Allan Folsom - Day Of Confession

Was the fugitive priest in Bellagio?

Quickly he turned away and walked on.

Turning down one street and then another, Harry tried to follow the confusion of signs toward the lakefront and the Piazza Cavour. Dodging a chattering couple walking hand in hand, he turned a corner and stopped. The street directly ahead was blocked off by police barricades. Beyond them were police vehicles, media vans, and satellite trucks. Farther down he could see police headquarters.

'Christ.' Harry waited a half second, then moved on, trying to regain his composure. Ahead was a cross street and he went left on a whim, certain he'd find himself back at the police barricades or the kiosk or even the railroad station. Instead he saw the lake, traffic flowing along the boulevard at its edge. Immediately in front of him was a street sign for the Piazza Cavour.

Another half block and he was on the boulevard. To his right was the Palace Hotel, a huge brownstone with a busy outdoor cafe in front. Festive music played. People ate and drank, white-aproned waiters moving among them. They were normal, everyday people, doing everyday things, yet never knowing how close they sat to a potential climax of the first order had but one of them recognized the bearded priest in the black beret walking past them and sounded the alarm. In seconds the street would be filled with police. It would be like an American action movie. A Gruppo Cardinale showdown with a cop killer, the outlaw brother of the assassin of the cardinal vicar of Rome. Flashing lights. Helicopters. Chiseled extras running everywhere with machine guns and flak jackets. A Lee Harvey Oswald ride at an amusement park. Watch the bad guy get it from all sides. Buy your tickets, be there when it happens.

But none of them did. And then Harry was gone, just someone else walking by. A moment later he turned a corner and entered Piazza Cavour. Directly ahead was the Hotel Barchetta Excelsior.

Harry pressed the buzzer for room 525 and waited, beret in hand, soaked with sweat. From his own rattled nerves as much as from the July heat. Still eighty-some degrees at almost sunset.

He started to push the buzzer again when the door suddenly opened and Adrianna stood there, hair wet from the shower, a white hotel bathrobe around her, a cell phone to her ear. Harry went in quickly, closing the door behind him and locking it.

'He's here now.' Adrianna was at the window pulling the curtains, talking into the phone as she did. The television next to the window was on, tuned to the news channel, the sound off. Somebody was doing a standup in front of the White House. As quickly the scene shifted to the British Parliament.

Crossing to a dressing table, Adrianna bent in front of the mirror to scribble something on a notepad.

'Tonight, okay… I have it…'

Clicking off the phone, she looked up. Harry was watching her in the mirror.

'That was Eaton…'

'Yes.' Adrianna turned to face him.

'Where the hell is Danny?'

'Nobody knows…' Her gaze drifted off to the TV – always half watching in case something happened, an ongoing habit, the disease of a field reporter – then back to Harry. 'Roscani and his men went over the villa in Bellagio where he was supposed to be with a toothcomb, just a few hours ago… They found nothing.'

'The police are certain it was Danny, not somebody else?'

'As certain as they can be without having been there. Roscani's still here, in Como. That should say enough in itself…' Adrianna tucked a sprig of still-wet hair behind an ear. 'You look like you're going to melt. You can take your jacket off, you know. You want a drink?'

'No.'

'I will…'

Crossing to a console, Adrianna opened it and took out a small bottle of cognac. Emptying it into a glass, she turned back.

Harry stared at her. 'What do I do next? How do I get to Bellagio?'

'You're angry with me, aren't you? About what happened in Rome, about bringing Eaton into this.'

'No, you're wrong. I'm grateful. I could never have gotten this far without your help or Eaton's. You both stuck your necks out, for your own reasons, but you did anyway… The sex just made me feel a little cozier about it.'

'I did that because I wanted to. And because you wanted to. And because we both liked it… Don't tell me that's never happened before… It's the way you live your life, or by now you'd be married and have a family.'

'Why don't you just tell me what I'm supposed to do?'

'All right…' Adrianna watched him for a moment, then, glass in hand, leaned back against the dressing table.

'You're to take the late hydrofoil to Bellagio. Check into the Hotel Du Lac across the street from the boat landing. The reservations have been made – Father Jonathan Roe of Georgetown University. You'll have the phone number of the man who runs Villa Lorenzi. His name is Edward Mooi.'

'I'm supposed to call him?'

'Yes…'

'What makes you think he knows where Danny is?'

'Because the police think he does.'

'Then they'll have his phone tapped.'

'And – what are they going to hear?' Adrianna took a tug at her drink. 'An American priest offering to help simply because he's seen the news coverage and would like to do anything he can…'

'If I were him, I'd think the call was a setup. A police sting.'

'So would I, except that between now and when you phone him, he'll get a fax sent from a religious bookshop in Milan. He won't know what it means at the time – neither will the police if they intercept it because it will look like an advertisement – but Edward Mooi is an educated man, and after you call, he'll go back and find the fax and look at it again, even if he has to dig it out of the trash. When he does, he'll understand.'

'What fax?'

Setting down her glass, Adrianna fished a sheet of paper from a battered leather traveling bag on the bed and handed it to him. Then, putting a hand on her hip, she leaned back against the table. With the movement, her robe came open. Not a lot, but enough for Harry to see part of one breast and a hint of the dark where her legs came together.

'Read it…'

Harry hesitated, then glanced at the paper.

!Read!

'GENESIS 4:9'

A new book by

Father Jonathan Roe

That was all. Neatly typed. Nothing else.

'You remember your Bible, Harry… Genesis 4:9-'

'Am I my brother's keeper?' Harry dropped the paper on the bed.

'He's an educated man. He'll understand.'

'Then what?'

'We wait… I'll be in Bellagio, Harry. Maybe even before you are.' Adrianna's voice became soft, seductive. Her eyes found Harry's and held there. 'And I'll know how to reach you… The phone in your pocket, you know.' She paused. 'The way we – did it in Rome…'

For a long moment Harry said nothing, just stood looking at her. Finally, he let his eyes fall the length of her body.

'Your robe is open…'

'I know…'

He took her from behind, the way she liked, the way he had in her apartment in Rome. The difference this time was that the lights were on and they were in the bathroom standing up. With Adrianna bent slightly at the waist, her hands on the edge of the marble sink, both of them facing the mirror, watching.

He could see her pleasure as he came into her. Saw it intensify all the more with each deliberate stroke. He could see himself behind her. His jaw set. Firm. Becoming more so as the force and rapidity of his thrusting increased. In a way it was indecent, seeing his own face. It was almost as if he were doing it to himself. Except he wasn't.

'Yes,' she breathed. 'Yes-'

With her sound, his own being faded and he saw only her as she threw back her head, her eyes closed, gripping him with her secret muscles, magnifying each stroke for both of them.