“What do I have to explain?” she asked calmly.

“What was it you didn’t do that you said you did?” Rafael put it obliquely to keep the bishop from catching on.

“I didn’t do it, and that’s that,” she replied, visibly annoyed.

“Do you really believe you’re going to come out of this alive?” the bishop butted in, unusually arrogant for someone who was moving at gunpoint.

“We’re all going to try, don’t you think, Your Excellency?”

“You’ll end up like Firenzi and all the others.”

“Tell me something, Francesco. I have the feeling this all started because of you. Am I wrong?”

“What are you talking about?” The bishop turned around, confronting Rafael.

“Everything. The killings. Our presence here now. Everything.”

The man in the purple robes continued walking, but Rafael kept talking.

“Look, Firenzi found the documents. Nothing serious, because no one would have noticed their disappearance. They’d been in the archives for almost thirty years. They would come to light only by chance, as actually happened. The mere fact of finding them wouldn’t have put Monsignor Firenzi’s life in danger.”

“Shut up. You have no idea what you’re talking about.” The bishop objected.

“Keep going,” Sarah urged Rafael.

“Firenzi could only put his life in danger by telling somebody who then exposed him. A bishop, for instance.”

“Is that the way it was, Your Excellency?” Sarah asked sarcastically.

“Nonsense. I didn’t know Firenzi well enough to be his confidant.”

Right then, the conversation was interrupted. A very pious soul would have said that the voice of God descended upon them.

“Don’t you think it’s too early to leave the game?” The public-address system was broadcasting the very familiar voice of Geoffrey Barnes, who was standing in the pulpit.

Rafael pushed the bishop. “Keep moving.”

They quickened their pace down the rows of pews, approaching the main altar.

“Don’t make a move!” Barnes’s voice demanded through the loudspeaker. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Three men appeared through one of the side doors of the transept. The old man went first, leaning on his carved cane. The assistant and the Pole followed.

“Little Sarah behaved very badly,” the old man scolded, approaching slowly. His cane clacked against the church tiles with every step. “Maybe we could have a more sensible conversation if you knew the conditions in which Raul Monteiro and Marius Ferris now find themselves. Anyway, I don’t think you would be able to recognize their faces, and don’t think they’d be able to recognize yours. Now, I want all the papers,” the old man demanded. “Did you think you’d beaten me? You need more than good luck to go up against me.”

Sarah knew there was nothing more she could do. Rafael would have to say where the papers were. She couldn’t stand any more suffering. Valdemar Firenzi, Father Felipe, Father Pablo, the “collateral damage.” Very soon they’d be added to the list of victims, without causing those vile people to lose even a minute’s sleep. She was immersed in a torrent of thoughts when she felt somebody grab her by the waist. It was Rafael, pulling her tight against his body.

“You know perfectly well that we’ll die before we tell you where the papers are!” Rafael shouted.

“That could be,” the old man admitted, “but if you die, I won’t have to worry anymore, right? If no one knows about their existence, there’ll be nothing to fear,” he added.

“I don’t think you want to test your luck,” Rafael countered.

Sarah felt a hand on her rear. The hand moved up until it found one of the guns she was hiding in her waistband. Immediately, she felt a cold object between her side and arm. It was the gun she had given Rafael when they had overcome the other agents.

Then the shooting started, brief but intense, ending as suddenly as it had begun. One of the bullets caught the Pole in the chest. He fell backward with an expression of terror on his face. The final score was one dead and one wounded, and a shift in power. The ones in control became the controlled.

The old man braced the fallen assistant and shouted, “I’ve never witnessed so much incompetence.”

Then an echoing shot hit Bishop Francesco in the heart. His face registered total surprise.

“Why? I brought Firenzi to you,” he stammered, tumbling down the few steps.

“I hate incompetence,” the old man snapped, now aiming his gun at Rafael, who in turn pointed two guns at him. “Do you think, my boy, that you’ve got any chance of survival?” he murmured with malice.

“I have my chances.”

“You’ve got nothing,” the Master answered. “Now you have nothing. With or without the papers, talking or shutting up, you’re going to die.”

Geoffrey Barnes’s dry cough—he’d remained hidden behind the pulpit—now filled every corner of the cathedral.

“There’s a call for you,” Barnes said to the old man.

“For whom?” J.C. asked, keeping his eyes still fixed on Rafael.

“For you,” Barnes confirmed.

“Who is it?”

“A woman.”

“A woman?” The old man seemed horrified at the thought. “Are you nuts? Can’t she wait?”

“I think you’d better answer.”

“She can tell me from here, you idiot! Through the loudspeaker!”

Moments later, Barnes managed to activate the speakerphone on his cell phone, and the church loudspeakers projected a female voice. Everything echoed, as if even angels were filling the cathedral’s domes.

“Are you there?” the voice asked.

“Who’s speaking?” the old man demanded unceremoniously.

“Shut up, you bastard. You’ll have to wait as long as necessary,” the voice responded.

Rafael seemed as shocked as the old man. Only Sarah smiled slyly. “Are you all right, Sarah?” the voice asked.

“Yes, I’m all right.”

“Who is it?” Rafael inquired softly.

“A friend,” she declared triumphantly. “The same one who issued the ultimatum from the Vatican.”

The old man heard her.

“Oh, so it’s the young lady responsible for the fake ultimatum.”

“I already told you to shut up. Sarah, are you really all right, Sarah?”

“Yes, Natalie, I promise.”

“Natalie?” Rafael wanted to know. “Who’s Natalie?”

The question went unanswered.

“Let’s get to the point. Who’s the son of a bitch that got you in all this trouble?” Natalie continued.

“His name’s J.C.,” Sarah answered, looking him straight in the eye.

“J.C.? What a fucking bastard. Well, then, listen J.C., I am holding a list with various names of public personalities that belonged to the P2. There’s even a bloody prime minister on it.”

“What are you driving at?” the old man asked, staring into space.

“To start with, I want you to free my friend and everybody who’s with her.”

“And what do I get for that?”

“Relax, darling. Are you in a rush?”

Sarah couldn’t hide a smile of satisfaction. Natalie was something else.

“Let’s see. If you do, I won’t send my report to the BBC and I won’t give the Daily Mirror the article I have here, ready to be published immediately, with a copy of the list. How’s that?”

The old man’s face showed his total irritation.

“If I accept, what guarantee do I have that this wouldn’t come out?”

“Just think,” Natalie continued, “if the list is made public, that would surely be your death sentence. That’s why you’ll do what you should, and free them all. We’ll keep our part of the bargain. If you misbehave someday, you already know what will happen.”

The old man bowed his head and walked away a few steps, thinking.

“This is a reasonable enough pact for all concerned,” he announced, his voice resounding through the nave like a voice from the great beyond. “So, shall we seal the agreement?”