‘And if your research was so goddam shit-hot, how come we got jumped by some good ole boy with a twelve-gauge?’
Raymond glared at the man in the back seat. ‘Listen, you ignorant motherfucker, the whole point about planning for trouble is you never know what form the trouble’s gonna take. Believe it or not – and God knows why I bother – but I was protecting your investment and also our client’s.’
‘Yeah? How?’
‘Because by doing the simple stuff like reading the Stokeville Gazette online before we came down there I found out that those charming folk from the Klan have been busting up churches with mixed congregations, painting slogans and shit.’
‘So what?’
‘So I sprayed “KKK” on the church, just in case anyone saw us near the place or in case somebody like our friend the reverend there turned up. Now I know you may have trouble following the incredibly complex logic underlying this shit, but if you’re looking for a suspect, it ain’t going to be someone who looks like me.’
‘I still don’t get it.’
The argument continued all the way along State Route 25 to the cheap motel on the other side of Stokeville. Raymond and Luzzo jumped out leaving the third member of the gang at the wheel. ‘I’ll go back into town and fill up with gas so we can make an early start. Anybody want anything?’
‘Yeah, twenty Marlboro,’ said Raymond.
As he pulled out of the gas station he paid no attention at first to the headlights behind him but half a mile later the blue flashing lights and the whooping of the siren made his blood run cold. Just keep calm, he told himself as he pulled over to the side of the road, watching the two State Troopers get out of their car, you’re sober, you’re not carrying, it’s going to be cool.
Pompeii
The door to Flora’s office burst open and Francesco Moretti rushed in. ‘Lombardi’s got news. They’ve recovered one of the pages from a codex that was stolen from the lab – it’s from Antiquities too.’
‘But that’s fabulous,’ cried Flora, leaping to her feet and giving him a hug. ‘Where?’
‘Have a guess.’
‘The USA?’
‘Right first time. Lombardi’s coming to see us at ten and he’ll tell us more then.’
Flora continued hopping up and down with excitement and after a couple of laps of the office sat down to try and continue working, but she couldn’t settle and the hands of her watch seemed to stand still. Eventually ten o’clock came round and Moretti led Flora and Lombardi into his office. ‘So what have you got for us?’ asked Moretti, he too betraying signs of nervous excitement.
‘Well, it’s only one page and it’s already in poor condition. Our American counterparts at the ACT – ’
‘What’s the ACT?’ asked Flora.
‘Sorry, it’s the FBI’s Art Crime Team. They’re based in Washington – a very good outfit. They got a tip-off from a collector in Chicago who was offered an early copy of a work by Eusebius at a price that was too good to be true and that led them to one of the gang.’
‘So have they got them all?’ asked Flora.
‘They’ve made a couple of arrests but I haven’t got the full story yet. The handover was supposed to take place in a church near Birmingham – the one in Alabama, not Britain – but when they got there, all they found were the documents and some local pastor who knew nothing about what was going on. Clearly something had spooked the buyers or they’d have collected the package – a single page from the beginning of Antiquities, and a few fragments from Eusebius’ Chronicon, or what was left of them..’
‘So who’s got it now?’ asked Flora. ‘I hope it’s being properly conserved.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Lombardi. ‘It’s under lock and key at George Washington University. The trick is to get the rest of it back. Now, could you excuse me a second.’ Flora stood to leave. ‘No, not you, Flora. Doctor Moretti, if you wouldn’t mind…?’
Alone with the smartly-dressed Carabinieri officer, Flora felt scruffy and ill at ease in her t-shirt and shorts, her hair tied back out of the way with an elastic band she’d found on the desk and with only the odd dab of makeup. Lombardi waited until Moretti had closed the door behind him before speaking again.
‘I know this is going to sound like a strange question but how well known are you, Flora?’ he asked.
Flora’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Well if you mean in academic circles, then we all know each other pretty much. Archaeology’s a small world and palaeography’s even smaller.’
‘So how does that work? You read each other’s research I suppose. Do you meet at conferences and so on?’
Flora ran her hand over her thick, dark hair and tried to make sense of what she was hearing. ‘Well, yes, I speak at conferences in Britain – maybe five or six per year – and so far I’ve done one in Greece, two in Italy and I’ve got another one coming up in Germany.’
‘What about the States?’
‘No, I’ve never even attended as a delegate.’
‘And who goes to these conferences? Just academics or do you get collectors there too?’
Flora shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, why are you asking me this? What’s it got to do with getting the codices back?’
Lombardi’s eyes met hers. ‘I can’t tell you right now, but believe me, it’s highly relevant. Now, tell me – do you ever get collectors at the conferences you attend?’
‘No. The conferences aren’t open to the general public.’
Lombardi nodded. ‘Good. Now my next question is stranger still but please believe me, it’s vitally important. Apart from your friends, family and academic colleagues, would anyone recognise you in the street?’
Flora hesitated again. ‘Well, no, not strangers if that’s what you mean. Why would they?’
‘So you don’t belong to any social networking sites or anything like that?’
‘Yes, I belong to a couple of sites for archaeologists but under a pseudonym: my alias is Pyroclastic Flo.’ Lombardi looked at her and frowned. ‘Sorry,’ continued Flora, feeling rather embarrassed. ‘It’s a joke. You know, a play on words – Pyroclastic Flo, she’s hot stuff. Destruction of Pompeii? No? Anyway, it works in English.’
‘But no pictures of you on the sites?’
‘Absolutely not.’
‘And you haven’t been on TV? Haven’t done any documentaries?’ he asked. She shook her head. ‘Excellent, we’re nearly there. Now,’ he fixed her with a steady gaze. ‘My TPC superiors in Rome would like to talk to you. We may need you there for a few days.’
‘But why?’
‘They said there are some additional questions they’d like your help with. That’s all I know.’
Flora’s outdoor complexion went pale. ‘But I said I’d stay and help Francesco. His department’s paying for me to stay here and I’ve just told the hotel I’m staying for at least another three weeks. I’ve got heaps more documents to look at.’
‘Don’t worry, Flora, the TPC will take care of all the arrangements. Now, please answer: will you come with me to Rome tomorrow?’
‘Well if it’ll help then yes, of course.’
Lombardi smiled. ‘That’s excellent. Make sure you bring your passport and please don’t tell anyone, and I mean anyone, where you’re going or why.’
Fat chance of that, thought Flora. I was hoping you were going to tell me.
Lombardi left and Moretti came back into the office. ‘What was all that about?’ he asked.
‘Oh, you know just a few more questions,’ she replied, trying to sound as natural as possible. ‘Where I’ve been, who I’ve been in contact with over the last few months – the usual I suppose.’
‘And what did you tell him?’
The questioning made her feel a little uneasy. Nothing she could put her finger on, but it just didn’t sound like the usual Francesco Moretti. ‘Oh nothing, really. Just a list of the conferences I’ve been to: dates, people and so on. Why do you ask?’
‘No real r
eason. Forgive me, I’m just being nosey,’ he said, breaking the tension. ‘I’ll tell you what, how do you fancy meeting up for a bite to eat tonight? Nothing fancy, just pizza or something. I could do with the company.’ Her first instinct was to refuse but feelings of guilt over misleading him about the real reason for her conversation with Lombardi got the upper hand.
‘OK, but I don’t want a late night, I have things to do tomorrow.’
Moretti peered at her with one eye half-closed. ‘Oh really? Such as?’
‘Personal things. Private, you know.’
‘Invited you out has he?’
Flora blushed. ‘What do you mean? Who?’
‘Your handsome policeman. I saw how he was looking at you – no wonder he wanted to talk to you alone.’
Nothing in Moretti’s face gave any clue as to whether he was joking or not and Flora squirmed uneasily in her seat.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said with an indignant pout. ‘Anyway I’ve got work to do. I’ll meet you at the hotel at eight.’ With that she stood up and left the office, closing the door behind her, wondering how to explain her absence from Pompeii.
This time Moretti was early and it was his turn to wait in the stuffy hotel foyer under the bored gaze of the teenage receptionist. At exactly eight o’clock Flora trotted downstairs to meet him, forcing a smile as she did so: her heart wasn’t in this and she was still no nearer to finding a convincing story to tell him.
The restaurant was full of locals, always a good sign, and the pizzas were superb but from the moment they had left the hotel it was obvious to Flora that things weren’t right. Moretti seemed morose and try as she might she couldn’t think of anything to say that they hadn’t already said to one another during the day.
Taking a seat in a corner, they both tried to force the conversation along but the magic had gone and in its place an invisible barrier had descended between them. She asked him about Anna and the family but that only seemed to make matters worse: something was wrong and the more she tried to be jolly, the more contrived it felt. Finally, Moretti broke the ice. ‘What did Lombardi really want when he spoke to you this morning?’
‘He wanted me to run away with him and have his tiny babies.’
The joke fell flat. ‘Don’t make fun of me, Flora. What did he want?’
‘I told you. Personal questions about where I’d been and who I’d spoken to.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
Her temper flared and she only just stopped herself from turning her anger on him. ‘Look, Francesco, I know you’re having a hard time with Anna and we’re all hurting about the break-in, but please don’t be like this.’
He shook his head and broke eye contact, his gaze turning downwards. ‘You don’t understand, Flora, you don’t understand how I feel about you –’
‘I do, you know. You made that pretty clear when we were in bed last night.’
‘That’s not what I’m talking about, it goes beyond that.’
Oh God, here comes the declaration of undying love, she thought, please beam me up, Scotty.
‘Look, Francesco,’ she said, reaching across the table and squeezing his hand tightly. ‘You fuck like an angel but let’s not over-complicate things. Why don’t I go away for a few days? Perhaps it would be better if I wasn’t around for a bit. You know, let things cool down.’
He looked at her quizzically. ‘And where would you go? Somewhere with Lombardi?’
‘It’s not like that, Francesco, it really isn’t. And anyway, what I do and who I spend my time with is nobody’s business but mine.’
‘He’ll use you and you’ll get hurt.’
Flora rolled her eyes, ‘Look, please spare me the soap-opera clichés. I’ve made my mind up: I’m going away for a few days and when I come back I’ll decide whether to stay here and help or go home.’
‘That’s not what I’m talking about.’ Seeing Flora’s puzzled expression he continued. ‘It’s all very convenient isn’t it, this sudden disappearing act of yours? What’s it to be: Naples or Rome?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Where’s Lombardi asked you to go?’
This was more than Flora could bear. ‘Look, it isn’t like that, I’ve told you,’ her voice took on a shrill tone that she recognised as her mother’s. ‘He’s asked me to help with the investigation that’s all. I wasn’t supposed to tell anybody but now you know. I’ve nothing to tell his bosses at the TPC that I haven’t already told you so God knows what use I’m going to be to them. Now listen, Francesco, please get it into your head that I’m not interested in Lombardi.’ She stood up, pushing her meal away half-finished. ‘Thank you for dinner, Francesco, I’m going now. I’ll see you in a few days.’
‘Sit down, Flora, and listen to me.’ He caught her by the wrist. His grip felt uncomfortably hard. ‘I’ve told you how things are played in Campania, haven’t I?’
She sat down. ‘You mean the people I keep mentioning and shouldn’t?’
‘Precisely. If they find out you’re working with the TPC then they won’t take any chances.’
‘Meaning what?’ she asked.
‘They’ll kill you.’
‘Oh come off it,’ she scoffed. ‘How are they going to know and why would they want to hurt me? I don’t know anything more about the robbery than you do. Come on, tell me. How would they know if I was working with the TPC?’
‘They’d know. Believe me, they have ways. You’re English, you don’t understand how things work here – it’s…it’s like the air, they’re everywhere.’ he said.
‘Well, you went to Rome,’ replied Flora. ‘And you were even on the TV. They haven’t come after you, have they?’
He looked at her intently. ‘That was different – of course they’d expect me to talk to the police, but you’re different, you’re an outsider, and if you suddenly show up in Rome –’
‘Oh, come off it,’ she replied, her cheeks flushing with anger. ‘You can’t be serious –’
‘ Of course, I’m serious. I want you to tell Lombardi that you’ve changed your mind.’
She shook her head. ‘I can’t do that, sorry, Francesco.’
‘Don’t go,’ he said, squeezing her hand. ‘Please, please don’t go with him, you don’t know what you could be getting yourself into.’
She could see he was close to tears. ‘Is this about me or is it about Lombardi, Francesco? I don’t know what to believe.’
‘Trust me, Flora, you mustn’t go –’
‘I’m sorry, Francesco. I’ve got to pack. I’ll see you in a few days. And thanks for dinner – next time it’s on me.’
***
The following morning, Lombardi collected Flora from her hotel and they set off in an unmarked Carabinieri Alfa Romeo for the two-and-a-half hour drive to Rome.
Flora hadn’t slept well and was feeling tired and gritty-eyed. This is sheer bloody madness, she thought. They’ve mistaken me for something I’m not and they’re going to be terribly cross when they find out. Lombardi’s voice cut into her reverie.
‘There was something I didn’t tell you yesterday, Flora.’
‘Oh really, what’s that?’
‘There is an outside chance that the people who’ve got the codices in the US may be dangerous.’
‘Well I can’t say that surprises me,’ she said. ‘Makes me glad to know I’ll be stuck away safe in some laboratory somewhere. I don’t think I’d fancy your job one bit.’
‘Look, Flora,’ he said, turning to look at her briefly before concentrating on his driving once more. ‘I shouldn’t tell you this because you’re not supposed to find out until later, but there could be an element of danger for you in this.’
Chapter Eleven
Rome, the Capitoline Hill, AD 62
Josephus looked around him in awe. Although familiar with the grandeur of Roman architecture, the sheer scale of the imperial palace left him open-mouthed with wonder. ‘Isn’t there someone I should report
to?’
‘Stuff and nonsense,’ said Alityros, marching ahead as though he owned the place. ‘She’s dying to meet you and wants to hear all about how brave you were during the shipwreck.’
‘But I wasn’t,’ protested Josephus.
Alityros sucked his teeth. ‘Ah, well, you see, I got a bit carried away. I’m afraid I added one or two bits.’
‘You did what?’ shouted Josephus, sliding to a halt on the polished marble floor. ‘What on earth did you tell her?’
Alityros looked abashed and studied his sandals with great attention. ‘That you fought off a couple of sea monsters.’
‘Sea monsters?!’
‘Not big ones, nothing to worry about. But just so’s you know if she mentions it.’
‘Thanks a bunch. I’m about to be presented to the wife of the emperor and now she’s expecting to meet a raving lunatic.’
‘Oh, don’t make such a fuss, this place is full of them. On the scale of the crackpots they have here you won’t even register. Come on or we’ll be late.’
Josephus followed Alityros along the corridor until they came to a grand entrance, guarded by two sentries.
‘Wait here.’ Josephus did as he was told while Alityros exchanged a few words with the sentries.
‘Come on, she won’t bite,’ he said, leading him through the curtain and into the room beyond.
‘Who won’t bite?’ The voice was melodious and the words came with a hint of laughter. Poppaea Augusta Sabina stood up from her upholstered bench. ‘So you must be Josephus? Alityros has told me all about you.’
She was in her early thirties but looked younger, with pale skin and cascades of chestnut-coloured hair surrounding her finely-drawn features. Josephus could see at once why Nero had been tempted to stray from the aristocratic froideur of his wife, Claudia Octavia. He bowed stiffly from the neck. ‘It is a great honour and a privilege to meet you, your majesty,’ he said.
‘Come and sit down,’ she said, and picking up a small copper bell, rang it. A slave arrived and Poppaea ordered wine and fruit for her visitors. ‘First things first, Josephus. Did you really fight off five sea monsters to save this old queen from his fate?’ She looked at the young Judean mischievously.
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