The melodic chimes ended their serene song as Harrison’s and Hannah’s eyes met once again. Harrison broke the silence and asked, “Are you visiting Rome?” “Actually I’m working,” Hannah replied. “I’m a journalist for the Washington Sun. I was sent to Rome on special assignment to cover the Pope’s…” Hannah stopped suddenly and chose to modify her response in hopes of showing some sensitivity to the holy man’s friend. “I’m writing a documentary about Josetta’s papal reign and his impact on Roman Catholics, Catholicism and Christians around the world. I started the assignment about six months ago before the Pope became ill. You said you just visited the Pontiff? How is he?” “Off the record?” retorted Harrison. “Off the record,” Hannah echoed. “Not well, I’m afraid” said Harrison. He continued, “But he is a strong man, a man who has weathered many crises throughout the years I’ve known him—even before he was elected to the Holy See. He won’t die until he is ready for death.”
Hannah nodded as if underscoring Harrison’s comment. She asked, “Are you in Rome to visit an old friend or does something else bring you to Italy?” Harrison was cautious in his reply: “I’m on assignment just like you.” ‘Just like you’ he thought to himself. Harrison could hardly believe what he was saying. “I work for the U.S. government,” he stated and decided not to convey his special duties for the President of the United States. After all, he did not trust Hannah; for that matter, he seldom trusted anybody except those he has known over the years and who were part of his inner circle. Harrison concluded that not confiding in others was the primary reason why he was still living today. Beautiful or not, he was not about to go against his training and judgment.
Hannah interrupted his inner thoughts and asked, “What do you do for the government?” “I’m a negotiator, sort of a troubleshooter if you will,” replied Harrison with somewhat of a grim look on his face. He hoped that she would let it go at that to avoid covering up for national security issues and what not. Untrue to journalistic prying, Hannah accepted the response and did not force the issue. She simply said, “Interesting.” Perhaps Hannah already surmised the situation and was being prudent. ‘Perhaps,’ Harrison thought to himself.
Yet, her lack of interest interested him. He asked, “Would you care to join me for lunch?” “Yes, very much, thank you,” replied Hannah without substantial thought.
“I know a small place that is within walking distance from here,” said Harrison. “Casa di Pasta,” he offered while putting his hand out to motion her down the steps. Casa di Pasta was one of Harrison’s favorite dining establishments, one that he visited often in his many taps to romantic Roma. It was conveniently close to the Vatican and featured a variety of Italian cuisine.
The Holy Man and the Man of the Gun
Hannah and Harrison began walking the short distance to the restaurant. There was a brief silence interrupted by Harrison, “Have you worked long for the Washington Sun?” Before Hannah could respond, what sounded like gunshots rang out in their direction. Harrison instinctively cradled Hannah and crouched for cover in the doorway of a nearby building as a car sped by them with its wheels squealing. Puffs of white smoke were left in the wake of the car as evidence that the tires temporarily raced faster than the vehicle itself. Harrison stood cautiously and attempted a glimpse at the speeding vehicle, but was unable to determine the license plate number. Even without such identification, he had a very good idea of the origin of the gunfire.
Hannah cried out, “What’s going on, Harrison?” Harrison helped Hannah from the ground. He pushed her there rather roughly as demanded by the urgency of the situation. “Are you all right?” asked Harrison. “Just a scraped knee, I think” replied Hannah. She continued, “What was that all about? Was that…was that a gunshot?” Harrison thought momentarily of diffusing the situation with some half-truths, but he has grown increasingly weary of building relationships on hidden and twisted facts.
“Yes, they were Hannah” stated Harrison as calmly as he could. “But why?” asked Hannah in such a way as to imply, ‘Why you?’ knowing full well that she has no known enemies in Italy—at least not of the ilk that would hunt her down and kill her. Harrison took a deep breath and said calmly once again, “Sometimes my assignments for the President attract, shall we say, some undesirable, seedy characters. They would like nothing other than to see the President’s negotiating efforts fail if not at least interrupted. I’m sorry that you got involved in my little war. Perhaps we’d better take a rain check for lunch under the circumstances.” “Nonsense” replied Hannah in her best journalistic firm and assertive tone. “You invited me to lunch and you’re not going to get out of it that easy,” Hannah smiled. Harrison smiled back and approved of her moxie. He liked risk-taking in a woman, an appealing woman at that. Harrison asked mockingly, “So, you’re not afraid?” “Of course I’m afraid,” Hannah retorted. “I don’t usually get shot at when I’m in the company of a man, even a handsome man.”
Harrison accepted the compliment without a remark and countered, “It’s your life.” He swung out his right hand and motioned Hannah to finish their short walk to the Casa di Pasta. However, this time, Harrison was hyper-vigilant as he took in a panoramic view of their surroundings. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary although he knew that appearances could be deceiving. Harrison and Hannah continued walking ahead more cautiously than before. Harrison observed that even Hannah was looking around much more than before the brief barrage of bullets.
The couple, strangers to each other, arrived at Casa di Pasta without further incident and entered the cozy, dimly lit restaurant. It was busy as always, but Paolo Peddu, the owner of Casa di Pasta, recognized Harrison immediately. Paolo moved sharply through the gathering hungry crowd. He stepped lively toward the newly met couple and said excitedly, “Ciao, Mr. Rossetti. How wonderful to see you again!” “Ciao,” Harrison returned. “I would like you to meet Miss Littleton.” Paolo smiled as he turned toward Hannah and politely said, “Ciao.” He turned back toward Harrison, “Your usual table, Mr. Rossetti.” “Si, grazie” replied Harrison. Paolo motioned Harrison and his guest to a discreet table in the corner of the restaurant. He gave his special guests two menus and left momentarily.
There was a short silence between the strangers broken by Hannah. “What do you recommend?” she inquired looking up and down her menu. “The pasta is all good here because of their special sauce. It was a family recipe that Paolo received from his great grandmother—subtle and not too spicy. So, just order your favorite pasta and I promise you won’t be disappointed.” With that, Hannah and Harrison returned to their review of their menus and the mouth-watering entrees before them.
Paolo returned with the house salad and several loaves of hot Italian bread. ‘What a handsome couple,’ he said to himself and asked, “Are you ready to order, madam?” “Yes, I think I will have the cannelloni” Paolo smiled, “Si” and turned to Harrison. “Your usual sir?” “Si, grazie” replied Harrison. Paolo took their menus and left their table.
“Your usual?” Hannah smiled with some irony in her voice. “Is that another secret or can you tell me ‘your usual’?” “Meat ravioli,” came Harrison’s ‘what else’ kind of reply. Harrison’s thoughts drifted away from their conversation even with the striking distraction before him. He had a really good idea who was behind the spray of bullets. Harrison’s digression did not go unnoticed by Hannah. “Spia?” she said coyly. Harrison’s hair literally stood on end as he was shocked back to the reality of the present. He looked at Hannah and for one of the very few times in his life he was at a loss for words. The couple silently gazed at each other as Harrison’s shocked expression did not wane. A flash of Josetta’s image past by in memory as the name Spia was uttered so blatantly.
“I’ll ask you not to refer to