The Third Revelation Read Free

an odd-looking priest emerged from it and hurried past them. Brendan saw the Russian safely into the elevator and out of this level of the building. As the elevator doors closed on the Russian ambassador, Crowe turned around to look for the strange priest. He hadn’t recognized him, which was unusual. But there was no sign of the man.
    At his desk, Brendan returned to the task that had been interrupted when Maguire fetched him, but he found it hard to concentrate. He sat back, wishing for peace, envying Maguire his little aerie on the roof. Maguire usually found the solace he needed there.
    Just as he thought he had his concentration back, a very tall Swiss Guard suddenly burst into the office. The young man’s usually cool and calm expression was distraught.
    â€œMay I help?” Brendan asked.
    â€œAn assassin is loose!”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI tell you, someone is on a rampage. The secretary of state and his assistant have been murdered. I would advise you to leave at once and seek a place of safety.”
    And then he was gone.
    Crowe was on his feet. And then he was running to the stairway that led to the roof.
    When he came through the door and onto the roof, he stopped and looked around. For a moment the peacefulness of the place reassured him. And then he saw Maguire, sitting in a chair on the patio he had turned into a garden. He approached his superior cautiously.
    â€œYour Excellency? We need to seek shelter. I’ve just been told a killer is on the loose.”
    It seemed a shame to wake the cardinal, but the situation was urgent. He placed his hand on Maguire’s shoulder, ready to shake him into consciousness. And then he saw the knife buried in the cardinal’s chest.
    No blood was visible, revealing its presence only as a damp spot on the red robes.
    But the pall of death was unmistakable.
    Brendan’s first thought was a priestly one. He murmured the formula of absolution over the body of Cardinal Maguire.
    Only when he had finished did he take a careful look at the scene. A briefcase lay on its side on the floor by the body, its contents spilled across beautiful tiles. Then he heard the slam of the stairway door.
    The killer?
    He ran toward the sound, not at all sure what he would do if he found someone. But the stairway door was locked.
    He could hear footsteps thundering down the stairs.
    He ran across the rooftop to his superior’s dead body as he punched numbers on his cell phone.

PART I

Chapter ONE

I
    â€œI’ll want to talk to him first.”
    Â 
    Â 
    Â 
    Â 
    Â 
    Â 
    Â 
    Â 
    When former CIA agent Vincent Traeger arrived in Rome, he avoided both the consulate and the embassy, located on the Via Veneto, and went directly to a restaurant in Trastevere. He was unhappy to be here at all, unhappy to have his peaceful retirement interrupted, and very unhappy about what had brought him here.
    He’d been instructed to make contact with the Vatican representative at the restaurant. One of the agency’s top field agents for decades, Traeger was used to clandestine meets, but he still hated going in without knowing his target. No name for the Holy See’s rep had been given him. Still, it was the function, not the person, that was important. Traeger took an outside table. After a moment, he began slapping a rolled up copy of Le Figaro against his leg as he studied the street. A minute later, a man took the other chair at his table.
    â€œÃ‡a va?”
    â€œComme vous voulez.”
    â€œAh, you speak French.”
    â€œAs little as possible.”
    â€œI noticed your newspaper.”
    Traeger looked directly at the man. Of middle size, hair shot with gray, a meaty nose.
    The man made a little sibilant noise, then asked, “What is left when ‘Ciao’ has a vowel movement?”
    â€œCIA.”
    The man nodded. “I have a table reserved inside.”
    â€œDo you have a name?”
    In answer, the stranger