Epilogue

Early autumn

In an apartment overlooking the Pontifical University of the Holy Cross, Bailey sat in the comfort of a deeply cushioned chair. A small hearth glowed with a few embers, holding back the evening's chill, a kiss of the winter to come.

The warmth soothed the aches that had settled into his bones. Dusty shelves surrounded him. A book lay open on his lap. He reached to turn a page, but there was no finger to do so. He cringed at his body's betrayal, at its stubborn refusal to accept what he had lost.

He clenched a fist of three fingers. His left hand was also missing a digit, its middle finger. But that was not the worst damage. He lifted a palm to his right eye, or where it had been. A patch covered it. He was still adjusting to how it had changed his depth perception. He had trouble even climbing the stairs up here.

The cane hadn't helped much. But he continued to need it as his left ankle had mended poorly and would require a second surgery.

But that could wait.

It had taken him a long time until he was fit enough to reach this apartment on his own. A doorknob rattled in the next room. He sat straighter. The apartment door creaked open, a light clicked on, followed by footsteps. A soft whistling of breath approached this room. Then those footfalls stumbled near the threshold, expressing worry, concern.

The door into the study swung open.

A tall, gray-haired man stood framed against the light, his body stiff with fear, but then he relaxed with recognition.

" Prefetto Bailey," Cardinal Samarin gasped out. "What are you doing in my apartment? Do you need some help?"

The cardinal eyed the cane resting next to the chair, which remained comfortable and warm. Bailey settled deeper.

"I've been waiting for you," Bailey said. "I'm glad you were late returning home from your evening classes at Holy Cross. It gave me a chance to search your apartment more thoroughly."

"But why?"

"It's taken me months, far too long, to finish this investigation, even with Monsignor Borrelli only keeping a small circle of confidantes. Those whom he might trust with information concerning a discovery in Moscow."

"I don't understand."

"Back in Moscow, Monsignor Borrelli must have been suspicious after being ambushed in Red Square. He must have feared someone had betrayed him, someone he spoke to in Rome, someone he thought he could trust."

"You can't think that I had—"

Bailey pointed at the cardinal's desk, where a drawer showed a broken lock. Bailey lifted what was hidden under the book in his lap, what he had found in that locked drawer. As he raised it, the gold shone in the glow of the hearth. The ring carried an embossed emblem of wings and a sword.

Bailey read what was inscribed on its inside, translating the Russian Cyrillic. "Arkangel Society." He tossed the ring at the cardinal's toes. "Apparently, the Vatican isn't the only Church with its own intelligenza . It seems the Moscow Patriarchate has their own, too."

Cardinal Samarin took a step back, raising a hand. "Let me explain."

Bailey sighed, knowing there could be no explanation. After all that had happened, the injuries and agonies that he had sustained, he had no patience. He pictured Bishop Yelagin, Monsignor Borrelli, Igor Koskov, and so many others.

Bailey reached to his lap, to what else was hidden under his book. He pulled out the Glock 19 fitted with a silencer. He squeezed off two shots, which sounded like sharp gasps. Samarin stumbled two steps away, then crashed to the floor.

Bailey shoved out of the comfortable chair with a small grunt of complaint. He pocketed his weapon, collected his cane, and headed for the door, which required stepping over Samarin's body.

As he did, he did not look back.

He knew this act was a mortal sin.

He would seek absolution with a confessor from his intelligence group. Even with such an ally, he would undoubtedly have to recite hundreds of rosaries to wash away this sin—which he would do.

For a simple reason, one that had nothing to do with forgiveness. Those rosaries would serve as a reminder of the justice served here this evening.

So I'll savor every one of them .