It this improbable revelation Paul just frowned knowingly at her.
“Did you hear what I said?”
“Yes, I did,” at which he flopped dejectedly onto the bed, mumbling, “It’s my fault. I knew this was going to happen. I just didn’t want to believe that it might.”
“What are you talking about? You knew that Giovanni might be robbed? How?” at which she stared at him in disbelief.
Paul glanced up at Antonietta, dreading the approaching maelstrom. “Think about it, Antonietta…”
Antonietta stared at him for several moments, the forlorn look on his face speaking volumes. Her look slowly turned to realization, and then - denial. “No! It’s not possible, Professore!” she wailed between sobs.
Paul continued his silent stare, at which she slowly lowered herself into the lone chair in his room. She leaned forward and put her face in her hands, her muffled voice emitting, “Surely not, Paulo. Surely Marco can’t have done this to us. You don’t know him like I do.”
“I understand, Antonietta,” he replied, “But remember, I told you that this could happen. He may be the most honest person you know, but if the Mafiosi have something on him, then he is caught in their web and there is nothing he can do about it.”
He paused to contemplate, but subsequently added thoughtfully, “When you think about it, it is the only logical possibility. First, we meet Bulgatti, and then the villa is robbed. They must have known that when Bulgatti met us he would tip us off to the fact that they were following us. They must have been frantic to get the poem before we could get back to the villa and hide it, and Marco must have told them we had gone to Roma before returning to Arcetri. So they burgled the villa in the vain hope that the poem was still hidden there. When they realized it wasn’t there, they thought back over our previous journeys, and they were tipped off by Marco that we had left it in Ravenna. Marco was the only person who knew besides you, me and Giovanni. So it has to be Marco who tipped them off.”
Antonietta sobbed yet again, and peering desolately at Paul, she murmured, “Oh, Paulo…”
“Don’t convict your son just yet, Contessa. I’m sure that there is some explanation for his actions. Oh, that reminds me, is everything okay with Giovanni? Was anyone hurt?”
“No, they didn’t hurt them. Giovanni succeeded in convincing them that he had nothing of any importance. But he and his wife received a serious scare.”
“I assume that they did not get the poem, or that would have been the first thing out of your mouth. Am I right?” Paul queried.
Apparently recovering her senses, she agreed, “Yes, very perceptive, Professore.”
“We must go to Ravenna and retrieve the poem immediately,” she said.
“I shouldn’t think that would be a very good idea, Contessa,” he replied, but then thinking better of it, he contradicted himself, saying, “On second thought, I think you’re right. We need to remove the Bazzocchi family from harm’s way. It is our moral obligation. But you must understand that we will be placing ourselves in danger.”
“Yes, certamente,” Antonietta replied knowingly.
“Perhaps it is time to bring Inspector Bustamente into the loop on what has transpired, Antonietta,” Paul replied.
“No!” she answered vehemently.
Startled at her sudden forcefulness, Paul simply blurted, “Why not?”
“I told you a thousand times – rotten! They’re all rotten,” she wailed mournfully. “We simply cannot trust anyone, the polizia least of all. The mafia has infiltrated them like a cancer.”
“Okay, well, we should go. I think the sooner the better. There is just a possibility that they will have left Ravenna for the moment. So let’s drive there as quickly as possible. We can devise a plan in route.”
“Va bene,” she replied, and without another word she turned to prepare for the journey. Two hours later they pulled the Alfa into the Palazzo courtyard, the drive through the Po valley having been accompanied by menacing clouds, roiling thundershowers, and blustering winds, weather perfectly designed to match their mutually gloomy demeanor.
Giovanni met them in the courtyard, silently offering them two umbrellas. The threatening weather seemed to have driven off all other signs of life within the normally bustling palazzo.
“Buongiorno,” Giovanni blurted morosely, but it was obvious that he did not feel that it was a good day at all.
Paul replied briskly, “Yes, I wish that it were better circumstances, Giovanni.”
“Such-a is-a life-a,” Giovanni replied grimly. “Please-a, come-a inside-a.” And at this Paul and Antonietta followed, each avoiding the rainfall as best they could.
Once inside, Giovanni guided them to the kitchen, where Giovanna, Giovanni the younger, and Guido were all seated around the large wooden table, as if they had all been impatiently awaiting the pair’s arrival. Antonietta embraced each of them in turn and seated herself adjacent to Giovanna, after which the room was momentarily silent.
Seeming to sense that the floor was hers, Antonietta announced despondently, “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have left the document with you, Giovanni,” at which she turned toward the elder Giovanni as a means of directing her contrition.
Giovanni smiled and parried, “Contessa, is-a no necessary. You-a are family to us-a, you know-a this-a.”
“Yes, I know that Giovanni. And it is precisely for that reason that I should have told you what you might be getting into. But the truth is, I didn’t know myself. Actually, I haven’t known myself just how much danger we are in until the last couple of days. And I made a mistake. I told someone that I shouldn’t have told that the document was in Ravenna, although I didn’t tell them that you had it.”
Giovanni stared doubtfully at her for a moment, but then queried, “Just-a what-a is it-a, Contessa? What-a is the document-a? What-a could-a be so important-a? Is-a drug-a money?”
“No, of course not!” she replied with emphatic denial. “You know me better than that, Giovanni!” She brushed her hair aside with one hand in obvious irritation and continued, “Look, for you own safety, I cannot tell you what it is. To know would place all of you in even greater danger. But let me reassure you – there is nothing illegal going on here. By force of circumstance I have come into possession of something that places my life and Paulo’s in danger. In fact, anyone who is in possession of it is in danger.” At this Antonietta halted and glanced piercingly at each person at the table. “So you see, it is imperative that we remove all of you from harm’s way immediately.”
Having been silent up to this point, Guido mumbled in confusion, “Why not just destroy it, Contessa? Nothing could be so valuable as to be worth jeopardizing the lives of six people!”
“I agree with you, Guido,” she replied, “But, I believe that I can speak for Professore Woodbridge when I say this - it is indeed worth it for the two of us,” and at this admission Paul silently nodded his concurrence.
Giovanni the younger now suggested, “How can we help you, Contessa?”
Antonietta turned to him and, smiling to show her gratitude, she exclaimed, “Thank you, Giovanni. Thank you!” Addressing the group as a whole, she now proffered, “Paulo and I have devised a plan. We are confident that it will both succeed in saving the document, and will also remove you from danger. However, we will need help from one of you. I am so sorry for asking this, but I am willing to reward you accordingly.”
At this the elder Giovanni interjected, “Of course, Contessa, we will do whatever we can for you. But please do not speak of money,” and it was clear that he was offended by her last remark.
Antonietta smiled apologetically and added, “I knew that you would say that, Giovanni, but I felt compelled to offer nevertheless. Please accept my apology. I meant no offense.”
At this Giovanni smiled dourly and replied, “Apology accepted. Now, let’s get down to resolving this little crisis.”
Three Hours Later
Paul and Ant
onietta pulled out of the courtyard, Venice having been agreed to be their intended destination. They headed towards the autostrada, all the while maintaining careful watch for anyone that might be following them. They hadn’t gotten far before they became aware of a black BMW 750i tailing them at close range. Within seconds they observed a second black car, this one a BMW 540i. Both vehicles were clearly following them, and it was obvious that they were not going to make it to the autostrada unimpeded.
As they had anticipated, at the next corner the lead car pulled rapidly to the other side of the road and cut them off, wedging the Alfa Romeo between the lead car and the trailing car, thereby bringing all three vehicles to an abrupt halt. Three men dressed in black suits subsequently emerged in apparent nonchalance from the first car, each slowly approaching the Alfa. None of them displayed a weapon, but then, they clearly had no need of doing so.
One of the men led the approach to the Alpha. He was a very large man with a shaved head, and he was adorned with dark sunglasses, thus providing the perfect embellishment to his thoroughly sinister goatee and mustache. Tapping gingerly on the window, he entreated politely, “Good day, Signore Woodbridge, would you be so kind as to roll down your window?”
Observing little alternative, Paul did as requested. The man immediately opened the locked car door from the inside and motioned for Paul to get out. Paul did as instructed.
“Hi,” the man said incongruously and, thrusting his hand forward incongruously, he proffered, “My name is Bruno. I am a friend of Contessa Antonietta,” at which Paul glanced at Antonietta, who nodded miserably in affirmation. Accordingly, Paul took the man’s hand and shook it reluctantly.
There was a brief pause, after which Bruno continued with incongruous politeness, “Please, would you be so kind as to join us in our car? You, too, Contessa, please!” and although his manner was absurdly polite, his eyes betrayed only menace. Paul could tell from Antonietta’s countenance that this was no time for sarcasm.
Observing this silent exchange, Bruno continued his oddly respectful ruse, “I am sorry to have to delay you from your holiday, Professore Woodbridge.” He smiled menacingly as they approached the lead vehicle and suggested, “Please sit in the back seat, as our guest.”
Antonietta climbed in in evident resignation, followed by Paul, and the pair found themselves sitting next to a man dressed in a fine business suit, a brown camel hair overcoat placed neatly across his shoulders. He had slicked back ebony hair, and he wore black sunglasses. Altogether, he painted an extremely sinister picture.
“Good afternoon, my dear,” he murmured softly to Antonietta, but it was clear that he did not say it with even the tiniest hint of adoration.
Antonietta glared back at him with a look of pure hatred on her face. Finally, if for no other reason than to break the tension, she said, “Buongiorno, Sandro.” At this Paul’s face flushed, but he said nothing.
“How have you been?” her former husband whispered with feigned interest and, studiously avoiding her glare, he continued without waiting for an answer, “If you will be so kind as to supply us with the document, we will be on our way, and with no harm done.”
Paul simply stared at him, carefully assessing the situation. Glancing at Paul, the Count continued smiling menacingly, eventually motioning for one of his friends to move into action. Paul watched as Bruno circled to his side of the car and opened the door on his side. Bruno smiled even more broadly and said, “I assure you, Professore, we mean you no harm. However, I imagine that you can tell that we are not the sort of persons to ‘play around with’, as you Americans say.”
Attempting to appear calm, he turned to Bruno and responded nonchalantly, “What exactly did you have in mind?”
Bruno hit him so fast he didn’t even see the blow coming. Paul slumped over in his seat, his nose bloodied.
“Stop it!” Antonietta screamed. “Stop it, Bruno! If you harm him, I will, I will…,” and her voice trailed off into nothingness.
At that moment the Count leaned over towards Antonietta, grabbed her by the neck, and kissed her viciously on the mouth. He pulled back and, shoving her forcefully away, he cooed between clenched teeth, “I’ve been wanting to do that for quite some time, my dear.”
He then smiled implacably, as if he were conversing with a small child, but suddenly he ceased smiling and whispered menacingly, “Now, give us the document, or we shall be forced to amplify our attentions.”
At this Paul staggered from the car, opened the trunk of the Alfa, and extracted a large envelope. He handed it reluctantly to Bruno, and in so doing he acknowledged, “I believe that this is what you want. Now, please let us go.”
Bruno strolled indifferently back to the BMW and handed the now blood-stained envelope to the Count, who wiped his hands and carefully opened the envelope. He subsequently removed the lone sheet of parchment and studied it for several moments.
At length he smiled broadly and observed, “Now see how easy that was, just a simple transaction among friends. Quite a fair trade, I should say. We have the document, and the only cost to you is your pride. Most equitable, if I do say so myself.” He smiled viciously once again, and, his smile disappearing instantaneously, he motioned to his colleagues to withdraw.
He then gestured for Paul and Antonietta to get out, adding pleasantly, “It has been a pleasure doing business with you both. Have a nice day!” The men immediately piled into the two vehicles and sped off.
Paul, his heart still racing, staggered back to the driver’s seat and slumped within.
Reaching toward him to apply pressure to his wound, Antonietta offered, “Here, let me help you. Lean your head back,” at which Paul did as instructed.
After several moments, he said grimly, “I must say, that went better than I expected. Are you okay, Antonietta?”
“Bruised lip, otherwise, no damage other than my pride,” she replied. “Sandro has been itching to get at me for years. He’s a born sadist. Frankly, if I’d known he would be with them, I’m not sure I would have had the nerve to go through with it. But it’s done, and we seem to both be in one piece, although you don’t look so hot, Professore.”
Futilely attempting a smile, Paul volunteered half-heartedly, “All in a day’s work.”
Antonietta stared at him empathetically and suggested morosely, “Well, now I know how to wipe that smug smile off your face. At least there is that!”
Paul grimaced in pain, and said, “Don’t DO that, Contessa. Don’t make me smile. It hurts like hell!”
“Ah, sorry,” she replied with genuine regret. “I’ll remember that in case I need to retaliate. Now, shouldn’t we be going before the polizia show up and start asking questions? Do you want me to drive?”
“No, I can do it,” Paul replied. “I’m just glad that’s over. Let’s get to Venice. Somehow, I’ll think that I will feel safer there, although I have no idea why.”
“How soon do you think they’ll figure it out, Paulo?” she queried.
“Good question,” Paul answered thoughtfully. “We may have the better of them. That parchment that Giovanni produced was a godsend. Most likely the only test they will do is on the parchment itself. If so, they’ll be fooled. I believe that it is from the seventeenth century. It’s just fortunate that the Bazzocchi’s own a seventeenth century villa, or they would in all likelihood not have been able to come up with the right kind of paper. The ink is another matter. There is no way to hide it, but they may not check it if they find the parchment acceptable. So we may have considerable time to sort things out. On the other hand, if they realize that it is a fake, then they will come after us, and the next time they won’t be in the mood to play patti-fingers.”
“What is patti-fingers?”
“It’s polite vernacular for foreplay, Contessa.”
At this Antonietta paled and, drawing her hand to her throat, she said, “Ah, yes, I see…”
A Short Time Later
Guido Bazzocchi sped northward on the au
tostrada in his Fiat Punto, confident that he had managed to make his getaway without being followed. The envelope rested safely in the glove compartment. He would drive all night, straight through to Zurich, stopping only at the border to obtain the obligatory Swiss autoroute pass. He gauged the time necessary to make it to Zurich. The drive would be several hours longer than in summertime, but he did not mind at all. Once his errand was completed he intended to stop over in Como and see one of his amores. His mind’s eye drew an image of the lake, shrouded in morning fog. Como was indeed lovely at this time of year.
The following morning he pulled into the parking garage in the Zurich city center and emerged with the envelope. He walked down the street a couple of blocks and, halting in front of a large multi-story building, he pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. He glanced down at the paper, looked at the sign on the side of the building, and entered through the large turnstile doors. The warmth of the interior struck him as he pushed into the lobby of the building. Once inside, he found the name plate of the bank and strolled nonchalantly across the lobby to the entrance. He pushed the door to the bank open, and as he did so, a young man in a suit approached him, saying, “Good morning, sir. Are you Mister Guido Bazzocchi?” in so doing mispronouncing his name badly.
Used to foreigners mispronouncing the family name, Guido responded affably, “Si.”
“Excellent,” the young man replied good-naturedly. “Welcome to Zurich, Mr. Bazzocchi. We’ve been waiting for you. I trust you had a pleasant drive?”
“Long, but otherwise uneventful,” Guido replied.
“Excellent,” the young man repeated. “If you will follow me this way, we shall take care of your package.”
Within minutes Guido was back out on the street, all evidence of the envelope having vanished completely. He emitted a small sigh of relief and headed for the nearest coffee shop for the purpose of drinking his drowsiness into submission. As he did so, he pulled a cellphone from his pocket and dialed a number. In accordance with his instructions, he allowed the phone to ring three times, after which he hung up.
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