'Roscani and Castelletti,' Adrianna said as the blue Alfa Romeo pulled in and stopped behind the Fiat.
Now the Fiat's door opened, and they saw Scala get out and go to the Alfa. The men chatted for a few moments, then Scala went back to the Fiat and drove off.
'This is a timing thing,' Eaton said. 'Harry Addison goes out two hours ago and doesn't come back. Now Roscani shows up. He's gotta be waiting for Father Daniel to make the next move and make certain nothing happens when he does-'
There was a shrill chirp as Eaton's beeper suddenly went off. Immediately he picked a two-way radio off the seat beside him and clicked it on.
'Yes-'
Adrianna saw his jaw tighten as he listened.
'When?'
Eaton's jaw strained more, and she could see him grind his teeth.
'Not a word from our office, we know nothing about it. – Right.' Abruptly he clicked off and stared into space.
'Li Wen confessed to poisoning the lakes. A few minutes later he was shot and killed by an assailant who was then killed by the security force. Convenient? – Whose stamp does that echo?'
Adrianna felt the chill. 'Thomas Kind…'
Eaton turned back toward the apartment building. 'I don't know what the fuck Roscani's thinking, but if he lets them go into the Vatican after Marsciano, there's every chance somebody's going to get killed, especially if Thomas Kind is in there waiting.'
'James,' Adrianna warned suddenly. An abrupt movement down the street had caught her eye.
Roscani was getting out of his car, looking around, a cell phone to his ear. Castelletti was getting out, too, walking along the sidewalk, an automatic held down alongside his leg. He was looking up at the buildings on either side of the street as if he were Secret Service.
Now Roscani was talking into the phone, nodding, then looking up and motioning to Castelletti. Immediately they both got back into the Alfa.
At the same moment the front door to number 22 Via Nicolo V opened, and a bearded man in a wheelchair and wearing a Hawaiian shirt was pushed into the morning sunshine by a young woman in jeans and sunglasses. The man had a camera case in his lap, the woman carried another over her shoulder.
'It's fucking him,' Adrianna breathed. 'The woman has to be Elena Voso.'
There was an abrupt squeal of tires as Roscani swung the Alfa from where it was parked. Cutting directly across the street, he swerved sharply, then pulled abreast of the wheelchair couple, slowing and staying with them as they moved along the sidewalk toward the Vatican as if they were tourists out for an early stroll.
'Christ, he's going to baby-sit them right into St Peter's.'
Eaton was turning the ignition key, starting the engine, his fingers already tugging at the gearshift. Slowly he eased the green Ford out and down Via Nicolo V. He was angry and frustrated and helpless; the most he could do without creating an international incident was keep the Alfa in sight.
They were turning now, moving from Largo di Porta Cavalleggeri onto Piazza del Sant' Uffizio, a stone's throw from the southern colonnade and the entrance to St Peter's Square. Instinctively, Roscani glanced in the mirror. A green Ford was twenty or thirty yards behind them. It was moving slowly, at the same speed they were. Two people were in the front seat. At his glance, the passenger in the Ford suddenly looked down. Then he saw Elena turn the wheelchair left, heading directly for the colonnade. Again, Roscani looked in the mirror. The Ford was right there, swinging left behind him. Then suddenly it turned right and sped off and out of sight.