From the author who “ranks among the best of the younger American spy novelists” ( The Washington Post ) comes a stunning thriller of ancient and modern betrayal. Munich: The writer Benjamin Stern entered his flat to see a man standing there, leafing through his research, and said, “Who the hell are you?” In answer, the man shot him. As Stern lay dying, the gunman murmured a few words in Latin, then gathered the writer’s papers and left. Venice: The art restorer Gabriel Allon applied a dab of paint carefully to the Bellini, then saw the boy approaching, a piece of paper in his hand. It would be about Stern, he knew. They would want him to leave right away. With a sigh, the Mossad agent finished his work, then began to pack his brushes. Vatican City: The pope known as Paul VII–“Pope Accidental,” to his detractors–paced in his garden, thinking about the things he knew and the enemies he would make. He believed he understood why God had chosen him for this job, but the road in front of him was hard and exceedingly perilous. If he succeeded, he would revolutionize the Church. If not, he might very well destroy it–and himself. In the weeks to come, the journeys of all these men will come together, following a trail of long-buried secrets and unthinkable deeds, leaving each one forever changed. Intrigue will dominate their lives and death stalk their paths, all of them in the shadow of the Confessor. Filled with rich characters, remarkable prose, and an intricately woven plot suffused with surprise and intensity, this is an uncommonly powerful work by a new master of the art. Praise for Daniel Silva and The Confessor “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.”— The Washingtonian “Utterly compelling...uncommonly intelligent.”— Booklist (starred review)  “Accomplished…elegantly written…a compelling piece of fiction, one that manages to be both superior entertainment and a hard look at serious issues.”— The Washington Post “Provocative historical revelations will keep readers enthralled.”— Publishers Weekly Daniel Silva is the author of the bestselling novels The Unlikely Spy , The Mark of the Assassin , The Marching Season , The Kill Artist , and The English Assassin . He lives in Washington, D.C., with his wife, NBC correspondent Jamie Gangel. MUNICH 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 hu