‘Emilia and her family? Did you keep in touch?’
‘No.’ He seemed set to justify himself but then thought better of it. ‘I sent Arthur back his passport, and then a couple of postcards to let them know I was okay. But they were so straight and honourable that frankly I was ashamed. It’s hard to be a disappointment to people who—’ He broke off suddenly. He sat up straight, a hushing finger to his lips. Now she heard it too: an engine straining at a gradient. She looked down the track even as headlights swept like a lighthouse beam around one of the hairpins below.
They got to their feet without a word. Cesco hurried to the Harley then they pushed it along one of the narrow footpaths, jolting over ruts and roots. They’d barely left the clearing when a pair of SUVs arrived behind them, their headlights illuminating the woods. Doors opened and slammed. Torches flashed. But she and Cesco pushed onwards and soon were out of sight and sound.
The cloud was thickening; so too the canopy of trees. Only rare shafts of moonlight made it through, lighting the grass like silver tinsel. The footpath degraded into an animal track that then vanished altogether. It was the end of the line for the Harley. They laid it out of sight behind a thorn bush then pushed on, fighting through the undergrowth, picking brambles from their clothes. Cesco kept checking his phone, but still no signal. Brief flashes from its torch helped them pick their way. A murmur ahead grew slowly into a rumble. Carmen put a hand on his forearm. ‘You hear that?’ she whispered. ‘It’s the river.’
‘You mean the Bussento?’ said Cesco, with just a hint of dryness in his voice.
‘I’ll tell you all about it, I swear,’ she promised. ‘But the point is that it has a footpath on this side. It leads to a grotto and then up some cliff steps to the next town along, a place called Morigerati. I know for a fact we can get a signal there.’
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Let’s do it.’
The way grew absurdly tangled. They had to fight between fat bushes of fierce thorns. Night-time creatures scurried all around them, startled by their clumsy progress. Between the cloud and the thick canopy, it was almost pitch black. Carmen took Cesco’s arm to stay with him. A bird took off from beneath her feet, giving her such a fright that she slid her hand down to the comfort of his. He interlaced fingers with her, gave her a reassuring squeeze. They reached the top of an embankment populated by stumpy trees that in the darkness seemed almost to claw like hands up out of the moist soft earth. The river was running at its foot; she could see it by the glints of reflected moonlight. It was possible that the ’Ndrangheta had looped around to cut them off, so they crouched there for a minute or so, letting their eyes adjust, making sure it was safe.
Cesco went down first, lurching in short bursts from tree to tree. She followed close behind. The soil was so loose that her feet kept sliding from under her. But they made it safely to the bottom. Lights blazed orange on a nearby hilltop, like the campfires of an invading army. ‘Morigerati,’ she murmured. Then she took Cesco by the hand once more, and they set off together towards it.
II
The two rental vans had already arrived at the rendezvous point above the Lake Sabetta dam by the time Dov, Yonatan and Noah returned to it. Among their other supplies, they’d brought a pair of satellite phones. Dov found a flat piece of ground in the clearing on which to set up the first of the dishes. With the help of a hand-held compass, he locked it onto its geostationary satellite, then opened up its companion laptop to show Noah how to use it, so that he might provide them with an early warning should the dam be repaired despite their sabotage, and the Bussento released once more.
That done, he and Yonatan grabbed their things and climbed into the back of the second van. Zara was already sitting there, across from Yani, glaring the world’s bluntest daggers. Dov grinned and sat beside her even as they set off. ‘I’ve got something for you,’ he told her, rummaging through his bag. He took out a video camera, switched it on and began filming her, moving it around as she tried to hide her face behind her hand.
‘Stop that!’ she protested.
‘Little bit shy, are we?’ He held it out to her. ‘You’ll need to get over that fast. It’s your official role tonight. Mission chronicler. Documenting for posterity our heroic efforts to reclaim our nation’s treasures.’
‘You can’t be serious.’
‘Oh, but I am. You never know when it might come in useful. So make sure you capture everything, from the moment we arrive inside the grotto until we leave. Our equipment, our journey, the chamber, the plinth, whatever we find beneath. And turn it on yourself every so often, like in the documentaries. You know. Talk about all that shit you’ve been telling me about Alaric and the two Bussentos, the sack of Jerusalem. In English, mind. We might need a wide audience. Oh, and keep repeating what outstanding patriots we all are, risking our lives and freedom to bring the Menorah and the other treasures safely home again.’
‘Aren’t I compromised enough already for you?’ she asked sourly.
‘Not by a long shot, no.’
‘And if I refuse? If I throw your camera in the river?’
Dov gave her a savage grin. ‘Do you really want to put that to the test?’ he asked.
III
‘That was dee-licious,’ declared Baldassare, pushing away his empty plate before leaning back in his chair and folding his hands over his bulging stomach. ‘Truly exquisite. The finest meal I have eaten in many, many years.’
‘There’s more,’ grinned Bettina.
‘More? More? How could there possibly be more? We’ve already eaten all the food in Cosenza. How will our poor neighbours survive?’
‘I made a cassata cake. For your birthday that we missed.’
‘Oh,’ he said. He kept his smile going as best he could, though he could feel it dying behind his eyes. His birthday had been perhaps his lowest point. He’d spent most of it in bed, curled up in a ball. For the first time that night, he couldn’t help but think of those two ’Ndrangheta fugitives, and the bitterness and hatred he felt were like his insides being given an acid bath. He waited until Bettina had gone through to the kitchen then felt for his phone to check for news. But his phone wasn’t even in his pocket. He must have left in the car.
Alessandra sensed him about to rise. She covered his hand with her own. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Not tonight. Can’t you see how happy Bettina is?’
Bettina reached in her hand at that moment, to dim the lights. Then she backed in through the door holding the cassata cake on a silver platter, her eyes down and her tongue bitten sideways between her teeth in her concentration not to drop it. The three toy candles she’d planted in it fluttered weakly until she set it down in front of him, then instantly they sprang up strong and bright again. She smiled at him in triumph and the love he felt for her pierced his side like a crucifixion lance. Then he closed his eyes and made his wish and blew the candles out.
IV
The footpath walked very differently in the darkness, what with Carmen’s nerves already frayed by the knowledge that the ’Ndrangheta were out in numbers hunting for her and Cesco. Imagination was mostly a gift, but she could have done without it right now, the way it turned every tree into a lurking figure, every rustle into an ambush.
Yet nothing happened.
The hilltop lights of Morigerati remained their beacon. They slowly drew closer. The footpath diverged from the river, as she remembered, taking them up through that unruly orchard. They’d almost reached the grotto staircase when they heard an engine and then a vehicle pulled into the small parking area to their left, crunching to a halt a stone’s throw away, its headlights dazzling her and Cesco and forcing them to throw themselves to the ground. The headlights were thankfully turned off, only for a second vehicle to arrive, pulling up alongside the first. Men got out and began conferring in low, furtive voices. She could only think that the ’Ndrangheta had consulted a map, seen their possible escape route and come to cut them off. In which case they’d got here just in time.
The ticket girl had sited her deckchair by the place where the path divided, the left-hand fork leading to the cliff steps up to Morigerati, the right-hand fork leading to the grotto. Carmen peeled her eyes for the split but she must have missed it in the darkness for they found themselves arriving on the wooden deck directly outside the grotto mouth. She muttered an apology to Cesco and made to turn back only to discover that their pursuers were still close behind. And now they had nowhere left to flee except into the grotto itself.
They went in and climbed down a few steps and crouched there to watch. A trail of dark figures now arrived outside, setting down weighty loads then rubbing their sore palms against their trousers before heading back the way they’d come. Her spirits began to lift. If they all left again, they could sneak out while they were gone. But two of them remained. To her bemusement, they set a miniature satellite dish on the ground and aimed it up at the sky with the help of a compass. Then they opened up a laptop beside it, by the light of whose screen she finally saw their faces.
And one of them was Dov.
Chapter Forty-Two
I
From his vantage point above the Sabetta dam, Noah Zuckman trained his field glasses on the two cars that had just arrived in the power station’s small car park. His earlier euphoria had long since evaporated. Courage was easier in the company of men like Dov and Yonatan, who each carried around with them an aura of invincibility. Now it bore in on him exactly how much trouble he’d be in if he was caught, the shame of it, the years he’d be facing in an Italian jail.
As best he could tell, the two cars belonged to the man and the woman who’d been here earlier. But it was dark and they’d vanished inside the control room before he could make out their faces. They evidently set about tidying up the wreckage. Every so often, the door would open and out would come another black bag. But now three more vehicles arrived in rapid succession. First, a pair of police cars. Then, less than a minute later, a white van.
The white van drove straight over to the second building. Two men got out, one of them carrying what looked like a metal toolbox. The woman went to meet them. She unlocked the door of the second building and they all went inside. Lights flickered and then came on. A couple of minutes passed and then the gate over the goods entrance began to scroll upwards, unfurling a carpet of yellow light over the tarmac apron. The two men emerged a minute later, one of them hauling a wooden crate on a hydraulic jack, the other still holding his toolbox. They went over to the control building then heaved the crate inside. The woman meanwhile lowered the scroll gate from the inside then turned off the lights, came back out and locked it up again, and went to join them.
As Noah had tried to explain to Dov earlier, to do real damage to the dam, they’d have needed to attack the sluice gates or the turbines themselves. But they’d had neither the time nor the access. All the equipment that Dov and Yonatan had destroyed with such savage glee was essentially modular. They could in theory be unplugged and new ones put in. It just hadn’t occurred to Noah that they’d be able to do so before morning. But time was money, of course. Stalled turbines meant lost revenue. Besides, the lake was already high and more water was arriving all the time from the spring rains and the thaw.
A low purring noise came from behind him. The satellite phone. Dov must have set up the second one outside the grotto and was now establishing contact. Noah felt sick. What the hell was he going to tell him?
II
The realisation that it was Dov rather than the ’Ndrangheta outside the grotto upended Carmen’s understanding of the situation. It didn’t do all that much to improve it, however. For one thing, the ’Ndrangheta were still out there somewhere. For another, the furtiveness of Dov and his companions made it quite clear that they were up to no good.
She touched Cesco on the hand to draw him further down the steps into the grotto, so that she could tell him what she knew without being overheard. It was hard going in this total darkness, having to feel out each next step with their feet. But they reached the foot of the staircase at last. The river roared beneath them, but still she put her mouth to Cesco’s ear, for you could never trust the acoustics of such places. ‘They’re not ’Ndrangheta,’ she told him.
‘Then who?’
‘That couple I’ve been staying with. The guy with the laptop, that was the man.’
‘Then why are we hiding from them?’
‘I don’t trust him. Him and the woman, they’re both Israeli. I think that’s why they’re here.’
‘How has their being Israeli got anything…’ But then he worked it out for himself. ‘They think Alaric’s buried in here somewhere. And he’s got the Menorah with him?’
‘I think so, yes.’
‘But… why?’
‘Because it’s the Bussento, of course. And those pieces that Vittorio had in his money belt almost certainly came from around here. Plus we found some Visigoth symbols in the cavern roof where the river enters the mountain.’
‘That hardly justifies all this.’
‘I know. All I can think is, I got suspicious of them yesterday, so I called my professor to have him come down. When I told this guy Dov, he got angry. He tried to hide it but it was obvious. Then he headed off alone last night. I didn’t hear him come back in again either. But he slept way in this morning.’
‘He came here, then,’ said Cesco. ‘He came here and found something. And now he’s back with all these others to raid it before your professor arrives.’
‘I think so, yes.’
‘You know the guy. What will he do if he finds us?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. But there’d always been something unsettling about Dov. If it hadn’t been for Zara, she’d have run a mile from him. And, if they were right about what they were up to, he and these others were here to break into an ancient site in order to steal priceless artefacts. They were risking years in jail. And Dov hadn’t seemed the kind of man to let that happen when he had alternatives. ‘But I’d rather not find out.’
‘So what do we do?’
‘There’s another passage across the bridge. It’s roped off, so I don’t know where it leads. But maybe we can hide there until they’re gone.’ She led him across the viewing platform bridge. They ducked beneath the rope then made their way down the second passage, stooping their heads from its low ceiling, hands against the walls. They were safe enough here from being seen, so Cesco turned on his phone’s torch. The floor was muddy in places, and bore the marks of recent footprints. Her heart sank at the sight. The noise of the river hushed then grew loud again. They reached the end of the passage to find a small black dinghy lying deflated on the rocks, together with an outboard engine, waterproofs and other pieces of equipment. And the left-hand wall completely opened up too, revealing the Bussento river rushing by their feet.
She anchored herself to a cleft in the rock then leaned out and looked downstream. There was a flash of lamplight on the viewing platform bridge as Dov and his men laboured across it with their heavy gear. The stark truth bore in on her. They were on their way down here.
Her hoped-for refuge was no refuge at all. And it would take a miracle now to spare them being caught.
III
The cassata cake was demolished. Coffee and spirits had been served and drunk. They cleared the table together. Baldassare caught Alessandra’s eye and, when she nodded, he slipped downstairs to the basement garage. His phone was on his passenger seat. He grabbed it and turned it on even as he headed back upstairs, checking messages as he went. His very first was from Cesco. Listening to it sent chills right through him. He sped through the rest of the messages, but there was nothing else of significance, nothing else from Cesco or from Carmen either. He called both their numbers but got only voicemail. With any luck, it only signified that they’d found each other and were in bed right now making up for wasted time. But he dared not count on it.
He hurried to the front door. Manfredo was on duty. ‘I need everyone up and ready,’ he told him. ‘Send me Sandro. And tell Faustino to prep the ’copter.’ He hurried through to his office, turned on his desktop screen, brought Sicilì up on a browser. Sandro came in. He told him what was happening then jotted Cesco’s and Carmen’s mobile numbers on a slip of paper. ‘I need these traced,’ he told him. ‘Current location, if possible. Last recorded location, if not.’
‘Yes, sir. On it now.’
Baldassare pondered a moment. He needed to get some kind of police presence to the cottage as soon as possible. That meant cutting out the middlemen and going straight to the nearest station. Sicilì itself was too small to have one of its own. The closest of any size was in Sapri on the coast. It looked no distance on his screen, but the high hills there would make it at least a half-hour’s drive. He found its number and called it. A chirpy young woman answered. He asked her to put him through to the station chief. He’d already gone home for the night, she told him, but if he explained what this was about she could find someone appropriate to—
The Sacred Spoils Page 31