It was obvious, however, that as the conversation progressed the two men became more animated. The man identified as Antonio, in a somewhat higher octave, asked Simone the winemaker something Max could not decipher, but Simone’s response was unmistakable—he said, “global warming.” The statement was so matter of fact that it spurred the conversation into rapid-fire mode. With Italian words and English phrases being flailed back and forth, Max was totally lost in translation. However, throughout the foreign dialogue, she was convinced more than ever that the guest was indeed Antonio Maieli. Max grabbed her smartphone and searched for the photo Jax had forwarded to her. There it is. She studied the photo and then studied Antonio, trying not to be obvious. But it was obvious—he was the missing scientist—a revelation that would have to wait a bit longer because it appeared they were about to depart.
Simone glanced at his watch. Then both men shot up from the table and quickly hugged each other.
Simone said, “Dopo” as he headed down into the wine cellar.
Antonio replied, “A presto” and took off in the direction of the parking lot.
Max thought that an American onlooker would have concluded that the two men had had a heated disagreement, but she knew from her Italian acquaintances that it was more likely a simple conversation among friends. One thing she concluded—the two men had agreed to continue their conversation at a later time. Now she would have to delay another opportunity to approach Antonio. But at least she had found him.
Momentarily satisfied, Max finished the few morsels of egg left on her plate and gulped down the rest of her coffee. What now? was her immediate thought. She decided to return to her room, rest for a while, and then plan her next move.
Clack, clack, clack, the door knocker resonated from the other side of the door. “Signorina Ford—Signorina Ford,” echoed a voice.
Gradually, the raps on the door aroused Max out of a deep sleep. Hearing the repeated sound of her name finally stirred her to consciousness. “Excuse me!” she shot back as she glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was 7:15 p.m. Shocked that she had slept the entire day and foregoing her modesty, she responded in a groggy voice, “Come in, please.”
Valentina stuck her head in the doorway. “Mi scusi, Signorina, would you care for dinner tonight?”
“Silly me. Somehow I managed to sleep the entire day,” Max offered unapologetically, but then realized that she had delayed Valentina from leaving for the night. “Please, please come in. I’m terribly sorry to have kept you.”
Valentina entered the room carrying a dinner tray. “It’s not a problem. For tonight I thought you might care for something light. I hope capellini with fresh pomodori and basilico will be to your liking?”
What’s this—Italian penicillin? she thought, until she noted the tray also included a plate of prosciutto, pecorino cheese, and fruit. And of course, a glass of red wine. “It’s fine, Valentina; thank you.”
“Signorina, is there anything else you would like before I leave this evening?”
“No, that’s all; thank you. Have a lovely evening. And Valentina, please call me Max.”
“Si, Signorina—I mean Max.” Valentina smiled and offered a final good night. “Buonanotte.”
As soon as Valentina left, Max stood up and attempted to head to the bathroom to freshen up, but immediately lost her balance and fell back onto the bed. It was apparent that a combination of jet lag, a broken ankle, and a gash on her forehead were all taking their toll. The fact that someone had tried to kill her had become a distant memory. And once again her insatiable appetite rose to the occasion, something else she attributed to her body’s plight. “Max, get a grip!” she admonished herself, realizing she could not fight the obvious. Dinner first, and then a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow all will be well.
Chapter 28
THE SNARE TACTIC
Max’s wish was not granted. She had a fitful night of tossing and turning. Patchy visions of a white car, blue scrubs, a syringe, Sam, and a missing scientist permeated her nightmares, among other flashbacks deep in her psyche—a place she would not enter. Semi-catatonic, she noted the time.
“Dammit!”
It was 10:15 a.m. The breakfast hour had passed and the prospect of befriending Antonio was gone. At least she was not hungry, but she needed a clear head to come up with another plan. Max reached over and picked up the phone to request a much-needed double espresso. Satisfied help was on its way, she sat up and edged herself out of bed. After gaining her balance, she managed to shuffle over to the window and fling open the drapes to let in some light.
“Oh, my!” Unexpectedly, a burst of sunlight blanketed the room. After readjusting her eyesight from the blinding glare, she was amazed by the stunning view of the hillsides off in the distance. The morning light offered an entirely new view of the landscape and inspired a completely new attitude. “It will be a beautiful day after all,” she voiced aloud, noting the blue skies devoid of any clouds and a possible strategy that was coming into focus.
Both the view and the espresso worked wonders to clear the cobwebs from her mind and lift her spirits. She was now ready to face the task at hand. No doubt she had missed breakfast. But she reasoned that if she could get herself ready in time to sit out on the terrace before the guests departed for their luncheon venues, she might have a chance to snag Antonio for a brief introduction—the one where she would introduce herself as the accidental tourist.
The timing was perfect; it was 11:45 a.m. and there was not a soul in sight. Max plunked herself down in the same chair she had occupied the night before, guarding the entrance and waiting for the hungry guests to stroll out of the house. As luck would have it, Valentina was the first to appear, carrying a perfectly timed cappuccino. While Max sipped on the warm brew, Valentina discussed the lunch choices for the day. As they were about to conclude, none other than Antonio came jogging in from the parking lot. Based on his attire, he appeared to have gone out for a run.
“Buongiorno belle ragazze,” he imparted on his way into the house.
“What did he say?” Max asked, noting Valentina’s expression.
“He said, ‘Good morning, beautiful young ladies,’” she replied, blushing a tad.
“Hmm, it must be the jet lag, but suddenly my appetite has become voracious. Would you mind making that a large platter? And I agree, a glass of chardonnay will go well with the meal, but make it a bottle?” Max winked.
“Subito!” Valentina replied without questioning the order, and then left for the kitchen.
I hope that means right away, Max thought. Then her mind trailed off. About twenty minutes later, Valentina reappeared with the requested oversized platter of prosciutto wrapped in melon, salami, various cheeses, and fruits.
“Yummy! It looks delicious.” Max was obviously delighted with the selection.
Once Valentina placed the platter down on the table along with a bread basket, she opened the bottle of Chardonnay. First, she poured a sip for Max to taste.
“Perfect,” Max replied, but it was not in response to the wine. As luck would have it, Antonio walked out through the French doors and was heading toward the driveway, waving politely in their direction.
“Will that be all?” Valentina asked, ignoring the handsome guest.
“One moment.” Max held up her index finger to stall Valentina as her eyes darted in a different direction. “Signore, would you like to join me for lunch?” she called out. The long-awaited opportunity had finally presented itself. Plan B was in full throttle.
“Non ho capito.” Antonio, confused by the request, turned in his tracks and headed over to the table. “Was that an invitation?”
“I can’t possibly consume this lavish lunch on my own.” Max caught the expression on Valentina’s face but continued with her audacious attempt. “Signore, if you don’t have other plans, I’d be pleased to have you join me.”
“I’ve heard you American women can be quite forward,” Antonio quipped, but he cou
ld see she was not to be deterred by his comment. He replied at once, “Signorina, it would be my pleasure.”
Valentina took her cue without hesitation and scurried off to the kitchen to fetch an extra plate and wine glass.
Antonio, gladly accepting the invitation, pulled out a chair at the table. No sooner did he sit down than Valentina reappeared with an additional place setting.
“Will there be anything else, Madam?”
“Thank you. That will be all.” The glint in Valentina’s eye was obvious. Max knew she was on to her ploy.
“Yes, Madam.” Valentina excused herself and returned to her other duties, but she considered it odd that Signore Di Stefano would accept the invitation. She had observed him over the past few weeks and found him to be rather reclusive, other than the times he would spend with the winemaker, Simone. Ha, he must have considered a single lady with a broken leg and stitches across her forehead nothing to fear. She snickered.
Antonio reached for his napkin and commented, “Signorina, this is very generous of you.”
“My name is Max Ford, but please call me Max.”
“Then you must call me Antonio.”
Ah, he’s being cautious not to use his surname, Maieli, she mused. But it’s all coming together.
“What kind of name is Max for such a beautiful woman?”
“It’s short for Maxine.” She feigned flattery but felt that no further explanation was necessary—like telling him Max was an ideal name for an undercover CIA agent.
“May I ask what happened to you?” he quizzed, literally eyeing her from head to toe but staying within the boundaries of a proper Italian gentleman.
“I just wasn’t watching where I was going. Call me a klutz.” Or, perhaps I should tell him I was hit by a speeding car that most likely was driven by the same person who’s trying to kill him. Nah. Max put her kidding thoughts aside and quickly changed the subject. “What brought you to this paradise?”
Antonio reached for the bottle of wine and asked, “May I?”
“Yes, thank you.”
As he topped off both of their wine glasses, he explained, “My father and Dottore Franco Della Piane were colleagues as young men while working in New York. I had heard stories over the years about Capannelle and decided that one day I should visit. So here I am.”
“Dottore?”
“Yes, he’s the chief executive officer for Capannelle. He is a wonderful, gentle man and has been like an uncle to me. Do you know the history of Capannelle?”
“No, please tell me.”
“The original owner of this 17th-century farmhouse was Raffaele Rossetti. But in 1997 Capannelle was purchased by the famed James B. Sherwood, founder of the Orient-Express Group, later rebranded as Belmond. The hotel chain includes several of the most exquisite hotels throughout the world. The tourist guest rooms at Capannelle are no exception as they are reminiscent of the same quality.”
“I had no idea.” Max listened between Antonio’s bites of prosciutto and cheese, alternating with small pieces of bread. She herself followed the process, picking up certain foods and slicing others.
“Do you know anything about Gaiole?” Antonio was clearly enjoying his role as tour director.
Max played along. “Other than it’s down there,” she kidded, pointing toward the valley below.
“Well, today Gaiole is a picturesque village nestled in a valley in the Tuscan region of Italy, as you can see. But she wasn’t always so tranquil. As a matter of fact, it was during the twelfth century when her town square became a thriving marketplace for the surrounding castles and hamlets. Then in the thirteenth century, three villages formed a league, called Lega del Chianti, consisting of Castellina and Radda with Gaiole designated as the capital. These villages became the heart of the Chianti region.”
“This is fascinating! I’ve seen you in discussions with the winemaker. I assume you know everything about Chianti as well?” she asked lightheartedly, even though the question was calculated.
Clearly enjoying his role, Antonio continued. “Oh, you mean Simone. He’s an interesting guy and he’s been a winemaker for over thirty years. He not only produces wonderful wines but he has many captivating anecdotes to go with them. In fact, I learned from him that we have Baron Bettino Ricasoli to thank for making Chianti famous, not only as a region, but as a wine. The Baron’s formula using a blend of Sangiovese and Canaiolo red grapes, mixed with a blend of Trebbiano and Malvasia white grapes, created Chianti. When the grapes are grown within the region of the Lega del Chianti that I mentioned before, they are given the designation of Denominzaione di Origine Controllata e Garantita or more simply referred to as DOCG.”
“So Capannelle wine is classified as DOCG?” Max continued to feign interest.
“Brava! You’ve tasted her wine, so I’m sure you would agree that if Gaiole were to be considered the heart of Chianti, then the Capannelle Winery would be part of the soul of Chianti Classico.”
“Antonio, you expressed that so beautifully!” Extolling his knowledge so profusely might be overkill, she considered.
“You don’t have any idea where you are—do you?” A sudden curiosity about his new lunch companion bubbled to the surface.
“Not really.” Max attempted to play out her role as the stupid tourist, but evidently she was not convincing enough. She took another sip of her wine, wondering what the next series of questions would entail.
“Okay, mysterious lady. What gives? Why are you here?” Antonio’s tone had gone from playful affection to mild suspicion.
Max picked up on his changed demeanor. But also deemed it was too soon to be forthcoming and decided to be a little more creative. “In all honesty I needed a break from some personal stress in my life—and when this unwelcome break happened,” she quipped, pointing to her leg, “it was time to get the hell out of Dodge.”
“Dodge?” Antonio crinkled his nose.
Max chuckled realizing it was American lingo. “It means to get out of a bad situation.” She opted to leave out the word dangerous from the true explanation and continued with her tale, staying as close to reality as possible.
“Fruit?” he asked, taking it upon himself to place several pieces of peaches on her plate. “Please continue,” he urged, showing a heightened interest.
“It was rather an impetuous decision, but hours before my accident I had met with a friend who happened to recommend Capannelle as a place to visit. It seemed like the perfect place to recuperate, both physically and emotionally. So, voila, here I am.” She hoped that Antonio would be a gentleman and not pry further into the emotional reference. However, if he did, she was sure she could come up with something believable. But thanks to her acting abilities he seemed more relaxed following her not-so-true confession. At that point, she reasoned it was best to lighten the conversation. “I certainly made the right decision. See, I’ve already met a new friend.”
“You’re very lovely when you smile,” he complimented, adding, “A woman like you should know only happiness.” Antonio raised his glass and offered a toast, “Per mia fortuna—to my good fortune.”
“You flatter me.” This is heading in the wrong direction, she thought. Change of plan. “Antonio, I hope you don’t mind, but yesterday at breakfast I inadvertently overheard a rather heated discussion between you and Simone. He said something about the color of the sun changing. I found it an odd statement, but given the language I couldn’t understand his response.” Max assumed her comment seemed innocuous and hoped it would change the dialogue.
“We were speaking of climate change,” Antonio replied. “Simone believes that man-made CO2 emissions are contributing to global warming. I was trying to convince him it had little effect on the overall climate.”
“Please go on.” This time around Max’s interest was genuine, but she opted to tread with care.
“From basic physics and chemistry we know that the sun emits light energy that produces heat that warms the earth. It’s also true th
at CO2 in the atmosphere can trap that heat, further adding to an increase in temperature. And while the vast majority of climate scientists agree there has been a period of global warming and that the anthropogenic increase attributed to it, the degree of impact is literally up in the air.”
“Excuse me, anthro what?”
“Anthropogenic. It’s the name for environmental change that is caused by human activity that emits CO2 into the atmosphere. ‘Greenhouse gases’ is probably a more familiar term, but anthropogenic global warming, AGW, is the same thing.”
“You’re basically talking about pollution?”
“Notwithstanding the US Supreme Court’s ruling that the EPA can declare CO2 to be a ‘pollutant,’ CO2 is a colorless, odorless gas designed by our Creator to be an essential compound for the existence of all life on Earth.”
“Whew! Okay, as in the use of fossil fuel?”
“Exactly! But there is no scientific proof that anthropogenic CO2 will cause harmful global warming. Frankly, the claims are based on pseudoscience. The heavy reliance on computer-driven climate models and the inability to conduct repeatable experiments alone prove how it’s being exploited. The models fail to include cloud cover and don’t even take into account something as obvious as the amount of warmth buildings absorb. I’m not a climate scientist, but you have to wonder whether the field of climate science is being turned into a smoke-and-mirrors road show to fit a political narrative. Science is about what is, not about changing the climate system.”
“I seem to recall hearing that ninety-seven percent of climate scientists believe global warming is caused by your anthropogenic CO2?”
“The number was originally disclosed by John Cook, a Climate Communication Fellow for the Global Change Institute at the University of Queensland. He’s also a blogger for a site called Skeptical Science. But he has been discredited by various sources and many other surveys put the number closer to three percent. The internal temperature of the entire scientific community is lukewarm at best when it comes to anthropogenic global warming. The reality is—there is no scientific consensus.”
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