by Robert Wilde
“Let’s not get arrested for talking terrorism on our first day,” Dee shot back.
“So we’re ending in a bang?”
Dee shook her head.“Maybe I’ll lock my hotel room door and come out in two weeks unable to talk.”
“Because you’ve wanked yourself silly?”
“If you two continue like that you’ll be struck down the moment we enter the Vatican.”
When you’re in Rome and looking for some cultural hotspots, you have more options than a priest in a boys’ choir, but the Vatican will always loom large. After all it is a self-contained state, it does have one of the most storied leaders in history, and Nazir wanted to “go see the extremely buff army wearing their extremely camp uniforms.” That was why the group arrived early one morning intending to assault the city for the whole day, and that was why Joe was standing showing the machine to a security guard who might have been dressed like a historical relic but had training amongst the best in the world. And he was a bit suspicious.
“I’ve never seen anything like this before?” he said in perfect English.
“And that’s why I don’t want to leave it in my hotel room.”
“I understand that, but I don’t understand what it is.”
Someone stepped forward with a plan. “Professor Pohl of Cambridge University, Parapsychology Department. This device is scheduled to be demoed in a lecture given by myself and my team later this week, to expound on new theories of quantum entanglement. But we really can’t leave a one of a kind machine sat in an unattended hotel room, and we wanted to do sightseeing while we were here so…”
The guard looked down at the machine. “We’ve checked and no explosives have been detected.”
“You can do that without touching it?” Pohl asked.
“We can detect all sorts of things. But okay, I’m going to let it go in.”
The group all smiled, walked into the city. “Where first?” Pohl asked.
“The tomb with all the Popes in,” Joe said.
“The really tall tower,” Dee said.
“That guard’s bedrooms.” Nazir chipped in.
“The tower it is!” Pohl announced, and all the group made it to the top of the incredibly tense staircase. They went from marvellous sight to marvellous sight for the rest of the morning, and then Joe suggested again “the tomb before lunch?”
“Why not,” Pohl said, but Dee had a different view.
“You just want to use the machine down there.” She wasn’t expecting Dee and Joe to say ‘yes’ in perfect sync. Soon they were in St. Peter’s Basilica, and found themselves at another checkpoint, this one making sure they were adequately dressed. As everyone was in trousers, except Pohl who had a long skirt, and the shoulders were covered they entered a series of small grottoes, where some of the Popes had been buried.
“Many of the early tombs have been destroyed or worn away, and many Popes have chosen to be buried somewhere else, how…” Pohl saw Joe looking around and stopped her explanation. “Okay, switch it on subtly and see if we find one as we walk.”
Joe did so, and they crept along, half looking at the history in front of them, politely passing worshippers who seemed on the verge of tears, and more guards.
“Anything?” Dee asked.
“Is it on?” Nazir asked.
“Yes, yes, anyone there? Anyone? A small one? No?”
“There must be a Pope down here,” Pohl sighed.
“English?” came a quiet voice.
“Yes?” Pohl gasped.
“English then. No Popes here. Those that stay go elsewhere. Not popular here.”
“Why?” Pohl asked.
“Tourists.”
“That’ll do it” Dee smiled.
The group now got back to sightseeing with Pohl adding key pieces of data, and then it was more than time for lunch. There were even more options for food than culture, and they navigated themselves down a backstreet and found a café filled with locals. They weren’t happy to see these four tourists come in. Soon they were sat with drinks waiting for food, but were under a television speaking Italian.
“What do you make of the Vatican?” Pohl asked.
“Opulent, powerful, dripping in history,” Joe reflected.
“Isn’t it,” Pohl said almost squealing with delight.
“I so have to fuck a Swiss Guard,” Nazir explained, “come on Dee, take one for the team and lure one into a threesome.”
“I’m surprised the Swiss Guard don’t have a detector for pervs” Dee replied, but then noticed that Pohl was craning her neck to look at the television.
“What’s wrong?” Dee asked.
“This news story, very bizarre.”
There was a pause, so Dee reminded her “it’s in Italian.”
“It’s close enough to Latin for me to…oh, yes, sorry, basically, someone has broken into a church and stolen a relic of the blood of the Pope Innocent the thirty first.”
“When was he?”
“Slipped in shortly after World War One. Didn’t survive long.”
“Then why would anyone want his blood?” Joe pondered.
“A Pope is still a Pope, but I think you’ve hit the proverbial nail on the head there Joe. Why would anyone want a Pope’s relic? And who might be best placed to answer that?”
“You think we should go take a look?” Nazir said.
“Yes!” Pohl was enthused.
“Well, on the plus side, it’s not like a Pope’s going to lie.”
“Oh, Nazir, there’s really a lot about Papal history you need to learn.”
“Is this where you tell me half of them were like politicians, only with even less moral hang-ups?”
“Basically, exactly right.”
Dee took up the thread. “And this has nothing to do with you wanting some sneaky Pope chat?”
“Not at all. But when in Rome…”
Dee snorted. “How long have you wanted to say that?”
“I agree with Pohl,” Nazir said. “When in Rome, fuck a Roman.”
He looked around the room to see if there were any takers.
The Church of Saint Miranda was beautiful, even to the four different eyes looking at it.
“Ever been here before?” Nazir asked Pohl.
“No, there’s something like five hundred churches in this region, I’ve barely scratched the surface.”
“And we’re quite sure Nazir won’t be set on fire the moment he walks through the door?” Dee teased.
“I’m a Muslim, not a vampire.”
“So can we just walk in?” Joe asked as they crested the hill.
“We should be able to,” Pohl confirmed, and then they saw the problem: a large crowd of people had gathered, with some obviously inside but many outside, and a few were kneeling on the ground. There were prayers, there were tears, there was emotion.
“I think people have come to mourn,” Dee said, unsure of the right word.
“This should be interesting,” Nazir laughed.
“Don’t tell me you like frottage.”
“What’s that?” Pohl asked Dee.
“It’s getting the horn from rubbing yourself up against people.”
“Handy in rush hour,” Nazir added.
“Perhaps we shouldn’t all try to go in?” Joe suggested.
They looked at the throng, and all murmured yes. “Okay, Joe takes the machine in, and Dee goes with him?” Pohl suggested.
She wasn’t sure what the pained look on Joe’s faced meant, but Dee realised something: “it’ll have to be you Pohl, you speak the language.”
“But of course,” and she nodded, turned and began to walk towards the church. Joe followed, taking the rucksack off his shoulders for easier access.
It took a while, but they managed to slip into the church and get into a corner. They could see the small alcove where the relic had been kept over people’s head, they could see the severed bars, and they figured they didn’t have to get that close. So Joe su
btly switched on, and they stood as if talking to each other.
“Anyone want to talk?” Joe asked, and Pohl translated. Soon a voice came from the device that only Pohl could understand.
“Hello, I’m Professor Pohl, we’re investigating the recent theft.”
“Thank the lord you’ve come. We’ve experienced a tragic loss.”
“The relic?”
“No, the Pope!”
“Yes, the Pope’s relic.”
“No, the pope himself was here, tied to his blood, he had gone with that trace of himself, and he blessed us with his presence in our church.”
Pohl’s mouth went dry. “And he went with the blood when they stole it?”
“Yes, exactly.”
“What can you tell me to help me find these people?”
“They had black helmets on.”
“Motorcycle?”
“I think that’s what they’re called. Two men, from what I could tell under their leathers.”
“So pretty covered up.”
“Indeed.”
“And do you have the number of the bikes?”
“Just a second…” and there came a background murmuring, then “yes, here they are.”
Pohl scribbled them down. “Thank you very much.”
“You’ll find him won’t you, you’ll find him?”
“Yes, yes we will.”
Then Pohl turned to Joe and said, her eyes on fire, “We have a stolen Pope!”
Joe and Pohl disengaged themselves from the throng of people and finally breathed again once they’d got up the road. They couldn’t see Nazir and Dee at first, but then the pair emerged from around a corner each carrying two coffees, so the group came together and drank as Pohl explained the situation.
“So now we’re rescuing abducted Pontiffs?” Dee laughed.
“This could be big, imagine what they could tell us!” Joe’s mind was racing.
“I doubt we’ll get into the secret library,” Dee replied thinking Joe had gone a bit Da Vinci Code.
“So what do we do now?” Nazir said and then took a sip.
“If we find the addresses of the bikes, we have a lead.”
“Yes, but how do we do that in Italy?”
“Trust me, I can find them,” Pohl promised, “But we better not go mob handed. Nazir, come with me, and Dee, you and Joe kill some time.”
“Fine with us,” Dee spoke for them both. She didn’t realise an oddly forceful look had settled over Joe’s face.
“Where are we going?” Nazir asked as the pair walked down the hill and hailed a taxi back into Rome itself.
“Some government offices.”
There was a sharp contrast between the ancient beauty of the church and the concrete box they now entered, and the same was true of the people inside. No one looked in a state of religious passion, they all looked bored to tears with bureaucracy. But Pohl’s skills as a Briton soon came out as they had to settle in a queue, and they turned and watched a television on in the corner. Soon a news story began covering the relic theft, and Pohl paid rapt attention as only she could understand the words. There wasn’t anything extra factually, if the police knew who’d done this they weren’t letting on, but there was something which caught the attention.
“People have raised funds for a large reward,” Pohl explained to Nazir, who was already further developing the skill to enjoy the images while having no idea of the speech.
“That sounds even better. We could do with a large reward.”
“Might pay off some of the holiday.”
“Next please,” said the man behind the counter in Italian.
Pohl approached the desk and began to speak, and Nazir wasn’t paying much attention. However, he did see Pohl slide an enveloped across with a slip of paper, on which was the bikes’ registration, and man take a crafty peek inside. Then there was the tapping on a computer, and Pohl was writing down an address. As both bid each other goodbye Pohl led Nazir out. He decided it was safe to speak.
“Did you just bribe that man?” Although he spoke very quietly.
“Yes, yes I did. A necessary evil sometimes, and one which often works in this city.”
“You have untold depths Professor,” although he supposed the stabbing a man repeatedly to death was a clue to that.
“How do you think Dee and Joe are getting on,” she changed the subject.
As Pohl had gone off to bribe her way into information, ably assisted by Nazir, it had left Joe and Dee with some free time. Dee initially suggested they pop to the cafes around their hotel and find some sort of tasting menu, but Joe had a better idea: he proposed a long walk, which seemed strangely athletic for Joe, but Dee decided they’d do it.
Soon they were doing a large loop within Rome, watching the buildings, the tourists, the tourists watching the buildings, sometimes people robbing the tourists, and on one occasion a tourist robbing a building, with an enraged shopkeeper chasing the man down the street. The city was full of life, verve, and there was something to see everywhere. But Dee wasn’t stupid.
“What do you want to talk about?” she asked.
“Sorry?”
“This walk, it’s so we can talk. Which is fine, but let’s do it.” Please don’t propose, she thought, please don’t propose.
“What do you think of Maquire?”
That stopped her for a second. “The detective? A man of moral ambiguity and an open mind.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Well, he’s friendly.”
“You and he often go off for little chats.”
“Like this one.”
“Yes.”
“Are you asking me if I’m romantically interested in Maquire?”
Joe coughed nervously. “If I may.”
“Yes.” She hadn’t meant to say it. She thought her mouth would pronounce no and they’d move on. But the more she thought, the more she realised she was. To which her mind concluded ‘oh shit.’
“I see,” Joe said, as if being told his favourite cat had been eaten by a lawnmower.
Okay, time to have the chat. -The- chat.
“You were hoping I’d say no and be romantically interested in you.” It wasn’t a question.
Joe felt he had nothing left to use. “Yes.”
“Then I’m sorry if I gave that impression,” she knew she hadn’t and wasn’t, “but we’re friends Joe, good friends embarked on a massive task. We work together, we play together, but I’m afraid we’re never going to,” sleep together probably wasn’t the right thing, “date.”
“Is this being Friendzoned?”
“Do you even know what that means?”
“No.”
“I value you greatly as a friend, I love you in that way. But not like Maquire and I. I don’t know what will happen there, if anything will happen. Okay?”
“Yes,” he said sadly.
Dee felt like a weight had been lifted off her, and that this could be a new dawn. Joe felt crushed, as if the last few months of hope had been washed away in a torrent of particularly stinky shit. They continued walking, Dee watching the buildings and the tourists, while Joe’s mind did everything it could to justify the creation of Paint It Black. So much for studying, learning, devising, the entire arc of his life. He just couldn’t invent a personality that would attract Dee, only a box that spoke to people already dead. No relationships there.
That evening the foursome parked a rented car outside a block of flats, and looked at the building disappearing upwards.
“Turns out flats look shit even in Italy,” Dee commented.
“When did you become an architecture critic?”
Dee smiled back at Nazir “lived in one as a child. Shithole. Lucky to still be alive and I still have memories of stale piss.”
“What you did in your bed at night is your business.”
“When you’ve finished, I can’t see any motorbikes,” Pohl explained, looking round at the other vehicles.
&
nbsp; “Great, that means they’re out, come on,” and Dee led them up to the flat. It turned out that Italian locks weren’t any harder to break through than British ones, and they soon donned gloves bought for the purpose and began sneaking around the flat.
It didn’t so much look like a poltergeist had hit it as a tsunami of toddlers, as the place was a mess. “It would be easier for us to just tidy the place up,” Dee commented as she moved a pile of clothing from the floor.
“They do a lot of travelling,” Nazir called out.
“Oh?”
“Passports here, for two men, stamped in most of Europe, and road maps for a lot of places. Surprised they actually live here as they holiday a lot.”
“Some sort of salespeople?” Joe pondered. But then he was able to say “I think I’ve found it.”
“Think?” Dee said as they all came in.
“Well this looks suspicious.” They agreed. What Joe had found was a metal strongbox bolted to the floor of the flat, with a very heavy duty lock on it. “If you wanted to hide something you stole…”
“That’s either got guns in it or we found the relic. But there’s no way I’m breaking into that without my equipment, and that’s in Blighty.”
They heard a fumbling of keys outside, and Dee waved her hands to order a dispersal. They’d been discussing what to do in situations like this as part of their drive to competence, and so a man was able to unlock his door, enter, drop his keys on a table, walk into his lounge, find Pohl standing there, panic, turn, and find his way blocked by the other three who flowed out of rooms. He was trapped, and this was perfect.
“We have a few questions,” Pohl said firmly, and was intrigued to see the man slump and say “From the Vatican?”
“Private Investigators for them.”
It took a few minutes, but the man was soon tied to a chair, and Joe had liberated the keys, opened the lockbox, and retrieved the reliquary, which now sat on top of Joe’s rucksack. They probably could have left now, but Dee had questions.
“Why did you steal the relic?” she asked, translated by Pohl, as the whole conversation was. The man looked at the ground, silent. “We’re not going to torture you, but we are going to make your life a misery, so get talking.”
“To sell,” came the clipped reply.
