Lost and Found in Prague Read Online Free PDF

had time for a smoke. He inserted a cigarette in his silver holder—he hated cigarette stains on fingers—lit up and drew in a comforting drag. He was content to stand and wait, though if he’d been wearing his collar he would most likely be invited to go ahead. People in Europe still respected the collar.
    He tapped his cigarette ash into a receptacle by the cab stand and noticed a wrinkle in the leg of his trousers. Another reason he hated the confinement of an airplane. He gave it a quick, firm brush with his wide hand, pressing the crease with his fingers. By the time he finished his smoke, he’d moved to the front of the line. His cab arrived and he gave the driver the address of his hotel.
    As they drove into the center of Prague, he wondered what Ms. Pierson would think coming back after an absence of almost twenty years. It was now a vibrant, commercial city with modern shops and galleries, cafés and theaters, combined in a charming way with the centuries-old buildings, cobbled streets, medieval churches, and ancient castles. Little physical damage had been done to the old city during the war. Most of the historical center had been spared, and he found it one of the loveliest in Eastern Europe. He’d once heard Prague described as the finest Italian city outside of Italy. Yet, during the forty years of the Communist regime, there was no pride in ownership and buildings had fallen into disrepair. The privatization and commercialism after the revolution had done much for the city. A visitor, such as the American woman, returning after a long absence would find the city quite delightful.
    His first encounter with Ms. Dana Pierson had been seven years ago now, though the offenses that brought him to Boston had gone back decades, the sins of betrayal, the perhaps equally great sins of denial and cover-up. All had contributed to a terrible time in the history of the Church. When he reported back to Rome, it was with a heavy heart.
    The trip to Boston had been one of many sporadic assignments after the dissolution of the office of Promoter of the Faith and then Father Borelli’s resignation from his position at the university in Rome. He had a reputation for being fair and thorough, though many of his efforts received little recognition. Much of his work was done “unofficially,” on special assignment. Now he found himself in Prague, though not officially. Not even unofficially. He had come simply because Giuseppe Ruffino—Beppe—had called. Over the past several years he had often visited his friend, who had been appointed the prior of Our Lady Victorious by the Holy Father shortly after a new government had been established in the early nineties. He’d give Beppe a call as soon as he got to the hotel. Saint Giuseppe, he often called him. They had been best friends since childhood, growing up in a little village south of Florence, one of the prettiest places on earth with its lovely vineyards and rolling hills, an area well-known for its fine wine production.
    His cab arrived at the hotel and he tipped the driver generously, as he always did, though he had but the one small briefcase, which he carried in himself. He picked up his keys, inquiring if his package had been delivered. It had not. He’d packed a clean set of underwear in his briefcase, along with his toiletries and breviary, but he should not have trusted that the delivery and pressing would be done, particularly with the holiday. He took the elevator up to his third-floor room, miffed that he had nothing to wear other than what was on his back. Aware that he should be climbing stairs if just for a little exercise, he excused himself by the fact that he’d had a long day. As he stepped off the small elevator, he felt a familiar cramp knotting in his left leg. He also needed to pee. Again. This getting old did not agree with him.
    In his room, he used the bathroom, then opened his briefcase, pulled out a bottle, fixed himself a drink, got out his