by Thomas Perry
They ordered risotto alla milanese, redolent with saffron, as their pasta course, osso buco as their entrée, and their wine selection was Felsina Fontalloro 2004 from Tuscany. Remi said, “This is all so wonderful. Let’s flip a coin to see which one of us goes to culinary school so we can have this at home.”
“The cooking part is not my specialty,” he said. “Think of me as your nutritionist and trainer. I’m just helping you build up your strength for tomorrow when the work starts again. In fact, I’m already thinking you might need some dessert. There’s a local delicacy called sabbiosa, which is a plum cake soaked in Guinness. How can that be bad?”
“I have no idea,” said Remi. “Maybe it can’t.”
“In fact, I’ll even have some with you to be sure it’s up to your standards.”
“I’m sure you will.”
After their dinner in Mantua, they walked to the city walls, got into their car, and drove along the country road toward Lake Garda. “I’m glad we did this,” Remi said.
“Are you?”
“Yes. Tomorrow night at this time, if we’re digging a deep hole with shovels, I can remind myself that while the world sometimes brings you dirt and hard labor it also brings perfect risotto.”
“And a perfect date to share it with.”
“You’re getting awfully good at that,” Remi said. “I’m going to have to keep a close eye on you to be sure you’re not practicing compliments on other women.”
“Feel free,” said Sam. “I relish close attention.”
“I know you do,” she said, and leaned close to kiss his cheek as they drove in the starlight back to their hotel in Peschiera del Garda.
CONFLUENCE OF THE PO AND MINCIO RIVERS, ITALY
IT WAS TEN THE FOLLOWING NIGHT BEFORE SAM AND Remi walked into the field again. This time they arrived by car. Sam drove it off the road under the row of trees and bushes and covered it with a tarp to hide its shape. He and Remi wore dark clothes and carried shovels and crowbars, flashlights, climbing ropes, and infrared night goggles in their backpacks.
They quickly found the pole they had left behind and began to dig. The work went more easily than Sam had anticipated because the ground had been plowed recently, so it was loose for the first foot or more. Beneath it was rich black dirt from thousands of years of overflows from the two rivers, land cultivated by the Etruscans and then the Romans, then the Lombards and modern Italians.
It took them two hours to reach a rough stone surface. They dug away some of the dirt on top, moving only enough to make a path to the opening on top. This time, there was not an iron slab but a barrier of three big stones laid close together over the opening and mortared in place.
Remi looked closely at it and said, “This doesn’t look like something we can move by ourselves.”
“It isn’t,” Sam said. “I’ll be right back.”
“What are you doing?”
“Getting the car,” he said over his shoulder. A few minutes later the car they had rented was bouncing along the plowed rows of the field with its lights off. Sam backed up to the edge of the hole he and Remi had dug. He got out, attached the climbing ropes to the tow ring under the car, and looped them over the first of the stone slabs. He took a hammer from the trunk and a crowbar to use as a chisel to chip away most of the mortar. When he was ready, he said, “You drive. I’ll give the stone a little help from back here.”
Remi got into the driver’s seat and opened the window so she could hear Sam.
Sam went to the first of the stones, slid the bent end of the crowbar under its edge, then walked a few yards over to the long aluminum pole from the magnetometer that he had dismantled the day before and came back with it. He slipped it over the long part of the crowbar. The pole was about seven feet long, and he grasped it near the end. “Okay, Remi,” he said. “Slowly.”
She gave the car gas gradually, pulling against the weight with the doubled ropes, while Sam pried the stone upward, helping to free it from the mortar. There was a pop and then a scrape as the car pulled the stone free. The space that had been uncovered was roughly two feet wide and four feet long.
Sam set aside his elongated crowbar and knelt above the opening as Remi returned to kneel beside him. Sam went to his belly and shone his flashlight into the hole. There was a deep, burnished glow about six feet down, the soft shine of untarnished gold. “Eureka! We did it.”
Remi kissed his cheek. “Fargos one, Bako zip.”
Sam took out his telephone. He pressed a programmed number, then heard the slightly accented “Yes?”
“We’ve found it, Tibor. Bring the boat to the mouth of the Mincio, where it meets the Po. Go a few yards up the Mincio and then pull into the western shore. I’ll be there to meet you. Don’t show any lights.”
“We’ll be there in five minutes.”
“Thanks.” Sam ended the call.
“Well?” said Remi. “While you’re playing Treasure Island with the boys, what do you want me to do?”
“Call Selma and Albrecht and let them know. Tell Albrecht to get in touch with his Italian colleagues so we’ll have a safe place to store the treasure.”
“Want me to move the car?”
“Not yet. I’ll be back.”
Sam walked to the river and waited on the high bank until he saw the big shadowy shape of the boat appear in the moonlight on the Po River. In a moment, he could hear the steady throbbing of the engine running at low speed. As the boat came abreast of his position he called out, “Beach it and throw me a line.”
The boat glided into the sand and stopped. A silhouette appeared on the deck at the bow, threw a rope to Sam, and then watched him tie it to a tree. One by one, the four men jumped down to the sand and climbed up the bank. The last was Tibor. He patted Sam’s back. “It’s good to see you again. Is it real this time?”
“I’ll show you.” He set off into the field and the others walked with him.
Tibor said, “You remember my cousin Albert and my cousin Caspar from the Tisza diving boat.”
“Of course.” Sam shook hands with them. “Thank you for coming.”
“And this is my cousin Paul. He speaks Italian.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Sam said. To Tibor he said, “If I had a family like yours, I could take over the world.”
“In our part of the world we’ve had too many people try to do that already. The Lazars stay home, eat, drink, and make love. That’s why there are so many of us.”
They reached the spot where Remi waited, and Tibor repeated the introductions. The men all bowed to her in turn. Tibor said, “I reminded them she was a beautiful woman ahead of time so they wouldn’t act like hermits who never saw a girl before.”
“Thank you, Tibor,” she said. “Let’s get to work.”
Sam, Tibor, and Paul used the climbing rope to let themselves down into the chamber. It was larger than the one in Hungary, and, as they stepped down, Sam could see that this was an even bigger treasure than he had expected. Most of the plunder that was taken from northern Italy in 452 must be here.
There were thousands of gold and silver coins, gold chains and armlets, gold chalices and crosses, the plunder of a hundred churches and monasteries. There were swords and daggers with hilts studded with rubies, sapphire rings, necklaces and torques in great profusion. There was finely wrought armor and chain mail, detailed carved cameos, ornaments of every kind, oil lamps and sconces, mirrors of polished silver with gold fittings. The sheer number and variety of objects was intimidating. Gold brooches, bracelets, buckles and studs, and a great number of objects Sam hadn’t time to examine and identify, were strewn about randomly.
They used wooden crates to hold the treasure that Tibor brought from the boat. They filled the car’s trunk, then the backseat and the passenger seat and the floor. Then Remi drove the car to the river with Caspar and Albert and they unloaded it onto the boat.
When Remi drove the car back to the treasure chamber, she had eight wooden boxes with rope
handles. They usually were used for bringing fish to home port, so they had a slight fragrance, but with them the loading went quickly. Sam, Tibor, and Paul could fill the car, and while Remi drove to the riverside to load the boat, they were busy filling the boxes for her next trip.
It took three hours to empty the chamber and load the boat. When the treasure had been completely removed, Sam said to Tibor, “Take the boat up the Mincio and anchor it on Lake Garda. It’s twenty-five miles, so we’ll probably be there in time to see you arrive.”
“All right,” said Tibor. “But what happens if the police stop us and the boat is inspected?”
“Then tell Paul to forget he speaks Italian and call me.”
With Attila’s plunder aboard, the boat was heavier and lower in the water. It took Sam, Tibor, and the three cousins to push the bow off the sandy beach into the calm water of the Mincio. Tibor said, “I hope every ounce of gold is a tear for Arpad Bako.”
“That reminds me,” said Sam. “Who’s watching him while you’re here?”
“My brother is in charge. He has eyes on Bako and his five closest men day and night.”
“Better than I could have wished,” Sam said. “Have a pleasant voyage.”
The engine started, and the boat turned slightly so Tibor could climb aboard. It straightened and began to chug up the quiet river toward the lake.
Sam and Remi drove to the open chamber one last time. They used the climbing rope to lower themselves into the dark stone room, and then Sam turned on his flashlight and shone it on each of the plain stone walls. This time, there was no engraved iron plate. But on the floor, visible only now that the treasure had been removed, was a stone block with engraved letters. They stood over it, and Remi took several photographs with her cell phone, then reviewed them to be sure the letters were clear. Sam was busily copying the message on a piece of paper. When he saw Remi looking at him, he shrugged. “If we lose the phone, I’m not coming back to read this. Are you?”
“I wasn’t thinking about that,” she said.
“What were you thinking?”
“That this isn’t like the huge iron slab we found in Hungary. I’ll bet that, using the car, we could lift this thing out.”
Sam knelt and tried to jiggle it but couldn’t. Then he used his pocketknife to scrape at the mortar a bit. “I’ll be right back,” he said and climbed up the rope and out. He returned a few minutes later with the other rope, both crowbars, and the hammer. They went to work on the mortar, and in a short time they had freed the stone. They pried it up, and Sam tied the rope around it, first the short side, then the long side. He climbed up, and Remi heard him start the car. The stone was thinner and slightly smaller than the blocklike stones that made up the bulk of the room. It rose easily and then stopped. Remi climbed up the rope and joined Sam at the surface and then went to the car and used it to pull while Sam used the crowbar to help it over the edge and to the ground. The two of them used their crowbars to lift the stone up so they could slide it onto the backseat floor.
“You were right,” he said. “This time we don’t have to leave the message for Bako to see.”
They used the car to drag the larger stone back over the opening to seal the chamber. Then they shoveled and pushed the mound of dirt over it. Once the ground was even, the chamber entrance was four feet under.
Remi turned and looked back at the plowed field. “Wow. Look.”
It was just beginning to get light, so they could see their deep tire tracks running from the chamber to the riverbank and back. “I wish we could get rid of those tracks.”
“We don’t have a way,” Sam said. “All we can do is try to make the damage look like a drunken joyride.” They got into the car, and Sam picked up the empty wine bottle from their picnic lunch, wiped off the fingerprints, and tossed it on the ground. Then he drove up and down the field, turning and looping, backing up, making a random set of shapes that were not concentrated in one part of the field. Then he bumped up onto the highway that ran parallel to the river.
As dawn approached, Remi sent the photos to Selma and Albrecht. It began to rain. “I’m glad we didn’t have to contend with that,” she said. The rain grew slowly to a steady, strong downpour, and Sam drove them through every puddle, washing the mud and dirt from the rental car. When they reached a spot where they could park unseen close to the Mincio, they stopped and dumped the inscribed tablet into the river. “I’m going to take a picture of the spot,” said Remi. “Once it isn’t a threat to our lives, we’ll come back one day for the tablet and donate it to a museum.” When she had her pictures, they drove on.
They arrived in Peschiera del Garda before six a.m. and waited in the parking lot near the marina to see the big boat go under the last bridge into the lake. While they waited, Remi called the house in California and Selma answered.
“Hi, Remi,” she said. “We got your pictures. Is the treasure as big as it looks?”
“Bigger. Have you and Albrecht read the message?”
“Albrecht has translated it, but he’s been studying the situation.” Selma paused. “He should be the one to tell you.” After a bit of rustling, Remi heard Albrecht say, “Hello.”
“Hi, Albrecht,” said Remi. “Could you read the stone?”
“Yes. It’s still just Latin. Here’s what it says.
“‘You have my fifth treasure. The fourth is in the place where friends rushed to become enemies. While I buried treasure for the future, King Thorismund buried funeral goods for King Theodoric.’”
“What do you make of that?” asked Sam.
“It’s a reference to the other possibility I referred to for the fifth treasure, the Battle of the Catalaunian Plains in 451,” Albrecht said. “The friends were Flavius Aëtius, the Roman general, and Theodoric, the King of the Visigoths. Both had been friends of Attila but hated each other. When Attila invaded and looted much of France, they joined forces at Châlons-en-Champagne and became his enemies.”
“What’s that about funeral goods?”
“Theodoric was killed in the battle, but, as sometimes happens in big battles, the principal leaders lost touch with one another and Theodoric’s body wasn’t found until the next day. His son, Thorismund, buried Theodoric, presumably with his armor, weapons, and personal belongings, and the crown passed to him.”
Remi said, “And this was your second choice for ‘where the world was lost.’”
“That’s right,” Albrecht said. “This was the farthest west Attila got—roughly to the city of Troyes, France. The men who formed an alliance to stop him had once been friends of Attila’s. The battle was huge and violent, but it ended in a draw. When it was too dark to fight, Attila withdrew to his camp. Flavius Aëtius didn’t pursue the Huns when they left. Some historians believe he was afraid to destroy them because it would have left the Visigoths unopposed. I suspect the truth was that the Huns were still strong as ever and he didn’t want to push his luck. This was the last major battle that the Romans could be said to have won and that was only because Aëtius was still on the field when the other armies departed. Theodoric was dead, and his son Thorismund set off for home as fast as he could to secure his place as the new king of the Visigoths.”
“Good enough,” said Remi. “So we know roughly where we go next. But we’re still in Italy. Have you gotten in touch with the Italian authorities?”
“Yes. They understand the need for secrecy and the need for speed. They’ll be in touch with you in a few hours to take possession of the artifacts and move them to Rome.”
“Good,” said Sam. “I’ll be glad when they’re somebody else’s responsibility.”
Selma said, “When you’ve finished with the Italian authorities, go to the airport in Verona. Your tickets to France will be waiting. Just insert a credit card in the machine for identification and it will print your boarding passes. While you’re in the air, we’ll be preparing more information for you.”
“Thanks, Selma.”
An hour l
ater, they saw the boat pass under the last bridge and move out into the lake outside the marina. They called Tibor and told him the plan and then went to their hotel.
They had barely showered and eaten a room service breakfast before there was a knock on the door. Standing in the hall were five men in dark suits. “Mr. and Mrs. Fargo,” said the leader. He held up a badge and identification card. “I am Sergio Boiardi. We’re assigned to the Tutela Patrimonio Culturale of the Carabinieri in Naples. I understand you have requested our help.”
“Come in, please,” said Sam. When they were inside and the door was closed, Sam said, “We have made a major discovery, a treasure hoard from the year 452.”
“We were told you want us to take custody and register it.”
“Yes,” said Sam.
“You are aware that the bilateral agreement between the U.S. and Italy covers the ninth century B.C. to the fourth century A.D.?”
“Yes. Technically, a fifth-century find is probably exempt from registration, but we’re voluntarily asking for a license to transport the artifacts after they’ve been catalogued and photographed by the Italian authorities. To be open with you, there are other parties who have been actively trying to prevent us from making any discoveries and they’re violent. Part of our intention is to ensure that they don’t attempt to steal the find from us.”
Boiardi nodded. “And where are the artifacts now?”
“On a boat we rented. It’s anchored outside the marina in the lake,” Sam said. “Our idea was to rent a trailer, load the boat onto it, and tow it to a secure spot where we could unload the artifacts into boxes and put them on your truck.”
