Free Shrouded in Silence by Robert Wise Page A

better than freshly brewed coffee."
"I must take back the harsh comments I made when I came in," the priest said. "Your wife has redeemed herself by treating us with the honor due our status."
"Don't push your luck," Michelle said. "You're on the edge as it is."
"Ah!" Blake rolled his eyes and beat his chest. "How sad for me. Always living on the jumping-off point into the precipice."
"My heart bleeds." Michelle grinned and walked away.
"Well, Jack, how is your research coming along?"
Townsend shrugged. "You know how it is. I work for weeks and nothing happens. Then, one day I make a big breakthrough. Right now I'm only in the digging stage of investigation."
"I saw the article on you in Il Messaggero several days ago. Quite impressive."
"We thought it gave our work a nice boast. Can't buy advertising like that you know."
Father Blake took a sip of coffee. "If there's any paper that everyone in Rome reads, it's that one. No telling how many people got a glimpse into your work." The priest stopped and looked intensely into Jack's eyes.
Jack started to speak and then stopped. Blake's instant shift from being a jovial soul to becoming a probing interrogator had to be a signal of some sort. Something was going on. Jack set his coffee cup down on the table.
"Father," Jack said slowly. "Everyone knows that you're the happy priest who walks up and down the streets of Rome sharing a friendly word with everyone from waiters in the street corner café to the policeman directing traffic. You know all the officials processing people in and out of the Vatican. The smiling face of Padre Don is a symbol of good cheer." Jack took a deep breath. "I sense something else is at work this morning. You sound like you know more than you are telling me."
The priest pursed his lips thoughtfully. "You must remember that I listen to a wide range of voices and hear many rumors. And rumors are often no more than street gossip. However, you are right. I hear many things. Some of the banter does raise concerns."
"And you are here today because you've heard some chatter that bothered you?" Jack said.
Blake looked out the window. "We all know about that horrible bombing a few days ago that killed a number of people and destroyed the terminal station. The newspaper reports have been clear that the police haven't been able to identify what group was behind the blast." Blake drummed on the old conference table with his fingertips. "That doesn't mean they don't have some clues."
Jack chuckled. "What in the world would that have to do with us? We're innocuous scholars who are accused of living in the past. In fact, when it comes to the politics of Italy, I'm about as apolitical as you get."
"Unfortunately, none of that has any bearing on my concern. The problem is that you are an American."
"American? That's a problem?" Jack shook his head. "You've got to be kidding."
"Afraid not. One portion of the untold story about this bombing is that some evidence suggests that the terrorists were anti-American activists. Being a Yank who gets his story in the paper labels you as a possible target."
"Oh, come now, Father. You've got to be stretching the rubber band rather far to squeeze us into that picture."
"I'm only sharing information with a friend," the priest said. "However, I wouldn't discount anything that I am telling you." He crossed his arms over his rotund stomach and leaned back. "Have you seen anything unusual around here lately."
"No. No. Of course not." Jack stopped. "Well, this morning Michelle thought she saw a man across the street taking a picture of our facility, but I didn't—"
"Stop!" The priest bounded forward in his chair. "That's exactly what I'm talking about. Someone taking a picture of this building is cause for alarm."
"Michelle could have been completely wrong. When I went outside and looked around I didn't see anyone. This bomb explosion made Michelle a little hyper."
"And well it should!" Blake leaned closer. "All of this kidding about