could meet tomorrow night in Trastevere, in Piazza Santa Maria.”
“Not tomorrow night, Visconti. Now!”
“As you wish, Eminenza. The restaurants in Trastevere stay open late. Let me suggest La Cappella Sistina just off the piazza. One of my clients owns it. I'll bring a good bottle of Tuscan wine — perhaps a Tignanello.”
“I know the restaurant.” Barbo looked at his desk clock. “It's almost eleven o'clock now. I'll be there in half an hour.”
Barbo hurried back to his apartment on Via Mascherino just outside the Vatican walls. Searching through his wardrobe, he chose a gray blazer, a dark blue turtleneck and khaki pants. Dining in Trastevere was casual. The last thing Barbo wanted was for some paparazzo to photograph his meeting with Visconti.
C HAPTER V
AN ENCUNTER WITH EVIL
V ISCONTI WAS ALREADY standing outside La Cappella Sistina when Barbo pulled up in a taxi. Punctuality was one of Visconti's trademarks.
“Ah, Eminenza, it is good to see you.” Visconti's face was framed with smiles. “Come, join me. I'll have the Tignanello opened.”
The two men entered the restaurant. Visconti signaled the
Traffic on Via di San Marco edged around the tent as drivers' heads craned from car windows to get a closer look at what had happened. Behind the canvas walls of the tent, the doctor and paramedic fought to save Michellini's life. In the muted light, their moving shadows reminded bystanders of ministering angels.
After Bishop Renini left Barbo's office, the secretary of state asked Alessandri to brief him on the diplomatic mail that had been received during the past several days. Events in the Middle East had so preoccupied Barbo that he had been unable to focus on developments elsewhere in the world. As Alessandri worked his way through the dispatches, Barbo stared absentmindedly at his television monitor. A picture of an emergency tent and several ambulances suddenly flashed across the screen. The cardinal turned up the volume.
“This is Telegiornale's Giorgio Cucchi reporting live from Via di San Marco, the site of a fatal accident this evening. Two Americans were struck by a black Alfa Romeo as they ran across the busy thoroughfare.”
Split-screen photos of the professors flashed on the television monitor.
“Professor James Bielgard, a historian from the University of Michigan, died at the scene of the accident. His colleague from Bard College in New York, Professor Jane Michellini, was seriously injured. As you can see behind me, doctors have set up an emergency facility on the Via di San Marco in an attempt to stabilize her condition.”
Alessandri put down the dispatches in his hand. “My God, Your Eminence, it's the two professors who were in your office earlier today. I recognize the woman.”
The Telegiornale reporter paused for a moment and adjusted his earphone.
“We have just learned that Professor Michellini will be moved to Gemelli Hospital. Her condition is described as critical. We have also been informed that Professors Bielgard and Michellini were visiting scholars at the Vatican Library.”
The cardinal shifted uncomfortably in his chair as he switched off the television monitor. “Call Gemelli Hospital, Enrico. Make sure Professor Michellini gets the best medical care available.”
“Of course, Your Eminence. Do you wish to finish the dispatches?”
“Not now. We'll do the rest tomorrow.”
Once Alessandri had left the room, Barbo hastily dialed a number on his cell phone.
“Visconti?”
There was a long pause at the other end of the phone.
“Ah, Eminenza, I didn't recognize your voice.”
“One of your clients is dead and the other seriously injured. I assume you will return the parchment to its rightful owner, the Church.”
“We must meet.”
Barbo played nervously with a pencil. “Why?”
“There are matters still to be discussed with respect to the ownership of the manuscript. Perhaps we could meet tomorrow night in Trastevere, in Piazza Santa Maria.”
“Not tomorrow night, Visconti. Now!”
“As you wish, Eminenza. The restaurants in Trastevere stay open late. Let me suggest La Cappella Sistina just off the piazza. One of my clients owns it. I'll bring a good bottle of Tuscan wine — perhaps a Tignanello.”
“I know the restaurant.” Barbo looked at his desk clock. “It's almost eleven o'clock now. I'll be there in half an hour.”
Barbo hurried back to his apartment on Via Mascherino just outside the Vatican walls. Searching through his wardrobe, he chose a gray blazer, a dark blue turtleneck and khaki pants. Dining in Trastevere was casual. The last thing Barbo wanted was for some paparazzo to photograph his meeting with Visconti.
C HAPTER V
AN ENCUNTER WITH EVIL
V ISCONTI WAS ALREADY standing outside La Cappella Sistina when Barbo pulled up in a taxi. Punctuality was one of Visconti's trademarks.
“Ah, Eminenza, it is good to see you.” Visconti's face was framed with smiles. “Come, join me. I'll have the Tignanello opened.”
The two men entered the restaurant. Visconti signaled the
Similar Books
