'That would be up the map a bit from New York, yes?'

'Quite a bit…' Again Father Daniel looked toward the front of the bus. Passengers the same as before. Busy with what they were doing. None looking back. His eyes came back to Livermore in time to see him glance at the emergency exit in the seat in front of them.

'You live in Rome?' Livermore smiled amiably.

Why had he looked at the emergency exit? What was that for? 'You asked if I was American. Why would you think I lived in Rome?'

'I've been there off and on. You look familiar, that's all.' Livermore 's right hand was in his lap, but his left was out of sight. 'What do you do?'

The conversation was innocent, but it wasn't. 'I'm a writer…'

'What do you write?'

'For American television…'

'No, you don't.' Abruptly Livermore 's demeanor changed. His eyes hardened, and he leaned in, pressing against Father Daniel. 'You're a priest.'

'What?'

'I said you're a priest. You work at the Vatican. For Cardinal Marsciano.'

Father Daniel stared at him. 'Who are you?'

Livermore 's left hand came up. A small automatic was in it. A silencer squirreled to the barrel. 'Your executioner.'

At the same instant a digital timer beneath the bus clicked to 00:00. A split second later there was a thundering explosion. Livermore vanished. Windows blew out. Seats and bodies flew. A scything piece of razor-sharp steel decapitated the driver, sending the bus careening right, crushing a white Ford against the guardrail. Bouncing off it, the bus came crashing back through traffic, a screaming, whirling, twenty-ton fireball of burning steel and rubber. A motorcycle rider disappeared under its wheels. Then it clipped the rear of a big-rig truck and spun sideways. Slamming into a silver-gray Lancia, the bus carried it full force through the center divider, throwing it directly into the path of an oncoming gasoline tanker.