“Khalil is in no position to schlep with us. He needs to be in a hospital. We’ll have to take him in.”
“They’ll be forced to report it to the police, Sam. That’s a certain death sentence on Khalil’s family, and us for that matter. We can’t,” Alex argued.
“He’ll die without proper care, Alex. The guy’s ribs are broken and if any of them puncture his lung it’s over. Never mind his broken jaw! He needs X-rays and MRIs, surgery, more meds, the list goes on.”
“What about Yusuf? He might know of a private clinic,” Alex suggested.
“And drag another one of his family members into this? Not a good idea.”
“Well we’re out of options and fast running out of time. It’s a good ten hours back to Bari. We’re going to have to do something and fast.”
Sam rubbed the stubble on his clenched jaw as he paced the breadth of the deck.
“I might know someone,” he finally said, in a voice that divulged uncertainty.
“Who?”
“He worked with my father back in the day and if memory serves me right , he’s now living out his retirement in Lake Como.”
“Great, let’s go,” Alex urged as she started making her way to the flybridge, pausing when Sam remained seated.
“We need to go, Sam.”
“They’re still friends,” Sam declared as he nervously rubbed his hands up and down his thighs.
“Yes, that’s a good thing, right?”
Sam stopped his pacing and again took up his place next to the railing.
“Sam, what’s going on?” Alex said with confusion in her voice.
“They’re friends, Alex. That’s the problem. My father thinks I’m still practicing medicine at King Edward,” Sam blurted out.
Alex gasped. “You never told your parents you left medicine and shifted careers?”
He nodded. “I know it’s ridiculous, but it would kill my father if he knew his only son broke the Quinn fourth generation medical lineage. And that for something as arbitrary as archaeology. He’d never live it down.”
“So all these years you’ve kept it secret?”
“Only to protect him. I told my mother a few years back.”
Alex walked over and placed her hands on the railing next to him.
“Maybe he won’t say anything. I mean, how often would they still speak to each other? We either chance it or drop Khalil at a hospital ourselves and disappear before anyone asks us anything. His jaw is broken so he won’t be able to talk for a while. It might give us enough time to find the manna and put this entire ordeal behind us. We have about ten hours to decide so let’s get the show on the road. It’ll be fine, promise.”
Chapter Nine
Their yacht slowly motored into the Bari port in the early hours of the morning. Absolute tranquility replaced the manic chaos of the events that had surrounded their departure, bringing them some relief considering what still lay ahead. Sam and Alex had both had a restless night having had to take turns between steering the yacht and tending to Khalil, whose condition had taken a turn for the worse. When Sam fastened the yacht to their mooring and descended below deck to fetch Khalil, Alex asked what she hoped he’d decided by now.
“How do you want to handle this then? Call your father’s friend or shall we risk taking him into hospital ourselves.”
Sam had already removed the intravenous drip from Khalil’s arm and lifted him to his feet, careful not to inflict more injury to his broken ribs.
“See if you can find a taxi parked nearby. We’re taking him to the hospital,” he replied without explaining his decision any further.
Alex complied and headed down the short pier towards where several taxis were parked along the coastal road. The taxi driver, who had been asleep, eagerly took the job when she promised him almost five times the normal rate to take their friend to the hospital, so much so that he illegally drove his taxi down onto the pier to get as close as possible to where Sam waited with Khalil.
“Want to talk about it?” Alex nudged after Khalil had left with the taxi driver who had received a bonus payment from Sam for telling the hospital he’d picked Khalil up off the side of the road.
“I’d rather tell my father to his face,” Sam said. “Besides, Khalil was in no condition for us to gamble with time or to call for special favors. It would have taken at least a day for anyone to travel here. It had to be done.”
They walked in silence back to the yacht.
“Now what?” Sam said as they got on board.
“Now we wait,” Alex said. “The note said to wait for further instructions.”
They each slept with one eye open until the sun’s rays poured through their small cabin window. Sam had placed a call to the hospital who confirmed a man had been brought in and was in stable condition. He hung up when they asked for his name.
“Have you managed to find anything on the Chinese guy’s phone?” Sam asked when he’d poured himself another cup of coffee and sat next to Alex where she’d been fiddling with the iPhone.
“It’s all in Chinese. I’ve been trying to find the language setting but it’s proven to be more challenging than I anticipated.”
“I can’t sit around like this and do nothing. I say we go to the basilica and see if we can find out from one of the priests if the manna was in fact stolen. For all we know it’s there and we can move on,” Sam said, his fingers tapping anxiously against the white mug in his hand.
“You’re right. It’s not going to get us any closer to finding the fluid by just sitting here waiting for them to make contact. IF they make contact. Khalil is in safe hands for now, and as long as he can’t speak, the police can’t open a case and his family will be safe.”
When they arrived at the Basilica di San Nicola, the crime scene tape had been removed and the large hand-carved wooden door of the main entrance stood wide open. To the unaware, it appeared as if nothing had ever happened—even the crimson stain on the doorsteps had been cleaned away. Once inside, the warm glow of a multitude of prayer candles flickered against the limestone walls, and the angelic voices of ten or so altar boys, who stood in an organized huddle in the back of the church, filled every corner of the holy space. A few tourists roamed between the transepts in awe of the spectacular nave and decorative arches above them; mesmerized by the gold embellishments around the religious paintings on the ceiling. The ambience was entirely different from their secret and almost fatal rendezvous only a few days before, and Alex and Sam couldn’t help being hypnotized by its beauty. As they made their way to the front of the church, several devotees were seated in the dark wood pews; some just blankly staring at the huge amber stained-glass cross in the arched window behind the altar, and others prayerfully running their fingers through the beads in their rosaries on their laps. Again, in total contrast to their last visit, the black wrought-iron cage was no longer surrounding the altar over the crypt that now stood in spectacular glory in front of the church. Illuminated by the warm glow of overhanging lights the detail was astounding. It was as if a lace tablecloth, carved entirely from marble and limestone, was draped over the crypt while a multitude of small pillars held up an equally impressive canopy above it. Alex found herself taking a seat, against her will, in the front pew. Sam sat down next to her.
“I’m weak at the knees too,” Sam whispered. “It’s quite something, isn’t it?”
Alex nodded. “I’ve never experienced anything like it.”
She turned back and glimpsed the figure of a priest stepping into the confession box in the back of the church.
“We should get on with it,” she whispered as she jumped to her feet and walked toward the ornate wooden stall.
“You’re not going in there, are you?” Sam stopped her when she was about to open the confessional door.
“Do you have a better idea? There’s a priest inside and from what I’ve seen in the movies he can’t see your face. It can’t be more in our favor.”
“All right t
hen,” Sam smiled knowing she had never set foot inside a confessional before, “I do see your point. I’ll go around to the bell tower in search of the caretaker and meet you back here.”
Alex didn’t hesitate as she opened the narrow wooden door and settled on the velvet covered burgundy stool. The dark space made her feel somewhat claustrophobic and reminded her of a closet. The panel next to her head slid open causing her to push her back further against the panel behind her. No one spoke so she cleared her throat and called out a greeting. “Hello?”
The priest cleared his throat.
“Oh yes, of course,” she stumbled over her words as she recalled a scene from a film she watched some time ago. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned, although technically speaking I didn’t sin. It was purely self-defense. Anyway, I just need some information from you,” she blurted out.
It sounded like the priest almost choked before he cleared his throat once more and replied in a calmer than expected voice.
“How did you not sin? Everyone sins.”
“I’m sure you’re right, but in this case, I merely shot back to protect the boy and Khalil. It was kill or be killed. If we hadn’t defended ourselves we’d all be dead.”
Alex sensed the clergyman’s face in the panel as he tried to take a look at her. She pulled her head back flush with the panel between them.
“And, did you?” he asked.
“Did I what?”
“Kill someone.”
Alex suddenly felt uncomfortable. The thought of leaving crossed her mind. It wasn’t something she enjoyed doing or ever thought would be a normality in her life. But killing was what was expected when situations called for it.
“I need to ask you about the manna.” She ignored the priest’s question.
“I would strongly urge you to repent of your sins,” the priest said calmly.
“Look, I’m not Catholic so I’m not even sure how all this works, but what I do know is that the manna is at threat of being stolen and people were killed over it. I’m not the enemy. I’m here to help.” It was her turn to look through the slatted screen. Her eyes met those of the priest who, even though he was caught off guard, didn’t turn away.
“Please follow me,” he whispered.
Alex heard his hand on the door handle and hurried out. As promised, Sam was already waiting for her.
“What’s happening?” he whispered as he scrambled to his feet and stepped into pace alongside her.
“I’m not sure. He said to follow him.”
The priest was several strides ahead of them and somewhat in a hurry. As Alex and Sam pushed to keep up with him, he led them out through the main entrance and in through another smaller wooden door at the front of the building. Once inside, the space almost immediately narrowed into a long corridor with several more rooms leading off on each side. The doors were all shut, apart from one about halfway down which he ushered them through. He closed the door behind them as they stepped inside the small office. In front of the arched window stood a dark wood desk that faced the door behind them. He pointed them to the two red velvet chairs directly in front of the desk before moving behind a third chair that stood behind his desk. He didn’t sit and instead paused with his hands on the backrest. With the glowing sunlight pouring in through the window behind him, the middle-aged priest almost looked saintly in its glow. His skin was the color of ivory and his eyes were a warm hazel color accentuated by his matching thick, neatly-trimmed hair.
“Who are you?” he asked, this time with his tone more urgent than the one he’d used within the confessional.
“I’m Alex and this is Sam.”
Alex couldn’t help but wonder if he was the same man she had just spoken to in the confession box.
“No, I meant who sent you and why are you asking about the manna?”
Again his voice was in direct contrast to the calm, saintly one from before. As if he sensed her question he de-robed, throwing the cassock over the back of his chair before pulling his white collar from the neck of his black shirt and dropping it on the desk before them. He rolled his sleeves up as if he meant business and then sat down at his desk.
“We haven’t been sent by anyone,” Sam answered, “and as for the manna, we didn’t know anything about it until a few days ago.”
With his hands clenched on top of his desk, he spoke even more firmly.
“Why are you here?”
“Look, Father, we’re not here to cause trouble. Quite the contrary. We’re here to help. We recover stolen artifacts for a living,” Alex said.
“You said you had killed people,” the priest continued.
“Not deliberately. It’s often necessary in our line of work when the lines get too blurry. We were here the day your fellow clergyman was murdered; we assume because of the manna. Now our friend’s life is at stake as well as ours. It’s a simple case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Someone is after the manna and they’re blackmailing us into finding it,” Alex confessed, annoyed with herself over the fact that she somehow felt compelled to divulge everything to the priest even though it went against her better judgment. And that when she didn’t even know his name.
The priest rose and, with his hands behind his back, stared out of the window.
“Can we trust you?” he asked without turning.
A quick glance at Sam confirmed he was as surprised as she was at the priest’s unexpected question.
“You can trust us,” Sam answered, integrity cemented in each word.
“Wait here,” the priest instructed before he left the room.
Alone in the private office, Alex turned to Sam.
“Something tells me we haven’t even scratched the surface, Sam. There’s a whole lot more going on here than either of us could even begin to imagine. Mark my words.”
Chapter Ten
Sam wasn’t given an opportunity to agree with her since the door behind them swung open and two more priests walked into the room.
“This is Father Guido and Father Enzo. I’m Father Roberto, you can call me Father Rob.
Alex followed the trio of Italian clergy with her eyes to where they stood with Father Rob in the center. It was an odd picture, the three of them. Father Guido, tall and slender, Father Enzo, short and stocky, and Father Rob the handsome one whom she recognized as the priest who’d consoled the altar boy the day of the murder.
“It was Father Francesco who was murdered a few days ago,” Father Rob started. “We’ve tried going to the police but we suspect they have been bribed to look the other way. If we can trust you as you say we can, we’d like to take you up on your offer to help.”
It took everything for Alex to keep her jaw from dropping to her chest.
“What’s going on here, Father?” Sam asked.
Father Rob took his seat behind the desk.
“Our lives are at stake too. Over the past month we’ve each been receiving death threats. At first we didn’t know about each other’s threats, but when Father Francesco ended up dead, it all came out,” he divulged.
“It seems Father Francesco had been getting these threats well before any of us,” Father Guido added.
“How are you receiving the threats?” Alex asked.
“In the beginning it came through one or two phone calls,” said Father Enzo.
“Naturally we ignored them. It’s not the first time people have attempted to get their hands on a vial of the manna acting out of sheer desperation for an infirm loved one,” Father Guido cut in.
“Yes, but then the phone calls stopped and the threats became more serious.” It was the familiar stern voice of Father Rob who continued; he appeared to be leading the trio.
“Why, what happened?” Sam enquired.
“That’s the horrific part. We each found one of our younger church members, left for dead on our doorsteps at our homes. They were badly beaten. What made it especially cruel was that their jaws were broken and they each had a note stuffed inside their
mouths,” Father Rob continued.
“Do you still have the notes?” Sam asked.
“No. We foolishly gave them to the police thinking they were going to act on it. They’ve been giving us the runaround since then,” Father Guido said, clearly fighting to control his composure. He was the feisty one, Alex realized.
Alex took the piece of paper from her pocket and flattened it out on the desk in front of the three clergymen. “Did they look like this?”
After a quick glance Father Guido started pacing the room, one hand on his hip and the other rubbing the back of his head. Father Enzo, the timid cautious one, Alex concluded, crossed his arms and nervously looked to Father Rob for guidance.
“Yes. Exactly like that,” Father Rob confirmed. “Different messages, but they looked identical.”
“Do you have any idea who might be sending these threats?” Sam asked.
The three priests exchanged anxious glances, silently communicating between themselves. A brief nod from each concluded they had agreed on something.
“We just need to be clear that we don’t have any proof whatsoever,” Father Enzo jumped ahead before Father Guido abruptly added, “But it can only be them. They’ve been at our throats about it for centuries.”
Alex and Sam looked to Father Rob for clarification.
“We suspect it might be Turkey.” His voice trailed off at the end of his sentence.
“Turkey, as in the Turkish government?” Alex queried.
“In a manner of speaking yes, but we’re actually referring to the church.”
“The Roman Catholic church, in Turkey,” Alex repeated, even more surprised than the first time he’d said it.
None of them answered. Instead, Father Guido stood like a gorilla with his fists on the desk while Father Enzo placed his fingers over his mouth and Father Rob calmly sat with his hands folded on the desk.
This time Alex paced the room. “Do you realize how insane that sounds? You’re accusing a Christian organization of murdering one of their own. Not to mention sending death threats and bribing the police. That’s ridiculous!”
The Bari Bones Page 6