Free The Messenger by Daniel Silva

of the Basilica. The side entrances were closed and barricaded, and Vigilanza officers stood watch at each one. In the Vatican Gardens it was possible to imagine that nothing had happened—possible, thought Gabriel, until one looked at the ruined dome, which was lit now by a dusty sienna sunset. The Pope was waiting near the House of the Gardener. He greeted Gabriel warmly and together they set out toward the distant corner of the Vatican. A dozen Swiss Guards in plainclothes drifted alongside them amid the stone pines, their long shadows thin upon the grass.
    “Luigi and I have pleaded with the Swiss Guard to reduce the size of their detail,” the Pope said. “For the moment it is nonnegotiable. They’re a bit jumpy—for understandable reasons. Not since the Sack of Rome has a Swiss Guard commander died defending the Vatican from enemy attack.”
    They walked on in silence for a moment. “So this is my fate, Gabriel? To be forever surrounded by men with radios and guns? How can I communicate with my flock? How can I give comfort to the sick and the afflicted if I am cut off from them by a phalanx of bodyguards?”
    Gabriel had no good answer.
    “It will never be the same, will it, Gabriel?”
    “No, Holiness, I’m afraid it will not.”
    “Did they mean to kill me?”
    “Without a doubt.”
    “Will they try again?”
    “Once they set their sights on a target, they usually don’t stop until they succeed. But in this case, they managed to kill seven hundred pilgrims and several cardinals and bishops—not to mention the commandant of the Swiss Guard. They also managed to inflict severe physical damage to the Basilica itself. In my opinion, they will regard their historical account as settled.”
    “They may not have succeeded in killing me, but they have succeeded in making me a prisoner of the Vatican.” The Pope stopped and looked at the ruined dome. “My cage isn’t so gilded anymore. It took more than a century to build and a few seconds to destroy.”
    “It’s not destroyed, Holiness. The dome can be restored.”
    “That remains to be seen,” the Pope said with uncharacteristic gloominess. “The engineers and architects aren’t so sure it can be done. It might have to be brought down and rebuilt entirely. And the baldacchino suffered severe damage when the debris rained down upon it. This is not something that can simply be replaced, but then you know that better than most.”
    Gabriel snuck a glance at his wristwatch. He would have to be leaving for the airport soon, or he would miss his flight. He wondered why the Pope had asked him here. Surely it wasn’t to discuss the restoration of the Basilica. The Pope turned and started walking again. They were heading toward St. John’s Tower, at the southwest corner of the Vatican.
    “There’s only one reason why I’m not dead now,” the Pope said. “And that’s because of you, Gabriel. In all the sorrow and confusion of this terrible week, I haven’t had a chance to properly thank you. I’m doing so now. I only wish I could do so in public.”
    Gabriel’s role in the affair had been carefully guarded from the media. So far, against all the odds, it had remained a secret.
    “And I only wish I’d discovered Ibrahim el-Banna sooner,” Gabriel said. “Seven hundred people might still be alive.”
    “You did everything that could have been done.”
    “Perhaps, Holiness, but it still wasn’t enough.”
    They arrived at the Vatican wall. The Pope mounted a stone staircase and climbed upward, Gabriel following silently after him. They stood at the parapet and looked out over Rome. Lights were coming on all over the city. Gabriel glanced over his shoulder and saw the Swiss Guards stirring nervously beneath them. He gave them a reassuring hand gesture and looked at the Pope, who was peering downward at the cars racing along the Viale Vaticano.
    “Luigi tells me a promotion awaits you in Tel Aviv.” He had to raise his voice over the din of the