“Wait here.”

Gabriel set off along the street, searching for a destitute-looking clergyman amid the world’s most exclusive storefronts. Eventually, he passed through an archway beneath the Museo Correr and emerged into the Piazza San Marco. Father Joshua was walking past Caffè Florian toward the campanile. The priest seemed to move across the floodwaters without disturbing the surface. He made no attempt to lift the hem of his garment.

Gabriel hastened after him. “Father Joshua?”

The priest stopped at the foot of the bell tower.

Gabriel addressed him in Italian, the language he had spoken in the Manuscript Depository of the Secret Archives. “Don’t you remember me, Father Joshua? I’m the one who—”

“I know who you are.” His smile was benevolent. “You’re the one with the name of the archangel.”

“How do you know my name?”

“There were recriminations after your visit to the Secret Archives. I overheard things.”

“Do you work there?”

“Why would you ask such a question?”

“Your name doesn’t appear on the staff directory. And unless I’m mistaken, you weren’t wearing any identification that day.”

“Why would someone like me require identification?”

“Who are you?”

“Who do you say that I am?”

His Italian was beautiful, but it was colored with an unmistakable accent.

“Do you speak Arabic?” asked Gabriel.

“Like you, I speak many languages.”

“Where are you from?”

“The same place you are.”

“Israel?”

“The Galilee.”

“Why are you in Venice?”

“I came to see a friend.” He noticed Gabriel looking at his hands. “I bear in my body the marks of the Lord Jesus,” he explained.

Two women splashed past them. They stared at Gabriel apprehensively but seemed not to notice the man standing in ankle-deep water in sandals and a cloak.

“Were you ever able to find the rest of the gospel?” he asked.

“Not before it was destroyed.”

“The Holy Father was afraid that would happen.”

“Were you the one who gave it to him?”

“Of course.”

“How were you able to open the door of the collezione without a key?”

He gave a sly smile. “It wasn’t difficult.”

“Did the Holy Father show the book to anyone else?”

“A Jesuit.” Father Joshua frowned. “For some reason, my word wasn’t good enough. The Jesuit agreed with me that the book was authentic.”

“He’s an American, this Jesuit?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know his name?”

“The Holy Father refused to tell me. He said he was going to give the gospel to you when the Jesuit was finished with it.”

“Finished with what?”

“His Holiness didn’t say.”

“Where were you when you had this conversation?”

“The papal study. But why do you ask?”

“The men who murdered the Holy Father were listening. They could hear his voice but not yours.”

His expression darkened. “You must feel guilty.”

“About what?”

“His death.”

“Yes,” admitted Gabriel. “Terribly guilty.”

“Don’t,” said the priest. “It wasn’t your fault.”

He turned to leave.

“Father Joshua?”

The priest stopped.

“When did you remove the first page of the gospel?”

He raised a bandaged hand. “I’m afraid I must be on my way. May the peace of the Lord be with you always. And with your wife and children as well. Go to them, Gabriel. They’re searching for you.”

With that, he set off between the columns of St. Mark and St. Theodore. Gabriel quickly drew his phone and engaged the camera, but he could see no trace of the priest on the screen. He hurried over to the gondola station on the Riva degli Schiavoni and looked to the right and then the left.

Father Joshua was gone.

AT TWO P.M. THE FOLLOWING afternoon, Gabriel received a phone call from General Cesare Ferrari of the Art Squad. He claimed to have come to Venice on an unrelated matter and was hoping Gabriel might have a moment to answer a few questions before his return to Israel.

“Where?”

“Carabinieri regional headquarters.”

Gabriel suggested Harry’s Bar instead. He arrived a few minutes before four; the general, a few minutes after. They ordered Bellinis. Gabriel’s immediately gave him a headache. He drank it nonetheless. It was irresistibly delicious. Besides, it was his last day of vacation.

“The perfect end to an imperfect day,” said the general.

“What is it now?”

“Next year’s budget.”

“I thought fascists loved cultural patrimony.”

“Only if there’s enough tax revenue to pay for it.”

“I guess bashing immigrants isn’t good for the economy after all.”

“Is it true they were responsible for the flooding here in Venice?”

“That’s what I read on Russia Today.”

“And did you happen to read Alessandro Ricci’s article in La Repubblica this morning?” The general plucked an enormous green olive from the bowl in the center of the table. “The chattering classes think Saviano’s coalition might not survive.”

“What a shame.”

“They say a private audience with the wildly popular new pope would do wonders for his position.”

“I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

“His Holiness might want to reconsider in light of the fact that he was in Florence the night that Swiss Guard was killed. If memory serves, you were there, too. And then there’s that missing priest from the Order of St. Helena. His name escapes me.”

“Father Graf.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know where he is, would you?”

“Not a clue,” answered Gabriel truthfully.

“Perhaps someday you’ll tell me how all the pieces of this affair fit together.” The general ordered two more Bellinis and surveyed the interior of Harry’s Bar. “They did a remarkable job with the repairs. You wouldn’t even know there was a flood.” He gave Gabriel a sidelong glance. “I suppose you’ll get used to it.”

“You’ve obviously been talking to Francesco Tiepolo.”

Ferrari smiled. “He tells me you’re going to be working for your wife soon.”

“She hasn’t accepted my terms yet.”

“Do you think she might allow me to borrow you from time to time?”

“For what?”

“I’m in the business of recovering stolen paintings. And you, my friend, are very good at finding things.”

“Except for the Gospel of Pilate.”

“Ah, yes. The gospel.” The general removed a manila folder from his briefcase and laid it on the table. “That sheet of paper you gave me was produced by a mill near Bologna. A small operation. One man, in fact. Very high quality. We’ve found numerous examples of his work in other cases.”