“Perhaps,” Seth replied, “but I don’t think so.” As Seth took a step forward, the frail man took a halting step backward, tripped over the root of a large naked oak tree, and fell into a sitting position with his back against the tree’s trunk.

“Why have you been following me?” Seth asked again as he stood over the man.

“The people for whom I work are interested in you and the painting.”

“How do you know about the painting?” Seth asked flatly.

“We know.”

Seth stepped forward quickly and raised his hand to strike the man.

“Stop!” the man said with enough force to compel Seth into obeying. It was the voice of a man used to having people follow his orders.

“Okay,” Seth said. “If I stop, I want something in return. I want information.”

“I will tell you what you wish, Mr. Ridgeway,” the man replied. “But not at the point of a gun.”

Seth looked at him for a long moment and nodded. He stepped back several paces and put the Magnum back in his coat pocket. The man slowly got back to his feet, taking a moment to brush off the dirt and leaves sticking to his coat.

“My name is Kent Smith; I’m ordained in the Catholic Church and work as an archivist for the Vatican.”

“Jesus,” Seth said. Smith winced almost imperceptibly at the blasphemy. “And you want the painting too.”

Smith nodded. “I’m afraid the people I work for do.”

“Everywhere I turn there’s somebody else who wants the goddamned thing.” Smith winced again.

“And more people will turn up before you rid yourself of this painting,” Smith said. “We can help you with that,” he said finally.

“Who is ‘we’?”

“A small but powerful group within the Vatican dedicated to making sure both the painting and the priceless religious relic associated with it are not abused or used by people for their own personal gain.”

“You’re the good guys? Is that what you’re telling me?’

“Don’t trivialize things, please, Mr. Ridgeway. We’re dealing with things that could alter history.” Smith’s voice grew strident and evangelical. “This is a far, far bigger thing than you realize, with implications that go far beyond you, me, or your wife.”

“I told you I don’t care about that crap,” Seth said. “There’s nothing more important to me than getting my wife back.”

“We can help you,” Smith said. “We’re a small group charged with trying to root out the worst of abuses, the political struggles and power plays that inevitably result from an organization of our size. Things… and people, you see, are not always what they seem.”

“Like Vatican archivists playing spy versus spy in Amsterdam?”

Smith smiled for the first time.

“Exactly,” he said. “And likewise, there are people in high places within both your government and my church who are not what they seem.”

Then, for the smallest fraction of a second, Seth saw a luminous red dot on the front of Smith’s coat Instants later, the crack of a rifle ripped through the silence of the crisp, bright afternoon. Only then did Ridgeway recognize the red dot for what it was: the business end of a sniper’s laser range finder. Ridgeway heard the slug slap through Smith’s chest and watched as the frail man was hammered against the oak tree behind him by the impact