The little streets teemed with people, many busily striding from one place to the next, others strolling casually through. Sean looked at his phone a few times to make sure they were walking in the right direction. He’d entered the address Emily sent to his Google Map application. Based on the blinking blue dot on the screen, they appeared to be only a block away from Cagliari’s home.
They hurried by a coffee shop, its patrons sitting out on the patio enjoying conversation. The rich smells of Italian coffee hung in the air as the men passed by. Sean and Tommy both loved good coffee, and they exchanged a longing glance as they left the shop behind.
“Next time,” Sean said, knowing what his friend was thinking.
“I do love coffee the way the Italians make it.”
Up ahead, the narrow thoroughfare twisted to the right, angling its way slightly up a small hill. Just around the bend in the alley, Sean stopped at a red door and double-checked the number attached to the side of the sill. “This is it,” he said after confirming the text from Emily.
The door was set in a three-story, beige stucco building. The adjacent structure was of the same build and design, save for brighter burnt-yellow paint. Many of the buildings in the Piazza Navona featured similar architectural and design expression.
Sean rapped firmly on the entrance and took a step back. He glanced down one direction of the alley and then the other, an old paranoid habit he’d kept for nearly a decade. An elderly couple walked slowly down the other side of the narrow road. A man in a business suit walked by, talking on his cell phone in Italian and clearly in a hurry to get somewhere. A few tourists lumbered by, speaking in an English accent, talking about a place where they’d like to eat later.
The door creaked open slowly, allowing only a slim space to see inside. A pair of old, gray eyes stared out from the opening. The orbs were set deep in a pair of recessed sockets and placed underneath a wrinkled, pale forehead. The man’s white hair and sagging skin below his jaw emphasized his age.
“Signor Cagliari?” Sean asked in as respectful a tone as possible.
“Si. Sean Wyatt?” The question caught Sean off guard. How did he know?
Sean nodded. “Yes, sir. I’m Sean Wyatt, and this is my friend Tommy Schultz. Would it be all right if we came inside?”
“Of course, Sean,” the man answered in strong voice. “I have been waiting for you. Please, come in quickly.” Cagliari opened the door wider and beckoned the two visitors to enter.
The two looked at each other curiously, and then did as told. Once inside, the old man looked down both stretches of the street before closing the door and locking it.
Inside the apartment was like stepping out of a time machine and into a world that had long since been left behind. The high ceilings were accented by ancient timbers, running from one side of the great room to the next. The kitchen to the left had been modeled in the Tuscan design, and featured exquisite tiled floors and backsplashes, complementing the pale stone countertops. On the far wall of the great room, a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf stretched high and wide, burdened with hundreds of books on every single level.
“Please,” the host said, showing the way to a plush, navy blue couch, “sit down. I am sure you have many questions.”
The men accepted the offer and sat down on the surprisingly soft cushions.
“Can I offer you a glass of wine or perhaps some coffee?” Cagliari asked, shuffling toward the kitchen.
Tommy remembered the smell of the coffee from the street and was about to accept when Sean gave him the silent shake of his head. “We’re in a hurry,” he mouthed.
“No thank you, sir. I do appreciate the offer,” Tommy said, full of resignation.
“No worries. I am just finishing my daily glass. I hope you don’t mind.” The old man scooped up a thin, long-stemmed glass with a small amount of deep-red liquid still in the bottom.
“Not at all, signore. It’s your house,” Sean smiled at the man as he returned to the great room.
Cagliari padded over to a leather club seat and eased into it, sighing as if he’d just run ten miles to get there. He took a long sip from the glass before setting it on top of a small, glass top end table.
“So, you have come for the scroll.” Cagliari spoke in a casual, matter-of-fact tone.
Tommy and Sean glanced at each other, not sure what to say. Sean spoke up first with a bewildered expression. “We aren’t really sure what we are here for, signore. We were hoping you could help us with that. All Adriana left us was your name. She left you a scroll?”
The old man had lifted the wine glass to his mouth once more and took another draught. He shook his head fervently at the question. “No, my friend. She did not leave the scroll with me. You are looking for the scroll. It is not in this place.”
Tommy seemed more befuddled. “What scroll, signore?”
“Now that is the question.” He set the glass down again and folded his hands over the tops of his legs. “The scroll is hidden. I have searched much of my life to find another Eye of Zeus, but it has eluded me. If you can find the scroll, you can find the missing device.”
Sean jumped back into the conversation. “So it’s a map?”
“Possibly,” Cagliari said, putting his hands out with palms up. “No one really knows for certain. The common theory is that, yes, the scroll is a map.”
“I’m sorry, signore,” Sean put a hand up and stopped the man. “I feel like there is a backstory we are missing. Would you mind filling us in on where the scroll came from, and why we are looking for it?”
“Certainly,” the man said with a wide smile. His teeth were in remarkable shape, clean and bright. “I began my career as a young student of archaeology, much like yourself, Mr. Wyatt.” He jabbed a crooked finger in Sean’s direction. “When I was thirty years of age, I stumbled upon a story about an ancient mechanism that could forecast future events. This is the relic known as the antikythera, or in some circles, the Eye of Zeus.”
“Wait,” Tommy interrupted. “People believed this thing could tell the future?”
“Yeah,” Sean answered for Cagliari, “I forgot to tell you about that. Just let him finish, and I’ll fill you in later.” Then he switched his attention back to the old man. “Please, professor, continue.” Tommy held his tongue incredulously.
Cagliari nodded and smiled before he went on. “At first,” he laughed, “I thought much like you did. The ancients had many strange superstitious beliefs. Some seemed downright outlandish. However, when I discovered that Julius Caesar had a keen interest in the Eye of Zeus, my disposition changed immediately.
“Gaius Julius Caesar was not a man with whom to be trifled. His command was law, and only his ambition for the Roman nation trumped that. He knew that with great plans come great consequences, both within circles, and without.” Sean nodded. He knew what Cagliari was referring to: Caesar’s betrayal by those who were closest to him. “Caesar knew that he could never let those who would betray him take hold of the Eye of Zeus. It would mean the collapse of everything he’d worked so hard to establish.”
Outside the great room’s window, children laughed and squealed as they ran by, probably playing some game. Sean’s mind was on full alert, and every sudden noise jerked at his attention.
Sean finished Cagliari’s story. “So he hid it.”
“That is correct.”
“Where?” Tommy asked.
Cagliari’s smile broadened and he took another sip of wine. “That, my friend, is a question that had occupied my mind for nearly three decades.” He stared down at the floor for a minute. His smile never faded, but Sean could tell he was thinking about something jarring, regret perhaps. “All the time I spent working on that project never came to fruition. Of course, I was working at the university most of the time so my work on the Eye of Zeus came out of my personal time. Sad to say, I gave up a few good relationships as a result. Still, I never found the thing. That was, until I met your friend.”