by Seb Kirby
I wanted to get this straight. “So, Benito Lando was able to take the Wewelsburg paintings to Florence on the promise he would use their wealth in the future for the support of fascist groups in Munich, like the one that ensnared Arndt’s brother Max?”
Ferrara nodded. “Yes, James, I think that is right. Benito Lando was an ideological fascist as much as anything else. It would have appealed to him. And he would have been credible in this role in the eyes of Himmler.”
“He would keep his word?”
Gina cut in again. “If you can say such a thing about a madman like Benito Lando.”
I agreed. “But I don’t see Benito Lando ever having the need to sell those paintings. Everything I’ve learned about the Landos in the past three years points to the fact they make as much money as they need through drugs, extortion and the sex trade. It wouldn’t have taken Benito Lando long to re-establish the family business once the War ended. If he wanted to keep his word about funding the fascists in Germany, it wouldn’t have been difficult to find what was needed through the criminal activity. And when Alfieri Lando succeeded him, he would have done the same.”
This appeared to make sense to Ferrara. “It would have been difficult then, as now, to find a buyer for masterpieces of such quality and such importance. It may be possible to find private collectors who would want to own one of them in secret, but they would demand a hefty discount. I agree, James, it is altogether possible those paintings have not changed hands. They would have much greater ritualistic value to the Landos.”
“Which means they may still exist and have not been destroyed as so many are certain is the case.”
“It is a possibility.”
“So where does this leave us?”
“It means we have one more audio file to listen to. Then we will know the full extent of Arndt Schreiber’s research and we will be on our own.”
He read over Schreiber’s note that accompanied the file. “It says it is a recording of a phone call from last year with a Dominican priest called Fra Finasi. There is no other information.”
He pressed play.
Schreiber was speaking. “Father, you can tell me. There will be no comebacks.”
The father’s voice was unsteady. “You do not know what you are asking.”
“I only want to know their name. What is there in a name?”
“Everything. You ask for everything.”
“Without the name I will never be able to honor the memory of my brother.”
“You promise anonymity.”
“I guarantee it.”
The father’s voice was almost too quiet to hear. “I discendenti di Leda.”
“What was that?”
He repeated the name. “I discendenti di Leda. That is who they are.”
“They seek the Elixir?”
“I am bound by oath not to say it.”
“But since I say it for you, it is true?”
“Yes, it is true.”
The recording ended.
Ferrara spoke first. “No doubt it was a longer conversation, but this fragment is all that Arndt retained.”
I wanted to know if I’d heard the name correctly. “The Descendants of Leda. Is that what the secret society is called?”
Gina couldn’t wait. “IDDL. I discendenti di Leda. It’s the name I shouldn’t have seen on Arndt’s computer. The one he wanted to keep me away from.”
Ferrara leaned back and rubbed his eyes in tiredness. “Yes, there is everything in a name. This is what I have feared. Men like the Landos involved in a secret society that has become a cult. Proof enough that they created their own world of madness. Something I have long suspected but which I hoped would never be shown to be true.”
I could feel my heart sinking as I could not help thinking once more about what Julia and her sister had been put through at the hands of Alfieri Lando. “When you say they are a cult, Nico, what do you mean?”
He was trying not to alarm me but his words had just that effect. “I mean a grouping not just formed around the notion of secret knowledge but one believing its rituals offered them superior powers.”
“Like immortality.”
“Yes, and beyond that power over us all.”
“By seeking out twins and turning them into victims.”
“More than that, James. Taking the life energy of others so those in the cult could satisfy their deluded ambition to live forever.”
“Yet Benito and Alfieri Lando died.”
“Yes, they both died, like those before them, no matter what they believed. But that is never enough to stop the madness once the line is crossed. It is the real tragedy history seeks to hide. The truth that still will not speak its name.”
“So where does this leave us?”
“Arndt has guided us as far as he can. We are now on our own.”
“And what does that mean?”
Ferrara gave us both a look that said we should know what was coming next. “Everything leads back to Italy and Florence. There is nothing more for us here.”
I knew I wouldn’t be able to go anywhere without sleep.
Gina voiced my concern. “It’s too far to drive without rest.”
Ferrara was forced to agree. “OK. We take four hours sleep and then we set off.”
Chapter 76
Retired Chief Superintendent Giles Cleary congratulated himself. He had a result. Something to make up for the debacle over DI Reid.
He knew where the Blake woman was.
Cleary prided himself on his contacts and his knowledge of how to employ them. That’s what had continued after his early retirement from the Force. Business as usual.
He’d used the method that had paid such handsome dividends so many times in the past. He circulated images of the Blakes, all three of them – James, Julia and Miles. He let it be known there was a handsome reward for anyone who could let him know where they were. Nothing as inflated as what was offered by Matteo Lando. That sort of money produced problems in itself. Problems like DI Reid. Problems he’d had to work with. No, he offered something much less noteworthy, a few thousand, something more likely to produce reliable results. If in the end Matteo wanted to pay a million for each of the Blakes, so be it. He’d take the balance for himself.
It was more than luck, then. It was inevitable that no matter how careful the Blakes had been in leaving London, they would be found. Constable Eric Morgan’s wife Clarissa had been the one. She worked in the maternity unit at Ambleside Hospital. Clarissa had recognized the woman from the photograph sent to her husband by Cleary. When Eric Morgan went to check he found the woman had given a false name and address that no one in the hospital had bothered to question. Yet, knowing the woman was still in Ambleside in all certainty, Eric began asking locals if they’d seen the woman in the photograph. It hadn’t been difficult to discover that Julia Blake was staying at the farmhouse at the top of Rook Lane. She’d been seen with Faith Webster who lived there. When Eric Morgan went to check he heard that a young woman with a baby was staying in the farmhouse.
Cleary was in no doubt whom we should call.
Not Matteo.
He dialed and waited for the call to be answered.
He smiled when he heard the voice on the other end of the line. “Herr Heller. I have some good news for you.”
Chapter 77
The journey back to Florence was long and troubled for Gina. The worry of not knowing about her sister was eating away at her. Yet the threats to her own safety in returning to Florence were as real as ever. Nothing had changed in that respect since she’d run south with Arndt Schreiber.
We’d crossed into Austria at Kufstein and were heading for the Italian border at Brennaro with Nico Ferrara pushing the Giulietta ever harder along the Brennerautobahn.
He sought to comfort her. “Gina, you can stay with my sister in Padova. No one will know you there. We will go on to Firenze and search for your sister. You could do no more if you were there yourself and
you will be out of danger in Padova.”
Gina was still conflicted. “It doesn’t feel right. I should be there for her.”
“It’s going to be another three hours before we get close to Padova. Think it over, Gina. You can decide then.”
I was in the back seat of the Giulietta. I was missing Julia. I had not spoken to her for days. The prospect of returning to Florence with no clear idea of how to bring to an end the threats to my family brought back again doubts that I’d done the right thing in being here, in leaving Julia and young Simon back in Ambleside. But I knew there was never a choice. The Landos were intent on destroying us.
We fell silent as we crossed into Italy at Brennaro. The fear that Manieri would have men waiting for us at the border was real but as on the journey north to Munich, we sped through unhindered. Yet we should have heeded those fears.
When we stopped at the Autogrill at Trento for coffee and food, Ferrara and Gina were approached by two State Police.
I’d separated from them for a few moments to wait in the line to order coffee and panini and was about to return to the table when I realized something was wrong. The questioning by the police was serious. It was clear they’d been watching for the Giulietta. Ferrara was unable to deny he was the owner. Then, to my dismay, I could only watch as Ferrara and Gina were led away. I could do nothing to stop them. The only consolation was I’d been able to remain out of sight and avoid being picked up with them.
I was alone again, over a hundred miles from Florence, in need of a lift.
Once the State Police left, taking Ferrara and Gina with them, I approached one of the drivers in the nearby truck parking area. I said I needed a ride. I hadn’t expressed this well but he shrugged and gestured me to climb aboard.
I didn’t know how to respond to the loss of Ferrara and Gina. I’d learned much from the professor. I would miss his levelheaded advice on problems that for me were often overwhelming. I would miss the depth of his knowledge. And I would miss Gina’s resolve to stand up against the odds.
Maybe they were better off in the hands of the police. Ferrara had his academic career to think about. He didn’t belong out here, in the criminal world. If he could find honest police to deal with in Padova, he had a good chance of returning to a life away from danger, his career intact, teaching his students, examining them in the philosophy of religion. What did it matter that he was a witness to a shooting in Ostuni? He was no fugitive. Being arrested was the best thing that could have happened to him.
Or so I told myself.
The same went for Gina. She needed to find her sister and get away from the grip the Landos had on her. She had a better chance of help with Inspector Manieri. The more I told myself this was the case, the more I began to believe it myself.
I was the real fugitive. I was the one out in the cold, where I’d always been, seeking a key to bring down an enemy that had me outnumbered and outgunned. That hadn’t changed.
As the truck lurched along the highway towards Florence, through a gathering storm that reduced visibility, I was distracted by the pulses of light from the oncoming traffic in the adjacent lanes piercing the gloom, playing across my face, dazzling me. Perhaps it was the aftermath of losing Ferrara and Gina and the feeling of being alone once more. The humming of the truck engine became ever more distant.
My mind began to wander, trance-like.
I was back with Alfieri Lando three years before, in the mausoleum at San Berado, staring down at his face distorted by death. Outside, his son Matteo was being arrested for the murder by Manieri’s men. As I pressed on further into the stone cold labyrinth, I found Julia, lying there, drugged and abused. I was overwhelmed by the joy of seeing her again, of holding her close, knowing it was only the belief that I would find her that had sustained me and made this moment possible, finding her alive. In that moment, in my waking dream, the whole of my attention was on her, on taking her away from the stench of death down there and carrying her out into the clean air outside.
Yet in the dream I was seeing something more, something I had discounted then, something I could see now, as if for the first time.
In the periphery of my vision there was a movement.
Someone was closing a doorway.
One that led deeper into the hillside on which San Berado stood.
As I replayed the scene, I realized it was more like the closing of a secret compartment. When it was closed, it no longer looked like a doorway. It looked like any of the other mold-covered stone walls of the mausoleum.
I saw now what I hadn’t seen then when I’d been overjoyed at finding Julia alive and taking her to safety.
I wanted to talk with Ferrara. He would be able to help, to put this into perspective. But as I came out of the dream and jerked back to attention, I remembered that, like Gina, he was no longer with me. I would have to work this out on my own.
The truck made good progress on the journey to Florence. The driver agreed to drop me at the railway station in the center of town.
As I thanked him and stepped down onto the street, I knew where I should go next.
Chapter 78
What bothered Nate Craven most was he couldn’t quite be sure he could read Agent Ashley. He hadn’t been on the team for long and in the normal run of events there would be time to understand why. But too much of what had happened in Tijuana was outside of what Craven had expected.
First there were the reports that El Romero had been taken and all but killed by the Federales. It wasn’t just bad for business. It was close to the end of the protection operation that had earned so much good money over so many years, not just for himself but for all those he’d moved over to the black side of his team, including Ashley. So why was he showing so little concern that Craven couldn’t help thinking the man was hiding something?
Craven called Ashley into his office for debriefing. “Dillon, good work in bringing back Miller. I guess we’d call it mission accomplished.”
“Well, Nate, she took a little convincing but let’s say I persuaded her to understand the logic of coming back here and facing up to what she’d been doing down there.”
“Nothing too rough, I hope.”
“I think you’ll find I got it right.”
“So, tell me, what was she doing?”
“You need to ask her, Nate.”
Craven scrutinized Ashley’s face, seeking any indication he might be hiding something. “You heard about El Romero?”
“I saw the news reports, if that’s what you mean?”
“And you know nothing more?”
“Like what, Nate?”
“Like it happened when you were there?”
Ashley shuffled in his seat but his expression did not change. “I was concerned with what you sent me there for, with Miller. I wasn’t there to have any dealings with El Romero or anyone else in the cartels. The news says it was Martinez and the Federales who brought him in. I can’t add anything more. Except it’s no surprise Martinez is dead, after what he was doing.”
Not a flicker. Not a sign that Ashley was hiding anything. Either he was a good liar or he was giving back just what he knew.
This brought into focus the second matter Craven couldn’t square. When Debbie Miller had left for her supposed holiday in Hawaii, Craven had been certain she was on to him over Town Lake. It was hard to believe that hadn’t been her purpose in meeting the Englishman in Tijuana.
It was a risk involving Ashley in anything to do with Town Lake but Craven decided this was merited by the situation. “Tell me, Dillon, in the time you were with Miller, was there any mention of Town Lake?”
“Why would there be, Nate?”
“Just another line I’m working on. Was it ever mentioned?”
Again, not a flicker. “No, Nate. I can tell you it wasn’t and I can’t think of a single reason why it would be.”
Craven tried another approach. “You saw Miller with the Englishman, Miles Blake?”
“Yes, an
d from what I saw, I’d say they were close.”
“You didn’t seek to detain Blake or report his whereabouts, knowing that he is one of our prime targets?”
“My mission was about Miller. Bringing her back here.”
“And what do you think Blake told her about the drugs business we have with El Romero?”
“She wouldn’t say, Nate. But I think it’s most certain we now have a problem.”
“With Miller?”
“Yes. If she’s now on to us.”
Craven smiled. “Leave it with me, Dillon.”
As the debriefing ended, Craven wanted to believe that the Tijuana events were all about the drugs business. As far as he could tell, this was what Ashley believed. He was playing his part as a team player, warning about Miller as far as he should. So, why did the nagging thought keep returning that Town Lake was still in the picture?
Craven ordered Ashley back to his workstation. “I’ll run what you said past Miller and let you know how it plays.”
Chapter 79
The cemetery behind the church at San Berado had changed little in the three years since I’d last been there. The multitude of marble monuments, clustered together, still vied for attention, overshadowed by the more substantial family mausoleums, small buildings in their own right, standing nearby.
I found my way to the Lando tomb. I had a plan of how I would gain entry. I’d stopped in Florence to buy a flash lamp and a crowbar from the old ironmonger store on Borgo la Croce where there had been no questions asked. If the wrought iron door to the tomb was locked, I would break in.
I glanced around. I was alone in the cemetery but I was concerned that any noise I might make would carry as far as the church and be heard by one of the monks who from time to time crossed the cobbled apron between the church itself and the outbuildings. I shouldn’t have worried. When I pushed against the door it gave way and I was able to enter the tomb.
I used the flash lamp to pick my way past the small religious shrine with its cross and image of Mary that filled the entrance area. Pressing further inside, I squeezed past the stone coffins of the Lando ancestors. The stale, sweet smell of death made me catch my breath.
