The site was crawling with police cars and was a sight worthy of a sci-fi movie with hundreds of armed officers spreading throughout the area. Right in the middle of the park stood a man smoking a cigarette as he talked into his cellphone. He was wearing a cream-colored raincoat and sunglasses, and his hair was unkempt. It was the police inspector, Carlo Tardelli.
The idea of sending the photographs not only to every department in Rome, but to all the security firms in the city, had proven to be a greater stroke of genius that he could ever have imagined. The first tipoff came just a few minutes after having arrived in the city. It was courtesy of a security guard who had been on duty at the Archbasilica of St. John Lateran, who thought he had seen the two attackers in the photo prowling around the area.
They had already left by the time the police arrived at the scene of events, but a scientific team started to collect evidence from the area where the car had been parked. They were searching for some kind of evidence which would enable them to identify the attackers. The license plate already seemed to match the one which the two police officers had reported before they had mysteriously disappeared during their shift.
Carlo had a feeling that those two men were involved in something very, very serious. And he intended to find out what it was.
“What’s going on?” asked Richard.
James didn’t reply.
Mary tried to stand on her tiptoes to see over James’ body, but it was impossible. Her legs began to shake at the thought of the two killers who were chasing them being close by.
“Ten police cars have just pulled up. Something’s happened out there.”
Richard took a deep breath and tried to get his body to relax. “How are we going to get out of here?”
“After the scene we caused in the station at Florence, they’re probably looking for two well-built men or a couple. The best thing to do would be for all three of us to leave together as if we were tourists and quickly blend in with the crowds, all the while pretending that we aren’t fazed by the police presence. Mary, you and I should put something on top of our clothes in case they’re using that as a way to identify us.”
A minute later, three tourists left the basilica and joined the crowd which seemed to be rooted to the spot, unable to understand the reason behind such a heavily armed display. Eventually, they turned the corner and got into the first taxi they found, heading for the airport.
Chapter 19
The flight to Washington was extremely peaceful. The calm was broken only by a few small instances of turbulence during takeoff. Ahead of them lay a long, eleven-hour flight in first class until they touched down in Ronald Reagan Airport, Washington.
After an unsuccessful attempt to get a few hours of sleep, Richard had sought the services of one of the flight attendants. After a quick chat, she disappeared for a few minutes before returning with a detailed map of the American city.
As it was impossible for him to get to sleep, he had thought about pinpointing the exact location shown on the bill on the extensive map he had been given.
James and Mary were traveling in two adjacent seats at the front of the plane. The woman showed signs of exhaustion, her eyes slowly closing as she rested her head on the professor’s shoulders, making her feel safe. Meanwhile, James was reading one of the sensationalist U.S. newspapers as he slowly massaged the nape of Mary’s neck with his right hand. It reminded him of the many occasions when his daughter had woken up in the early hours and he had to resort to this old trick to get her to relax and go back to sleep.
When he succeeded in doing so, he closed his newspaper and put it away in one of the back pockets of the seat in front. James was fascinated by the sensuality that Mary oozed constantly, even when she was asleep. Her lips had a slight sheen which gleamed against her golden skin. It had been a long time since James had had such a special feeling towards a woman; he longed to hold her tightly against his chest, stroke her face, drink in her perfume and bless her ears with beautiful words, but he dared only to bring his arm closer to hers. Then he slowly closed his eyes, drifting off to a world where Mary desired him as much as he did her.
Meanwhile Richard, who was a couple of seats behind, had drawn an isosceles triangle in red pen on the street map he had been given, joining up those three landmarks of the city. The passenger sitting on his right looked at him in disbelief, failing to grasp what he was doing. When he saw that there were a total of thirteen avenues and pathways inside the shape, he started to use a ruler to make notes and establish the exact point marked X on the bill.
It must be around here, he thought as his hand skillfully traced a big red circle on the map. Luckily, it coincided with an intersection so the building had to be on one of those corners. Anyway, his computer was complete with a version of Google Earth, the famous program which provides a satellite-view of the planet. He had downloaded it a few months ago and he had been absolutely stunned. It allowed him to see practically any city in the world in three dimensions without leaving his chair. He could narrow down the measurements even more and find out exactly which building it referred to. He would have to try it when they landed because it required an internet connection.
After further investigation, he found out that this famous company had designed a program called Google Maps, a kind of street map with all the roads of all the cities in the world. One of its most innovative features, even though it was only available for some cities for the time being, was the ability to look around the city through photographs which showed all the buildings in startling and unimaginable detail.
Fatigue was starting to creep up on him. The inside of the cabin was practically pitch-black, except for a couple of lights which shone at the rear of the aircraft. He had put the map away and was going to devote the last hour to studying the book James had found, until his head decided that enough was enough. Defeated, he slumped forward in his seat almost without realizing.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.” A male voice came over the speaker system, waking up the vast majority of passengers. “This is your captain, Steven Stewart, speaking. We will shortly be landing at Ronald Reagan Airport in Washington. The temperature in the city is currently twenty degrees centigrade, the humidity is 55% and the sky is completely clear. Please fasten your seatbelts and have a pleasant landing.”
The pilot had used the plane’s speaker system in order to wake up all those lazy passengers who had managed to sleep through the break of dawn, as it was absolutely imperative that each of them fasten their seatbelt in order to avoid any last minute surprises as they landed. Richard wriggled about in his seat, savoring that wonderful feeling of a morning stretch. He had managed to sleep for six hours which was not inconsiderable in the least, and he felt as if he could take on the world. However, his blood ran cold when his hand patted his chest looking for the book. It had vanished!
He looked for it on the floor, he asked the flight attendants, the people next to him, but nobody had seen it. He unbuckled his seatbelt and got up as quickly as he could, heading down the aisle towards his friends, but one of the stewardesses confronted him about halfway down.
“Sir, please return to your seat. The plane is landing.”
“Just a minute, please! I have to ask my friend something.”
“I’m sorry,” she insisted, starting to sound less friendly, “but whatever exciting news you have to share with them will have to wait a few minutes. Sit down, please.”
“But…”
James, who had spun round when he heard the familiar voice, understood why his friend was so worked up. “Richard!” James had got up from his seat and was calling to him as he held the book up in his right hand.
The young professor had woken up during the flight and, after seeing how the book was resting upon Richard’s stomach, he couldn’t resist getting up to take it before it fell on the floor and went missing. Richard was angry yet relieved at the same time.
After getting off the plane, a taxi took them throu
gh the streets of Washington. This time it was Mary who sat in the front seat while the two friends tried to further narrow down the precise location, using the Google Earth program installed on Richard’s laptop. They connected it to the internet via a USB modem given to them by their cellphone carrier, and the program automatically began to load all the files which contained the maps of all the cities in the world.
They searched for the city of Washington and marked the three key points joined by three red lines, as they had done before on the map.
“It has to be this road,” said James, jabbing his index finger at a section on the screen. “You’ll soon see how the number of one of these buildings matches the number which is underlined on the dollar bill.”
The pair seemed very sure of themselves and shared the same opinion.
The taxi passed by the White House, undoubtedly one of the most famous landmarks of the United States, on 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. This avenue formed one of the sides of the triangle which ended in Capitol Hill. It was there that the trio got out, seeing firsthand how another side of the triangle was made up of Maryland Avenue, which linked Capitol Hill with the Jefferson Memorial. Finally, the base was the imaginary line which ran between the White House and the Jefferson Memorial.
They came to the conclusion that the exact point marked on the bill was an apartment block, one of the few in that area given that the vast majority of places were parks, landmarks or businesses.
When they reached the street, they instinctively tried to look up at the tops of the buildings, but this only succeeded in making their heads spin.
They searched for a building whose number matched the first number underlined on the dollar bill. When they found it, their hearts began to race.
Inside, an elderly janitor was reading a copy of the Washington Post in a room of twenty square feet, while the program Good Morning America was showing on an old black and white television. It was easy to discern just how bored he was by the fact it was only eleven in the morning and a copy of USA Today was already lying discarded on the floor after having been read from cover to cover.
“Good morning,” said James after climbing the few steps leading up to the landing which housed his office. “We’ve come to see a friend. Can you let us in, please?”
The old man defiantly looked them up and down. They didn’t look dodgy. “Which floor are you going to?”
“We’re going to the tenth,” said Richard, before his friend could say anything.
The doorman looked them over again, this time even more carefully. He seemed not to understand how they could be friends of the resident on the tenth floor. “Albert hasn’t left yet - at this time in the morning, he should be having breakfast right about now. Would you like me to escort you up there?”
“No, don’t worry,” quickly replied James. “We know the way.”
The doorman was confused. He didn’t remember ever seeing them before, but they seemed like nice people; he didn’t have any objections and decided to let them in.
While they were waiting for the elevator, Mary saw that there was a series of rather old letterboxes in one corner of the hallway, probably from some bygone era when there wasn’t a security guard. She studied each of them in turn until she found the one that belonged to the resident on the tenth floor. She couldn’t help but smile when she realized why the janitor had known exactly who they were going to visit. The four apartments on the tenth floor all belonged to an Albert Williams.
When they got out of the elevator, they were greeted with the strangest layout they had seen in an apartment block. There was only one door and the other three had been bricked up, without leaving any hint as to their original location. Eventually, they rang the doorbell.
Chapter 20
After glancing through the spyhole, the elderly man turned the key in the lock a number of times and opened the door. He was wearing a pair of blue Dockers, a short-sleeved shirt and sweater, befitting of the temperature outside. He must have been about to go out, because in his right hand he carried a pair of black moccasins that he had been thinking of putting on instead of his brown slippers. “Good morning. How can I help you?”
At that precise moment, James realized that they weren’t prepared for this situation at all. They had flown halfway across the world and they hadn’t spent one second thinking about what they would say to the person who opened the door.
Richard turned to his friend, who stood frozen in front of the old man without saying a word. Obviously his mind was elsewhere. He took out the dollar bill from his right pocket and showed it to him.
The door began to close as if a light breeze was pushing it slowly. The old man didn’t understand the situation and wanted to get rid of them as quickly as possible. Thankfully, Richard stuck his foot in the way just in time.
“Have you ever been to the Archbasilica of St. John Lateran?”
The question brought back old, long-forgotten memories and his eyes shone like a lighthouse over the dark sea. Yes, now he did understand what was going on. “Please, come in. My name is Albert Williams.”
The apartment was simply breathtaking. Albert had bought the four adjacent apartments and converted them into one sole residence. The interior design was astonishing, only available to a privileged few. No sooner had the door opened than the guests found themselves in an enormous yet welcoming hallway: a fourteenth-century oak chest stood on the left below a large mirror with a golden frame. On the floor was a beautiful yet mysterious carpet whose design represented the famous Flower of Life, which has been used throughout the ages in the majority of religions and systems of belief in the world. The design consists of a large number of superimposed circles, forming a shape with perfect proportion and harmony, and which has existed for over six thousand years.
A long corridor extended in front of them and was adorned with magnificent, priceless artwork as well as a number of imitations from Ancient Greece.
Albert moved swiftly down the corridor, almost without the aid of his inseparable walking cane made of dark wood with a copper handle. The surprise visit had renewed his energy, giving the young people a run for their money. “I visited the city of Rome many years ago,” said Albert, breaking the silence as he ushered them into the living room. “That was the last time I went, but it was the most important visit of my whole life, as you will soon find out.”
The living room was more like a museum than anything else, and it made his guests gasp in admiration. The walls were covered with paintings by the most illustrious artists who have ever lived: Van Gogh, Picasso, Leonardo Da Vinci… the list was never-ending. Many of them had been acquired through anonymous auctions, keeping Mr. Williams’ identity a secret. The shelves were filled with original sculptures of unimaginable value, the vast majority having been created by Italian artists; the carpets and lamps gave the room a feeling of splendor reminiscent of the bourgeoisie of centuries gone by. There was no modern electrical equipment in the apartment - televisions, telephones, radios… except for a small sound system surrounded by hundreds of compact discs of classical music which gave the room a modern touch. All in all, the room provided the guests with some clues as to the kind of person Mr. Williams was.
James’ face shone with admiration. It would be an absolute privilege to wake up every morning surrounded by beauty like this. “Sir, you have the most beautiful living room I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“Thank you. It’s the result of a long life spent collecting works by the most distinguished artists in history. I’ve always been fanatical about art, and I can vouch to be one of the few people who can claim to have seen firsthand the most significant archaeological sites in the world.” Mary, who until then had remained quiet, let out a sigh; she thought about what she would give to have seen them. “Ever since I was a boy, I would look at canvases and be fascinated for hours on end. When I hit thirty, I started traveling all over the world, not only looking at art,” emphasized Albert, “but history. You could say I am som
ething of an expert on the subject.”
The three friends smiled.
“Yesterday we found a note in the Archbasilica. You made it really difficult for us to find you,” scolded Richard.
“To be honest, I had to make do with whatever I had to hand, and never in the world would I want just anybody to set eyes on the work. It had remained hidden until then.”
Mary cocked her head to one side, puzzled. “The work?”
“Yes, I was blinded by curiosity when I visited the church and I entered an area off limits to everybody except for priests and their assistants. I found the symbol carved into the wall, and I had a hunch that led me to remove the slab. Behind it was a beautiful canvas which had been hidden; it was rolled up and wrapped in a white sheet and it contains a mystery which I still haven’t managed to solve to this day.”
James’ head was filling with questions. “A mystery? What mystery? And why didn’t you want the public to know about what you discovered?”
“Ever since I found it, I’ve steadfastly believed that the only ones worthy of seeing the painting would be those who were truly fascinated by the history of the individuals who hid it. That’s why I left such an obscure and difficult clue, one that only a true lover of the Illuminati Order could interpret correctly. As for the mystery… well, I’ll show it to you now.”
“Albert,” James placed his hand on his shoulder as he searched for the right words to tell him the truth. “The thing is, we believe that the Illuminati weren’t the ones who hid the painting in the Archbasilica.”
“Nonsense!” he exclaimed as started putting together his argument for a heated debate, deliberating over whether they were worthy of seeing the work or not. “The crest is clear; it is the symbol of the Illuminati.”
Trifariam, The Lost Codex (2012) Page 13
