Ten minutes later we are speeding down the hill past miles of rocky terrain and oblivious sheep seasoning their own meat on a diet of wild sage.

When we finally reach the south edge of Cres town, Claudia slows near the cemetery.

“There.” She nods toward a brick building across the street. A monastery.

It is bathed in flashing blue light, surrounded by police cars.

20

“This is very bad,” Claudia whispers.

For the first time since my arrival, we are in agreement.

I exhale a breath, take stock. Three empty patrol cars means the police are inside—except for the officer standing at the entrance beneath the crest of two crossed arms. A round window with a blue stained-glass cross is set in the brick face above it and the broad front walk is lined with trees I recognize as myrtles, each of them exploding with fuchsia flowers.

I start to get out of the car. Claudia grabs my arm. It is the first time I think I have seen her truly afraid.

“Audra, no.”

“You said yourself Ivan was smart. If he meant to give me something but knew the danger he was in, he wouldn’t have brought it with him. He would have left it at the chapel to be picked up and stashed someplace or given to someone he wasn’t aware of. Someone in there knows what and where it is.”

“Can’t you see? Something terrible has happened here. It’s too late!”

“We don’t know that! You wanted to know that Ivan’s faith in me wasn’t misplaced. Well, I want to know that he didn’t die for nothing!” I say it with more bravado than I feel. In fact, it’s desperation.

She purses her lips and then nods, though I sense that she may be shaking. Crossing herself, she gets out of the car. Mutters, “Piotrek is going to kill me.”

A small crowd has gathered on the edge of the street. As we reach the door, the officer—a woman—moves to block our way.

Claudia steps ahead of me to talk to her, tone as imperious as ever. She pulls her ferry pass from her pocket, holds it up like a badge.

A moment later she says something to me in Croatian as though I speak the language. And then we’re pushing our way through the door.

“That wasn’t horrible,” I murmur, following after her.

We step into a colonnaded courtyard, the grassy middle of which has been set with chairs, as though for a lecture or some kind of concert.