Aventine Hill
The Next Morning
It had taken most of the morning for Lang and Jacob to find a truck from the electrician they had seen entering the piazza yesterday. A few euro liberally spread among the two-man crew and Lang and Jacob were dressed in the same coveralls as the two legitimate workers. A little more money and the van was in front of the wooden gates, honking for admission.
The one electrician who spoke English was explaining in Italian that they were here to check on yesterday's job and, no, there would be no additional costs involved for the service. Once inside, Lang and Jacob, toolboxes in hand, split up to explore the multiwindowed gray stone building.
Their hopes the uniforms would give them the invisibility of anonymity proved to be correct. Cooks, serving personnel as well as a few workmen filled the hallways with good-natured confusion. The five-year meeting of the council had the air of a country fair. No one gave the two electricians a second look.
The larger offices were deserted, leaving only what Lang guessed was salaried administrative staff. Members and officials would be attending the meeting of the grand council in the church next door.
Jacob peered around the corner of the largest office either he or Lang had found. "Boss's digs, I'd bet."
Standing in the hall, Lang nervously looked both ways. "So?"
"So, we take a look."
Jacob was inside while Lang stood sentry in the hall.
Jacob picked up the phone on the desk, pushing all four buttons on its base one by one. Nodding as though confirming an undivulged theory, he followed the line to the wall plug, where he inserted an instrument resembling a thermometer.
"Got it."
"Got what?" Lang asked.
"The private line."
"But why…?"
"Later, lad. Let's go. Right after…"
Jacob produced a package about the size of a bar of soap and stuck it to the bottom of the desktop with a wad of putty. "We're done."
Outside, Lang learned his friend's reconnaissance revealed the upper floors were residential. From the clothing Jacob had noted in the closets, almost all rooms were occupied by priests, the hospitaliers and chaplains of the Rome priory, no doubt.
The two collected the real electricians and left.
On the way back to the hotel, Jacob produced what looked like some sort of schedule or program printed in Italian, English, German and some language Lang did not recognize. "Tonight is the time," he said. "The visiting members of the council have a special dinner at the Vatican."
Lang looked at him. "So?"
"So, the professionals, the full-time people, should still be at the priory. Reduce the chance of collateral damage."
A euphemism for civilian casualties.
Lang thought of the terror on Manfred's face as bullets tore through the thin wooden walls of a farmhouse in Georgia, of his son's frightened face in Atlanta.
"Vatti, I was so scared!"
For just an instant, Lang couldn't have cared less about collateral damage.
VII.
Piazza delta Rotonda
Sole al Pantheon
Fifteen Minutes Later
Lang and Jacob entered their hotel and stopped just inside the doorway. The man sitting in one of the two ornately carved, silver-painted chairs in the microscopic lobby reeked of police.
The man rose, exhibiting a police badge. "Which one of you is Mr. Langford Reilly?" he asked in English.
Lang studied the badge before answering. "I am."
The policeman favored him with a humorless smile. "I am Inspector Antonio Manicci and am here to inquire about the car you reported stolen."
He didn't offer a hand.
An inspector chasing down stolen cars? In Italy where few European insurance companies would write car theft coverage because the crime was endemic to the country? The fact the vehicle had been recovered looking like it had been used by Bonnie and Clyde was the likely explanation.
Lang became uncomfortably aware both of the weight of the Browning in the small of his back and the severe penalties meted out for possession of firearms in Italy.
The inspector looked around, searching for a place to talk. The two carved chairs were it.
The desk clerk said something in Italian and Manicci gave that same dead smile. "Grazie. He tells me we may use the bar."
Like most rooms here, the bar was not level with the lobby but two or three steps down to the left. A single table with four chairs sat in front of a wooden bar whose shelves were largely bare. The dim light created atmosphere, but
anyone looking for a nightcap other than grappa or brandy would be deeply disappointed.
Seated, Manicci put a small tape recorder on the table. "Where was the car when stolen?"
Lang pointed as though the walls were not there. "Right along this edge of the piazza."
The Italian frowned. "Parking is forbidden there."
"No doubt the thief was merely enforcing the law."
"How did you know the car had been stolen and not, dragged…"
"Towed?"
"Towed. How do you know the car was not towed rather than stolen?"
Lang looked at him blankly. "When is the last time you saw a car towed in this city for parking in a no-parking space?"
The inspector made a noise that had equal chances of being a laugh, cough or clearing his throat. He leaned forward, studying Lang's face. "It was found on the Aventine shot full of holes. Do you have an idea who would do this?"
Lang hoped he was successful in demonstrating surprise. "Perhaps someone frustrated when he couldn't get the car started?"
"You make the joke, Mr. Reilly. My investigation is serious."
Lang leaned back, hoping the shadows helped obscure his face. "I apologize. I have no idea who would shoot that car."
Uncertain of the sincerity of the admission of fault, the inspector continued. "You are in Rome on business?"
"I come almost every year to enjoy the museums, the churches, the architecture. One cannot live long enough to see it all."
"And how much longer will you remain?"
"Several more days at least. But I doubt I'll rent a car."
"And you have no guess as to who would shoot the car?"
"None. Perhaps the thief had enemies." "Why did you rent the car, Mr. Reilly? Is not Rome's bus and metro good enough?"
"I had hoped to drive out to Hadrian's villa. I understand it is both interesting and beautiful."
Lang was certain the man was more interested in studying his face than asking fruitless questions.
He stood. "Inspector, I know nothing of what happened on the Aventine. I do know I have a lunch date with a business associate. I'd prefer not to keep him waiting."
Manicci stood also, stuffing the recorder in his pocket, an admission the interview was unproductive. "Very well then. I may wish to contact you again."
"I'll be right here."
Jacob and Lang watched the policeman's departure through the hotel's glass door.
"From what I heard from the lobby, the copper didn't learn a thing," Jacob observed.
Lang was still looking out into the piazza. "After the first few minutes, it wasn't information he was after."
"Oh?"
"Remember, I told you about the gunfire in the priest's apartment building, the one where I gave last rites in the priest's cassock before disappearing?"
"So?"
"That cop, Manicci, was one of the investigating officers."
"You're sure he saw you there?"
"Your people took the same course in face recognition we did, hours of looking at different photos, different views of the same person. Yep, that's him. He kept trying to get a better look at my face. Sooner or later, he'll place me."