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“They were designed by my father. He died recently and—” He was flailing, and Cesare glanced at his associates, and they all roared with laughter. Cesare first, then the others.

When they subsided, Dave tried to finish: “—I was hoping to complete them. In his honor.”

The Cardinal signaled him to return the converter. He hesitated, gave it back. Cesare placed it on the desk, beside the other one. Then he opened a drawer, from which he withdrew a third unit. Shel’s. He laid it beside the others. “They seem to be three of a kind,” he said.

“He is my cousin, Eminence.”

“This one also has no socket.”

“Yes. It is the most difficult part of the project.”

“And you both carry these things, in honor of your esteemed father. I am touched.” His smile widened and snapped off. “David Whatever-your-name-is, let us be clear on one point. Unless you are honest with me, I will have to assume you and your friend are agents of a foreign power and beyond reclamation. If I am forced to that conclusion, I will then have no choice but to deal with you accordingly.” He came around the side of the desk.

“Where is Father Shelborne?” Dave asked.

Cesare stared at him momentarily, then turned his eyes toward the door. The squash player opened it, went outside, and returned with Shel. He was dirty, bruised, covered with blood. He sagged in the arms of two guards.

Dave started toward him, but the linebacker and the squash player got between them. Shel’s eyes opened. “You don’t look so good,” Dave said, still speaking Italian.

Shel tried to wipe his mouth, but the guards held both arms tight. “Hello, Dave. Good to see you.”

Dave turned back to Cesare. “Why have you done this, Eminence?”

The Cardinal’s eyes glowed with an inner light. “You have courage, Father, to come here and interrogate me. But I don’t mind. We know your, ah, cousin, is a heretic. He is probably also a spy and an assassin. A would-be assassin.”

“I tried to get an audience with His Holiness,” Shel muttered.

“That was stupid,” David said in English. “Why?” Alexander VI was the Borgia pope, a womanizer, a con man, a murderer, the father of Lucrezia and Cesare. “Why would you want to see him?”

“Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

The linebacker drove a fist into Dave’s stomach, and he went to his knees. “Please confine your remarks to me,” said Cesare. “Now perhaps you will tell us why you are here. The truth, this time.”

“Eminence,” Dave gasped, “we are pilgrims.”

Cesare sighed. “Very well.” He glanced toward the windows.

The squash player looked at Dave with a resigned expression. He went to the windows—there were three—and drew the curtains apart. Dave looked out onto a balcony, bordered by a low wall. The middle window was actually a door, which he opened. They were several stories high.

Shel could see out over a large section of Rome. The river wasn’t visible, but houses and streets were. And they were a long way down.

Shel’s guards dragged him across the floor and hauled him outside. “Wait,” Dave cried. “Don’t—!”

Shel yelped. The guards held his arms and lifted him onto the wall while Dave tried to get past the two priests. Cesare seemed not very interested. “Have you anything to say, Father Dryden?”

“Yes. You’re right, Eminence. We are French spies.”

He nodded. “As I thought. Now perhaps you will tell me who sent you?”

“Monte Cristo.”

“I’m not surprised.” Cesare’s thin lips smiled. “What was your purpose? To attempt the life of His Holiness?”

“No. Most certainly not. We hoped to sow political discord.”

They leaned Shel out into the air. “I don’t think I heard you correctly. Did you say you were here to kill the Pope?”

“Yes. Yes, that is why we were sent.”

“Very good. I’m glad you’ve decided to be honest.” Cesare gestured, and they brought Shel back inside. “I assume everyone here heard his admission?”

Shel glared at Dave. “Idiot,” he said in English. “They’ll kill us now.”

Cesare sighed. “Take them away,” he told the guards.

“Wait,” Shel said. “Perhaps Your Eminence would care to allow us to make a contribution to the Church.”

“In exchange for