“‘Bogdan, of course you can trust your brother-in-law to do this simple thing for you.’ That is what I say to myself and what do you do instead? You send some other idiots who are now in jail! I say to myself, ‘I should just kill you’, but my sister would have to go find a new husband and next time he may be a bigger asshole than you! Is possible, but I do not see how.”
Bogdan Sokolov was unhappy and would soon get a lot unhappier.
***
The sedan sat in an underground parking garage. Belladonna, Enrico and Julian sat in the dark silence. No movement. No sound. The busy streets of Rome swarmed with cars, motorbikes and pedestrians. But for the three, the only sound was their breathing.
“There are people who want to kill you,” the inspector said. “We came to collect you this morning. I told you to stay in your room, so, of course, you had to go out. You do that a lot. Neither Enrico nor I like this habit of yours. The next time we will take stronger measures to keep you where we leave you.
“On this occasion, however, your disobedience probably saved your life. We, as I say, arrived to pick you up, but instead of you, stregone, we discover two Russians. Imagine our surprise.
“They were not happy about being arrested. It happens sometimes. My report will read that during the arrest, the suspects resisted and some small damage was done to the hotel room before they could be restrained. In fact, your room was destroyed,” the inspector said and smiled and shrugged.
“The hotel’s management was initially most unhappy and wanted you arrested too, but…” Julian cut in. “The hotel wanted me arrested? Russians in my room?”
“Oh, stregone.” She was at her most condescending.
“Now, follow along wizard. The Russians were there to kidnap you, after which I’m sure they would kill you. At least that is what they said after Enrico asked them. You know how polite Enrico can be – he has a way with people. We will explain all of this to you later.
“As for the hotel, well, they assigned one of their rooms to you and it became ruined. You must learn to take responsibility for things entrusted to you, no? Do not worry yourself though. The hotel’s manager is Enrico’s second cousin, so you will not be arrested.”
“Well, that’s something, I suppose,” Julian said.
“Yes, all was forgiven once he told them you had fled the country leaving your room bill unpaid. Enrico reminded his cousin that you had left a credit card on file with them. The room charges and all repairs will be in your next billing. You should thank Enrico for being so clever,” the Inspector said.”
“Like hell!” Julian shouted. “You two wreck my room and blame it on me. I have to pay for the damages and you tell the manager I fled the country. Do I have any of this right?”
“See Enrico, I told you he would understand. He is not so big a fool as you say he is,” the inspector said and her sergeant snorted.
“Well, I need to get my things.”
“No need,” the sergeant grunted.
“Enrico is a man of very few words; you may have noticed.” The inspector smiled. “He means, no need to go back because all of your things are in the boot of the car. I might add, you are very well organized, very neat in your habits. We threw it all in a plastic bag and brought it with us. You had some luggage, but it was bulky so we left it. Besides we were in a hurry.”
“My things are in a garbage bag? Jesus!” Julian hung his head in defeat and said, “Would you mind giving me a ride to another hotel? After all your ‘help,’” he put air quotes around it, “I think you’ll agree I need another place to stay.”
Enrico snorted again, shook his head and looked bored.
“You see, stregone,” the inspector said, “we are the police. It is our business to discover things. For instance, we have discovered you aren’t very good at this thinking business, so we have done all the thinking for you.
“We have managed to find you a charming little place where they will accept a man who uses a plastic bag, instead of luggage, and they will ask few questions. Not all of our hotels in Rome would.” The inspector smiled more broadly this time.
***
On the Piazza della Pilotta in the center of Rome, a man spoke in a voice just above a whisper. “Yes, Eminence. I understand completely.” He hung up the phone and leaned back in his desk chair. He steepled his fingers, and said softly, simply, “Good.” The word summed up his outlook for the future. “And now begins the end.”
***
“It’s a whorehouse!” Julian whispered his shout. Whispering, he didn’t sound as outraged as he was. However, his facial contortions made it very clear.
“Is it? Are you sure? You are far more familiar with such places than am I, it seems. I have no need to frequent such places,” the inspector said with a sadistic smile. “I will ask the proprietress if what you say is the case.
“Signore Blessing, may I present your hostess, signorina Joselina Conaletti,” the Inspector said. “Signorina, signore Blessing believes your establishment is a house of prostitution. Is this true? Surely, it cannot be.”
The old woman looked up at Julian with, if not madness, severe eccentricity in her eyes. She walked around Julian and his garbage bag of earthly possessions. Reaching out she squeezed his left bicep. She poked a finger into his stomach in a way that made it turn.
Julian tried to read this woman, but her signature was a muddle of emotions and avarice.
Signorina Conaletti smiled a licentious smile and cackled. Julian shivered. She did not look at him so much as examine him as one would a bug. She grabbed his right thigh and he jumped. She sniggered.
The old woman addressed the inspector in Italian, “Bella, where did you find such a pretty one? What is wrong with him that you would give him to us? No matter, for you, he can stay.”
The signorina addressed Julian in heavily accented English. “Signore, I am the owner of Casa Felicità. We do not provide whores. We bring joy to men in need of it. Belladonna can tell you of our good works.”
“Oh, many good works and all very legal. Several members of the government have been regulars for years. Apparently they are in need of much joy, no?” The women smiled at each other and the inspector called to her assistant. “Enrico, leave the whores alone. We are going.”
She continued to Julian, “Signorina Joselina says you can stay, but you must behave or you will have to leave.” The inspector added, to watch Julian squirm, “Of course, some of what you charge your customers will have to go to signorina Conaletti.”
“What!”
***
A man in his late sixties with sharp features and slate gray hair looked into the distance. His green eyes were hooded in thought.
A younger man in a conservative, perfectly tailored black suit asked a question and looked wary. “This newcomer, this Julian Blessing, will he will be trouble, do you think?”
“Nothing you need worry yourself about. Leave him to me. He will prove useful,” the cardinal said. His smile was thin and shrewd and Cardinal Manning’s Irish accent showed not at all.
***
Julian left the House of Joy, entered a taxi and gave an address to the driver. Ten minutes of insane driving left him breathing hard and standing in front of Sapienza University.
Bridget’s husband, Professor Bragonier, had given Julian a name and address for the chair of the antiquities department at Sapienza, Professor Agostini. Agostini was in possession of a copy of the papers Ailís had attempted to pick up from the express service.
Julian felt there might be some clue to her disappearance and doing something was always better than doing nothing.
No matter where he looked on the campus, he encountered block after block of purpose built architectural madness. The university was a mash up of styles. As he walked, he was treated to an absurd smorgasbord of collegiate gothic, Doric, baroque, neoclassical, modern and, what Julian thought of as just plain ugly buildings. Finding the antiquities department would be a miracle.
&nbs
p; It appeared in the form of Giovanni Silvestri. The young man was in his very early twenties with fashionably long hair, tight jeans and a tee shirt that read ‘New Mexico ~ the Land of Enchantment.’
Julian stopped and turned when he felt Giovanni’s signature. ‘A young man with an uncommon interest in you,’ is what it said to Julian. The student stopped abruptly ten feet short and his face broke into a smile that disarmed coeds and charmed their mothers.
“I’m sorry, sir. You look like an American and a lost one at that. I need to practice my English and I am lost only half the time. We could help each other, no?” Giovanni said.
“You’re right. I am an American, but I’ve not yet begun to be lost. That, I suppose, will come in an hour or so of wandering around. I would appreciate some help.
“As for your English, I can tell you I have worked with Americans who didn’t speak the language as well as you.”
Giovanni smiled more broadly and extended his hand for an introduction. “Gio Silvestri. A humble student at the college of economics and business. How can I help?” A wild pack of young women passed on the sidewalk and flirted outrageously with the young man. He ignored them.
“I’m Julian Blessing and I am looking for the antiquities department.” Gio brightened. “Specifically,” Julian continued, “for Professor Agostini.” Gio paled.
“You wish to see professore Agostini? Agostini the Terrible? Agostini the Destroyer of Students? Agostini, the Embodiment of Evil and the Slayer of Academic Careers? Are you in need of a doctor? Are you ill? Only a madman would seek out that creature.
“Signore, a thousand apologies.” Gio looked contrite as he tried to collect himself. “I am sure you know what you are doing and have important business with the professore. I will happily lead you to the department. I will point out his office. I cannot get too near though.”
“Gio, your reticence to drop in on the professor is based on some personal experience?” Julian asked chuckling at the answer he knew would follow.
“We can walk in this direction.” Julian’s guide pointed the way. “My story is a short one. It is different from those whom the professore shriveled slowly.” Gio shivered violently.
“I was to major in history. I have always loved the subject and lived to be a teacher of history upon graduation.
“I had Professor Agostini as a tutor. At the end of our first session, he said he would kill me if I did not change my major. Economics and business was as far away from the professore as I could get.” Giovanni took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“As bad as all that?” Julian said.
“That bad and worse. The man is a horror. He is a fiend sent from hell to torment students. Many believe he drinks the blood of those who fail his courses. He is well stocked since nearly everyone fails. It is true,” Gio said and crossed himself.
Julian laughed, something he had not done in days. The sun was warm, the company was amiable and the walk a pleasantly slow one. It would be easy to lose oneself in such circumstances but there were other circumstances that sat heavily upon him.
They talked of America and Italy, New York and Rome. Gio was fascinated to learn Julian had been a broker on Wall Street and Julian was impressed his guide spoke five other languages.
Giovanni consulted a bulletin board to see if the professor was in class or would be in his office. They walked a bit further and Gio abruptly stopped at an archway that led to a brick, late gothic revival building.
“We have arrived, Mr. Blessing. That is you have arrived. I am just leaving. You will find the Professore From Hell on the second floor, room 250. This building only has two floors. If there were more, the professore would be found in room 666.” Gio made the sign of the horns in the general direction of room 250.
“Gio, you have been very kind. Please give me an email address. There are some contacts I can send you, along with a letter of introduction. I still have associates in New York. No one there has friends,” Julian said. “That is a thing you should remember.”
Giovanni rooted through his backpack for pen and paper. He wrote out his address and phone number and shook Julian’s hand vigorously. Julian watched as the young student walked up behind an especially attractive coed and draped his arm around her. She was not displeased.
Julian turned to look for the office and then stopped. Something was wrong. Something was out of place. What, he could not tell. That it was there, he had no doubt. Not a signature, but a presence, a darkness.
He knocked lightly on the door to the professor’s office. The signature of the man on the other side of this door caused Julian to smile. He knew a man like the occupant of this room – Professor Bragonier. “One professor is much like another,” Julian thought.
“Enter and state your business,” a man’s voice said in Italian. The voice was firm and brooked no disagreement. This was not a request, but a command and Julian understood the intent if not the words.
“Professore Agostini? Mi chiamo,” Julian began.
The professor held up his hand and interrupted. “Before you murder the language further, you are Mr. Blessing. Professor Bragonier told me to expect you. I have information for you and you are here to learn. That puts you in the top one percent of people on this campus. Students, Mr. Blessing, are a curse, but one with which we must live.” The man’s voice had softened. The accent was heavy, but the professor’s use of English was precise.
He indicated a chair and Julian sat in front of a badly battered desk. Stacks of papers stood ready for grading. Books on well-ordered shelves lined two walls of the small office. Prints of long ago battles hung on the walls. This was a room both timely and timeless.
The professor rose and walked to a locked file cabinet. Julian saw a small man with a huge presence. His signature was vital and strong. In his late sixties with a gray fringe of hair, he sported a goatee that gave him a carefully constructed demonic look.
With a large envelope in hand, the professor returned to his desk and withdrew a sizable stack of papers. The pages were edged with annotations. Footnotes supported the text from the bottom of each page.
Professor Agostini’s notes were plentiful. It was plain to see he had spent time with these documents. If he hadn’t learned anything from them, it would only be because there was nothing to learn.
“You are searching for coins, Mr. Blessing?”
“Professor, I am searching, if not for the truth, for a signpost pointing the way to it.” Julian smiled and inclined his head slightly.
“Then, sir, we will get along famously. Of coins, I have none, but truths, of a sort, I have them in abundance.” The professor, eyes alight with mischief, had a class of one. He was now in his element.
“I will begin by setting the stage slightly and correcting a misconception under which you labor. At the outset, and not without good reason, Professor Bragonier and I agreed with you. We were all of us wrong.
“The Roman coins you found in Ireland we first believed to be half of a larger treasury. In fact the evidence supports the opposite. What you found in Ireland is only a tiny fraction of the whole.
“Where to begin?” The professor laid both palms down on the papers. “Let me tell you a story,” he said.
For two hours the professor spun out a chronicle of court intrigues, the illegitimate children of popes and petty kings, of greedy prelates, murder, larceny and betrayal, the rich and the powerful, the famous, the infamous, and the unknown powers behind the throne of St. Peter. It was a story of money – what it could buy, who it could enrich and who it could destroy. And the innocent. Always the innocent and always it was they who suffered.
The professor traced a course that took the story from ancient Rome to the ends of the modern world. One fact had led to another. One rumor led to another fact. On and on throughout history, innuendo led to rumor, led to fact, led inexorably to a darker truth.
The older man looked off into the distance as he spoke. He had done the research. He knew the s
tory by heart and had no need to consult notes or look for validation or even acknowledgement from Julian.
“And that is the present state of my research. Sadly, there is far more I do not know than I do. I can tell you, I do not like this. There are parts of the story I have had to fill in based on a stew made up of facts, fables and insinuation. I like this even less. To me this is a puzzle and now it has taken hold so I must solve it. The pieces are here. I have yet to draw it all together. There is something missing.
“So, Mr. Blessing, what have you to say?” The professor smiled as he came back into himself. He was a professional realist. He was resigned that the past created the present and that the present created future histories. He was happy in history and saddened by the present and despaired for the future.
Julian thought for a moment. “A question, a clarification really.”
The professor’s eyebrows shot up and he leaned forward. “There was something about which I was unclear? I have made some error?” It wasn’t a question, but a statement of incredulity.
“Not at all,” Julian said. “It is not your ability to teach, but my inability to understand. Rather my not wanting to believe. Nothing more.”
Mollified, the professor snorted, “In that case, please ask your question.”
“Are you saying the Roman coins, the ones that never left Rome, were the seed money for an organization still in existence today? To believe that, changes the world. Professor, it is my sincere hope you will tell me how wrong I am.” Julian’s face was tight and his gray eyes sharp and penetrating.
The professor nodded his head slightly and only once. “I can only tell you what the research shows. Although we wish to believe otherwise, the study of history is not a science. Still, we do our best and follow the evidence where it takes us,” the professor said.
“I can say,” he continued, “we don’t always follow willingly. Some historical facts lead me to conclusions that are simply awkward. Some are nearly impossible to accept. By its nature, much of my research contradicts what we have previously known. In this case, you have stated the case accurately.
Echoes Through the Vatican: A Paranormal Mystery (The Echoes Quartet Book 2) Page 6
