Lefferts nodded. “Both the pope and the cardinal are healthy and safe.”

  “The message we received from them seemed genuine, couched in phrases and with references that only they would know. But one can never be too careful.” Romulus inclined his head. “The duke also wonders if you would be so kind as to satisfy one other curiosity of his: by what path did you come to Palestrina and what did you see along the way?”

  Sherrilyn looked up. “Any particular reason why he wants to know?”

  “There is no cause for alarm, signora, but the duke now keeps all his men here in Palestrina. If one ventures out, one might run afoul of a Spanish tithing detachment. Or other potentially dangerous groups.”

  “Such as?”

  Romulus shrugged. “The liveried men of rival houses. With Barberini’s fortunes at such low ebb, we must be careful. Our neighbors could transform into wolves. Compared to three months ago, we are easy prey. And of course, who can really trust the papal troops? And now-your journey?”

  “Yeah, sure. Colonel North is our intelligence officer, and gives great reports. Tom?” Harry’s eyes sparkled mischievously.

  North suppressed a sigh. “After making landfall at Nettuno, we traveled by cart and mount to the east, where we picked up the Appian Way at the end of the first day. From there, we followed the Roman Road north until reaching Velletri, where we took the cart path to the northeast. Travel was slow, but that route kept the Alban Hills between ourselves and Rome, which we deemed prudent. That brought us here: three days travel, including this one.”

  “Any sign of the Spanish?”

  “Happily, no, but one of the villages we passed had been visited by a foraging unit from Rome. No one killed, but a few farmers were roughed up when the Spanish impounded all the grain.”

  Romulus nodded. “This is an increasingly common story. Borja is sending foragers throughout the Lazio, rotating their destination to distribute his policy of public rapine with the greatest possible equity.” Although the man did not smile, Thomas was fairly sure he had intended his last comment as a sardonic witticism.

  George Sutherland’s question came out more akin to a growl. “Is there any resistance to these thieves?”

  Romulus turned to look at the immense Englishman. “Very little. None that is serious. Complaints, rather than conflict.” The man shrugged. “The farmers and mayors of the Lazio just hope Borja will depart. If he does not, they will need to be in his good graces. It is a most unsatisfactory situation.”

  “Sounds pretty calm, too.” Lefferts was rubbing his jaw.

  “Yes. Too calm, for our tastes.”

  “How so?” asked Sherrilyn.

  Romulus’s eyes seemed to glint for a moment, despite the dull light of the oil lamps. “Barberini’s other uncle-the late cardinal, Francesco-was followed out into the countryside by Borja’s thugs, taken prisoner, and then cut down when he ‘attempted to escape.’ Many of the duke’s friends from other families were slaughtered in a similar fashion. Rome grumbles. But does nothing.”

  Thomas was careful to keep the tone of his inquiry interested, rather than critical. “What would you have Rome do?”

  The black eyes flicked over at him. “A good question.”

  Harry sat on the edge of the cart they had purchased in Nettuno. “I suggest that we do one job at a time. Once we’re done getting our friends out of Borja’s hands, I’m hoping my boss sends us back to help you with the situation here in Rome. So the faster I get the first job done, the faster I can get to whatever comes next.”

  Romulus nodded. “I will tell you all that I may about Rome.”

  Harry nodded. “Good. Let’s start with the basics: do you know where Frank Stone and his wife, Giovanna are being held?”

  “Yes. They were recently moved to the palace now occupied by the Family Altemps. Not the main Palazzo Altemps, you understand.” Seeing the unanimous confusion on the faces before him, Romulus attempted to help. “This is the palazzo that was originally built by Scipione Borghese.”

  That explanation only generated more confusion among the Crew. North sought clarification, “But wouldn’t that make it the Palazzo Borghese?”

  “No, no; it’s-”

  “It’s what our book calls the Palazzo Rospigliosi,” announced Sherrilyn, holding up a book with a bold-colored cover, titled in large letters: Frommer’s Rome. “Not too far from the actual Palazzo Borghese. Which is Borja’s own lair, if our information is correct.”

  Romulus nodded. “Yes, this is all correct. Your friends were moved to what you call the Palazzo Rospigliosi a little more than a week ago.”

  “Have any of your people been able to contact them?”

  Romulus did not hide his incredulity. “Signor Lefferts-I know your name, since your reputation and style precedes you-we no longer have any informers in such places. Those few that we kept in the staffs of other families, as they certainly kept their own among ours, are no longer safe to contact, even if we could. It is the lefferti who keep us apprised of events in the city.”

  “So,” Donald Ohde sounded amused, “Harry’s fan club of Lefferts-wanna-bes still exists.”

  “Yes, but in drastically reduced numbers.” Romulus hesitated. “Many were killed in the initial attack. Many more were hunted down.”

  “Why?”

  “They were known to be helping your embassy, at least indirectly.”

  Harry took the news with, for him, a notable lack of reaction: he seemed oddly still. “I see. And what have they reported about the conditions under which Frank and Giovanna are being held?”

  “Not much. Frank was evidently wounded; some injury to one hand is speculated, and he has either lost a leg, or at least temporarily lost the use of it.”

  “Damn.” Lefferts kicked at a tuft of hay. “That complicates things. What about Giovanna?”

  “She was not injured, but of course is carrying a child. She is now four to five months pregnant.”

  “Gotta move fast,” Harry muttered to no one.

  Romulus stared at him. “‘Move fast?’ Signor Lefferts, do you have any idea how formidable a structure the Palazzo Rospigliosi is?”

  “No.”

  “It is very formidable. Very large. Many, many halls, rooms, salons.” He looked around the stable. “I mean no disrespect, but your group seems very small for the task.”

  “Maybe. But there are a lot of ways to stage a prison break. And not all of them require a frontal attack with superior numbers. As a matter of fact, that’s the kind of strategy we always try to avoid.”

  “Well, your methods are none of my business, but I must point out: we do not know where in the complex your friends are being held.”

  “Do you have a map, a floor plan?”

  “Not such as you mean. We have only a few crudely mapped sections that former servants have been able to describe from memory. And I would not approach the present servants for additional information, if I were you.”

  “Why?”

  “They might be cat’s-paws, bait. Most of the servants live on the premises. This is not uncommon; it aids in the security of any palazzo to minimize traffic from the world beyond its walls. However, if they suspect that any group-rescuers such as yourselves, for instance-is trying to gather current intelligence about its interior-”

  “Then they might put a tail on any servants leaving the premises, track them to a meeting with my people, and preemptively hit us before we can hit them.”

  “Precisely.”

  “Well,” mused Harry, rubbing his chin, “looks like this might be a worthy challenge for the Wrecking Crew, after all.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Ferrigno sidled carefully into Cardinal Gaspar de Borja y Velasco’s immense office and cleared his throat. “Senor Dolor has arrived. Most punctually. He has brought an associate. Should I have the second man wait outside?”

  Borja nodded, and experienced a sensation that he did not recognize for a long moment: a brief pang of fear. Fear? Fear of a subordinate?

  But, Borja admitted, Dolor was not the average subordinate. He was not merely unusually efficient and egoless; he was-well, unusual. And the first inquiries Borja had made about him among his senior officers, and those Spanish cardinals who kept close tabs on the coming and goings and changes in Philip’s Court, had provided no useful information: a few had heard his name. None knew anything about him.

  Dolor was the very antithesis of Quevedo, who had been happiest when everyone knew his name, his deeds, his fame. Francisco de Quevedo y Villega had been an insufferable braggart, relying upon-and endlessly crowing about-his twinned gifts of inspiration and improvisation. Alas, he had had a reasonable foundation upon which to build his flights of self-congratulatory fancy: his 1631 comedy (he usually neglected to mention his co-author Mendoza) Who Lies Most Thrives Most, had been concocted in a scant twenty-four hours for Philip IV’s Saint John’s Day fete, and debuted in the shadow of the Prado. However, Quevedo afterward demonstrated even greater inventiveness in finding opportunities for bringing mention of this triumph into almost every conversation.

  Dolor was, in contrast, a nonentity, a shadow-and twice as disconcerting because he was. Borja turned to face the door as the man in question entered. His bow was deep enough to be adequate, but not an iota more. “Your Eminence,” he said quietly.

  Borja remained seated. “Senor Dolor. You have new information?”

  “And activity reports.”

  “Such as?”

  “The doctor assigned to the prisoners indicates that he believes Frank Stone is now well enough to be moved about freely without danger to his leg. We are preparing their next and final point of incarceration now, as well as the special move whereby we will transfer them to that place.”

  Borja tidied several papers peevishly. “I indulge you in this, Dolor, because of your proven competencies in other regards. I do not see the purpose of all this moving about. We could have left them in their first prison safely enough. It is, after all, the kind of dank hole they deserve, and escape was impossible.”

  “Escape will be impossible only if we take strong steps to make it so.”

  “So you tell me. Could we not make this simpler? You may have more men, if you need them. Many more.”

  “What I need, Your Eminence, is your patience and your continued trust. Stearns will make an attempt to free Stone and his wife. Indeed, I believe some of my new reports tentatively confirm that such plans are afoot.”

  Borja sat up straighter. “Explain.”

  “It seems that most of the USE force that aided Simpson’s group outside Chiavenna did not withdraw at all, but came south, and entered Venetian territory. We found evidence they used a trail to skirt south around Chiavenna itself and then followed the lakes down in the direction of Bergamo.”

  “And so you conjecture-?”

  “That at least some of those troops intend to come here, Your Eminence.”

  “Even if that were true, what could such a small group hope to accomplish against a strongly held palace?”

  Dolor shrugged. “You heard what happened at the Tower of London?”

  Borja frowned. “So you believe that the USE, that Stearns, is foolish enough to send this, this-Harry Lefferts-here? To free Stone’s son? That would be madness.”

  Dolor nodded, but his comment did not gush with ready agreement: “I’m sure the English thought the same thing. But rest assured, Your Eminence, the steps I am taking currently will prevent a repeat of the Tower of London debacle. I am more concerned about the possibility that some of these troops have been sent to the Venetian Republic for purposes of protection, not assault.”

  “So you still do not believe that Ambassador Nichols and the remainder of her staff will fall back upon their larger embassy in Venice. Why?”

  “Because they have not done so yet.”

  “What? You have confirmed this?”

  “I have.”

  Borja waited for the explanation, then realized Dolor’s laconic tendencies would require prompting by a direct request: “How do you know?”

  “I have agents in place there. And as of two days ago, there was still no sign of the ambassador or any of her known associates at the Venetian embassy.”

  “As of two days ago? How did you get this report so quickly? Have you procured radios of your own?”

  “No. My Venetian agents located and secured the confidential services of the owners of two dovecotes, one in Venetian territory, one in Bologna. The terminus on the Roman end is a day’s ride into the Lazio, but between the two, the birds provide us with coded intelligence that is only two days old.”

  “Impressive,” admitted Borja, who also found Dolor’s almost mechanically perfect foresight more than slightly disconcerting. A man like this could become dangerous to whomsoever he chose. The cardinal smoothed his robes and reflected: he would have to be very careful about what he chose to discuss with Pedro Dolor in order to minimize his own future vulnerability. “And so if the remnants of the USE’s Rome embassy are not going to Venice, what do you suspect they are doing?”

  “I suspect that they are establishing a new secure site. Which is why I suspect many of the USE troops who rescued Simpson are now in Italy: to become the defensive force for Ambassador Nichols and whoever is with her.”

  Borja did not like the sound of that last clause. “And who do you think might be with her? Urban?”

  “It is possible.”

  “Why? Do you suspect that Urban had a secret arrangement with these Satan-spawned up-timers, that there was prior coordination between them?”

  Dolor frowned. “Coordination? No, nothing formally prearranged. Had that been the case, Urban would have been evacuated earlier, probably in conjunction with the embassy’s own personnel.”

  “So why and how would Urban have gone over the border into Venetian territory and joined the ambassador?”

  “There are many possible reasons, but this much is clear: if Urban has indeed escaped, where would he go besides Venice? Spain has dominion in Naples and Milan. The Lazio is subject to our searches and patrols, and he would be a fool to stay so close to Rome. Tuscany would be the sheerest stupidity; Maffeo Barberini made enemies of the Medicis early in his papacy. Bologna is too diffident and splintered for him to be sure that he will not be betrayed to you. And the Papal States are weak, and the papal troops will not eagerly support a pontiff who cannot pay them and whose status as pope grows ever more questionable.”

  Borja frowned. “Which leaves us with Venice.”

  Dolor nodded. “Yes, Venice. Where the USE already has an embassy. Where Frank Stone’s father has growing business relationships and influence. Where they would find it particularly easy to land their largest plane-the one that sets down on a cushion of air-directly on the lagoon.”

  “And so you believe Urban hopes to escape that way?”

  “It is the only way out of Italy that Spain’s forces cannot block. And the up-timers would be most eager have Urban VIII further indebted to them.”

  Borja’s affirmation was guttural. “And it would give Urban the excuse he has always wanted to consort freely with them and their heretical Swedish overlord. Urban may have been sitting upon the cathedra, but he was always ready to get down on his knees whenever the Swede deigned to dictate policy to Mother Church. But no longer.”

  If Dolor was moved by the stirring rhetoric, he gave no sign of it. “In short, Your Eminence, we will need to remain watchful in all places, but particularly Venice, while your men continue to dig through the rubble of the Hadrian’s Tomb. If, upon turning the last stone, they still find nothing, and my confidential agents have also found nothing, we will need to revisit our course of action in this matter.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that if Urban was blown into small pieces, how will we ever know that was his fate, rather than an escape? We may have to accept that God has decided to deny us certainty.”

  “Your point is well-taken, Senor Dolor. But this is my decision: we will search for Urban VIII until his body is found. Or our savior comes again.”

  “Your Eminence, that could be an expensive proposition. Very expensive.”

  “I need no schooling in the expense of such operations. But more to the point, I am quite expert in appreciating the methods required to pursue the enemies of Mother Church. And of all possible enemies, the most dangerous are traitors. So if we must keep a day and night watch upon the USE’s Venetian embassy, then we must. No matter the cost.”

  “Constant, close surveillance would probably be detected, and thereby, defeat its own purpose. Happily, I also very much doubt it is required, Your Eminence. Has there ever been an embassy in which there is not at least one individual willing to sell important information for the right price?”

  Borja smiled tightly. “Foreign offices are rarely schools of virtue. So, let us presume you are right: that the ambassadora Nichols is sheltering Urban and others of his retinue. Then why have the Americans not already flown down in one of their massive, heretically named Jupiter airplanes?”

  Dolor frowned, nodded. “I have wondered the same thing.”

  “And your conclusions?”

  “Let us call them my conjectures. It could be that the Americans intend on doing just that, but either do not have all the desired passengers in hand yet, or are simply keeping them in an undisclosed location until the plane arrives. At which point they see to it that the passengers will arrive in Venice just before the plane departs, in order to make a quick escape.”

  “You must take preventative steps against such an eventuality.”

  For the first time, the faintest hint of a smile rippled at the corner of Dolor’s mouth.

  “Ah. So this is already in hand.” Borja smoothed his cassock again. “Do you have other conjectures?”

  Dolor pursed his lips for a moment, then said, “Not exactly, but I am troubled by the number of USE troops that apparently headed into Italy after the action outside Chiavenna. Why bring in so many security personnel if Ambassadora Nichols’ important guests are soon to fly away in an airplane? And why send Simpson and his rather important companions home though a risky transalpine route first, rather than waiting for the plane? And why not escort Ginetti down here separately for the same aerial extraction?”