The woman read the odd message and nodded, her eyes wide with fear. Pocketing the paper and pen, Mendib slowly took his hand off her mouth, but he kept a good grip on her arm as they moved outside.
"Marco, can you hear me?"
"I'm here, Sofia."
"Where are you?"
"Near the cathedral."
"All right. I've got news from the coroner. The old man who was killed had no tongue or fingerprints. He figures the tongue was cut out not long ago and the fingerprints burned off around the same time. He was carrying no identification of any kind. Oh-he doesn't have any teeth either; his mouth is like an empty cave, nothing."
"Shit!"
"The coroner hasn't finished the autopsy, but he stepped out to call and let us know we've got another mute."
A voice interrupted the conversation. It was Pietro.
"Marco, listen up! Our guy is at the corner of the piazza. There's a woman with him-he's got his arm around her. Should we grab him?"
"Just keep on them, unless it looks like he's threatening her. Don't lose him; I'm on my way. Keep on the tails too-if we've seen him, then so have they. And no more fuckups-if any of them loses us again, I'll have your balls."
The woman took Mendib to her car, a small SUV He shoved her across the seat and got behind the wheel. His side was on fire and he could hardly breathe, but he managed to start the car and pull out into the chaotic late-afternoon traffic.
He drove aimlessly through the city, thinking furiously. He had to get rid of the woman, but he knew that as soon as he did, she would notify the carabinieri. Even so, he had to take the risk-he could not take her to the cemetery. And if he left the car near the cemetery, the carabinieri would be able to track him down. But he was in no condition to walk far-the blood he had lost and the throbbing wound in his side precluded that. He would pray that the cemetery guard was at his post; the good man was a brother, a member of the community, and he would help him-unless, like the others, he had been ordered by Addaio to kill him.
He decided to risk it: He would chance the cemetery. He had nowhere else to go.
When they were close, but not so close that the woman would realize where he was planning to go, he stopped the car and stared at her, as she looked at him in terror. He took out the pen and paper again and wrote: I am going to let you go. If you tell the police, you will regret it. Even if they protect you now, there will come a day when they do not, and then I will come. Go, and tell no one what has happened. Remember-if you do, I will come back for you.
He thrust the note at her, and the terror in her expression redoubled as she read it.
"I swear I won't tell… please-let me go…" she pleaded.
Mendib tore the paper into pieces and threw them out the window. Then he got out of the car and straightened up, though not without difficulty. He was afraid of losing consciousness again before he reached the cemetery. As he approached the wall and began to walk along it, he heard the sound of the car pulling away.
He walked for several minutes, sitting down when the pain became unbearable, praying to God that he might live and be saved. He wanted to live-he no longer was willing to give his life for the community, or for anyone. He had given his tongue and two long years of his life locked up in prison.
Marco glimpsed the figure of the mute staggering along. He and his detail stayed well back, as they had while they tailed the SUV It was clear the man was wounded and could hardly walk. They caught sight of the two Turkish tails again, keeping a good distance away. Marco had kept men on them when the main group split off to follow the mute and his hostage.
"Stay sharp-we have to take them all," he cautioned everyone. "If the tails decide to separate or break off, you know what you have to do-divide up, some of you with them, the others on our man."
None of them was aware of the others silently monitoring them all, blending seamlessly into the surroundings.
A reddish glow appeared on the horizon as the sun began to set. Mendib tried to walk faster; he wanted to get into the cemetery before the guard closed the gate. Otherwise, he'd have to jump the wall, and he was in no condition to do that. He was bleeding again, and he held a scarf he had taken from the woman against the wound. At least it was clean.
The guard's figure was silhouetted against the cypresses at the cemetery entrance. He looked expectant, as though he was waiting for someone or something.
Mendib could sense the man's fear, and indeed, when the guard saw the mute struggling toward him, he rushed to close the gate. Mendib, marshaling his last strength, reached the entrance and managed to slip inside, shoving the guard aside. He lurched toward tomb 117.
Marco's voice came over the network to all personnel.
"He pushed his way into the cemetery, past the guard. I want you men inside. Where are the Turks?"
A second voice came over the line: "They're about to come into your view. They're headed for the cemetery too."
To the surprise of Marco and his watching men, the tails opened the gate with a key, carefully closing it behind them.
When they reached the gate, several of the cara-binieri clambered over the wall to keep the Turks within striking distance, while another worked on the lock. It took him several minutes to open it, as Marco paced impatiently.
"Giuseppe, find the guard," Marco ordered once inside. "We haven't seen him leave, so he must be inside somewhere."
"Right, boss. Then what?"
"Report back to me with what he says, and then we'll decide. Take some backup."
"Right."
"You, Pietro, come with me. Where the fuck are they?" Marco asked the carabinieri through the walkie-talkie.
"I think they're heading toward a mausoleum-a big one, with a marble angel above it," a voice said.
"Good. Where is it? We're on our way."
No one was in Turgut's apartment-Padre Yves and his friends seemed to have vanished. Ana stood quiedy, listening for any sounds, but absolute silence reigned.
She scanned the modest rooms, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Nothing stood out. Tentatively pushing at the door to a bedroom, she peered inside and found it empty too. Back to the living room, the kitchen, even the bathroom. Nothing. But Ana knew they had to be here, because the front door was bolted from the inside and that was the only other way out of the house.
She went over the house again. In the kitchen was a door that opened into a pantry. She tapped on the wall, but it seemed solid. Then, down on her knees, she examined the wooden floor, looking for a trapdoor or an opening… anything. There had to be some sort of secret passage that led out of the house.
Finally, she found a place where the floor sounded hollow. And there it was-the faint outlines of a trapdoor. Using a knife, she managed to lift it up enough to get a good grip and then forced it all the way open. A stairway led down into darkness. Not a sound came up out of the dungeon, or whatever it was. They had to have gone this way.