"Are you Catholic, Mr. Renard?" "Not technically, though I'm very impressed with what I've seen so far. It's definitely an option, spiritual-wise." "If you were, you'd be excommunicated. Placing your soul in mortal danger might not worry you, Mr. Renard, but any Catholic involved in this -- this sinister operation of yours -- is also automatically excommunicated. Am I getting through to you?" "Excuse me, but what's so quote unquote sinister about an American Pope? I thought you were looking out for our interests here." "Do you have any idea," she said, "how catastrophic this could be? Trying to influence the election of the Roman Pope ?" "Unlike influencing the election of the U.S. President?" "Mr. Renard, the Pope is above politics! He is a holy figure!" "Well, our President is no saint, I'll grant you." The interview didn't go uphill from there. She threatened to have me deported. "Where?" I said. "To the other side of the Tiber? I'll walk and save you the trouble." Unfortunately, she took me up on my offer. And just try to find a cab in Rome during a papal conclave. I had to walk back to my pensione . I was as steamed as Tullio carciofi when I got back to the Tiberculosi. I said to Lorraine, "Turns out Angelo is no angel. He's working for the bad guys." At this exact moment the phone rang. It was Bernard. "A quarter million dollars to charter a 747?" He didn't sound at all pleased.