by A. L. Knorr
“Not particularly, but my dad’s brother was a mechanic so I grew up around it.” Tomio relaxed and gaped out the window at the old buildings as we entered the historical center of Naples. “Wow. If you ignore the little piles of dog shit on the sidewalks, Naples is really pretty.”
I nodded. “Parts of it are. Especially the bay.”
Tomio lowered his window and rested his elbow there as I took another turn, closing the distance to the villa. His head turned back and forth as he took in the highlights of Neapolitan life. “You’re allowed to park on the sidewalks?”
“And facing the wrong way.”
“Viva l’Italiano.”
The villa had a small underground parking lot whose entrance gave the Fiat about two inches of clearance on either side. I parked the Fiat and turned off the engine. Tomio scraped the back of his hand across his upper lip, wiping off a bead of sweat.
“You okay?” I unsnapped my seatbelt.
“Just dandy.” He forced a toothy grin and two thumbs up, asking a question in a voice higher pitched than his usual. “Where did you learn to drive like that?”
“Go-kart racing with my brother, RJ.”
Getting out, we retrieved Tomio’s luggage, locked the Fiat and took the narrow set of steps up to the villa’s rear entrance.
“Makes sense,” Tomio said as I took out the house keys and unlocked the heavy bolts. “I’m glad driving here doesn’t seem to be a problem for you but I might need to change my shorts.”
I laughed, stepping through onto the tiled landing and holding the door open for Tomio. Closing it behind him, I bolted it. I set my purse on the table near the door along with the Fiat’s key fob. The sound of someone cutting grass began in the distance outside. It was a sound that reminded me that even though my world was in tatters, normal life was going on all around us.
“What is a problem, is that Gage has been taken, the police are useless, the Agency is in an uproar, and I’ve failed to convince Dante to abandon his maniacal plan.” I blew out a long, shaky breath. “Thank you for coming.”
Pressing my back against the door, I looked Tomio in the eyes, finally taking the time to really look at him. My heart began to slow now that we were safely home, but then tripped for a different reason as his dark eyes locked on mine.
“You don’t have to thank me, Saxony. I’d never be able to look myself in the mirror again if I hadn’t come. Gage is... was my best friend, and you—” He trailed off, raking a hand through his thick black hair, which he’d finally had cut.
I didn’t ask him to finish whatever it was he was going to say about me. I wasn’t sure I was ready to hear it. Kicking off my flip-flops, I moved toward the kitchen where my laptop sat open on the small round table.
Leaving his luggage at the door to deal with later, Tomio followed me into the joint kitchen, dining and living room. Making himself at home, he opened and closed cupboards until he found the glasses. Taking out two, he went to the sink, but paused. “Is the tap water safe to drink?”
I nodded, sinking onto one of the wooden chairs.
He filled two glasses and sat across from me, sliding one toward me. Tomio took a sip of his water, looking at me from over the rim. “So. How are you?”
The question was loaded with inquiry, filled with innuendo suggesting Tomio wasn’t just interested in my state of being and frame of mind, but my thoughts about our relationship.
I wanted to tell Tomio what I’d learned from the kiss that we shared, but it felt wrong to be talking about it when Gage was missing. I was saved from having to answer when my cell phone chimed that a text had come in. Digging my phone from my pocket, I stared at the screen. It took me several moments to understand the meaning of it.
“It’s Ryan,” I murmured, showing the screen to Tomio.
He squinted at it and read the message aloud. “Nice try.” He looked at me. “What does that mean?”
“It means he thinks I’m lying about Gage going missing, that I’m trying to trap him, I guess.”
Tomio shook his head. “What an idiot.”
“Yep.” I set my phone down. “I should be thankful he even got back to me, I guess.”
“So what’s next?”
“Basil said he’d call me this evening, so I guess we’re waiting for that.”
“Does he know I’m here?”
I nodded. “I told him you were coming. He was happy.”
“You know things must be crazy at the Agency when the best they can have at ground zero is a couple of teenagers who don’t know what the hell they’re doing.” Tomio downed the rest of his water.
It was only now that I noticed the puffy skin under his eyes. “Are you tired? There’s a freshly made bed in the room on the right.” I didn’t need to tell Tomio that Gage had occupied that room, slept in that bed.
He nodded and moved to leave the table. “You’ll wake me when Basil calls?”
I agreed, and watched him disappear into the bedroom. I checked the time on my phone and re-read Ryan’s two word text.
Nice try.
Did he really think I’d fake a kidnapping to get back in touch with him? It really showed that Ryan had no idea who I was and how I thought. He was projecting himself onto me, and wasn’t that what narcissists did? They think everyone is as capable of deceit and manipulation as they themselves are. What a world Ryan must inhabit, one where no one can be trusted and everyone is most likely lying.
I typed out a response.
This is not a joke. Your brother needs you. By the time you pull your head out of your ass and take me seriously, it may be too late. It may already be too late. The police are useless and the agency can’t send anyone to help. It’s just me and Tomio. That’s all Gage has. I know we have never seen eye to eye, but if you really love your brother, then you’ll drop whatever it is you’re doing and help us.
I hit send before I analyzed it any further, watching as it was delivered and read a few moments later. Wherever Ryan was, he had proper cell service now.
Three dots flashed on my screen. He was typing a response.
I watched and waited, holding my breath to see if I’d convinced him. We desperately needed Ryan to be on our side. But did he believe me? He didn’t know what I knew. That more fires had gone out and the agency was crippled. Would he think I made that up, too?
The three dots stopped flashing but no message came through. Ten minutes later, when there was still no reply, I figured I had my answer.
Eight
Clearance Acquired
Less than one hour after Tomio went for his nap I received a text from Basil telling me to check my email. Waking my laptop, I found a fresh link to the map with the simple explanation: Security clearance raised to level 4. Logout and login with updated information.
Using the new username and password, I logged in to the map application. The updated map had three noticeable differences: There were many more illuminated dots concentrated mainly in urban areas, there was a small box in the upper right-hand corner containing a keypad. And on the left side of the screen sat a file folder entitled Surveillance.
A red dot surfaced above the keypad, flashing with the words ‘incoming call’. Figuring it was Basil to explain the Surveillance folder, I rolled the mouse over the dot and clicked on it.
A man’s voice I didn’t recognize came through the computer’s speakers delivering accented English.
“Hello? Saxony Cagney? This is a secure line, you can speak freely.”
“Hello, this is Saxony,” I replied, leaning toward the computer. “Who is this?”
“My name is Mehmet, I’ve been assigned to debrief you and aid you in helping recover your friend. Let me say first how sorry I am that this happened. The timing of it is especially terrible. If this had occurred last year, I would be at liberty to serve better.”
Movement in my periphery drew my eyes to Tomio, who’d emerged from the bedroom, probably woken by the voice. He sat on the chair beside mine, studying the
computer screen. His hair stuck up at the back. I couldn’t resist patting it down.
“Nice to meet you Mehmet. I’m here with my friend Tomio. He came to help us rescue Gage.”
“Yes. Basil told me you had a friend there and he has also been given clearance.”
“Hello, Mehmet,” Tomio said. “You’re from the Agency?”
“Yes. My role for the last six months has been to collate and study surveillance footage of one Nero Palumbo, living in Naples. Mr. Chaplin told me that you’re aware of the current crisis among the magi—”
I smiled. Someone who said ‘magi’ the same way I did.
“—that fires started going out in batches, starting last year. At first the agencies treated it as a one off, a phenomenon affecting a group of magi we are still determining the size of. When it happened, the initial reports led us to believe it had affected one percent of our population worldwide. A tragedy for some, to be sure, but not one of epidemic proportions. By the time the second incident of permanent quenching occurred, we had reached four percent with the first group. It became clear to us then that we were dealing with something much more serious than was at first understood. We directed more resources to its study, hence the map. The second incident sent us into code-red, and the third... well, you may be able to imagine something of its effects. We’ve lost half our new recruits, a third of our assets, and all of our projects have been disrupted. Those who can still focus well enough to work are clinging to self-control, in spite of psychiatric recommendations to retreat and convalesce.”
Tomio and I shared horrified looks throughout this speech, though it was delivered in the calm and reasonable tone of someone who’d been trained to deal with a crisis.
“But I don’t want to draw focus to this issue with your friend missing, I only wanted you to understand the broad strokes of why the Agency cannot better aid you. Let’s move on.”
“Thanks for the update, Mehmet. One thing before we move on, I was just wondering if you’ve been personally affected by the... quenching?” I asked.
He answered baldly and bluntly, without emotion. “I have. My fire went out with the most recent batch.”
“I’m sorry,” Tomio said before I could form the words myself.
We exchanged another glance. It was unreal how calm he sounded, and that he’d been assigned to help us over someone who had not been affected.
“Thank you,” Mehmet said. “It’s an interesting thing. Though our world is in chaos and there is a lot of fear running amok, those who have been personally affected by the snuffings seem to fall firmly into one of two camps. They either succumb to a mental and emotional breakdown, or they find they are not as adversely affected emotionally as they might have guessed they would be. I fall into the second camp, perhaps because for the first time in my life, I am learning what it is to live without pain. I’m not without grief, but it’s not at a level where I must be dismissed from my work. Surveillance does not require the use of our fire, so I’m happy that my supervisor has allowed me to continue, though I have to check in with agency doctors twice daily and I’m not allowed to leave a designated area until they are convinced the risk of a breakdown has passed.”
“How long before you’re allowed to travel?” I asked.
“I couldn’t say, but I can tell you that I’m on the clock for this call and have yet to give you the pertinent information. Shall we move to the matter at hand?”
Tomio and I agreed.
“For the purpose of this call, I have remotely taken control of your screen,” Mehmet said as the map disappeared and the folder expanded and opened, the pointer moving of its own accord.
A series of files appeared, laid out neatly on the screen and captioned with a date and a short descriptor.
“With the lack of contact from any supposed kidnapper there in Naples, we can safely move the case into a different category. The intelligence you provided to Basil, including the meeting that you’ve had recently with Enzo Barberini first, and then his son Dante, together with the improbable timing of events and the transition of an artifact from the Wendig family to Nero Palumbo, we have reason to suspect your friend’s disappearance may have been orchestrated by either the Barberini family or Nero himself. Even more likely, Gage was disappeared by conspiracy of the two families working together. Do we have a similarity of understanding?”
“Yes,” I said.
Tomio got up and began to pace, listening with his brow wrinkled. “But when you say ‘families’ are you suggesting that we’re dealing with a family of Palumbos and not just Nero?”
“I’m using the term family loosely here,” Mehmet explained as he scrolled through the files on the screen. “We don’t know who he might have helping him, whether they might be of blood relation or merely hired hands. It’s safe to assume he is not acting alone however, because we understand Nero travels frequently and for long stretches of time, anywhere from three weeks to six months before he returns home. And with the mention of ‘home’, I have struck upon the biggest challenge you face. We have one known address in Naples for Nero Palumbo, a flat in Portici, but this flat serves mainly as his place to receive mail, sometimes as a bedroom and storage facility. We already know that your friend Gage has not been taken to this flat as we monitor all comings and goings and have already examined the location with a heat camera. There has been no movement at this location since last month.”
As Mehmet spoke, he opened files of photographs and a few video clips of an apartment building, first from overhead, then from street level. The building was only a block from the Bay of Naples, but the coastline was unlovely, with docks and industrial buildings breaking up stretches of otherwise pebbly beach. I would have described the neighborhood as one step above a slum, with very little green space and no personal gardens at all. Outdoor terraces were cluttered with clothes racks and laundry, tattered patio furniture, and litter boxes. Every door and window had robust iron bars protecting the glass. Many had rusted looking old-fashioned air conditioning units perched on thick window ledges. The roads were narrow and clogged with parked cars, even on the sidewalks, leaving barely enough room for a pedestrian to pass. Naples had pretty areas but this wasn’t one of them. Portici was particularly unattractive, in spite of its proximity to the bay.
“So this apartment is not somewhere we should look? Is that what you’re telling us?” Tomio asked, pausing at my shoulder to study the photos of Nero’s Portici flat.
“Yes, that’s what I’m telling you.”
“Sorry, can we back up for one second?” Tomio asked. “Why is it that the agency didn’t arrest Nero for the murder of Bellamy Chaplin a few decades ago?”
“I had wondered the same thing,” I said, “Basil said there was never enough evidence to convict him, and international law is protective of a supernatural’s privacy.”
“That’s right,” confirmed Mehmet. “We also maintain the ‘innocent until proven guilty’ tenet of our natural counterparts. We are permitted to observe Nero’s behavior when he happens to pass within view of our cameras, but we don’t have a warrant to actively surveil him.”
“How about now, though? With fires going out and Gage missing, surely you can get the warrant we need?”
“I’m hoping we can, but until I get that warrant, you cannot make any move to approach him. You can tail him, but only because you’re not an employee of the agency, and you didn’t hear it from me. Your movements won’t be restricted by the Agency, you can go where you wish and verify my claims for yourself, but I think it would be expedient for you, and of course for Gage, that you trust my words on the matter and not waste time looking where he’s unlikely to be.”
“If he’s not at that location, you must have some idea where else he could be?” I asked.
“Ah, here is the rub. We believe Nero has a secret location underground. You might not know that forty meters beneath the historical center of Napoli and beyond lies at least one hundred and seventy kilometers or more
of subterranean throughways. Included are air-raid shelters, cisterns, an aqueduct, caverns, and even an ancient theater and museum. Tourists can visit a small portion of the Napoli Sotterrenea, but most of it is off-limits. Some is privately owned. One hundred seventy kilometers is the official and public number, but we are aware of an additional twelve kilometers that is not accessible and appears in fact to be walled up from the rest. We have not been given permission by Italian authorities to go down there, so officially, we can’t.”
Silence hung heavy in the air as his implication became clear.
“But we can?” Tomio put a hand on my shoulder. I lay my palm over it, heart beating rapidly.
“Officially, you can’t either; however, a couple of high school tourists straying off the approved path in search of artifacts or rare photographs, not knowing any better, might achieve something that the Agency cannot. Individuals not employed by the Agency need not be fettered by the same red tape and bureaucrazy that usually complicates relations.”
“Did he say bureaucrazy?” Tomio whispered.
Mehmet chuckled. “A word of my own invention, pardon. When you work in the intelligence business you quickly become frustrated by the number of permissions and restrictions one is forced to navigate. There is a perception in the outside world that agencies like ours can move through the world with impunity. I can tell you that the opposite is true. We are more constrained and monitored than the average organization, and intelligence is also an industry.” He cleared his throat and opened more photographs.
“So, how do we get down there?” I asked.
“There are a few ways. You could join a tour group and wait for an opportunity to become lost, but this strategy is higher risk since you’d be involved with a tour operator. You’d have to rely in part on an operator who was slack enough not to keep a head count throughout the tour, a rare thing, given that these operators are very competitive and need positive reviews for their businesses to thrive. An operator who loses two patrons would not only lose good faith, they would be open to having their license revoked.”
