Donati gave him the information. Gabriel hung up the phone and finished packing.

GABRIEL CLEARED a Carabinieri checkpoint at the edge of the Colonnade and made his way across St. Peter’s Square through the dying twilight. It was still closed to the public. The forensic crews had completed their gruesome task, but the opaque barriers that had been erected around the three blast sites remained in place. An enormous white tarpaulin hung from the façade of the Basilica, concealing the damage beneath the Loggia of the Blessings. It bore the image of a dove and a single word: PEACE.

He passed through the Arch of Bells and made his way along the left flank of the Basilica. The side entrances were closed and barricaded, and Vigilanza officers stood watch at each one. In the Vatican Gardens it was possible to imagine that nothing had happened—possible, thought Gabriel, until one looked at the ruined dome, which was lit now by a dusty sienna sunset. The Pope was waiting near the House of the Gardener. He greeted Gabriel warmly and together they set out toward the distant corner of the Vatican. A dozen Swiss Guards in plainclothes drifted alongside them amid the stone pines, their long shadows thin upon the grass.

“Luigi and I have pleaded with the Swiss Guard to reduce the size of their detail,” the Pope said. “For the moment it is nonnegotiable. They’re a bit jumpy—for understandable reasons. Not since the Sack of Rome has a Swiss Guard commander died defending the Vatican from enemy attack.”

They walked on in silence for a moment. “So this is my fate, Gabriel? To be forever surrounded by men with radios and guns? How can I communicate with my flock? How can I give comfort to the sick and the afflicted if I am cut off from them by a phalanx of bodyguards?”

Gabriel had no good answer.

“It will never be the same, will it, Gabriel?”

“No, Holiness, I’m afraid it will not.”

“Did they mean to kill me?”

“Without a doubt.”

“Will they try again?”

“Once they set their sights on a target, they usually don’t stop until they succeed. But in this case, they managed to kill seven hundred pilgrims and several cardinals and bishops—not to mention the commandant of the Swiss Guard. They also managed to inflict severe physical damage to the Basilica itself. In my opinion, they will regard their historical account as settled.”

“They may not have succeeded in killing me, but they have succeeded in making me a prisoner of the Vatican.” The Pope stopped and looked at the ruined dome. “My cage isn’t so gilded anymore. It took more than a century to build and a few seconds to destroy.”

“It’s not destroyed, Holiness. The dome can be restored.”