All He Saw Was the Girl (11 page)

    "What
is that?"

    "A
Catholic religious order founded by St Paul of the Cross. Its real name is the
Congregation of Discalced Clerks of the Most Holy Cross and Passion of Our Lord
Jesus Christ."

    Mazara
gave her a broad smile. "Did you make this up?"

    "No,"
Angela said. "It happens to be true. Only they are not a full order, but a
congregation. Founded to teach people how to pray. I think you could use some
help in that area."

    "What
is there to teach? You want to pray, you pray."

    "What
do you know about it?"

    "Praying?
Not very much any more," Mazara said.

    Angela
lit a cigarette.

    "You
said women are allowed in the monastery?"

    "If
you are related," Angela said.

    "Or
if you are a prostitute," Mazara said.

    "Why
are you so negative about priests?" She pulled her sunglasses down and
looked at him.

    "You
would understand if one tried to molest you."

    Angela
said, "This really happened?"

    "The
priest from our village invited me to his office in the rectory," Mazara
said. "It was a great honor. He told me to sit on his lap and I felt
something hard poking into me. He said, 'Do you know what that is?'"

    Angela
said, "How old were you?"

    "Eleven,"
Mazara said. "Old enough to know better."

    "What
did you say?"

    He
gave her a questioning look. "What do you think?"

    Angela
said, "What did the priest say?"

    "It
was the staff of God, and he wanted me to hold it."

    "What
did you do?"

    "I
ran," Mazara said.

    "I'm
sure it was shocking," Angela said, "but I have to ask you - can you
do this? Because if you are not sure, I will dress like a nun and pick up the
money."

    He
said, "I like to see that. You would be a sexy nun."

    She
said, "Let's go over it again."

    "You
sound like your father. You have to be in control."

    She
had to be careful what she said or he felt threatened. "I'm being
cautious," Angela said. "Are you sure you know what to do?"

    He
gave her a hard look. "That's enough."

    She
dropped him off on Clivo di Scauro, and he walked up the hill to the monastery
next to the church. He felt like a fool wearing the coarse brown robe with the
hood pulled over his head and a rope belt — like he was going to a costume party.
The robe was made out of wool and it was hot and itched.

    They
had discussed the plan a dozen times. He would enter the monastery and walk
through to the rectory and enter the church from the altar side. Angela told
him if he saw anyone to press his hands together in prayer, close his eyes and
pretend he was praying. She also told him some monks took the vow of silence.
At that moment he wished she had taken a vow of silence - just close her mouth,
stop talking and let him do it.

    He walked
through to the sacristy, entering the church behind the main altar. He turned
and genuflected, making the sign of the cross the way he had been taught as a
schoolboy — so long ago he barely remembered the words to the prayers and the
ritual of the mass.

    He
looked down the main aisle into the darkness of the church, past the chairs set
up for evening service. He expected to see a brigade of carabinieri, but
instead he saw tourists scattered around the front of church, staring up at the
ceiling the way he once had, studying the murals depicting the lives of
apostles and saints, what else? He approached the altar from behind. The soccer
bag was on the tile floor where Signor Tallenger had placed it. He pretended
not to notice, taking care of his pre-mass duties, lighting candles and trying
to stay calm, relaxed.

    Now
he pressed his hands together in prayer, picked up the bag and moved to the
back wall of the nave. There was a door. He opened it and walked down a
staircase leading to the passages under the church. It was cool and dark. He
turned on the flashlight and saw ancient rooms of the house of worship the
church was built on.

    Mazara
put the bag down and pulled the robe over his head, happy to remove it, the
coarse fabric itching him like crazy. Above him he heard voices and the sound
of footsteps coming down the stairs. He picked up the bag, fit the strap over
his shoulder and started running down a narrow passageway that was cut through
the soft tufa rock. He imagined the graves of martyrs filling the walls. It was
cool and smelled like the woods on a wet day, like soil, the air musty and
heavy, difficult to breathe. He heard voices behind him but he did not stop to
look.

    Arturo
and Luciano followed the monk down the stairs into the darkness under the
church, Arturo using his silver Zippo for illumination. He felt foolish. What
was he going to do — chase the kidnapper through the
scavi
with a
lighter? He stepped on something and almost tripped. He held the lighter down
and saw the monk's robe on the brick floor. He tried to radio his backup units,
but could not make contact through the thick stone foundation of the church.

    He
went back up and moved through the church, running outside. There was an old
man sweeping debris near the entrance to the church. Arturo identified himself
and asked if the man knew where the tunnels under the church led.

    The
man pointed at a green gate that resembled a stable door.

    "Come
this way, I will show you."

    Arturo
and Luciano followed him. The man unlocked the gate to reveal ancient ruins,
large Roman-style arches that wrapped around the ceiling and extended down
fifteen feet under the foundation of the church. There were underground
columns, and two bricked passageways that appeared to continue for some
distance. There were also crushed pieces of statues against the underground
wall. The scene reminded Arturo of an architectural dig. He fixed his attention
on the man and said, "How far do the tunnels go?"

    "Two
hundred meters," the man said.

    "Two
hundred meters?" Arturo scratched his head. "What is on the other
side?" he said, pointing in the direction of the Colosseum.

    The
man said. "Ruins, I think, but I do not know for sure."

    Arturo
thanked him and ran to the car for his laptop, breathing hard as he sat in the
front passenger seat. Luciano was standing at the edge of the square talking to
Signor Tallenger. He opened the laptop and put his cursor on the map and
clicked. The red icon did not appear. He clicked again and nothing happened,
and it occurred to him that GPS probably could not pick up the sensor
underground. The kidnappers, who Arturo assumed were a ragtag "'Ndrangheta
gang, had surprised him. They were more organized and better prepared than he
had imagined. It was almost as if they knew where the police were, and knew a
sensor was in the bag.

    Luciano
opened the door and sat in the front passenger seat.

    "Where
is Signor Tallenger?"

    "I
told him to go back to his hotel and we would contact him when it was
over." He paused. "Do you see the kidnapper?'

    Arturo
was going to tell him, no. But he glanced down at his computer screen and saw
the red icon appear, moving toward the Colosseum. Then they were too, Luciano
taking charge, speeding down Clivo di Scauro under the five arches that had
once been part of an aqueduct that brought water to the ancient Romans. He
turned right on Viale del Parco del Celio, the Colosseum looming in front of
them now. Arturo glanced over his shoulder and saw the backup units with
heavily armed GIS behind them. The red icon stopped. Arturo's eyes were fixed
on the computer screen. Then it was moving again, and moving fast along Foro
Romano.

    Siesta
was over, traffic was heavy. Arturo called headquarters for patrol units,
giving their co-ordinates, and then felt foolish when the dispatcher asked the
make and color of the vehicle they were chasing, and Arturo realized it would
be difficult to find them in the city.

    Ten
minutes later they were following the red icon on the autostrada heading for
Fiumicino, the airport. The thief was probably catching a plane, leaving the
country. But then the icon turned, going north now toward Civitavecchia.
Luciano was passing cars, and they came up behind a stake truck. The icon was
flashing. Arturo radioed the backup units. He told one unit to get ahead of the
truck and slow it down. He told the other to position itself in the lane to the
left of the truck and they would have it surrounded on three sides. The only
escape was going off-road into a field.

    When
the backup units were in position, Luciano turned on the flashers and siren.
The truck pulled over on the side of the road. Eight GIS surrounding the truck,
aiming HK MP5 machine guns at the driver, an old man with dark wrinkled skin.

    Arturo
saw cars slowing down, people curious, wondering what was happening - all the
police - all this firepower. He found the white soccer bag in a wooden crate in
the open bed of the truck, the inside of the crate stained red from the fruit
it had carried. He reached in and brought the bag out. It was empty. Luciano
told the old man to get out of the truck and he did and started to run. Eight
guns pointed at him and he tried to get away. Luciano caught him and the GIS
teams came closer, aiming their automatic weapons, forming a tight circle
around him. Arturo held up the soccer bag. "Is this yours?" he said.

    The
old man shook his head. "I have not seen it before."

    Arturo
believed him. The man was afraid. Who wouldn't be? All these guns aimed at him
as if he were a wanted criminal, a fugitive. He thought they were overdoing it
a little, and told the men to lower their weapons and disperse. He did not
consider this bent, wrinkled old prune much of a threat. Arturo said, "Where
are you coming from?"

    "Campo
di Fiori, the market," the old man said. "I am a farmer. I grow
vegetables and fruit."

    He
had the hands of a laborer, fingers permanently stained from the soil,
fingernails caked with dirt. Arturo said, "Why did you try to get
away?"

    "I
have no driving license," the man said.

    "You
lost it?"

    "Never
had it."

    "How
long have you been driving?"

    "Since
I was thirteen years old."

    Arturo
took out his pipe and tobacco and filled the bowl and lighted it, blowing out
smoke that had a spicy aroma. "You can go," he said to the old man.

    Luciano
said, "Captain, can I talk to you?"

    They
stepped a few feet away from the truck.

    Luciano
said, "You are not going to bring him in?"

    Arturo
said, "For what reason?"

    Luciano
said, "Maybe he knows something."

    Arturo
said, "Did you look at him?"

    The
old man drove away. Arturo and Luciano went to their car and got in.

    Arturo
could now see how the kidnappers were able to escape. He imagined the monk
emerging from the tunnel, walking down to Viale del Parco del Celio where an
automobile picked him up. They emptied the money and threw the soccer bag on
the truck. The only question: if the farmer was at Campo di Fiore, where did
the kidnappers cross paths with the truck? It had to be on Corso Vittorio
Emanuel as the farmer was leaving the market. He could see the truck stopped at
a traffic light and one of the kidnappers throwing the soccer bag on the back
of it.

    Luciano
said, "Captain, what do we do now?"

    "Hope
they release the American, and hope he saw something, or knows something."
Arturo said, although based on statistics, the odds were not good.