The abbot walked to the door of his office and closed it quietly. Then he went to his desk and sagged heavily into the chair. Why me? he wondered through closed eyes that he rubbed with the heels, of his hands. Why?

He reached for the telephone. As his hands neared the receiver it hesitated for a moment, almost as it the instrument were a venomous reptile. His hands shook, from fear now rather than anger, as he dialed the number for the office of the CDF. Cardinal Neils Braun was not a man who took failure with equanimity.

TWENTY-ONE

He was being followed. There was no longer any doubt about that. Seth Ridgeway brought his glass of Alsatian pinot gris to his lips and gazed over the rim at the man across the cafe from him. He was a tall man, six-two or more, with wavy brown hair cut almost short enough to suit a police force or a military organization. His face had the lean and angular agelessness found usually in combat officers who have devoted a lifetime of physical effort to staying in superb physical condition. Ridgeway was suddenly conscious of the fifteen pounds he had added since Zoe had disappeared, of the roll of flab that girdled his waistline.

The man carried himself with a physical precision and confidence that conveyed strength hidden beneath the bulky wool overcoat. He wore a business suit now, with a tiny precisely knotted tie and a coat that could easily conceal a firearm. And even from across the main dining room of the crowded café, the intensity of his glacier-blue eyes was apparent.

Seth set his wineglass down slowly and pretended interest in the rosti on his plate. The man was no professional at tailing people, Seth thought, as he chased the potatoes around his plate with a fork. He was too obvious, looking too hard, following too closely, making eye contact accidentally. Unless, Seth stopped to think, unless someone wanted him to know he was being followed. But who could that be? Someone associated with the priest who had followed him in Amsterdam? Or someone who wanted to kill him?

He rejected this last notion. If that had been the man’s intention he would have done it sooner, back when Seth had walked alone through the deserted park alongside Saint Peter’s Church. He had first seen the man there, just minutes after shoving Felix Yost into his sherry and crystal.

Seth had begun to regret his display of temper as he climbed the steps at the end of the In Gassen. He had just about decided to go back and apologize to Yost and offer to pay for the damage when he saw the man.

Seth had stopped, and unlike a professional tail, who would have continued on past him, the man stopped too, startled and uncertain of himself.

Continuing on up the steps, Seth dismissed the encounter as coincidence. But the man followed him across the courtyard at the top of the In Gassen, around the church, and through the courtyard on the other side. Seth took the glove off his right hand and kept a firm grasp on the Magnum as he walked along. The man might have a silenced weapon, or accomplices could be waiting around the next corner. They would suffer for whatever they might have in mind. But nothing happened.