Shout in the Dark

by Christopher Wright

  Chapter 13

  Marco's apartment

  MARCO HEARD ON the early morning news that Luigi Cardinal Amendola had issued a brief press release last night, and probably believed he could suppress all further conjecture on the Head of Eusebius. Issued to the media world-wide, his statement informed news editors that the bronze head found in the Vatican was of recent origin, and therefore of no historical interest. There was no other head, and never had been.

  The morning papers immediately dismissed the whole matter of the relic as a summer hoax. It intrigued Marco to watch the breakfast news on TV Roma. The television company was going out on a limb and insisting that the Vatican had got it wrong, and the original relic was still around. They claimed they had information from "a confidential source" that a bronze head was definitely handed to the Vatican in World War Two, so a bronze head less than thirty years old could not possibly be the same one. Ergo, the Vatican had the genuine article -- or if they did not, they had been remarkably careless with it since the war. Knowing something of the background to the story, Marco realized just how right TV Roma was.

  The rest of the media chose to ignore this rationale from TV Roma, no doubt leaving the Vatican officials sighing with relief. Marco picked his way through the papers for two days, compiling a file of press cuttings for Josef Reinhardt. Then TV Roma came on air with a special report. In spite of Vatican opposition, someone within the Vatican was now helping them. The announcement, Marco guessed correctly, was sufficient to alienate TV Roma from further contact by Cardinal Amendola.

  Father Josef phoned Marco at lunchtime to tell him that Amendola suspected Monsignor Giorgio of being the unnamed source who had unwittingly been helping TV Roma. Monsignor Augusto Giorgio had stormed out of the Vatican feeling guilty and betrayed. This stain on his virtues immediately put him in disfavor with the remainder of the panel of inquiry. Apparently he insisted on his innocence, saying that in an interview he had merely confirmed points that a TV reporter seemed to know already.

  Marco suddenly realized Augusto Giorgio might be innocent. He might be the unnamed source himself, working unwittingly for Laura Rossetti. He said nothing about this misgiving to Father Josef.

  LAURA PHONED THE next day and said she was on her way round. Marco waited impatiently for over half an hour for the doorbell to ring.

  "It's time we got down to some serious discussion, Marco," she announced without waiting for pleasantries when she arrived at last. She dropped her purse on the kitchen table. "I want you to have a look at this letter. I think I can trust you."

  Marco felt unsure how to reply; but whatever Laura meant by trusting him, if she could not be safe in his company, where could she be safe! He laughed at his earlier fears that Laura might be using him in some way.

  "I'll make us some coffee," he offered.

  "Thanks. It's not really a letter -- more of a note." Laura opened her purse. "Canon Levi sent it to ... to a woman he knew. It may tell us what he did with the relic."

  "You're making it sound very mysterious," said Marco. "Who's the woman?"

  Laura smiled, but not very convincingly. "Someone I know. Don't cross-examine me on it, for goodness sake. There's a date at the top. Canon Angelo wrote it three days before he was killed." She turned at the sound of escaping steam. "The gas is up too high." She went forward and turned it down.

  The small sheet of white paper contained only a few lines of Italian handwriting. I am concerned that there is a Vatican plan to stop me getting the bronze head authenticated. I have therefore decided that if they want it, they will have to look for the Living among the dead.

  "I found it during some earlier research, but it didn't mean anything to me until the raid on TV Roma," Laura explained.

  Marco looked over her shoulder, aware of the L'Air du Temps. "The last bit is a Bible quote, but the Canon got it wrong."

  "I didn't know."

  "Gospel of Luke. You're a Catholic, so you ought to recognize it."

  Laura went over to the window to gaze into the park where several young couples lay on the grass, a favorite summer pastime. "Don't give me a Scripture lesson, Marco. I've said I didn't know."

  Sensing the irritation in her voice he was quick to reduce the tension. "Canon Angelo has misquoted it. That's what's confused you."

  "So what should it be?"

  He reached for his Bible on the bookshelf. "It's from the end of Luke's gospel. It should say, 'Why do you look for the Living among the dead?'"

  "Sounds the same to me."

  "No, Canon Angelo didn't write, 'Why do you look?' He wrote, 'Look for'. Perhaps he got it wrong deliberately. He's telling someone they'll have to look for the Living among the dead, which isn't the same at all. The angel in the Bible is telling the disciples not to look there. Watch out, the coffee's boiling again!"

  Laura turned out the gas burner and opened the window for the steam to clear. "So who's the Living, and who are the dead?"

  "You wouldn't be asking such things if you'd had Sister Maria for religious instruction."

  Laura sighed. "Well I didn't, so just tell me -- please."

  Marco poured the coffee into two mugs. "The angel said it outside the empty tomb of Jesus after the crucifixion. It was the first Easter, and the tomb was empty. His disciples had come to see the body of Jesus, but of course it wasn't there because he'd risen from the dead. So the angel asked them why..."

  "Why they were looking for the Living among the dead. Okay, I get that. But what about my letter?"

  "Just look at the way the Canon has used a capital letter for 'Living'. He's talking about Jesus. It's the reverse of the Bible passage. Canon Angelo is saying that they -- presumably people from the Vatican -- must look for the bronze head of Jesus among the dead if they want it, not among the living. In other words he's hidden it somewhere. Any ideas?" He passed one of the mugs to Laura.

  She returned to the window, staring into the park deep in thought, the mug left on the table. She came away at last, her eyes bright. Without warning she flung her arms around his shoulders, giving him the biggest hug he had received since his eldest sister gave birth to her third child.

  "Marco Sartini, you're amazing. You know about the Living, and I know about the dead!"

  He allowed Laura to continue the hug for a time. Then to preserve a modicum of decency he gently unwound her arms from his neck. "So?"

  "It's still at the monastery. I told my friends to have another look there."

  "What friends?" His insides suddenly felt hollow.

  Laura went back to the window, turning her back on him. "Didn't I tell you about them? I'm getting some help on this story. I'm sure I told you." She turned round and smiled.

  It was all a bit too smooth. "You never mentioned any friends. You never mentioned a monastery." Why did he hear alarm bells?

  Laura continued to smile. "Bruno Bastiani and Riccardo Fermi. Don't look so worried, Marco, I still need your help. Canon Angelo's father was called Levi. Israel Levi. He was hiding with his family in the monastery of Monte Sisto in nineteen forty-four, but the village priest informed the Nazis that the Christian Brothers were sheltering Jews."

  "The local priest hated the Jews that much? I can't believe it."

  "Or maybe he hated the Brothers. It was a terrible thing he did. They all died, even the children. Israel Levi was the only one to escape. He brought the bronze head back to Rome for his son -- his Christian son."

  "Canon Angelo? The Jew who became a Christian in the nineteen thirties?"

  Laura nodded. "The Levi family were trying to get to Switzerland, but the Nazis shot them in the monastery grounds."

  "So you think they're the dead?" asked Marco.

  Laura's eyes shone. "I think Canon Angelo took the relic back to Monte Sisto."

  "You're sure we're talking about the same relic, the one showing the face of Christ?"

  "That's the one, though I'm not sure how realistic it would be. Religious art is only someone's conception."
r />   "I'd believe it was realistic," said Marco with some feeling. "But only if it was made before the middle of the first century. After all, within sixty or seventy years of the crucifixion, no one was alive who knew what Jesus looked like. From then on the face was only the artist's or his patron's best guess. This is our chance to see what Jesus looked like -- in this life."

  "You sound like an expert."

  He laughed. "I've been ... reading a book."

  "You're not the only one. Bruno and Riccardo are going through wartime records. They're journalists. They've made some amazing discoveries. You'll have to meet them. Come with me to Monte Sisto. We could see if there are any hiding places. And I could tell you more about the events that took place there. I've got my old car outside."

  "What, go now?"

  "Why not?"

  Marco thought fast. Waiting for the neo-Nazis to make contact was boring. With Laura's help he might find the relic.

  The "old" car turned out to be a silver Alfa, a sixteen-valve sports model with a black custom stripe along the doors. Marco's background in used cars taught him to appreciate this particular edition from a local tuning company, and he felt a pang of envy when he saw it. The Alfa was barely three years old. It had collected an assortment of dents, but then no car stayed immaculate for long in Rome.

  "We'll take the old road towards Terni," said Laura as they crawled north through the congested streets towards the ring road. The road widened and Laura pressed the accelerator to the floor. Ahead of them a glossy red Maserati was tailgating a truck, but it dropped back slightly as the driver seemed to tire of the game.

  "Marco, have you ever been to Monte Sisto?"

  "To be honest, I'd never even heard of the place until you mentioned it."

  "When we get there, I'll show you exactly where old Israel Levi got the relic."

  Marco watched in fascination as the Alfa slipped with split-second timing and an inch to spare into the small space between truck and the Maserati. "You're in a bit of a hurry."

  "No I'm not." Laura sounded indignant as she swung out again, swept past the truck, and cut in sharply while braking hard for the approaching bend. The truck lurched close, almost touching the rear of the Alfa.

  "It's going to take us a couple of hours to get there."

  Marco swallowed. If they'd come this far in safety, the Lord would probably continue to look after them as far as Monte Sisto. He twisted round. A Maserati was wasted on that driver as it hung back. But the truck, its headlights now blazing aggressively, stayed close behind their car as Laura negotiated the bend. A clear, winding road lay ahead. Laura accelerated and left the truck far behind.

  "It must be hard to concentrate on these roads. I'm not putting you off by talking am I?" he asked hesitantly.

  "It doesn't bother me at all." And she laughed. "Cheer up, Marco. You're a nervous passenger, that's your problem."

  "I think you're right." He decided that with a couple of hours going north at this speed they'd either be dead or at the French border.

  The road twisted sharply around the hills in a series of steep dips, a trivial detail that failed to slow their headlong rush. Over to the right lay the vast Monti Sabini, the famous Sabine Hills.

  "Do you know much about the Nazis in World War Two?" Laura trod heavily on the brakes for a bend that sharpened up at the last minute. "Hitler was controlled by an obsession with religious relics."

  Marco felt torn between keeping his eyes on the road, ready for the inevitable accident, and wanting to be distracted from Laura's driving by looking at her as he talked. "Father Josef, the man I work for, said he was a young Nazi in World War Two. He told me Hitler was presented to him as semi-divine."

  "Hitler was into the occult, that's for sure." Laura turned her head for a long look sideways. "He wanted the Habsburg Spear. Wanted it desperately. The Habsburg Regalia were some of the first artifacts Hitler took from Austria. He commissioned a special train to take them to Berlin." She slowed the Alfa and swung it, tires protesting, onto a minor road.

  "We're not late for anything are we?"

  She chose to ignore that remark. "Christians think the Jews are descended from sex between Eve and Satan -- the so-called serpent's seed. No wonder you don't respect them."

  "Father Josef mentioned the serpent's seed. I didn't know what he meant. Is that right, the Jews are supposed to be the descendants of sex between Eve and Satan? I've never heard such nonsense," he protested. "Anyway, who says Christians don't respect the Jews?"

  "What about the American Identity movement?" Laura demanded.

  "Don't blame me for them. The Ku Klux Klan, White Power, and groups who imagine they're the true Israelites who migrated west -- what makes you think they're Christians? They ought to read their Bibles a bit more. Saint Paul was a Jew. He told the Galatian Christians that 'there is neither Jew nor Greek ... for you are all one in Christ Jesus.' Perhaps Hitler should have taken up Bible reading, too!"

  It was only a joke, maybe a bit of showing off of his Bible knowledge, but Laura took it seriously. "You can't forget you're a priest, that's your problem," she snapped. "Anyway, it wasn't only Hitler. Himmler practiced black magic as well. They both thought Christian relics would bring them power and success." She hit the gear lever into first and accelerated hard away from the bend. "I suppose they did, for a time."

  The Habsburg Regalia. The spear, a nail, relics from the crucifixion of Jesus -- some of the few genuine relics kept by the early church. Relics like this were an aid to faith, not a source of witchcraft. "I don't see why the spear that pierced Christ's side should have magical powers. It doesn't seem right."

  "Doesn't seem right?" Laura sounded hostile. "It depends what you do with these things. Fancy some figs? There are heaps along here." She stamped on the brakes and stopped the silver Alfa under the branches of a row of wild figs growing in the shelter of an old wall.

  Marco opened the car door. Without warning he had an awareness of evil. He fought down a rising fear that Laura was planning something. Why the sudden stop? Was he to be quietly eliminated out here in the wilds? It was not a feeling he could shake off. Perhaps it was because they had been discussing the occult. He could remember a night at seminary when he and a group of students had been talking about the devil until the early hours. Strange forces were stirred up, and they had gone to bed terrified.

  The figs looked good. Laura picked one and tossed it over to him. He caught it and rubbed it on his shirt to remove the dust. Laura was Eve, tempting Adam.

  "I hope this isn't forbidden fruit," he said. The reference about the Garden of Eden seemed lost on Laura. "Maybe you're right about the spear," he continued. "Good and evil are what people do with these things. A person can take something good and use it for evil."

  Laura reached up for another fig. "You're right. And surely the opposite applies. A person can take something evil and use it for good."

  Marco shrugged his shoulders. "Not in my book. Why do you say that?"

  Laura was already back in the car. She threw the stalk of her fig out of the window and turned angrily. "Well, that's where you're wrong, you sanctimonious puritan. Good can come out of any action. Anything is justified -- if the motive is right." She started the engine, hardly waiting for him to get in before pulling away.

  For the next twenty minutes they drove in silence, with Marco afraid of triggering a further outburst. The right time would come to find out what was troubling Laura. Maybe the strange hills were affecting them. He felt vulnerable out in the open like this.

  The intense sun had long ago turned the countryside dry and yellow. Apart from the winding road and the rows of conical cypress trees, Marco could see nothing to relieve the monotony of the summer landscape. Born in the city, he was a Roman through and through, and proud of it.

  "Is it much further?"

  Laura said nothing and he began to feel irritable. After all, the drive to Monte Sisto was her idea. He wondered whether to talk about his past, about An
na, but decided to wait for a more suitable opportunity.

  For nearly an hour the road continued in a series of tight loops, up and then down, one hill after another. Laura slowed at last, bringing the Alfa to a halt on a wide area of loose stones on one of the bends. She switched off the engine, opened the door, climbed out and stretched.

  Marco turned his head to look over the sheer drop just outside his door. "This is it?"

  She looked serious. "No, but we're getting closer. I want you to see the view. Monte Sisto's over that way. There's a map behind my seat."

  Marco reached into the car for it and found the road they had taken from Rome. As far as he was concerned they might be anywhere in the world. Far below were olive trees: he could at least recognize them as such. City traffic was a natural accompaniment to his life. Without it this hillside seemed empty, desolate, the space blending into infinity.

  Laura seemed to relax. "Is that a buzzard?"

  There was not a cloud in the sky. The deep blue overhead turned to haze in the distance. All Marco could see was the silhouette of some faraway bird. It could be a seagull for all he knew. "Probably."

  "Monte Sisto is just beyond those hills."

  He looked at the map then stared into the heat shimmer. The hills just went on and on. "Are you sure?"

  "You're worried!" Laura sounded her old self again. "You won't get lost if you stick with me." And she smiled reassuringly.

  The prospect of sticking with Laura had a certain attraction, but he quickly contained his thoughts. As they stood by the side of the road he became aware of a motorbike with a high revving engine, busy changing gear as it wound its way up the hill towards them. He felt his heartbeat rise as the bike approached, and realized just how exposed he was right now.

  The bike passed, the young rider giving them no more than a passing glance. A car horn beeped a warning somewhere, and the cicadas continued their incessant chirping. These were familiar sounds in the park. Out here they sounded so clear, totally unmasked by the comfortable noises of urban life, and somehow alien.

  Laura spread out the map as the bike faded into the heat haze. Marco relaxed and leaned over her shoulder. He could smell the perfume on her neck, beneath the long swept-back hair. The sight of the soft skin aroused him unexpectedly. The fine hairs around the neck were exactly like Anna's. His emotions were running wild again and he moved away. He'd been happy with Anna, intensely happy, but those years of happiness had gone. He was ordained now.

  Laura folded the map and turned, her eyes fixed on his. "Just trust me, Marco."

  The drive to the monastery of Monte Sisto only took a few minutes more. The monastery was much smaller than Marco had expected it to be. Perched high on a hill, the building of local stone was totally roofless and open to the elements. Human existence had obviously ended here many years ago.

  Laura led the way up a narrow pathway, passing some ancient olive trees that struggled for survival in the rocky soil. This was like an expedition into the jungle. Flies surrounded them, and these flies were definitely bigger and more persistent than the city variety. Marco whacked at them with a stick.

  Close to the ruined building they came to a smaller area overgrown with bamboo and brambles. "This was the monks' garden," explained Laura as she stared at the brambles twisting tightly round the canes. "I haven't been here for years. I don't remember it being as bad as this."

  "I know where I can borrow a metal detector." Marco felt more enthusiastic than Laura sounded. "It will only be a simple one, but Canon Angelo wouldn't have buried a bronze head very deep. We could whip over these graves in a couple of hours. I'll get a small spade as well."

  "It's an idea," said Laura, "but the ground looks like we might need a pick-axe if we got a signal."

  Marco disagreed. "If the ground is too hard for us to dig with a spade, it means it hasn't been disturbed recently. We won't dig if we get signals in places like that."

  A flock of doves, with their white feathers streaked with the gray of the occasional visiting wild pigeon, took off from the red stone walls in a flutter of wings. Without the constant care and attention of the monks, every part of their little heaven on earth had fallen into decay. Marco realized how naïve he had been to dream of meeting friendly monks, and finding rows of carefully tended graves that might have once been disturbed by Canon Angelo Levi when he hid the bronze head.

  "The Levi family and the monks were shot by the Nazis, against that wall." Laura sounded deep in thought. "Stand with me for a moment, Marco."

  A somber mood came over him as he stood beside her, trying to imagine those last moments of the Christian Brothers and a terrified Jewish family. Massacred by German soldiers. What must it be like to face certain death, to know that within a few seconds the guns would fire, the bullets would hit, sending you to meet your Maker? Perhaps it was easier when the time came. Somehow he doubted it.

  "Are you going to tell me?" he asked quietly.

  "What do you want to know?" Laura's eyes were wet with tears.

  "Everything you know about Monte Sisto."

  "It's Bruno's story as much as mine." Laura spoke slowly. "His mother was caught up in the events that started here."

  She caught hold of his arm abruptly and pulled him towards the top of the cliff. "Look down," she ordered him. "See that narrow path we came up?"

  He tried to pull himself from the edge, feeling threatened as he reached back to cling on to the branch of a small tree. "Yes."

  "How do you think the monks were feeling when they looked over here in nineteen forty-four? Lean right over, Marco. There are Nazi troops at the bottom of the hill, and they're coming up to kill us. We can't escape. We're going to die before it gets dark."

  The War Years