“No: it makes me a little more worried. Well, no-a lot more worried.”

“What? Why?”

Melissa answered Rita before Arco could even open his mouth. “Because anything one side does know, the other side could know. Can we assume everyone associated with our former Rome embassy-and our embassy in Venice-is unbribable? And that the papal troops who are no doubt traveling along with the friar are equally virtuous? The bottom line is this: there are too many places where a leak could occur. Our ambassador’s very authoritative official source is also far too important to keep his own correspondence. And it’s not as if he was in any position to simply drop in on the friar himself to send news of this rendezvous: he had to send a courier.”

James Nichols shrugged. “At least the embassy is communicating with us by radio; that’s half of the potential intelligence leaks eliminated.”

Rita was frowning at Melissa. “So you think that the ca-the friar-could be intercepted before he gets to us?”

“Maybe. Maybe killed outright; it’s what Borja reportedly did to sixteen other ‘friars’ in Rome just a few weeks ago. Or maybe our friar will be apprehended and questioned to see who he was planning to meet here in Chiavenna.” Melissa’s gaze made a significant circuit of the table.

“Or he might have simply been followed,” put in Arco, “which would be the worst. If our foes were that clever-”

The door to the crotto creaked open slowly and a soldier sauntered in. A buff coat, a saber, one pistol on his belt, but the bandolier and high boots said “horseman.” He wore no colors or livery-typical for armies of the period-and hadn’t as much as a colored armband to suggest his allegiance. But, if the message passed on by James’ daughter Sharon was accurate, he would be a guard dispatched from the papal troops to provide the friar with an escort over the Austrian Alps and down to Rome.