The Curious Case of the Missing Head

by Gabriel Farago

  ‘The car is over there,’ said the officer and pointed to the black Centenario parked between a BMW and a Fiat some distance away. ‘To get out of here they have to drive past us, right here.’

  ‘Good work, guys!’

  ‘Where’s the driver?’

  ‘He left the car and caught a taxi.’

  ‘What does this tell you?’

  ‘He dropped off the car for someone to collect.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘There’s more.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘After he got out of the car, the guy went down on one knee next to the driver’s door and did something. We couldn’t see what it was from here, but it didn’t take long.’

  ‘What do you think he was doing?’

  The officer smiled. ‘Placing the car keys somewhere they could be easily retrieved. We have done this many times ourselves.’

  Cesaria nodded. ‘Let’s sit back and see if you’re right,’ she said and pulled out the body camera photographs taken by the Ministry of Defence Police in Portsmouth. She looked at the close-ups of Teodora’s face, which Tristan had already identified at the Squadra Mobile.

  ‘Here comes someone,’ said the officer sitting next to Cesaria. A young woman with long blonde hair and a backpack slung casually over her shoulder walked slowly along the row of parked cars towards the Centenario. When she reached the black sports car she stopped and, without looking around, dropped her backpack on the ground and then bent down, pretending to tie one of her shoelaces.

  ‘You were right; look,’ said Cesaria.

  ‘Do you think it’s her?’

  ‘Hair’s different and with the sunglasses it’s difficult to tell from here. I’d say she changed her appearance.’

  Moments later, the woman stood up, unlocked the car door, threw her backpack on the passenger seat and got in.

  ‘This is it, boys! It’s her. I put my reputation on it.’

  ‘What do you want us to do?’

  ‘We follow her, of course. Let’s see where she’s heading.’

  ‘How do you want to handle this?’

  ‘Carefully. I want a second team on this, and one of the best motorcycle guys from traffic. No uniform, of course. This is a very fast car and we can’t afford to lose it. It’s okay in this crazy traffic here, but if she takes the autostrada, it’s a different matter.’

  ‘Understood. Leave this to me.’

  As soon as Teodora got into her car and turned on the engine, she relaxed. The familiar sound and throb of the powerful motor calmed her, like the hand of an old friend stroking her hair. This allowed her to focus and clear her troubled mind. For the first time in days, she felt in control and was looking forward to the long drive north back to Lake Como with the promise of an embrace from Izabel she had been longing for since leaving her early that morning five days ago.

  Just what I need, thought Teodora, and skilfully manoeuvred the car through the heavy traffic towards the on-ramp that led to Strada Statale 36 del Lago di Como e dello Spluga, the autostrada to Como. She had called Izabel several times during her trip back to Florence, promising she would be home soon, but she didn’t explain where she had been or what she had been doing for the past five days. This was despite Izabel demanding answers and threatening to return to Milan. Teodora realised the moment she had dreaded since meeting Izabel had arrived. If there was to be a future for them, she had to tell her lover who she really was. She knew this would test their relationship, but the time for games and deception was over; there was nowhere left to hide.

  Teodora knew Izabel was expecting her and waiting for her at Villa Rosa after being discharged from Como hospital, but as time was quickly running out, she decided to tell Izabel everything with brutal honesty during the drive back to Como. As soon as she reached the autostrada, Teodora put her foot down on the accelerator and dialled Izabel’s number.

  Izabel was lying in a deckchair on the terrace overlooking the lake. Her right leg was in plaster and she was not allowed to put any weight on it. There was no pain, only immobility and a little frustration. But with Teodora’s housekeeper fussing over her, she was coping and looking forward to seeing Teodora. Suddenly her mobile rang, and she picked it up.

  During the three-hour drive, Teodora told Izabel about her life, her secret hopes and darkest fears, holding nothing back. She spoke of her childhood and what it had been like to grow up with twin sister, Nadia, on a remote farm in Albania before the Kosovo war. She told Izabel how she remembered her parents as simple, pious, God-fearing Muslims who believed in the Prophet, the Koran, and in hard work. She burst into tears as she described that night of unimaginable horror in that farmhouse in Kosovo that had changed everything, how she had witnessed her parents being killed, their chests opened and their organs harvested by a man known as Dr Death.

  She told Izabel how she and Nadia had been taken in by gypsies in their hour of great need, and how they had met Aladdin and Silvanus and how Spiridon 4 had grown out of that friendship as a means of survival after another monstrous tragedy.

  She spoke of loneliness, heartache and despair, of pain, guilt and sorrow. She explained how she had become a skilled assassin and one of Europe’s most dangerous women, wanted in several countries, and described the heinous crimes the group had committed for money and personal gain. Teodora pointed out that if caught, she would spend the rest of her life in prison, or worse.

  She then explained where she had been during the past five days. She explained how destiny and fate had brought her face to face with the monster who had haunted and tormented her all these years and how she felt liberated and free after she had avenged her parents’ murder by executing the man who had so callously butchered them and destroyed her life. Sobbing, she spoke of redemption and the power of forgiveness, and how she desperately hoped that love would heal and cleanse her wounded soul.

  After Teodora had finished, there was complete silence and for a long, painful moment, she thought that Izabel had hung up on her. ‘Are you still there?’ she whispered, fearing the worst.

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Shocked?’

  ‘A little.’

  ‘Am I going to lose you?’

  ‘No, but only on one condition ...’

  ‘Name it.’

  ‘That you hurry back to me so that I can hold you in my arms.’

  ‘I’m on my way!’ said Teodora, barely able to speak. ‘I love you,’ she said and hung up.

  Teodora took a deep breath, wiped away the tears and looked around, surprised by how far she had travelled since leaving Florence. Time seemed to have been strangely suspended by painful memories and pent-up emotions she had locked away for so long in the secret recesses of her heart.

  Not long now, thought Teodora, glad that she had taken the risk to go home, albeit for just a few hours, to talk to Izabel before going to ground in her secret bolthole in Bavaria, and disappear. It was because of this distraction that she hadn’t noticed she was being followed. Two unmarked police cars and a powerful motorbike had been on her tail since Florence.

  Feeling both relieved and elated, Teodora remembered what she had promised Jack just before she left him on the ship in Tangiers. She called the Palazzo da Baggio and asked for Tristan. A female voice answered the phone and told her Tristan wasn’t in Venice.

  ‘I would like to leave a message for him, please. It’s urgent and very important.’

  ‘It’s Lorenza, his wife, speaking. Please go ahead.’

  ‘Lorenza, would you please tell Tristan this: Jack Rogan is alive and he is being taken to Colombia.’

  ‘Who is this?’ asked Lorenza, sounding anxious.

  ‘A friend,’ replied Teodora and quickly hung up.

  ‘Looks like she’s going all the way to Como,’ said Cesaria, pleasantly surprised by the smooth, uneventful way the pursuit had been going so far. She realised it would become far more difficult for it to remain that way once they got closer to the lake, as the lack of traf
fic would make it almost impossible to remain unnoticed on the narrow road leading into Como. For that reason, she had contacted Como police and asked them to intercept the Centenario, should that become necessary. The police there were standing by and would use roadblocks to stop the car if required.

  Cesaria’s instructions were clear: under no circumstances was the car to be allowed to pass once that order had been given. Too much was riding on apprehending the subject. Allowing Teodora to get away wasn’t an option.

  As she approached the lake and the familiar road became narrow with numerous bends, something in the rear-view mirror caught Teodora’s eye. It was a motorcycle, followed by a car she had noticed before. At first she dismissed this as a coincidence, but as she accelerated, the bike did the same, and when she then slowed down, it didn’t overtake her, but slowed down as well, making sure it remained close but behind her at all times.

  Someone’s tailing me, thought Teodora, an icy wave of fear washing over her. Stay calm and think. This is no time for mistakes! If she was right, returning to her villa would be the worst decision as she would be trapped there. The only logical option was to outrun her pursuers and head north to Switzerland. Teodora knew that with her car, her local knowledge and her driving skills, she could do that. She waited until she got out of a bend and then, she accelerated.

  ‘I think she’s onto us,’ said Cesaria as the Centenario put on speed and began to take corners like a racing car. Realising that their own police car was no match for the powerful Lamborghini, she contacted the motorcycle policeman in front of her and told him to try to overtake the car if possible and signal for it to stop. She also contacted Como police and asked them to put up a roadblock.

  Teodora was rapidly approaching the turn-off to Villa Rosa on her left, when she heard the shrill sound of a police siren. It was coming from the motorcycle closing in fast from behind, its flashing lights a signal for her to stop.

  Police! thought Teodora. Shit! Biting her lip, she changed gears and put her foot down.

  Sitting on the terrace facing the lake, Izabel heard the sound of a police siren in the distance. As it became louder, she turned her head – and gasped. She saw Teodora’s car racing along the winding road opposite the villa at an insane speed, followed by a motorcycle with flashing lights. She could also see a tractor with a trailer full of hay coming the other way. ‘Oh my God!’ shouted Izabel, watching as the two vehicles, whose drivers obviously couldn’t see each other around the bend, came closer.

  Teodora was madly cutting corners to keep her car on the road and get away from the bike. Moments later, the left-side front bumper of the Centenario clipped the large wheel of the tractor as it came around the bend. Doing one hundred and forty, Teodora lost control of the car, veered to the right and crashed through a steel barrier on top of a steep cliff, plummeting towards the lake below.

  ‘Nooo!’ screamed Izabel, holding her breath, as the Centenario became airborne, its engine whining like a wounded animal in agony.

  Teodora saw it all happen in slow motion. First, the collision with the tractor, then crashing through the low barrier on her right, sending pieces of metal flying, followed by a strange feeling of weightlessness as the Centenario left the road and went over a cliff thirty metres above the still waters of the lake.

  The last thing Teodora saw was a shaft of blinding sunlight just before her dream of coming home to Izabel was shattered as the car burst into flames, and then rapidly sank into the deep, dark waters of the lake.

  Part III

  The Theory of Everything

  ‘In the name of Hippocrates, doctors have invented the most exquisite form of torture known to man: survival.’

  Edward Everett Hale

  41

  Somewhere in the Atlantic: 6 July

  Jack hated confined spaces, but what he loathed more was the monotonous, mindless routine of the long sea journey across the Atlantic. The food was basic – some of it almost inedible – contact with the crew was non-existent and the young Colombian boy who delivered the food tray didn’t speak a word of English. And to make things worse, it was incredibly hot and there was no air-conditioning in the cabin.

  To make his situation bearable, Jack spent most of his time with Dr Agabe in Stolzfus’s cabin helping the doctor to look after his patient, which took up quite a bit of time, and playing chess. During the many hours they spent together watched over by a silent, motionless Stolzfus sitting strapped in his wheelchair next to them, Jack got to know Agabe very well and fortunately for him, Agabe was a fascinating man with many interests.

  ‘You know, every time you think about your next move, you hum the same tune,’ said Agabe.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ replied Jack. ‘I wasn’t aware of this. Does it bother you?’

  ‘No, not at all, but what I find curious is that the tune you are humming reminds me of Fabry.’

  ‘In what way?’

  Agabe shook his head. ‘Fabry and his music. There was music everywhere. When we worked on the Caritas together, there was piped music in his cabin, in the dining area, even on deck. He couldn’t work without music.’

  ‘How odd.’

  ‘It got worse in Valletta,’ continued Agabe. ‘He had a sophisticated sound system installed in the operating theatre in his clinic and there was music playing during every operation.’

  ‘What kind of music?’

  ‘Classical mainly, but he had his favourites.’

  ‘What were they?’

  ‘Bach. He loved Bach. We got to know Bach cantatas very well and were even humming along during operations just like you were doing a moment ago. The Passions of Christ and the scalpel. It was an odd combination.’

  ‘A complex man, as you said.’

  ‘He was complex all right, but when it came to music, he was obsessed. Every week or so, he had a new favourite composer and a new favourite piece and we had to listen to it over and over, day after day. It was quite crazy.’

  ‘And what I was humming just now reminded you of him?’

  ‘It did, because I recognised the tune.’

  ‘You did?’

  ‘Yes. It’s Tchaikovsky.’

  Jack looked at Agabe, surprised. ‘The Lost Symphony,’ he said. ‘For some reason, I cannot get it out of my head. I keep hearing it over and over.’

  ‘You know it?’

  ‘I sure do.’

  ‘Strange. During the past couple of weeks or so, Fabry kept playing this symphony all the time. He played it during every operation and told us the story of its extraordinary discovery. It was only discovered recently, you know, somewhere in Russia.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  It was Agabe’s turn to look surprised. ‘You seem to know a lot about this. How come?’

  ‘Because I discovered it,’ said Jack, a knowing smile spreading across his face.

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Can you tell me about it?’

  ‘Sure. Do you believe in destiny?’

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Because what I’m about to tell you is a remarkable story about destiny, which began a few years ago and appears to be continuing here, right now. And it all began with an old lady in a retirement home in France, a beautiful music box and a letter from a desperate Tsarina, asking for help.’

  ‘How intriguing. I cannot wait to hear it.’

  ‘I will tell you, but you may find it hard to believe. But before I do, I would like to ask you something.’

  ‘Please, go ahead.’

  ‘You said Fabry played music during all of his operations.’

  ‘Yes, he did.’

  ‘Would that include that marathon operation involving Professor Stolzfus here?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘And do you remember what music Fabry played during that operation?’

  ‘Yes, I do. It was this piece. Tchaikovsky’s Lost Symphony. In fact, he played it several times.’

  Extraord
inary. That’s what Tristan could hear, thought Jack, smiling. ‘Now let me tell you a story about destiny and fate, and a young man who can hear the whisper of angels and glimpse eternity.’

  ‘Fascinating.’

  Over the next two hours and during several chess games, Jack told Agabe how a letter accidentally discovered in a music box left to him by his great aunt, took him on an extraordinary journey of discovery that ultimately led him to a remote church in Russia and Tchaikovsky’s lost masterpiece.

  After Jack had finished, there was a palpable stillness in the cabin as the chess game continued, the occasional scraping of the pieces on the chessboard the only sound. For a while, Jack stared at the board, lost in thought, but then without realising it he was again humming the Tchaikovsky tune, just as he had done before. It was his move; a difficult one. Then a soft, strange voice interrupted the silence.

  ‘Bishop to d3.’

  Jack looked up, bemused, assuming Agabe was making a suggestion because he was taking so long. But Agabe hadn’t said anything.

  ‘Bishop to d3,’ said the voice again, this time sounding a little stronger. Slowly, Jack turned around and looked at Stolzfus, who was sitting by the open window. Stolzfus’s eyes were open just a little and his lips were moving, this time repeating the words without making a sound.

  ‘Incredible! He’s awake!’ whispered Agabe and stood up without taking his eyes off Stolzfus. ‘And he can speak. We’ve done it! It worked! Fabry was a genius.’

  This is surreal, thought Jack. Slowly, he moved his bishop as suggested by Stolzfus. ‘Good move, Professor,’ he said, carefully watching Stolzfus. ‘You must have been following the entire game.’

  ‘I have. Not only this game, but everything. Just like your young friend who can hear the whisper of angels and glimpse eternity,’ said Stolzfus, speaking very slowly and slurring his words. ‘I can remember everything that happened to me since I was shot.’

  ‘You are obviously referring to Tristan’s story we’ve just discussed. Tristan spent several years in a coma after an accident. Somehow he was able to follow everything that was happening around him, but without being able to participate because he was locked in the coma.’