Paul Christopher - The Templar Cross

"Which makes them very dangerous," reminded Holliday. "Our Czech assassins Pesek and Kay put a hatpin through Valador's brain, remember? They tried to kill me and Peggy once-they'll try again, I guarantee it."

"Certainly," agreed Tidyman. "Greed makes people dangerous. It also makes them vulnerable. And that is how we win this game, my friend; we play to their vulnerabilities."

Father Thomas called the following morning to arrange another meeting.

"We were on your turf before," said Holliday. "How about somewhere else this time?"

"Where do you suggest?" Father Thomas asked. Holliday could hear the muffled sound of traffic in the background. Thomas was on a cell phone, probably sitting in a car.

"You could come here," said Holliday.

"I think not, Colonel," the priest replied with a laugh.

"You're welcome to bring along your techno-geek with the attache case. We've got nothing to hide," said Holliday.

"As the Beatles were so fond of saying, Colonel Holliday, everyone's got something to hide except me and my monkey."

"All right then," said Holliday. "How about a restaurant? They've got a nice roof garden here."

"Again too close for comfort," said the priest. "And too well known. Somewhere a little more discreet, perhaps."

"There's a pizzeria around the corner," suggested Holliday. "On the Via Candia. It's called Piacere Molise, a little family place."

"You know Rome, Colonel?" For the first time the priest seemed surprised.

"We ate dinner there last night," explained Holliday. "The concierge at the hotel suggested it."

There was a moment's silence. Holliday could hear the up-and-down wail of a siren coming over the phone. He could also hear it coming through the open balcony doors. The priest was close by. They were being watched.

"All right," said Father Thomas. "When?"

"Early," replied Holliday. "It gets crowded quickly. Five okay?"

"Of course," answered Father Thomas.

"How many do I make reservations for?"

"I shall be bringing a colleague," said Father Thomas.

"The techno-geek?" Holliday smiled.

"Yes, but only briefly. The other man will be a principal in our discussions."

"You mind if I bring a friend along?" Holliday said.

"The more the merrier," answered the priest. There was a smile in his voice again. "It's always wise to know one's enemies."

Via Candia was a nondescript street of old apartment blocks with shops and restaurants carved out of their ground floors over the years. Piacere Molise was located in a salmon-colored building at number 60, across from a knockoff perfume store and a knockoff sportswear store. It was late summer, and by five o'clock, with the exception of the restaurants and coffee shops, most of the stores had drawn their gates and rolling shutters. The cars parked at the curb were uniformly small and relatively cheap; Via Candia appeared to cater to the middle class; the men and women on the streets were all dressed like secretaries and clerks. There didn't seem to be many children.

Once upon a time Piacere Molise had been the building concierge's apartment, located beside an old-fashioned porte-cochere that ran through to a courtyard in the back. Now it was three narrow rooms and a kitchen painted a friendly yellow with perhaps a dozen tables inside and four more on the sidewalk outside. The decor was made up of framed prints of famous impressionist painters scattered everywhere interspersed with decorative plates. The rooms were lit by a few modern chandeliers. The tablecloths were yellow and the place mats matched the rust and yellow marble checkerboard tiles on the floor. As the name suggested the restaurant was clearly informal, piacere-come as you are.

Not surprisingly Father Thomas was already there when Holliday and Rafi stepped into the little pizzeria. He was sitting at one of the double tables in the middle room along with two others. One was the bald man they'd spotted getting out of the helicopter on Santo Stefano; the other was the young priest with the attache case they'd seen at the Egyptian Museum the day before.

"I don't know if I can sit at the same table with that bastard," said Rafi softly.

"Baldy?" Holliday said. "Imagine him in his underwear."

"Imagine him dead," grunted Rafi.

As they approached the table the young man with the attache case stood up. He had a small wandlike device in his hand and a single-button headphone in his ear. He waved the wand in their direction, passing it up and down their bodies, concentrating on the sound from his earpiece. After a few moments he shook his head, opened his attache case and tossed the wand inside.

"Qualcosa?" Father Thomas demanded.

"Nulla," said the young man, shaking his head again. "Sono polito." They're clean.

"Andar via," ordered Father Thomas, making a little brushing movement with his hands. The young man nodded and snapped the attache case closed.

"Come desideri, Padre."

The young man picked up his attache case and left the restaurant. Holliday and Rafi sat down across from the priest and his companion.

Holliday got his first good look at the bald man from the helicopter. Big, muscular even in a plain dark suit. Big-knuckled hands like hammers. He wasn't bald at all; his head was shaved clean without a hint of stubble. The face was hard and Slavic, maybe Russian, the cheekbones high, the cheeks themselves slightly cavernous and the chin sharp. The eyes were a pale cornflower blue, the pupil on the right eye with a cast that made it look as though a black tear was staining the glittering iris. The man was staring at them like a butcher-bird deciding which spiky thorn it would impale them on. The stare of a true believer; the stare of a wild animal tugging at its leash. Holliday knew exactly why the priest had brought him to the meeting: he was a hound being given the scent of its prey.

Father Thomas smiled across the table at Holliday.

"I gather that Dr. Wanounou and Father Damaso have already met," said the priest.

The bald man looked at Rafi with an expressionless stare. Then his lips twitched, briefly revealing a double row of surprisingly white teeth. Rafi looked back.

"We were never formally introduced," said Rafi.

"Father Damaso was very pleased to discover that you had come to Rome. He tells me the two of you have some unfinished business."

"We're not here for a pissing contest," said Holliday.

"I'm not entirely sure what we're here for," said the priest.

A young waiter in a long apron appeared with a dish of olives and a basket of bread. He put them both down on the table, then brought a large pepper grinder out of one of the apron's deep pockets and a scratch pad from another. He put the pepper grinder on the table, then asked for their order in very broken English. The priest immediately questioned the waiter in Italian and the young man responded with a list of things that sounded as though they could be dinner entrees.

The priest turned back to Holliday.

"Molise is a very poor region of Italy but it is known for a dish that is a specialty here: zuppa di pesce alla Termolese, a sort of Italian bouillabaisse. They also carry a rather good vintage of a local white wine, Falanghina Del Molise 2005, very nice with the fish."

"We didn't come here to eat," said Holliday.

"An Italian never needs an excuse to eat," answered the priest. "There is no reason why we cannot share a meal." His smile flashed momentarily. "On me, of course," he said. Father Thomas turned away briefly and spoke to the waiter. The young man scribbled on his notepad, repeated the order back to the priest and then scurried away, heading toward the rear of the restaurant.

"Can we get down to business now?" Holliday asked, the irritation clear in his voice.