Chapter 10.
The tent is quiet enough that he can hear his own breath. The five-minute exam, in this case, is nearly over. The wristband on his arm is warm. He hears a soft beep—like the black band just reported him.
“Eight months ago, you thwarted an organized violent attack at St. Peter’s, is that correct?” the woman asks.
Luca keeps his face still. He has testified in court. He has faced families. “I think of it as averting one, since it never really began,” Luca says, holding her gaze. “But yes.”
“And were you at all concerned that an innocent congregant might be killed before you stopped the gunman,” she asks, “because of how crowded the Basilica was for Sunday Mass?”
“Very much so.”
“But you fired your weapon anyway.”
“I did,” he says, not a hint of defensiveness. “If I didn’t, more innocent people would have died.”
“So you acted appropriately?”
“I acted according to my threat assessment,” he says.
Luca waits. He has never been intimidated by silences when he is the one asking the questions, of witnesses or perps. He is used to silence. Silence is where people confess.
The woman reaches for her pen, makes a mark on the paper in front of her, looks at him even more intently.
“Are you only here for the money?”
“No,” Luca says firmly. It’s the easiest truth he’s spoken in days.
“So why are you here, then?”
He has been waiting for this question since he sat down.
“I believe I can make a difference beyond what I do for work,” he says. “If given the opportunity, in a world much bigger than my own.”
“So are you saying that your current job isn’t enough for you to accomplish what you want with your life?” she says.
“It’s who I am,” he says. “But not all that I am. My life away from the uniform, with my wife and my children, is just as important to me.” He pauses and says, “If not more.”
The woman smiles.
It’s the first human thing she’s done, and he doesn’t trust it.
“Now,” she asks softly, “why would you lie to me, Inspector Tommasi?”