The Ancient Curse

by Valerio Massimo Manfredi

  ‘What the fuck . . .’ shouted the lieutenant as he wheeled around and ran towards his car. He grabbed the radio. ‘Reggiani here. What’s happening? Over.’

  ‘We’ve spotted it, sir!’ shouted the co-pilot, his voice unable to contain his excitement. ‘Twice, we’ve seen it twice. With the heli’s night vision. I can’t believe how fast it’s running, sir!’

  ‘Shoot the fucker! Use the machine gun. What the hell are you waiting for? Over.’

  ‘We’re trying to do that, sir. We’re trying . . .’ The crackle of machine-gun fire came through over the radio. Then the voice of the co-pilot, shouting, ‘Watch out! Watch out! Turn! Turn!’

  ‘What in God’s name is happening?’ Reggiani was shouting into the microphone. ‘Answer me, damn it!’

  There was the co-pilot again, still shouting. ‘We’re yawing! Give it gas!’

  Reggiani’s ear was glued to the receiver and his heart was in his throat as he waited for the sound of the explosion. Instead, a few moments later, the pilot’s voice came through.

  ‘It’s Warrant Officer Rizzo here, sir. We risked crashing into the mountainside. We’re OK now, but we’ve lost it. We’ll continue the search. Over.’

  ‘Damn! Damn! Damn!’ cursed Reggiani, slamming the receiver on the driver’s seat. He turned to the sergeant. ‘The thing got away and they nearly ran the heli into the mountain. That’s all we need. You stay here at the radio, Massaro. I’m going.’

  Massaro shook his head, discouraged. ‘They were close, sir. They were really close . . . You go ahead. I’ll call you if anything happens.’

  ‘What happened?’ asked Fabrizio.

  ‘They nearly bagged it.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Nearly. They spotted it twice with the night-vision beam and fired at it with the Browning. Then they lost it.’

  ‘What the hell . . .’

  ‘Is this thing made of flesh and blood? Why has no one been able to nail it?’

  They walked into the house and Fabrizio put the rifle back on the rack, then went to a cupboard and opened a bottle of whisky. ‘I need this,’ he said. ‘Want a drop yourself?’

  ‘Nice gun,’ observed Reggiani, looking over at the Bernar-delli. ‘Yeah, thanks. I don’t mind if I do,’ he added, dropping into a chair.

  Fabrizio took two gulps, then drew a long breath. ‘Flesh and blood? I don’t know. Yeah, of course. But if you’d seen what I saw . . .’

  Reggiani took a sip himself, then looked straight into Fabrizio’s eyes.

  ‘Tell me what you saw. From the beginning to the end,’ he said.

  Fabrizio took another swallow. Some colour was coming back to his face and his hands weren’t trembling nearly as much.

  ‘First of all, what is it?’

  Fabrizio took another sip.

  ‘Hey, take it easy with that stuff. It’s not Coca-Cola.’

  Fabrizio set the empty glass on the table and suddenly thought of the virtual reconstruction that Sonia had done of the skull taken from the skeleton buried with the Phersu.

  What is it?’ he repeated. ‘I . . . I don’t know. All I can say is that my colleague showed me a computer-generated image of the animal in the Rovaio tomb and . . . Listen, you won’t believe this, but it looked exactly like this thing.’

  ‘But what is it?’ insisted Reggiani. ‘A dog? A wolf? A panther? It has to be something recognizable, damn it.’

  ‘Yeah, well, it does look like a dog or a wolf. Only its proportions are humongous and it’s capable of making huge leaps and . . . oh, shit, I don’t know. It just doesn’t make sense!’

  ‘OK, let it go,’ said the officer. ‘The important thing is, it’s not a ghost. Those boys up in the heli were close to pumping it full of lead . . . I could hear that Browning sing over the radio.’

  The transmitter he had attached to his epaulette suddenly crackled with Massaro’s voice. ‘Sir?’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘The public prosecutor is here.’

  ‘I’m coming.’

  Reggiani put on his cap and gloves and went to the door. ‘I’ll be right back,’ he said. ‘I just need long enough to tell him to fuck off if he starts breaking my balls.’

  He stopped outside the door, lit a cigarette, took a long drag and then walked to the site where a couple of agents were still taking measurements and collecting evidence.

  ‘Listen, Reggiani,’ began the public prosecutor in a shrill voice.

  Reggiani tossed his cigarette stub to one side, raised his hand to his visor and said, ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘This is the third body—’

  Oh, so he can count to three, thought Reggiani.

  ‘And we’re no further along than when we started. It’s just an animal, for God’s sake.’

  ‘It’s not just an animal, sir,’ replied Reggiani, swallowing hard. ‘It’s a bloody monster we’re dealing with here. It’s some kind of dog or wolf as big as a lion, with fangs seven centimetres long, that probably weighs over a hundred kilos and runs so fast that my helicopter nearly crashed into that mountain down there trying to keep up with it. A monster. And let me tell you, my guys were this close from taking it out. The search is still under way, with men and dogs. We’re giving it all we have. No one’s standing around scratching his balls.’

  ‘Lieutenant!’

  ‘If you’ll excuse my saying so, sir.’

  Massaro approached with the victim’s wallet.

  ‘Who is he?’ asked Reggiani.

  ‘No ID.’

  ‘Have you taken his prints?’

  ‘Of course. I’ve already sent in the photos to headquarters to see if anyone has a file on him. Haven’t got an answer yet.’ He pointed to the mobile phone sitting on the bonnet of his car, connected to a laptop. They stopped a moment to watch the steady flow of forensic data filling the screen.

  The public prosecutor turned to Reggiani again. ‘Just what do you intend to do now?’

  ‘We have to find out where the thing’s den is. The heli is in contact with the men on the ground. They’ll succeed in tracing this animal, I’m sure of it. They’ve seen it, for God’s sake, and they’ve shot at it. They’ll have to fix the exact point . . .’

  Massaro approached them. ‘We have a match, sir.’

  Reggiani walked over to the computer and saw the front and side mugshots of the victim. At the bottom of the screen was a white band with the man’s name and record: Cosimo Santocchi, son of Amedeo. Unemployed, no permanent residence, born in Volterra on 15/4/1940. Previous arrests: petty larceny, dealing small quantities of drugs.

  ‘At least this one doesn’t look like another tomb robber,’ commented Reggiani.

  ‘Maybe not,’ replied Massaro, ‘but you never know.’

  ‘Right . . . So the fingerprints match up as well?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied the sergeant. ‘Look.’ He inserted a gelatin slide into a separate unit connected to the computer and the prints were instantly read and compared to those on the record. ‘Perfect match.’

  ‘I can see that,’ Reggiani nodded. ‘Analyse the soil on the soles of his shoes and see if there’s any trace of that yellow clay from the Rovaio area. I wouldn’t be surprised if he took part in that little picnic as well.’

  ‘Right away, sir.’

  ‘I’ll be leaving, then,’ said Reggiani, addressing the public prosecutor. ‘I have to finish my conversation with Dr Castellani. He was a witness to the killing. I’ll catch up with you later.’

  ‘Yes, yes, go on. We still have quite a lot to do here.’

  Reggiani started walking back to the house. He raised his eyes to the sky before he went in and could see clouds gathering.

  Fabrizio was still sitting at the table and was scribbling on a notepad. Alongside was the printout of Sonia’s virtual reconstruction.

  ‘Is that it?’ asked Reggiani.

  ‘Yes, and look. It’s very similar to the animal I saw. Identical, really. A little unnerving, wouldn’t you say? This virtual reconst
ruction is at least 90 per cent true to an animal that died either of suffocation or a heart attack about twenty-four centuries ago. It is so singular that we’ve found no match for it, at least for the time being. No match, except for the beast that struck again here, which is practically a photocopy of this ancient creature and which materialized the night that the tomb was opened.’

  Reggiani shrugged. ‘Coincidence. What else? Ghosts – even animal ghosts – don’t go around mauling people. And in my mind, an animal that kills can be killed. We have to find the den, that’s all, and fill it with lead. You’ll see that that will solve our problems.’

  ‘There’s something else,’ said Fabrizio. ‘She called again.’

  ‘That voice on the phone?’

  ‘Right. Ten minutes before this whole disaster happened. I tried to keep her on the line so the call could be traced, but she hung up immediately.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘She was yelling. “I told you to leave the boy in peace! I warned you.” Her tone was very threatening, very aggressive. That’s all she said. I realized that she had to be somehow looking at my computer screen, and that meant she had to be somewhere close by, or maybe was using binoculars. So I ran out to search the place. That’s when I heard the growling and then the howl of that beast. Christ, I swear it made my blood run cold. I ran back to the house, but then from my window I saw those bicycle lights travelling down the state road and I knew I had to warn the guy. That’s when I called you on my mobile. But it was too late . . . You know better than I do what happened then.’

  ‘You know, they may have managed to trace the call. The equipment they’re using is very sophisticated. Ill let you know tomorrow if there’s a lead. Now try to get some sleep. I’ll put two guardian angels outside your door. I should already have thought of that. These two are quick off the mark, you—’

  ‘No, really, it doesn’t matter. I can take care of myself, you’ve seen that.’

  ‘Right, but you have to sleep sometime, and when you’re sleeping, you’re sleeping.’

  ‘OK, thank you, then.’

  Reggiani was getting up to leave when Massaro called him again over the radio. ‘The special ops guys have come back, sir, and they’re ready to make their report.’

  ‘I’ll be there right away,’ said the officer. Then, turning to Fabrizio: ‘I was forgetting to say, you were good out there. It’s hard to find people with balls these days. Goodnight.’

  ‘Goodnight,’ repeated Fabrizio, and closed the door behind Reggiani.

  Reggiani went back to the site of the massacre and saw that a couple of stretcher bearers were moving the corpse off the road after having closed him up in a bag. The public prosecutor was standing to the side, taking notes.

  The head of the ROS special operations group that had been patrolling the forest came over to Reggiani. He was a young sergeant named Tornese who had distinguished himself in a number of brilliant operations.

  ‘Well, Sergeant?’ asked Reggiani, bracing himself to hear about their failure.

  The warrant officer put his hand to his cap. ‘Sir, something very strange happened. The heli signalled the spot where the objective had been located and I had all my men and dogs converge at that point. It’s a woody ridge that extends towards the Mottola wasteland. The surface is solid enough, but not hard. When we were fairly close we held back the dogs and went forward ourselves to look for tracks.’

  ‘Excellent choice, Sergeant,’ said Reggiani approvingly. ‘And?’

  ‘We found them, measured them, but . . . I’m not sure how to say this. At a certain point they just disappeared.’

  ‘What do you mean by disappeared?’

  ‘The footprint trail just ended. There were no more tracks in any direction. In the area we’re talking about, there’s a steep wall of sandstone that was about to create problems for our helicopter. That’s where the forest ends. On the left there’s wasteland, and on the right there’s a dense thicket of brambles which is practically impenetrable. In between is a path, more of a trail really, that herders use. They take their swine through there to graze under the oak trees. The ground is stony, so if the animal went that way he certainly wouldn’t have left tracks, but right beyond there’s a bed of clay, the same soil as near the furrows.’

  ‘And you saw nothing there?’

  ‘Nothing. Just tyre tracks. But that’s a place where couples go to park, driving up from the other direction, from the Santa Severa slope. Not lately, obviously.’

  ‘Were the tyre tracks fresh?’

  ‘Looked like it.’

  ‘They were left by someone who’s not afraid of driving around at this time of night, in this area, with that beast running around loose. That’s a person I’d like to talk to. Did you take casts of the prints?’

  ‘No, sir. We didn’t know we’d need that gear. We came kitted out for a search party.’

  ‘I understand, but I want you to put someone on that right away, Sergeant. I’ll expect a full report from you tomorrow. I want to know every last detail. Sorry, but I’m afraid you won’t be getting much sleep tonight.’

  ‘That’s all right, sir. We’re used to it. Trust me, we’ll do everything we can.’ He saluted the officer and went back to his men.

  The public prosecutor approached. ‘I’d say we can leave at this point. Have you arranged for surveillance for Dr Castellani?’

  ‘I have. I’m putting two of my best men on it. But my gut feeling is that nothing further will happen. I think we’ve seen all the action we’re going to see for tonight. Goodnight, sir.’

  ‘Goodnight to you, Lieutenant. You know, I noticed you lighting up earlier. I didn’t know you were a smoker.’

  ‘I smoke one a day.’

  ‘Interesting. When?’

  ‘Depends.’

  ‘On what, if I may ask?’

  ‘On how pissed off I am.’

  9

  SONIA ENTERED the museum library shortly before ten and wandered among the shelves until she found Fabrizio intent on consulting a catalogue of ancient bronze objects.

  ‘Is it true that another poor bloke has been killed?’

  ‘How did you find out?’

  ‘I guessed. Everyone’s saying that the carabinieri were out on a man hunt last night, right around where you live if I’m not mistaken. They say there was a lot of shooting – doesn’t sound like a picnic’

  Fabrizio put the book down on a table. ‘No, it wasn’t. It was horrible. But don’t tell anyone I said that.’

  ‘Will you come down for a cappuccino at the cafe?’

  ‘Sounds good. Did you manage to find what you were looking for?’

  ‘Maybe. Something . . . I’m not sure.’

  ‘How are you coming along with the skeleton?’ he asked as they went down the stairs and out of the museum.

  ‘Well, I’m assembling the spinal column. It’s the most exciting work I’ve done in my whole life. Almost better than sex.’

  Fabrizio shook his head but could not even manage a smile.

  They sat in a corner of the cafe and waited for their coffee to be served.

  ‘So it was awful?’ asked Sonia.

  ‘Worse than awful,’ replied Fabrizio, mixing sugar into his cappuccino. ‘It was a bloodbath. You have no idea. But I saw it.’

  Sonia widened her eyes. ‘I can’t believe it.’

  ‘As I’m seeing you now. No further than seven or eight metres away. I had a gun and I shot at it, but it was already gone. They spotted it again from a helicopter but lost it as soon as they found it.’

  ‘And what did it look like?’

  ‘You’re not going to believe this, but just like your virtual reconstruction. It felt like being in a video game. Or a nightmare . . . I couldn’t say which. I only know I thought my heart was going to burst. So, what have you found out?’

  ‘I’m still searching through all the archives. I’ve even emailed colleagues in a number of universities abroad. I believe there is a ch
ance, albeit a small one, that I’ll be able to identify the animal.’

  ‘So far what have you got?’

  Sonia took a folder out of her bag and extracted a black-and-white print depicting a menacing dog with gaping jaws. It looked like an ancient bronze. ‘What do you think?’ she asked.

  Fabrizio observed it carefully while munching on a sweet roll. ‘It resembles your reconstruction quite a lot,’ he said. ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s a bronze sculpture from Volubilis, in Morocco. It may represent a race of gigantic, ferocious dogs that the Phoenicians had imported to Mauritania from a mysterious island in the ocean. They’ve been extinct for thousands of years.’

  ‘Good try, but it sounds like a lot of other stories that have come down from ancient times – devoid of any basis in fact.’

  ‘I don’t think so. A passage from Pliny reports that King Juba of Mauritania used them for hunting. They were said to be gigantic.’

  ‘So how did one of them end up in Volterra, a good four centuries before King Juba discovered them?’

  ‘That I don’t know. But I’ve found evidence that the Etruscans – towards the end of the fifth century BC – asked the Carthaginians to join them in colonizing an island in the ocean. Don’t you think there might be a connection?’

  ‘You may be right. Pretty nice work for a techie who doesn’t read Greek! But how could this animal still exist and be roaming the countryside, looking for people to tear into?’

  ‘You’re asking too much. I’ve come up with this information and it seems plausible to me, that’s all. As far as existing breeds, I’ve found nothing that resembles the skeleton, taking into account both size and structure. And to tell you the truth, I don’t know how to explain that.’

  ‘There’s got to be an explanation.’

  ‘The only possible thing I can think of is that . . .’

  ‘What?’ Fabrizio urged her.

  ‘It’s a chimera.’

  ‘Come on, Sonia.’

  ‘No, you don’t understand. I’m not talking about a mythological creature. In biological terms, chimera means the product of genetic mutation, a fusion of two distinct sets of genes. It happens entirely by chance and cannot be replicated. It can occur in any species, animal or vegetable.’