‘Jon,’ he managed to say, ‘I know what I want for Christmas.’
Mario popped open the winglike door and held out the keys. ‘Who wanna drive?’
Payne glanced at the Enzo and fantasized about its V-12, 650-horsepower engine. But he realized there was no way he was going to fit his six four frame behind the steering wheel. So he turned to Jones and said, ‘Merry Christmas.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Don’t get too excited. I didn’t buy it for you. I’m just letting you drive.’
Jones rushed forward to admire the interior while Mario handed Payne the paperwork for the fastest rent-a-car in history.
Payne had been to every continent in the world including an ass-freezing excursion to Antarctica, the result of him losing a bet to a three-star general on the Army/Navy football game. That being said, he couldn’t remember ever visiting a place like the Italian countryside. The pastoral beauty of the rolling hills coupled with the ancient architecture took his breath away. Orvieto is sixty-two miles northwest of Rome, meaning they could’ve made the trip in about ten minutes if Jones had floored it. But they were enjoying the drive so much that they stretched it out over an hour.
In the distance the light gray rock of a 900-foot plateau rose out of the ground like a massive stage, framing Orvieto against the periwinkle sky and suspending it above the olive trees below. Jones noted its strong defensive position on top of the plateau and the single hue that dominated the entire town. ‘I bet this place used to be a citadel. See how the buildings blend in with the rock face? They’re made from the same stone as the tufa, meaning the city would’ve been camouflaged from a distance. Just like the Greek city of Mycenae.’
They parked the Ferrari on the west edge of Orvieto, figuring their car was bound to draw attention. After that they didn’t have a plan of attack, so they strolled down the first road they saw, soaking in the architecture as they passed through a series of archways. Though slightly weathered, the structures still held their form after centuries of use, contributing to the town’s allure and giving a glimpse of a different era. The only splashes of color came from the window boxes outside every window – boxes filled with pink, purple, red, and yellow flowers – and the thick patches of ivy that clung to the side of several buildings.
‘Where is everybody?’ Jones asked. ‘I haven’t seen anyone since we started walking.’
No cars, no merchants, no children playing in the afternoon sun. Their stride was the only sound they could hear. ‘Do Europeans take siestas?’
‘Some Italians might, but not an entire town. Something must be going on.’
Five minutes later they found out what it was.
After walking through a long, curved arch, they spotted hundreds of people jamming the piazza in front of them. Everyone was standing with their heads bowed while facing a massive cathedral that seemed completely out of place in the monotone town. Instead of blending in with the light-gray theme of Orvieto, the Gothic church opted for the exact opposite: its triple-gabled facade was filled with a rainbow of multicolored frescoes that depicted scenes from the New Testament. They were surrounded by a series of hand-carved bas-reliefs and four fluted columns.
Moving into the crowd, Payne had a hard time deciding what to examine first: the church or the people. He had never seen a building with a more striking exterior, yet he realized they were there for Dr Boyd and should be scanning the crowd to find him. Their search went on for several seconds until the sound of a handheld bell on the church’s steps ended the ceremony. Strangely, with little fanfare, the citizens of Orvieto went back to their daily lives.
‘What the hell was that? Everyone looks like zombies.’
‘Not everyone.’ Jones pointed toward an obese man who stood twenty feet away, taking pictures. ‘That guy looks like a tourist. Maybe he can tell us what we missed.’
They approached him cautiously, hoping to determine his country of origin before they attempted a conversation. His body odor screamed European, but his University of Nebraska T-shirt, tattered John Deere hat, and cargo shorts said he was American. So did his stomach, which hung over his belt like a giant beanbag chair.
Jones said, ‘Excuse me. Do you speak English?’
The man’s face lit up. ‘Hell yeah! My name’s Donald Barnes.’ He possessed the flat tone of a Midwesterner and the handshake of a blacksmith, something he developed by squeezing ketchup on everything he ate. ‘I’m glad someone else does, too. I’ve been yearning for some normal conversation.’
Payne joked, ‘That’s the problem with foreign countries. Everyone speaks a foreign language.’
‘That’s just one of the problems. I’ve had the shits since I arrived.’
Talk about too much info. ‘So, what did we miss? It looks like the whole town was here.’
Barnes nodded. ‘They were honoring the local cop who died in Monday’s accident.’
Jones asked, ‘What accident? We just got into town.’
‘Then you missed all the fireworks. I’m telling you, it was the damnedest thing. This big ol’ helicopter crashed into a parked truck near the base of the cliff.’
Payne whistled softly. ‘No shit? Did you see it?’
‘Nah, but I felt the sucker. The explosion was big enough to shake the whole damn town. I thought Mount Vesuvius was eruptin’ or somethin’.’
Jones considered the information. ‘I know that this is going to sound weird, but who did the truck belong to? I mean, did someone claim it?’
Barnes looked at Payne, then back at Jones. ‘How did you know about the missing driver? The cops have been looking for him, asking everyone in town if we seen him.’
‘And have you?’ Jones wondered.
He shrugged, causing rolls of fat to gather at his neck. ‘They don’t know what he looks like and neither do I, so how the hell am I supposed to know if I seen him?’
Barnes had a valid point, even though his grammar – and his diet – could use some work.
Then he lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘Some people think the truck belonged to a grave robber, someone who didn’t want to be seen. How cool is that?’
‘Pretty cool,’ Jones whispered, egging him on.
‘You know, I was photographing the whole scene until the cops showed up and made me put my camera away. I was gonna complain and all, but we ain’t in America, and I figured they might have different rules over here. But I’m telling you, it was the damnedest thing.’
And pretty suspicious, Payne thought. What were the odds that a helicopter blew up in the same small town that Dr Boyd was visiting, a town with rumors about a grave robber? He had to be talking about Boyd. So he asked, ‘Are the cops still controlling the site?’
Barnes shrugged. ‘I ain’t been back since. I’ve been too busy with artwork and shit.’
Jones nodded. ‘We’ll be hitting the artwork and shit, too. But, man, we’d love to see the crash site. Can you tell us where it is?’
He pointed to the southeast, describing a few landmarks they’d pass on the way. ‘If you don’t find it, you can track me down on the east side of town. I hear there’s a two-hundred-foot well over there that shouldn’t be missed.’
Payne and Jones thanked Barnes for his information, then followed his directions to the crash site, unaware that he’d be murdered less than an hour later.
21
Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II,
Milan, Italy
Boyd sat in a café near the center of the Galleria, a glass-domed shopping mall that housed four neo-Renaissance streets. Tourists strolled past, taking pictures of the zodiac signs that were illustrated on the tiled floor of the atrium. The symbol that got the most attention was Taurus, for local legend said it was good luck to stand on the bull’s testicles. Just not for the bull.
‘Professore?’ called a voice from behind.
Boyd froze in terror. His heart pounded in his throat until he saw it was Maria. She had gone inside the café to use the bathroom and had somehow vanished from his mind.
‘Professore, are you all right? You look pale.’
‘I’m fine.’ He looked around the small café to make sure no one was listening. ‘I’ve been giving the violence a lot of thought, yet I’ve gotten nowhere. I simply don’t understand it.’