EPILOGUE
I
Ospedale Civile di Venezia, Venice They stitch Tom's hand wound and strap his sprained ankle, but because of the head injuries they insist on keeping him in overnight. It's not what he wanted. Not after his nights of incarceration in the Plague Hospital.
To make matters worse, the TV in his room spouts nothing but news about the thwarted bomb attack in Venice. So far the media haven't joined up the international dots, but Tom knows they will, it's only a matter of time.
Somewhere in the early hours he leaves his bed and asks a nurse how Tina Ricci is.
He finds her just a door down – almost the same distance away as when they were both imprisoned. She's conscious, staring at the ceiling, lost in her own thoughts as he slowly approaches her bed.
'Hi there,' he says gently. 'How you doing?'
It takes her a second to realise who's talking. 'I'm okay.' She squirms a little in her bed, and can't quite hide her embarrassment. 'And you?'
'I'm fine.' He moves closer to her. 'I won't stay. I just wanted to see how you were.'
'You don't look so fine.' She glances pointedly at the bandaged hand and ankle.
'Cuts and bruises. I've come off sports fields with worse.'
She can see a thousand unasked questions in his eyes. Questions about them. Questions about her part in everything. 'Tom, they made me write that piece that was in the newspapers. I went to that commune on Isola Mario to do a story and that bitch Mera made me write it. Then they took me to that other awful place.' She looks close to tears. 'They made me, Tom, look…' Tina tentatively draws back the bed sheets, revealing a mass of burns on her legs.
'My God. What did they do to you?'
She covers up. 'A poker. Nothing special. Just a hot poker in a fire, like you see in B movies.' She stretches out a hand to him. 'They've given me a sedative, I think I'm going to doze in a second. Sorry.'
'No need to be. Get some sleep.' He squeezes her fingers. 'Let's talk later, when both of us feel stronger.'
'For sure.'
He lets go and heads for the door.
Tina wants to say something more but doesn't. Sleep is washing up over her and she can't find the energy to fight it.
II
Tom doesn't go back to bed. He's been laid out on his back too much in recent times.
He hobbles a while, then sits and watches the sunrise from beneath a blanket in a chair next to his window.
He gets to thinking about where he'll go next and whether he should make the journey alone, or not. Much of it will depend on Tina's full explanation, and what her plans are.
Dawn starts as dull and grey as iron filings.
Then Venice remembers it has a reputation to keep up and pulls out radiant robes of golds, purples and shimmering reds before settling for a simple outfit of cornflower blue.
Vito Carvalho and Valentina Morassi arrive while Tom's cradling an espresso so thick he could almost chew it.
'How you doing, Father?' Vito grins mischievously.
Valentina plays along, 'Ex-Father!'
'I've been better.'
'And you will be again. Very soon.' She leans over and kisses him.
'If you don't mind, I won't do that,' jokes Vito, offering a handshake.
They settle in chairs alongside his bed and give him a bullet-point debrief: Bale's execution went ahead as planned. Tom's old friend Alfie is okay, is in Venice and is desperate to see him. Antonio's funeral is fixed for five days' time, a full military service, and they'd like him to come. Forensics have pulled together damning evidence from the boathouse on Lazzaretto Vecchio, including finding traces of Monica Vidic's blood in the gondola along with hair and skin from Ancelotti and Teale. The paint flakes on Monica also match the gondola.
Some things need longer explanations, like why Mario Fabianelli is still a free man.
'Totally innocent,' says Vito. 'He wasn't involved at all, he just got manipulated by Teale and Ancelotti.'
'Teale had become obsessed with Bale,' explains Valentina. 'During the years when Mario was off his head on coke she even visited Bale in prison. Like lots of other weird losers, she fell for his charm and mind games.'
'Teale and Ancelotti were romantically involved too,' adds Vito. 'Initially, she got him into it just to spice up their sex lives. Then they became hooked on abducting and killing victims like Bale and his cult had done. We believe they selected their prey from local churches. Then when Mario had his muddled idea of a hippy haven, they seized on it and encouraged him. It was the perfect vehicle for them to recruit cult members while pretending to do Bale's bidding.'
Tom's almost afraid to voice his next question. 'And Antonio – your cousin – he just stumbled into all this?'
Vito answers for her. 'It seems that way. Antonio was under orders to search the grounds for drugs, and that meant him going to all the places that were off limits. We know now that the mansion and grounds were covered by more cameras than a Big Brother house. We think Ancelotti picked him up on surveillance and had his boat rigged with explosives.'
Seeing the pain in Valentina's eyes, Vito swiftly changes the subject: 'Your old prison pal, Bale, put messages in his pictures and got an unsuspecting group of do-gooders to advertise and sell them on the internet in aid of charity. Teale and others then went online and decoded the symbols and clues. They were all part of a mystical, secret society that spread across the globe, hence the attacks in Venezuela and Vegas. In truth, we don't know exactly how far it spread or how many were involved.'
Tom puts down the last of his coffee and hitches himself up the bed. 'Why did Bale have such an obsession with Venice?'
'Well,' begins Valentina, 'we called the FBI after you told me about him, and they've been digging out everything on him since he was born.'
'Born in Venice, California,' adds Vito. 'The illegitimate son of a former Catholic nun called Agnese Canaletto who died in childbirth, he was brought up in a Catholic orphanage and adopted by a family called Bale when he was four years old.'
Tom's memory flashes a picture of the Canaletto painting Rosanna Romano had given him the night she'd died. He's still thinking of its significance as Valentina picks up the tale. 'Bale was told of his upbringing by his adoptive parents, who probably meant well, but from an early age he harboured an obsessive hatred of all things Catholic and Italian. The FBI psychologists believe this led to him seeking to destroy as much as he could of the Church and anything symbolically Italian.'
'Symbolism and evil are powerful combinations,' says Tom, 'especially when you're dealing with loners who have disturbed childhoods. What happened to the silver artefacts – the Tablets of Atmanta?'
'Under lock and key in the Carabinieri safe,' says Valentina, lifting a fruit bowl up from beside the bed.
'Safe from both the Church and the Satanists. We'll work out what to do with them later,' adds Vito. 'They're in two safes, actually.'
'Two?' queries Valentina, picking herself some grapes.
'It's not that I'm superstitious,' says Vito, 'but I didn't want the three tablets lying together. I thought it best to keep them apart.' He throws up his hands. 'I know, they should be in three separate safes, but I only have two.'
They all laugh.
They're still laughing when the door opens.
Tina is surprised to see people sitting either side of Tom's bed. 'I'm sorry, I didn't know you had visitors.'
'Come in,' says Tom, warmly. 'They're not visitors, they're my friends and former employers. Valentina I'm sure you'll recognise.' The two women just about manage a smile in acknowledgement. 'And this is her boss. And right now they're going to kindly leave my fruit alone and get themselves some breakfast.' He turns to Vito. 'And while you're doing it, maybe you could swing it for me to leave this hospital bed and get out of here, ASAP?'
'We'll see what we can do,' says Vito, rising from his seat and nodding good day to Tina.
Valentina gives her an icy stare as she passes. 'Don't eat all th
e grapes while we're gone.'
Tina waits until the door closes and then looks across to Tom. 'Is this a good time to talk? Or do you want me to come back?'
'No, this is good,' says Tom with a smile. 'In fact, it's just perfect.'
III
Los Angeles Six thousand miles from Venice, a young Californian woman sleeps deeply in a hospital bed identical to Tom's.
Cristiana Affonso is lucky to be alive.
The doctors say she bled so heavily during the operation they almost lost her.
The girl's mother, Gillian, is at her bedside. She holds her teenager's hand and wipes strands of brittle hair from her troubled face.
Poor girl has had to put up with so much. And when she wakes, a whole world of new troubles awaits her.
The newborn in the glass crib next to Gillian moves his tiny arms; a nervous twitch, the sort of shake that prompts old folk to joke that someone walked on your grave.
Gillian Affonso lets go of her daughter's fingers and leaves her grandchild to twitch in his sleep. She's going to find the hospital chapel. Somewhere she can kneel and pray. Ask for guidance.
Before she leaves the bedside, she reaches around the back of her neck and unclips a gold cross given to her at her own First Communion. She puts it around her daughter's neck and kisses her. She hopes it'll protect her for the rest of her life.
She looks back as she reaches the door to the hospital corridor. It's strange that the baby hasn't cried. The doctors noticed that too. All babies cry. But apparently not this one. He entered the world without so much as a mutter. His eyes wide and confident. Like he's been through it all before.
There are other strange things as well.
Grandma Affonso doesn't want to pick her grandson up. She feels no instinctive urge to cradle him, love him or kiss him. It makes her feel guilty. Not only guilty – slightly afraid.
Maybe it's because the birth was so traumatic.
Maybe it's because she's frightened of hurting him.
No – that's not it.
Deep down she knows the real reason. It's because her grandchild is the son of the man who raped her daughter.
The man a priest killed in an alley in Compton, almost nine months ago.
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Document creation date: 03.01.2011
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The Venice conspiracy ts-1 Page 38
