“Forgive me,” Donati said. “It’s an old Vatican joke. The answer is about twelve hundred. That includes the priests and prelates who work in the Secretariat of State and the various congregations and councils, along with their lay support staff. Then there are the laypeople who make the place run: the tour guides, the street sweepers, the maintenance people and gardeners, the clerks in places like the post office, the pharmacy, and the supermarket. And then there’s the security staff, of course.”

Gabriel held up his Vatican ID badge. “And they all get one of these?”

“Not everyone can get into the Apostolic Palace, but they all have credentials that get them beyond the public sections of the Vatican.”

“You mean the square and the Basilica?”

“Correct.”

“What kind of background check do you perform on them?”

“I take it you’re not referring to the cardinals, bishops, monsignori, and priests.”

“We’ll leave them aside.” Gabriel frowned, then added, “For now.”

“Jobs at the Vatican are highly coveted. The salaries aren’t terribly high, but all our employees have shopping privileges at the pharmacy and the supermarket. The prices are subsidized and much lower than those at Italian markets. The same is true for the prices at our gas station. Aside from that, the hours are reasonable, vacations are long, and the fringe benefits are quite good.”

“What about a background check for the people who get those jobs?”

“The jobs are so coveted—and there are so few of them—that they almost always go to someone with a family connection, so the background check is fairly cursory.”

“I was afraid of that,” Gabriel said. “And what about people like me? People with temporary credentials?”

“You’re asking how many?” Donati shrugged. “At any given time, I’d say there are several hundred people with temporary access to the Vatican.”

“How does the system work?”

“They’re usually assigned to one of the various pontifical councils or commissions as support staff or professional consultants. The prefect or an undersecretary vouch for the character of the individual, and the Vatican Security Office issues the badges.”

“Does the Security Office keep all the paperwork?”

“Of course.”

Gabriel lifted the receiver of the telephone and held it out to Donati.

TWENTY MINUTES ELAPSED before Donati’s phone rang again. He listened in silence, then replaced the receiver and looked at Gabriel, who was standing in the window overlooking the square, watching the crowds streaming into the square.

“They’re starting to pull the paperwork now.”

“Starting?”

“It required authorization from the chief. He was in a meeting. They’ll be ready for you in fifteen minutes.”

Gabriel looked at his wristwatch. It was nearly ten-thirty.

“Move it indoors,” he said.

“The Holy Father won’t hear of it.” Donati joined Gabriel at the window. “Besides, it’s too late. The guests have started to arrive.”