The Confessor (Gabriel Allon Series #3)

The Confessor (Gabriel Allon Series #3)

by Daniel Silva

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Dark secrets are revealed in Vatican City in this Gabriel Allon thriller from #1 New York Times bestselling author Daniel Silva.

In Munich, a Jewish scholar is assassinated. In Venice, Mossad agent and art restorer Gabriel Allon receives the news, puts down his brushes, and leaves immediately. And at the Vatican, the new pope vows to uncover the truth about the church’s response to the Holocaust—while a powerful cardinal plots his next move.

Now, as Allon follows a trail of secrets and unthinkable deeds, the lives of millions are changed forever—and the life of one man becomes expendable...

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780451211484
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Publication date: 02/24/2004
Series: Gabriel Allon Series , #3
Edition description: Reprint
Pages: 480
Sales rank: 38,801
Product dimensions: 4.19(w) x 7.50(h) x 1.00(d)
Age Range: 18 Years

About the Author

Daniel Silva is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Unlikely Spy, The Mark of the Assassin, The Marching Season, and the Gabriel Allon series, including The Kill Artist, The English Assassin, The Confessor, A Death in Vienna, Prince of Fire, The Messenger, The Secret Servant, Moscow Rules, The Defector, The Rembrandt Affair, Portrait of a Spy, The Fallen Angel, The English Girl, The Heist, The English Spy, The Black Widow, and House of Spies. His books are published in more than thirty countries and are bestsellers around the world.

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The apartment house at Adalbertstrasse 68 was one of the few in the fashionable district of Schwabing yet to be overrun by Munich’s noisy and growing professional elite. Wedged between two red brick buildings that exuded prewar charm, No. 68 seemed rather like an ugly younger stepsister. Her façade was a cracked beige stucco, her form squat and graceless. As a result her suitors were a tenuous community of students, artists, anarchists, and unrepentant punk rockers, all presided over by an authoritarian caretaker named Frau Ratzinger, who, it was rumored, had been living in the original apartment house at No. 68 when it was leveled by an Allied bomb. Neighborhood activists derided the building as an eyesore in need of gentrification. Defenders said it exemplified the very sort of Bohemian arrogance that had once made Schwabing the Montmartre of Germany, the Schwabing of Hesse and Mann and Lenin. And Adolf Hitler, the professor working in the second-floor window might have been tempted to add, but few in the old neighborhood liked to be reminded of the fact that the young Austrian outcast had once found inspiration in these quiet tree-lined streets too.

To his students and colleagues, he was Herr Doktorprofessor Stern. To friends in the neighborhood he was just Benjamin; to the occasional visitor from home, he was Binyamin. In an anonymous stone-and-glass office complex in the north of Tel Aviv, where a file of his youthful exploits still resided despite his pleas to have it burned, he would always be known as Beni, youngest of Ari Shamron’s wayward sons. Officially, Benjamin Stern remained a member of the faculty at Hebrew University in Jerusalem, though for the past four years he had served as visiting professor of European studies at Munich’s prestigious Ludwig-Maximilian University. It had become something of a permanent loan, which was fine with Professor Stern. In an odd twist of historical fate, life was more pleasant for a Jew these days in Germany than in Jerusalem or Tel Aviv.

The fact that his mother had survived the horrors of the Riga ghetto gave Professor Stern a certain dubious standing among the other tenants of No. 68. He was a curiosity. He was their conscience. They railed at him about the plight of the Palestinians. They gently asked him questions they dared not put to their parents and grandparents. He was their guidance counselor and trusted sage. They came to him for advice on their studies. They poured out their heart to him when they’d been dumped by a lover. They raided his fridge when they were hungry and pillaged his wallet when they were broke. Most importantly, he served as tenant spokesman in all disputes involving the dreaded Frau Ratzinger. Professor Stern was the only one in the building who did not fear her. They seemed to have a special relationship. A kinship. “It’s Stockholm Syndrome,” claimed Alex, a psychology student who lived on the top floor. “Prisoner and camp guard. Master and servant.” But it was more than that. The professor and the old woman seemed to speak the same language.

The previous year, when his book on the Wannsee Conference had become an international bestseller, Professor Stern had flirted with the idea of moving to a more stylish building, perhaps one with proper security and a view of the English Gardens. A place where the other tenants didn’t treat his flat as if it were an annex to their own. This had incited panic among the others. One evening they came to him en masse and petitioned him to stay. Promises were made. They would not steal his food, nor would they ask for loans when there was no hope of repayment. They would be more respectful of his need for quiet. They would come to him for advice only when it was absolutely necessary. The professor acquiesced, but within a month his flat was once again the de facto common room of Adalbertstrasse 68. Secretly, he was glad they were back. The rebellious children of No. 68 were the only family Benjamin Stern had left.

The clatter of a passing streetcar broke his concentration. He looked up in time to see it disappear behind the canopy of a chestnut tree, then glanced at his watch. Eleven-thirty. He’d been at it since five that morning. He removed his glasses and spent a long moment rubbing his eyes. What was it Orwell had said about writing a book? “A horrible, exhausting struggle, like a long bout of some painful illness.” Sometimes, Benjamin Stern felt as though this book might be fatal.

The red light on his telephone answering machine was blinking. He made a habit of muting the ringers to avoid unwanted interruptions. Hesitantly, like a bomb handler deciding which wire to cut, he reached out and pressed the button. The little speaker emitted a blast of heavy metal music, followed by a warlike yelp.

“I have some good news, Herr Doktorprofessor. By the end of the day, there will be one less filthy Jew on the planet! Wiedersehen, Herr Doktorprofessor.”


Professor Stern erased the message. He was used to them by now. He received two a week these days; sometimes more, depending on whether he had made an appearance on television or taken part in some public debate. He knew them by voice; assigned each a trivial, unthreatening nickname to lessen their impact on his nerves. This fellow called at least twice each month. Professor Stern had dubbed him Wolfie. Sometimes he told the police. Most of the time he didn’t bother. There was nothing they could do anyway.

He locked his manuscript and notes in the floor safe tucked beneath his desk. Then he pulled on a pair of shoes and a woolen jacket and collected the rubbish bag from the kitchen. The old building had no elevator, which meant he had to walk down two flights of stairs to reach the ground floor. As he entered the lobby, a chemical stench greeted him. The building was home to a small but thriving kosmetik. The professor detested the beauty shop. When it was busy, the rancid smell of nail-polish remover rose through the ventilation system and enveloped his flat. It also made the building less secure than he would have preferred. Because the kosmetik had no separate street entrance, the lobby was constantly cluttered with beautiful Schwabinians arriving for their pedicures, facials, and waxings.

He turned right, toward a doorway that gave onto the tiny courtyard, and hesitated in the threshold, checking to see if the cats were about. Last night he’d been awakened at midnight by a skirmish over some morsel of garbage. There were no cats this morning, only a pair of bored beauticians in spotless white tunics smoking cigarettes against the wall. He padded across the sooty bricks and tossed his bag into the bin.

Returning to the entrance hall, he found Frau Ratzinger punishing the linoleum floor with a worn straw broom. “Good morning, Herr Doktorprofessor,” the old woman snapped; then she added accusingly: “Going out for your morning coffee?”

Professor Stern nodded and murmured, “Ja, ja, Frau Ratzinger.” She glared at two messy stacks of fliers, one advertising a free concert in the park, the other a holistic massage clinic on the Schellingstrasse. “No matter how many times I ask them not to leave these things here, they do it anyway. It’s that drama student in 4B. He lets anyone into the building.”

The professor shrugged his shoulders, as if mystified by the lawless ways of the young, and smiled kindly at the old woman. Frau Ratzinger picked up the fliers and marched them into the courtyard. A moment later, he could hear her berating the beauticians for tossing their cigarette butts on the ground.

He stepped outside and paused to take stock of the weather. Not too cold for early March, the sun peering through a gauzy layer of cloud. He pushed his hands into his coat pockets and set out. Entering the English Gardens, he followed a tree-lined path along the banks of a rain-swollen canal. He liked the park. It gave his mind a quiet place to rest after the morning’s exertions on the computer. More importantly, it gave him an opportunity to see if today they were following him. He stopped walking and beat his coat pockets dramatically to indicate he had forgotten something. Then he doubled back and retraced his steps, scanning faces, checking to see if they matched any of the ones stored in the database of his prodigious memory. He paused on a humpbacked footbridge, as if admiring the rush of the water over a short fall. A drug dealer with spiders tattooed on his face offered him heroin. The professor mumbled something incoherent and walked quickly away. Two minutes later he ducked into a public telephone and pretended to place a call while carefully surveying the surroundings. He hung up the receiver.

“Wiedersehen, Herr Doktorprofessor.”

He turned onto the Ludwigstrasse and hurried across the university district, head down, hoping to avoid being spotted by any students or colleagues. Earlier that week, he had received a rather nasty letter from Dr. Helmut Berger, the pompous chairman of his department, wondering when the book might be finished and when he could be expected to resume his lecturing obligations. Professor Stern did not like Helmut Berger, their well-publicized feud was both personal and academic, and conveniently he had not found the time to respond.

The bustle of the Viktualienmarkt pushed thoughts of work from his mind. He moved past mounds of brightly colored fruit and vegetables, past flower stalls and open-air butchers. He picked out a few things for his supper, then crossed the street to Café Bar Eduscho for coffee and a Dinkelbrot. Forty-five minutes later, as he set out for Schwabing, he felt refreshed, his mind light, ready for one more wrestling match with his book. His illness, as Orwell would have called it.

As he arrived at the apartment house, a gust of wind chased him into the lobby and scattered a fresh stack of salmon-colored fliers. The professor twisted his head so he could read one. A new curry takeaway had opened around the corner. He liked a good curry. He scooped up one of the fliers and stuffed it into his coat pocket.

The wind had carried a few of the leaflets toward the courtyard. Frau Ratzinger would be furious. As he trod softly up the stairs, she poked her head from her foxhole of a flat and spotted the mess. Predictably appalled, she glared at him with inquisitor’s eyes. Slipping the key into his door lock, he could hear the old woman cursing as she dealt with this latest outrage.

In the kitchen, he put away the food and brewed himself a cup of tea. Then he walked down the hallway to his study. A man was standing at his desk, casually leafing through a stack of research. He wore a white tunic, like the ones worn by the beauticians at the kosmetik, and was very tall with athletic shoulders. His hair was blond and streaked with gray. Hearing the professor enter the room, the intruder looked up. His eyes were gray too, cold as a glacier.

“Open the safe, Herr Doktorprofessor.”

The voice was calm, almost flirtatious. The German was accented. It wasn’t Wolfie, Professor Stern was sure of that. He had a flair for languages and an ear for local dialects. The man in the tunic was Swiss, and his Schwyzerdtsch had the broad singsong accent of a man from the mountain valleys.

“Who in the hell do you think you are?”

“Open the safe,” the intruder repeated as the eyes returned to the papers on the desk.

“There’s nothing in the safe of any value. If it’s money you’re...”

Professor Stern wasn’t permitted to finish the sentence. In a swift motion, the intruder reached beneath the tunic, produced a silenced handgun. The professor knew weapons as well as accents. The gun was a Russian-made Stechkin. The bullet tore through the professor’s right kneecap. He fell to the floor, hands clutching the wound, blood pumping between his fingers.

“I suppose you’ll just have to give me the combination now,” the Swiss said calmly.

The pain was like nothing Benjamin Stern had ever experienced. He was panting, struggling to catch his breath, his mind a maelstrom. “The combination?” God, but he could barely remember his name.

“I’m waiting, Herr Doktorprofessor.”

He forced himself to take a series of deep breaths. This supplied his brain with enough oxygen to permit him to access the combination to the safe. He recited the numbers, his jaw trembling with shock. The intruder knelt in front of the safe and deftly worked the tumbler. A moment later, the door swung open.

The intruder looked inside, then at the professor.

“You have backup disks. Where do you keep them?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“As it stands right now, you’ll be able to walk with the use of a cane.” He raised the gun. “If I shoot you in the other knee, you’ll spend the rest of your life on crutches.”

The professor was slipping from consciousness. His jaw was trembling. “Don’t shiver, damn you! Don’t give him the pleasure of seeing your fear!” “In the refrigerator.”

“The refrigerator?”

“In case”—a burst of pain shot through him—“of a fire.”

The intruder raised an eyebrow. “Clever boy.” He’d brought a bag along with him, a black nylon duffel, about three feet in length. He reached inside and withdrew a cylindrical object: a can of spray paint. He removed the cap, and with a skilled hand he began to paint symbols on the wall of the study. Symbols of violence. Symbols of hate. Ludicrously, the professor found himself wondering what Frau Ratzinger would say when she saw this. In his delirium, he must have murmured something aloud, because the intruder paused for a moment to examine him with a vacant stare.

When he was finished with his graffiti, the intruder returned the spray can to his duffel, then stood over the professor. The pain from the shattered bones was making Benjamin Stern hot with fever. Blackness was closing in at the edges of his vision, so that the intruder seemed to be standing at the end of a tunnel. The professor searched the ashen eyes for some sign of lunacy, but he found nothing at all but cool intelligence. This man was no racist fanatic, he thought. He was a professional.

The intruder stooped over him. “Would you like to make a last confession, Professor Stern?”

“What are you”, he grimaced in pain, “talking about?”

“It’s very simple. Do you wish to confess your sins?”

“You’re the murderer,” Benjamin Stern said deliriously.

The assassin smiled. The gun swung up again, and he fired two shots into the professor’s chest. Benjamin Stern felt his body convulse but was spared further pain. He remained conscious for a few seconds, long enough to see his killer kneel down at his side and to feel the cool touch of his thumb against his damp forehead. He was mumbling something. Latin? Yes, the professor was certain of it.

“Ego te absolvo a peccatis tuis, in nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.”

The professor looked into his killer’s eyes. “But I’m a Jew,” he murmured.

“It doesn’t matter,” the assassin said.

Then he placed the Stechkin against the side of Benjamin Stern’s head and fired one last shot.


Excerpted from "The Confessor"
by .
Copyright © 2004 Daniel Silva.
Excerpted by permission of Penguin Publishing Group.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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From the Publisher

"A shrewd, timely thriller that opens the heart of the Vatican." -Chicago Tribune

"Daniel Silva has now indisputably joined the ranks of Graham Greene and John Le Carré." -Washingtonian

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The Confessor (Gabriel Allon Series #3) 4.2 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 165 reviews.
Guest More than 1 year ago
I loved this book. Silva has an incredible story that is well thought out and logical. He combines what seem like seperate incidents into a fabulous climax. This is the first Silva book I've read but surely won't be the last. This book makes the DaVinci code look like Dr. Seuss.
Guest More than 1 year ago
My first Silva book was a total 'homerun'! It was difficult to put this book down at night and on a couple evenings I read until the early hours of the next day. One of the fascinating aspects of this tale were the chases, the streets and roads, and the various cities where the Leopard and Allon, et al, traveled to in pursuit of their victims, information sources, and finally each other. Having lived and traveled in Europe, much of the 'travel' and searching in the plot was on familiar grounds. This made the action really come alive and I found it integral to the story's action.
Guest More than 1 year ago
I listened to this on tape right after the Da Vinci code and it made me wonder what the hoopla about the code meant, this was actually more compelling and moved faster. I am going to listen to the rest of his books as soon as possible. I particularly enjoyed the Vatican intrigue and the historical information about the Vatican and their actions during World War II, even though it is fiction.
Guest More than 1 year ago
This was a fantastic book. I hope Silva brings back the same character in another book. I read the Kill Artist and English Assassin also, both great books!
Guest More than 1 year ago
Among secretive international organizations, few are as mysterious as the Curia, the ruling body of the Catholic Church¿a nest of political intrigue that protects the world¿s most powerful, carefully controlled religious institution. It¿s in this complex, sometimes dark empire that DC¿s Daniel Silva¿a former CNN producer¿sets his sixth novel. The Confessor opens with the murder of Jewish historian and writer Benjamin Stern in his Munich apartment. The killer covers Benjamin¿s walls with Nazi symbols but, before the coup de grâce, absolves him of his sins with a Latin prayer. Suspecting that the murder is more than the work of a neo-Nazi, the police call in Mario Delvecchio¿an art restorer who is really Gabriel Allon, an operative who once worked for Israel¿s secret intelligence agency. Gabriel learns that his friend Benjamin was writing a book that may have led to his murder. His quest to find Benjamin¿s assassin takes him from Venice¿s Jewish ghetto to Vienna to London to a convent on the shores of Italy¿s Lake Garda to the recesses of the Vatican. There, the real-life pontiff, John Paul II, has been replaced by a new pope who wants to open the Vatican¿s Secret Archives to bare the truth of the Church¿s role in the Holocaust. He believes it¿s vital for the Church to resolve the centuries of anti-Semitism it fostered and to move on to a unity between Catholics and Jews. But a conservative cabal within the Church is determined to stop the new ¿caretaker¿ pope as well as Gabriel, whose investigation is bringing him closer to the truth about an agreement between the Church and the Nazis that allowed Hitler¿s plans to eliminate Europe¿s Jews. The Confessor is carefully researched, and the historical information doesn¿t slow the slam-bang pace. It¿s one of those rare books that sweep you into forgetting to eat or sleep. Daniel Silva has now indisputably joined the ranks of Graham Greene and John Le Carré. Chuck Conconi, Washingtonian
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I love all the Gabriel Allon books and this one didn't disappoint me. Be sure to read it.
Man_Of_La_Book_Dot_Com More than 1 year ago
"The Con­fes­sor" by Daniel Silva is the third install­ment in the fic­tional adven­tures of the reluc­tant Israeli agent Gabriel Allon. Work­ing as art restorer Mario Delvec­chio, Allon is called one more time into ser­vice to inves­ti­gate the mys­te­ri­ous mur­der of his friend Ben­jamin Stern. As the inves­ti­ga­tion pro­gresses, Allon dis­cov­ers that Stern has been work­ing on a book, that once pub­lished would cause a scan­dal in the Vat­i­can and do great harm to the Roman Catholic Church. How­ever a new era has arrived in the Vat­i­can, a new Pope has been cho­sen who has set his sights to "clean house" and set­ting the Church's WWII record clean by open­ing the Vat­i­can Secret Archives. As you can imag­ine, the pow­er­ful forces, espe­cially the secret soci­ety known as the Crux Vera, within the Roman Catholic Church are none too happy about the Pope's ini­tia­tive and are will­ing to go to great extremes in order to stop it. Allon is pulled into the inter­nal strug­gle through his inves­ti­ga­tion which takes him around Europe, dis­cov­er­ing well hid­den secrets of the shame­ful past. As I have come to expect from Daniel Silva, this book is well writ­ten, well plot­ted and the char­ac­ters are fan­tas­tic. Each book occurs in the Silva uni­verse with recur­ring char­ac­ters (from other series) , have sev­eral lay­ers of intri­ca­cies and thoughts, as well as smaller sto­ries which the reader has to keep track of in the fast pace which the book is told. This novel is also thought pro­vok­ing - what was the church's role dur­ing the holo­caust? We know that no action was taken and the Vat­i­can did open its archives sev­eral yeas back to six schol­ars who found the lack of doc­u­men­ta­tion avail­able astound­ing (the Vat­i­can vil­i­fied the three Jew­ish schol­ars with­out men­tion of the three Catholic schol­ars - all of whom came to the same con­clu­sions). There are a few pages in the end where Mr. Silva touches upon this sub­ject which are well worth read­ing and an excel­lent addi­tion to the book. "The Con­fes­sor" had me gripped from begin­ning to end, a fan­tas­tic story. The whole plot around the Crux Vera didn't bog down the book and Silva did well by stay­ing away from con­spir­acy theories.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I have read several Silva books because I like his style. His stories are solid and his research tends to be good. He does tend to provide a very single-sided view of the world. Silva can do a better job of striving to be open-minded and accept that all things in this world are imperfect, including perhaps his own beliefs. Be less a victim and more a story-teller.
trouble115 More than 1 year ago
I just love the author and the book is amazing!! Action packed all the way and a bit of ramoance!
Guest More than 1 year ago
Daniel Silva has written a shelfful of terrific novels, but The Confessor is the best yet. Gabriel Allon is back for another star turn as the anguished Israeli intelligence operative, this time on a mission to uncover the truth about wartime ties between the Vatican and the Nazis. Silva takes us on a spellbinding romp through Europe as Allon dodges murder and mayhem to uncover a desperate attempt by Vatican hardliners to hide the church's darkest secrets. Once again, Allon's tortured past and ambivalence about the present give this fascinating character an unusually rich patina. Silva's supporting cast is also brilliantly crafted and he's clearly done his homework on a complex, gripping and timely subject. No textbook stuff here, though -- the debate over the church's role in the Holacuast is vividly drawn and compellingly told, with more unexpected twists and harrowing turns than a mountain switchback. All in all, The Confessor is another winner from a now-established master of the craft.
Guest More than 1 year ago
At one time Gabriel Allon and Benjamin Stern were operatives in the Israeli security branch known as The Office. Now Gabriel, working as the great art restorer Mario Delvechio, is working on a Bellini masterpiece in a church in Venice. Ben is taking time off as a professor at the Ludwig Maximillian University in Munich to write a book about the relationship between the church and the Nazi regime. When Ben is murdered, Gabriel is asked to investigate and he knows from the beginning that his friend died at the hands of a professional assassin. There is no evidence of a manuscript, notes or even a computer in Ben¿s apartment. Determined to find justice for his friend, Gabriel follows the trail into the very heart of the Vatican where he finds surprising allies and even more astonishing enemies. Daniel Silva¿s protagonist can turn from an artist to a killer in the blink of an eye yet the readers will find their hearts go out to this complex man who has known much pain and suffering. The inner workings of the Vatican are presented as a microcosm of any city in the world. With a strong story line to encase Gabriel and the Vatican, THE CONFESSOR will have a widespread appeal to anyone who likes a very good reading experience. Harriet Klausner
Anonymous 10 months ago
I been looking for a good author and Daniel Silva is my choice. This story was mesmerizing. Loved it.
Anonymous 11 months ago
Absolutely great book. A definitive must read.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Only what I would expect from Daniel Silva.
FMRox on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
Third in Gabriel Allon series we finally get to see some more information about art restoration. However, we are interrupted by Catholicism evil plot to hide WWII treatment of the Jews. Although, this is a typical fast paced, action packed espionage international series, I'm ready for long rest after this 3rd novel. The character is sad and flat with no further development. Interesting characters from novels one and two don't return. Romantic interests seem one-sided. The serial plot needs more depth.
sergerca on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
Interesting story but the anti-Catholicism is palpable and grossly misinformed. Looks like Silva read "Hitler's Pope" and didn't question any of it. I'd recommend that he look into the Pave the Way Foundation, a Jewish organization, which, though it didn't set out to, has discovered reams of evidence that Pius XII was anything but "Hitler's Pope."
nikitasamuelle on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
Daniel Silva's Gabriel Allon books are generally good late-night reading on a weekend. While the first half of the book held my interest, I found the denouement abrupt and unsatisfying. It's as if Silva tired of the plot and just wanted to end it. That said, I'll keep reading since I have enjoyed the other books in the series.
skinglist on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
As I felt with Angels & Demons, it's incredibly odd to be reading this book after the death of Pope John Paul II, especially since I think the comments on Lucchesi being a caretaker pope have matched what some have had to say re: the new pope, whose name, I'm ashamed to say, I don't even recall.As for the twist in why he wanted to bring the actions to light, I found that amusing. When they first mentioned the little boy asleep in Sr. Regina's lap, I figured him to be someone but for some reason it never clicked that it could be Lucchesi. I smiled when we learnt it though because it was all falling into place. I like it when an author allows that to happen rather than thinking we need a baseball bat to the head to "get" it."'But I was here,' Shamron said with conviction. 'I was always here. And I remember it all.'" I have no idea why, but that got Guns 'n' Roses' (yes, their cover, not the Stones' original recording) version of 'Sympathy for the Devil' in my head. Doesn't fit the plot at all, but it went through my head and stuck.This book also raised some interesting questions. Yes, it's a novel but the fact remains that the church didn't take much action during the holocaust, which is pretty sad. Whether they truly helped Eichmann escape to Argentina, I don't know, but if they did, I think it's horrible that they aided a known war criminal.I actually preferred this one to the various Dan Brown books because while it dealt with Crux Vera as a 'secret society' the book didn't get bogged down in conspiracy theories and CV functioned as a part of the story without BEING the story.As for the end, both with them catching up with the Leopard and Carlo Casagrande's suicide, I was ambivalent. I understood to some extent why the latter had to happen, but I almost wish neither had, I prefer open ended endings.
MSWallack on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
Silva seems to have finally put all of the pieces in place.
indygo88 on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
I'd read a previous Gabriel Allon novel a while back & remember it being a fairly decent read. I could say the same about this one. The story evolves around yet another corruption within the Catholic Church, although also includes the supposed role of this corruption during the Jewish roundup during WWII. It was an interesting take, as I'd not really read anything tying these two together before. I listened to the abridged audio, and most of my criticisms may be attributed to that. For me, there were lots of character names that I had trouble keeping track of & I sometimes had trouble remembering if it was a good guy or a bad guy. I was a little disappointed with the climax. The story built up pretty well, but then the climax came all a bit quickly & without so much drama. Again, this may have been due to my reading of the abridged audio. I do think Gabriel Allon is an interesting main character, although character development is sketchy. You get the feeling there's a lot about this guy you don't really know, and it would be nice to see him open up a little.
theportal2002 on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
This is a very good book. Conspiracy theories a plenty! I'm going to pickup the other two books in the series. The Kill Artist and The English Assasin!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I've only read the 1st 3 of the series. This one was fantastic!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Loved it
Anonymous More than 1 year ago