James Rollins - Map of Bones

Gray noted the beauty and fresh air seemed to be reviving Monk, or at least the solid footing was. Kat’s eyes also took in the sights.

“Ristorante Imbarcadero,” Rachel said, pointing across the piazza.

“A drive-through restaurant would’ve been fine,” Gray said, checking his watch.

“Maybe for you,” Monk said dourly.

Vigor stepped next to him. “We made good time. We’ll reach Milan in another hour.”

“But the bones—”

Vigor silenced him with a frown. “Commander, the Vatican is well aware of the risk to the relics in the Basilica of Sant’Eustorgio. I was already under orders to stop in Milan to collect them on my way back to Rome. In the meantime, the Vatican has secured the bones in the basilica’s safe, the church has been locked down, and the local police have been alerted.”

“That won’t necessarily stop the Dragon Court,” Gray said, picturing the devastation in Cologne.

“I doubt they’d strike in full daylight. The group skulks in shadows and darkness. And we’ll be in Milan before noon.”

Kat added, “It won’t delay us much to place a take-out order and be back on the road.”

Though far from satisfied, Gray conceded the point. The group needed to refuel as much as their automobile.

Reaching the restaurant, Rachel opened a gate to a bougainvillea-adorned terrace overlooking the lake. “The Imbarcadero serves the best local dishes. You should try the risotto con pesce persico .”

“Golden perch with risotto,” Vigor translated. “It is wonderful here. The fillets are rolled in flour and sage, shallow fried, and served crisp on a thick bed of risotto, soaking in butter.”

Rachel guided them to a table.

Somewhat mollified, Gray allowed himself to appreciate Rachel’s enthusiasm. She spoke rapidly in Italian to an older man in an apron who came out to greet them. She smiled easily, making small talk. They hugged afterward.

Rachel turned back and waved to the seats. “If you want something lighter, try the courgette flowers stuffed with bread and boraggine. But definitely have a small plate of agnolotti.”

Vigor nodded. “A ravioli with aubergine and bufala mozzarella.” He kissed his fingertips in appreciation.

“So I take it you’ve eaten here a few times,” Monk said, dropping heavily into a seat. He eyed Gray.

So much for anonymity.

Vigor patted Monk’s shoulder. “The owners are friends of our family, going back three generations. Rest assured, they know how to be discreet.” He waved to a rotund server. “Ciao, Mario! Bianco Secco di Montecchia, per favore!”

“Right away, Padre ! I also have a nice Chiaretto from Bellagio. Came by ferry last night.”

“ Perfetto! A bottle of each then while we wait!”

“Antipasti?”

“Of course, Mario. We are not barbarians.”

Their order was placed with much bravado and laughter: salmon salad with apple vinegar, barley stew, breaded veal, tagliatelle pasta with whitefish, something called pappardelle.

Mario brought out a platter as large as the table, piled with olives and an assortment of antipasti…along with two bottles of wine, one red, one white.

“Buon appetito!” he said loudly.

It seemed Italians made a feast out of every meal — even take-out orders. Wine flowed. Glasses lifted. Bits of salami and cheese were passed around.

“ Salute, Mario!” Rachel cheered as they finished the platter.

Monk leaned back, attempted to stifle a belch and failed. “That alone overfilled the tank.”

Kat had eaten just as much, but she was now studying the dessert menu with the same intensity with which she had read the mission dossier.

“Signorina?” Mario asked, noting her interest.

She pointed to the menu. “Macedonia con panna.”

Monk groaned.

“It’s only fruit salad with cream.” She glanced at the others, eyes wide. “It’s light.”

Gray sat back. He didn’t suppress the bravado. He sensed they all needed this momentary respite. Once under way, the day would be a blur. They’d blow into Milan, grab the relic bones, and then take one of the hourly high-speed trains into Rome, getting there before nightfall.

Gray had also used the time to study Vigor Verona. Despite the festivities, the monsignor seemed lost to his own thoughts again. Gray could see the gears churning in the man’s head.

Vigor suddenly focused on him, matched his gaze. He pushed back from the table. “Commander Pierce, while we’re waiting on the kitchen, I wonder if I might have a private word. Perhaps we could stretch our legs on the promenade.”

Gray settled his glass and stood. The others glanced to them curiously, but Gray nodded for them to remain there.

Vigor led the way off the terrace and onto the main promenade that bordered the lake. “There’s something I’d like to discuss with you and perhaps get your opinion.”

“Certainly.”

They walked down a block, and Vigor stepped to a stone railing that abutted an empty dock. They had privacy here.

Vigor kept his view on the lake, tapping one fist on the railing. “I understand that the Vatican’s role in all of this is centered on the theft of the relics. And once we return to Rome, I suspect you plan on cutting ties and pursuing the Dragon Court on your own.”

Gray considered vacillating, but the man deserved an honest answer. He could not risk further endangering this man and his niece. “I think it’s best,” he said. “And I’m sure both our superiors will agree.”

“But I don’t.” A bit of heat entered his words.

Gray frowned.

“If you’re right about the bones being the source for the strange amalgam powder, then I believe our roles here are more deeply entwined than either organization suspected.”

“I don’t see how.”

Vigor glanced to him again with that focused intensity that seemed to be a Verona family trait. “Then let me convince you. First, we know the Dragon Court is an aristocratic society involved in the search for secret or lost knowledge. They’ve concentrated on ancient Gnostic texts and other arcana.”

“Mystical mumbo jumbo.”

Vigor turned to him, cocking his head. “Commander Pierce, I believe you yourself have undergone a study of alternate faiths and philosophies. From Taoism to some of the Hindi cults.”

Gray flushed. It was easy to forget that the monsignor was an experienced field operative for the Vatican intelligenza . Clearly a dossier had been gathered on him.

“To seek spiritual truth is never wrong,” the monsignor continued. “No matter the path. In fact, the definition of gnosis is ‘to seek truth, to find God.’ I can’t even fault the Dragon Court in this pursuit. Gnosticism has been a part of the Catholic Church since its inception. Even predates it.”

“Fine,” Gray said, unable to keep a trace of irritation out of his voice. “What does any of this have to do with the massacre at Cologne?”

The monsignor sighed. “In some ways, the attack today could be traced back to a conflict between two apostles. Thomas and John.”

Gray shook his head. “What are you talking about?”

“In the beginning, Christianity was an outlaw religion. An upstart faith like none other in its time. Unlike other religions that collected dues as a required part of their faith, the young Christian family contributed money voluntarily. The funds went to feed and house orphans, bought food and medicine for the sick, paid for coffins for the poor. Such support of the downtrodden attracted large numbers of people, despite the risks of belonging to an outlawed faith.”

“Yes, I know. Christian good works and all that. Still, what does—”