Mount Etna was in between paroxysms. The debris had been raining down heavily, and it was like being peppered with grapeshot. But they were farther down the slope, so the particles of magma had time to cool.
He told the boys to strip off their parkas, and they tied them over their heads like babushkas. As they did so, Jude remembered the citizens of Pompeii. They had tied pillows to their heads to protect themselves from falling rocks. It didn’t help them much in the end. They all died in the pyroclastic flow.
Many victims of volcanoes perished because of this phenomenon. The volcanic debris and ash would typically shoot up about a mile into the sky. Initially, the eruption would carry all the debris upward. But sometimes, depending on the atmospheric conditions, that column of debris could eventually collapse. Then superheated gases, steam, water, ash, and pieces of rock would flow down the slope of the mountain.
If that pyroclastic flow happened, there was no chance of survival. The surge could travel at speeds of hundreds of miles an hour. People would suffocate, and their bodies would be buried. Jude had read about such an event. During the eruption of Krakatoa in 1883, the kinetic surge passed over the ocean. According to eyewitnesses, the superheated gases actually boiled the sea.
Jude looked at the two kids. They were going to have to move quickly. Right now the momentum of the blast was still skyward, but there was no way to tell how long that would last.
Suddenly, he became aware of the crackle of burning vegetation. Sparks ignited a large brushfire, and all the grass and small trees on the slope were going up like torches.
That was a good sign. More vegetation meant that they were reaching lower elevations where rescue would be possible. Jude stepped over a foot-wide stream of lava and turned to the boys.
“C’mon. We’re almost there.”
Then he forced himself to believe it.
FERRY TO SICILY
Brindy stood alone at the railing watching the wind whip the Tyrrhenian Sea into three-foot peaks. No one else was out on deck, as she watched the coastline of Sicily come into view. The landscape was low and flat, except for the impressive cone of Mount Etna. Right now the smoking peak looked like a throwback to prehistoric times.
She watched a black cloud streaked with orange at the summit. There was a distant rumble, like thunder. Large flashes of lightning were visible—a bad omen, surely. It felt like her whole world was spiraling out of control.
If Luca and Karl were in danger, it was her fault. She should have paid more attention to them while they were at the house, instead of being involved in her own schemes. Norway’s security forces were looking for the boys throughout Naples, but she had no faith in that. The Norwegians were completely out of their element in Italy. She needed Sinclair to handle the situation; he’d know how to make inquiries.
A surge of warmth washed over her heart. John Sinclair was the most capable man she knew. He was solid and dependable. When Charles called, she jumped at the chance to go to Sicily to find him.
Sinclair would know how to go about finding Luca and what to do about Mondragone targeting her family. Now she needed him more than ever.
MORGANTINA, SICILY
Sinclair looked up from his dig and suddenly noticed the ash cloud over the mountain. The gust of black smoke thickened and was turning into a large funnel. He watched for a moment, enjoying nature at its most terrible.
It suddenly reminded him of the conversation with Princess Victoria about Empedocles and the four elements. It was hard to imagine that was only a week ago. At that time, he’d never guess he’d be standing here watching the exact volcano that claimed the Greek philosopher’s life.
He turned at the sound of footsteps. A young graduate student came over with a bottle of cold water. The kid looked at the volcano, fascinated.
“They say it’s going to be the biggest eruption in the history of the mountain,” he said, his voice high with excitement.
“They always say that.”
“I hear all the tourists were evacuated and road blocks are being set up.”
“Have they declared ‘code red’ yet?” Sinclair asked, taking a long swig of water.
“It’s ‘orange,’ but they are moving it to ‘red’ in another hour.”
“I saw Mount Etna erupt three years ago,” Sinclair said, finishing the water and wiping his mouth. “You’d think the world was ending.”
“In a way, I’m sort of looking forward to it,” the student said. “So long as nobody gets hurt.”
Just then, a flame shot up out of the summit and flashed against the sky. They were too far away to hear anything, but the visual effect was impressive.
“I guess the fireworks are starting.”
Just as the words left his lips, Sinclair heard his name being called. He turned. To his utter astonishment, Brindy was picking her way across the archaeological ruins toward him.
“John! Thank God I found you!”
Her sports car was parked out on the dusty track—some kind of vintage roadster, brilliant red—totally incongruous against the ancient marble fragments.
His mind leapt to unspeakable tragedies. Cordelia? Charles? Luca? Why would Brindy come all this way?
He dropped his spade and started toward her, launching over the chunks of marble scattered on the ground.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
She looked up at him with terror.
“I … we need your help.”
Her dark eyes were swimming with tears.
“Who’s in trouble?”
“I am. And Luca.”
In the excavation tent, Sinclair offered Brindy a seat on the neatly made cot. He sat perched on the edge of an old wooden trunk that served as his table. It was a Spartan accommodation—a tent with a packed dirt floor. Both flaps were open and a hot breeze blew through. Sinclair’s assistant had brought them cold water, and the plastic bottles were beaded with condensation.
Brindy looked around and marveled at Sinclair’s capacity for monastic simplicity. He had been here in the dust for about a week with nothing but the clothes on his back.
She took in his appearance: the tanned forearms, white shirt unbuttoned at the neck, the dusty Clark’s desert boots. When she met his eyes, he gave her a smile of encouragement.
She leaned forward, keeping her voice low.
“My grandmother was shot by the Camorra.”
His eyes widened, then he reached for her hand and held it.
“I’m so sorry, Brindy. How horrible!”
His grasp was warm and reassuring. The poignancy of the moment brought fresh tears to her eyes. She nodded, choking back her distress.
“Its awful. But there’s more. Luca and Prince Karl have run off. They’re missing.”
He frowned.
“How long have they been gone?”
“About four days. The Security Service of Norway did a bank audit and credit card trace and came up with nothing.”
“That’s strange.”
“Very. The problem is that Luca doesn’t have any cash and neither does Karl. Victoria thinks her brother stole her sapphire necklace to pay for the trip, which is why I am here to see you.”
Sinclair frowned.
“You shouldn’t care about the necklace. What counts is finding the boys.”
Brindy regarded Sinclair with a look of operatic tragedy.
“Actually the necklace is important, John.”
“Why?”
“Because they think you stole it. The Norwegian royal family is having Scotland Yard investigate you.”
Sinclair let go of her hand and stared at her with absolute astonishment.
“You must be joking! They think I stole the necklace! What on earth gave them that idea?”
“I know it’s ridiculous. That’s why Charles sent me to find you. They’re going to arrest you when you come back.”
“This is preposterous!” he said. “And Victoria? Why hasn’t she defended me?”
“She can�
��t say anything, or it will implicate her brother, so she is playing dumb.”
Sinclair shook his head. “I can’t believe Charles is involved with this kind of girl. What’s gotten into him?”
“Love,” Brindy said seriously.
Sinclair clenched his jaw in irritation.
“Well, that’s just great. So what am I supposed to do now?”
“We could find the boys and ask Karl where he sold the necklace,” she suggested. “It has to be somewhere in Naples.”
“I’m not sure we should go poking around in the criminal underworld of Napoli. Especially if Mondragone is after your family.”
“I know,” she agreed. “But I figured you would know what to do.”
Sinclair nodded, thinking. “Any idea where the boys might have gone?”
“Victoria says Karl had a real passion for volcanoes.”
“Well, hopefully he’s not climbing Mount Etna.”
“But that’s just it. Victoria thinks Karl and Luca might be there.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes. Victoria says Karl had a map marked with all the active volcanoes—sort of a wish list of the mountains he wanted to visit. Etna was number one.”
“Brindy, it’s erupting right now!”
He glanced over at the mountain. The peak was a good thirty miles away, but they could see it visibly steaming.
Sinclair spoke with controlled calm. “I was told they evacuated the mountain earlier this afternoon. Let’s go to Catania. If they’re in Sicily, they’re probably somewhere in the city.”
An hour later, Brindy and Sinclair were speeding toward the volcano in a bright red Lancia Aurelia convertible. On any other day it would have been a glorious ride. The vintage roadster yowled through the gears, and they had the entire road to themselves.
Sinclair leaned back, contented to let Brindy drive. She could handle a car like no other woman he knew. Her dark hair was flowing, her strong face set in a determined expression.
“Look out ahead, there’s a roadblock,” he cautioned.
Brindy slowed down and stopped to speak to the Civil Defense officer. Her Italian was rapid and urgent.
“I am a volcano expert,” she explained, flashing the ID in her wallet quickly. “We need to get to Catania to check the seismic readouts. It’s very important.”
The young man nodded and waved them through. Brindy put the car in gear and accelerated past the roadblock.
“That was clever,” Sinclair remarked. “What card did you show him?”
“My membership in the World Heritage Fund.”
He chortled. “That’s not exactly relevant, is it?”
“It worked. And besides, I am a volcano expert.”
“Brindy don’t be ridiculous. You’re hardly a volcanologist.”
“I can see Vesuvius from my living room window; I spend hours studying it.”
“I see your mendacious abilities are still intact,” he said, half in jest.
She took the dig cheerfully. “Yes, I must admit, I have a devious nature.”
“You should turn over a new leaf. All that fibbing will get you into trouble someday.”
“I’ll reform when you do, John,” she shot back. “You give up your women, and I’ll start telling the truth.”
He was about to reply when a loud boom came from the direction of Mount Etna, and the sky lit up orange.
“Oh my God,” she cried out, flinching involuntarily. “What should we do?”
“It’s OK. Keep driving. We’re almost there,” Sinclair assured her. “Take a left at the next fork in the road.”
“I don’t know where to even begin to look for the boys,” she said.
“We should go to the hospital, just in case.”
“I blame myself if anything happens to Luca. I should have watched him more carefully.”
Her hands were tight on the wheel, tears shimmering in her eyes.
“Don’t beat yourself up over it, Brindy. Teenage boys are almost impossible to keep track of.”
Another loud boom came from the volcano as he spoke. Sinclair averted his gaze to the landscape ahead. Mount Etna was raining ash, blanketing the ground with thick gray sediment.
He reached over and turned on the windshield wipers.
“Pull over, Brindy. We’d better put the top up.”
Jude Blackwell noticed a checkpoint on the road ahead. Two military policemen were armed with walkie-talkies, standing next to an all-terrain vehicle with huge pneumatic tires. They had reached the mid-summit parking lot where all the tour guides left their vehicles. This meant they could get a ride down the rest of the way. They were saved!
“Hey!” he shouted, waving at the men.
Two of the guards did a double take at the sight of the three stragglers and started toward them at a jog.
Jude turned to the boys for last-minute instructions before the officers came over.
“We’ll have to get Luca to a hospital. Somebody should check him out. He doesn’t look good.”
“I can’t go to the hospital. I need to stay out of sight,” Karl said urgently.
“Why?” Jude asked, intrigued.
“I’m not supposed to be here.”
Jude laughed. “None of us are supposed to be here, kid.”
Karl shuffled. “Yes, but especially not me. I’m Prince Karl of Norway.”
Jude started to laugh at the joke and then stopped.
“What did you say?” he said, uncertain.
“I’m serious,” the boy insisted. “I’m Prince Karl.”
“So what’s that got to do with anything?” Jude asked, baffled.
“I ran away. Everybody is looking for me. I have to call my sister right away.”
“And your sister is …”
“Princess Victoria,” Karl replied, exasperated.
Jude fought to keep his composure. Everyone knew Princess Victoria. Photos of her sold for tens of thousands of dollars. And now her kid brother was right in front of him.
Jude improvised quickly. “Here’s what we’ll do. When we get to the hospital, I’ll sign the paperwork to get Luca admitted. And then you can leave with me.”
“What if they ask our names?”
Jude scanned the area. Two guards were rapidly approaching, carrying water and blankets, but they were still out of earshot.
“How will we explain it?” Karl whispered.
“We’ll say that we came across Luca on the trail. I’m a scientist and I work with INGV, and you’re my assistant.”
“Thanks,” Karl gushed. “I really appreciate it.”
“Hey, no problem.”
Jude couldn’t help but stare at Karl, as they went through the motions of checking Luca into the hospital in Catania. Could the kid really be who he said he was?
Afterward, when they went back to his room at the Caldera Hotel, Jude did a quick scroll through the Internet while Karl used the bathroom. Identity confirmed.
“It was tough to get that grit off my face,” Karl said, wiping his face with a towel.” Can I take a shower?”
“Be my guest,” Jude said, waving his hand graciously. He held back the impulse to add “your highness.”
HOSPITAL GARIBALDI NESIMA, CATANIA, ITALY
Sinclair stood next to Brindy at the hospital. Luca was asleep, his face a pale contrast to his raven-black hair. The starched white sheet was drawn up across his chest. At least the boy was safe, even though there was no word yet of Karl.
Sinclair looked down and had a quick recollection of how, as a young boy, Luca would fall asleep after a long day’s excursion at the beach. He and Brindy would tuck him in with whispered exchanges. That was a lifetime ago.
Restless with anxiety, Sinclair walked over to look out the window. The sky was darkening with ash, blotting out the sun. Catania was in chaos—traffic snarled, people frantic. The hospital emergency room was jammed with people suffering from asthma. That was probably what was holding up the doctor, who was suppose
d to be here by now.
Sinclair looked over at Brindy. She was gray-faced with worry as she waited. The minutes dragged by. Finally a white-coated physician put his head into the room.
“Any relatives here?”
“I am,” Sinclair said without thinking.
Brindy cast him an affectionate glance.
“We both are,” she amended.
“What’s his condition?” Sinclair asked.
The doctor perused the chart, his eyes scanning the checklists of drugs and treatments.
“He’s exhausted and dehydrated. A touch of altitude sickness. He came in very agitated, so we gave him a sleeping pill. That’s why he’s so unresponsive right now.”
“No other issues?”
“Not really.”
“Did he tell you he has just been treated for cancer?” Brindy asked.
“We contacted his physician in Rome who had a good prognosis.”
“When will you discharge him?” Sinclair asked.
“I’d like to keep him under observation for another day. Who will sign for his release?”
Sinclair hesitated.
“His mother should do it.”
“And the nature of your relationship with the patient, sir?” the doctor asked, his pen poised over the chart.
Sinclair tried to think of a description that would sum up the way he felt about Luca.
“I’m his godfather, in a sort of unofficial way.”
Luca’s brown eyes opened, and he looked at the nurse and doctor. Then he noticed his mother. But when he connected with Sinclair, a glorious smile lit his face.
“Hey, thanks for coming,” Luca croaked, his throat still raw from the burning fumes.
Sinclair was nearly delirious with relief.
“How are you feeling?”
Luca paused to take inventory, shifting his legs and drawing his hands out from under the covers.
“Fine,” he said and struggled to sit up.
“Where’s Karl?” Brindy asked urgently.
“I … I don’t know for sure,” Luca replied, confused.
“He was with you on the mountain, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, he came down with me,” Luca said “But our guide … Matteo. He fell in.”
Summer of Fire Page 18