The Bone Chamber (14 page)

Suddenly the conversation stopped, but she didn’t move in case it resumed.

“Mi piacerebbe mangiucchiare i tuoi capezzolini squisitissimi…”
This was no echoing whisper. Carlo Adami had moved up behind her, spoken into her ear, his hot, wine-soaked breath caressing her neck. Her instincts told her that he wanted to know whether she’d been eavesdropping, and if she understood any of it.

She turned, smiled. “Signore Adami. You startled me.”

“My apologies,
signorina
. And please, call me Carlo.”

“Carlo,” she repeated. “I’m embarrassed to admit that I don’t speak Italian, so whatever you said…”

“It is I who should be embarrassed,
cara mia
. For taking advantage of the vulnerability of a
bellissima donna
—a beautiful lady left alone.”

“We’re hardly alone.”

“Something that can be immediately remedied if you but say the word.” He gave a mock sigh. “But being American, you are probably one of those ladies who are faithful to their…
fidanzati
, no?”

She merely smiled, casually glanced past him, noting the other men had moved from beneath the arch.

“Such a waste,” he said. “This idea that one must have but a single love in one’s life.”

“What about your wife?”

“Giulietta? She is the understanding sort,” he said, leading Sydney by the arm up the stairs, and no doubt out of hearing of the men he’d been conversing with. He stopped her midway, then turned toward the salon. “Do you see that
delightful young man standing by the bust of Augustus Caesar? The tall blond man? He’s been her lover these past three years.”

“And it doesn’t bother you that she has a lover?”

“What is it you Americans are so fond of saying?” he asked, apparently forgetting his own heritage. “Variety is the spice of life?”

“Something like that.”

“Here, we say, ‘
Ogni medaglia ha il suo rovescio
.’ There are two sides to every coin,” he translated. “He makes my wife happy. That makes me happy.” No doubt because she was the one who bought him respectability in this country. “But what I am more interested in is what makes you happy.”

Somehow she doubted that. “For one, your stunning art collection.”

He eyed her, his expression filled with skepticism. “I have noticed your admiration. You seemed particularly fascinated by the Roman busts beneath my staircases.”

“Because I have a penchant for art history, which is what drew me to the busts in the first place. Especially that of Caligula. My understanding was that the majority of his likenesses had been destroyed after his assassination.”

He looked at her with somewhat renewed interest. “Perhaps because of his reputation, at least that written by his detractors.”

“And what was that?”

“That he was considered cruel, insane, and,” he said, leaning in close to her, and lowering his voice, “he indulged in sexual aberrations that offended Rome.” He straightened, watching her closely, and she had the feeling that whatever these aberrations were, he enjoyed thinking about them. “But Caligula’s errant reputation aside—”

“Errant or repugnant?”

“That would depend on one’s point of view,” he said, as he once again ushered her up the stairs, placing his hand at the small of her back to guide her. “What I find interesting is that very few of my acquaintances, certainly none here tonight, could look at any of these pieces and be able to dis
cuss them with any authority. Perhaps that is why Signore Jamison brought you with him? To determine if the Tiziano he intends to buy is real or a forgery?”

“Hardly. My knowledge comes only from haunting museums and taking art history classes. These could all be forgeries or the real thing for all I know.” She hesitated at the top of the stairs. “Where are we going?”

“To show you what makes me infinitely happy.” His sweeping gesture included the vaulted frescoed ceiling—and as Adami and Sydney rounded the corner of the first landing, she looked up and saw naked Cupids flying after thinly draped Psyches with butterfly wings. They flitted among curving acanthus vines that ran over the breadth of the ceiling. Farther on, Pygmies wearing conical hats and wielding long spears hunted crocodiles, and ibises fluttered on a lotus-studded Nile, which seemed to cascade down over the cornices that separated the ceiling from the staircase walls on either side of the great hall. As Sydney’s eyes followed this painted Nile to its logical source above the center balcony that joined the twin staircases, the elegant grace of Greco-Roman temples gave way to the squared, but equally elegant, trapezoidal Egyptian temples with red and gold columns. At the very top, two sphinxes faced each other on either side of a great pyramid. From its central door, the tributaries of the Nile poured, dividing into two rivers, both of which went their separate ways, tumbling down on opposite sides of the double staircase.

Arriving at the top of the stairs, Adami escorted Sydney through the double doors, just under the pyramid. These led into another gigantic oblong room, elegantly furnished. Here, however, the artwork changed dramatically and was clearly a tribute to all things phallic. On the wall were paintings of satyrs with full erections, chasing naked wood nymphs, and young women mounting their lovers. A curio held wind chimes shaped like penises, as well as small statues of creatures and men, erections evident. Adami swept right past the displays and a conveniently placed chaise longue from which to view the artwork, as though barely noticing, and led her to some tall glass doors that opened onto a large
travertine-paved balcony. Pushing one of the doors open, he said, “We are now standing above the Raphael Loggia.” As she stepped through the door, she was stunned by the view. The balcony overlooked the formal gardens that ended at a balustraded cliff that dropped sharply into the volcanic lake. Except for the marble nymphs and satyrs, the gardens were now deserted, perhaps because the wind had picked up, bringing with it a few scattered raindrops that mixed with the spray from the fountains and vanished into the winds of the lake.

“What’s on the other side of the fountain?” she asked, pointing to a winding path of moonstone that led to what appeared to be a garden house that overlooked the lake.

“A very, very special place,” he said, watching her as he spoke. “The collection in the room we passed through is but a small part of it. Perhaps one day I will show you…sooner rather than later. What do you think?”

“About your gardens?” she said, deciding that was a safer subject than the one he was intimating. “They’re magnificent.”

“Almost as magnificent as you are,” he said, his voice low, smooth.

“
I’m in
.” She froze at the sound of Tex’s voice in her ear, almost didn’t expect it.

“You are, perhaps, uncomfortable with my attentions,” Carlo said, eyeing her still.

“I—Yes,” she said, realizing that was as good a cover as one could ask for.

“
Che peccato!
I shall take you back to the
festa
.”

“Not yet,” she said, lifting her face, taking a deep breath, grabbing at any chance to stall Carlo. Tex needed at least five minutes in Carlo’s office to set up the listening device. “Don’t you love the way the air smells just before it rains?”

“
Sì
,” he said, moving closer to her, so that his arm brushed up against hers. “I do.” His voice caressed her, made her think perhaps she’d taken this a step too far, especially considering the room they’d passed through to get here. She was saved from responding when someone stepped out on the balcony.

“Signore Adami?”

Carlo stepped back, looked toward the open veranda door. “
Cos’è?
”

“
C’è una telefonata. È urgentissima!
”

He hesitated, then, “
Starò lì, subito!
” He took Sydney’s gloved hand. “You will forgive me,
signorina
, but I have some annoying business that I must attend to. A phone call.”

He bowed over her hand, turned it and pressed his lips to her palm. “
Ci vedremo presto, cara mia!
”

She forced a smile, watched him leave, then turned her back, pretending to look out over the gardens, ignoring the fat raindrops brought in on the wind. Leaning on the balustrade, her hands clasped together, covering her mouth, she said, “Hope you heard that, because he left in a hurry.”

“I did. He’s got an urgent phone call.” Tex’s voice came in clearly through her earpiece. “Which means he’s probably headed right for his office. You can’t stall him for thirty more seconds?”

“I can try,” she said, then turned on her heel and hurried through the offending room and down the winding double staircase. Carlo was weaving his way through his guests, heading through the main hallway toward the back of the house, when she finally spied him. “Carlo?” He didn’t hear her, and she pushed her way through, calling out again. “Carlo?”

He’d just reached the back passageway, stopped, turned her direction.

Suddenly she doubted herself, doubted her ability to handle anything about this operation. She didn’t know what to say, what wouldn’t tip him off. “I just wanted to…thank you. For showing me your gardens.” Lame, but she was at a loss here.

Carlo gave a perfunctory smile, his gaze sweeping over her as he said, “The pleasure was mine,
signorina
.”

He left her standing there as he strode out of the salon, then down the hallway toward his office, and she breathed a sigh of relief when she heard Tex’s voice saying, “
All clear
. I’m out the window.”

“Thank God,” she said, snatching an iced flute of vodka from a passing waiter, who smiled at her, undoubtedly thinking she was grateful for the alcohol. She took a sip of the burning liquid, then nearly spit it out as she caught sight of a man walking through the front doors. The driver of the BMW who had followed Griffin from the ambassador’s house to the hotel. And he was walking directly toward her.

Leonardo Adami glanced at his watch as he crossed
the
grande salone
of his cousin’s palazzo, crowded with insufferable guests. The whole thing should have been canceled, propriety be damned. But Carlo would not hear of it, or rather his wife wouldn’t. She had too many friends to impress, too much of a reputation to keep up, and too tight a rein on the family finances. Had it been up to Leo, he’d have eliminated that little difficulty years ago, he thought, looking up to see a woman in a black Ferragamo dress, standing near the grand staircase.

Something about her seemed familiar, but before he could determine what it was, she turned away, walking toward the loggia. No doubt he’d seen her on the arm of one of the visiting dignitaries, probably in a more intimate setting, the sort they didn’t bring their wives to.

He put her from his mind, weaved his way through the guests to the far wing, up another flight of stairs to the third door on the left, then knocked sharply, before opening the door. His cousin was speaking on the phone, so he walked over to the bar and poured himself a drink.

“You have the money,” his cousin said. “And three days
to make it happen,
capisce
. No more mistakes. And if the doctor balks, show him the picture of his mother’s house in India. That should gain you some cooperation.” His jaw tensed as he listened, then gave a curt “
Ciao
,” before dropping the phone in the cradle and turning his attention to Leo. “You’re late.”

“We had a few problems.”

“Where’s Alonzo?”

“That would be one of the problems. We followed Griffin from the ambassador’s residence to a hotel. It should have been simple…” He shrugged. “A woman got in the way.”

“Griffin is still alive?”

“And Alonzo is in his custody.”

Carlo walked over to the decanter, poured himself a drink. “Tell me exactly what happened, Leonardo,” he said, walking to the window, looking out to the courtyard below.

It was moments like this that reminded Leo why Carlo was still in charge of the family. No show of emotion, no indication that anything was wrong, nothing but the slight tightening of his jaw as he sipped at his drink.

When Leo finished, Carlo said, “What does Alonzo know?”

“He knew nothing. Not even why we were watching the ambassador’s villa.” Leo waited in silence for him to make up his mind.

“It’s time we sent a strong message. If they choose not to keep Griffin out of our business, then perhaps we can convince them another way.”

“How?”

“Do you still have her face? The ambassador’s daughter?”

“Of course not,” Leo said. “Your American counterpart didn’t want her identified too readily. He was not pleased with the method chosen to delay that identification.”

“And now they have her identified. In hindsight, it might have hastened the ambassador’s departure from Rome.”

“I would think that he will be leaving now.”

“See that he does.”

Leonardo tipped his head, turned to leave.

“One more thing, Leo.”

“Yes?”

Carlo’s gaze remained focused out the window. “Find out who that woman was. The one who prevented Griffin’s death. Let us send
her
face to Griffin. Perhaps then they will realize the full import of our demands.”

Sydney watched from the alcove as the driver emerged from the hallway. “Mr. BMW,” she whispered. “He’s out.”

She listened for Tex’s voice, but it was Griffin’s she heard over the transmitter. “Why the hell isn’t anything transmitting from the office?”

A slight hesitation, then Tex saying, “I couldn’t activate it. I’m still outside the window.”

“We call it off. I want you two out of there. Now.”

“I can do it, Griff.”

“That’s an order, Tex. Out.”

“Carlo’s leaving,” Sydney said. “I can see him in the hallway.”

“Let me finish it, Griff.”

“Negative,” Griffin said. The driver walked directly toward Sydney, and she moved around the column as he strode past. When he continued on into the salon, she breathed a sigh of relief, only to step right into Carlo’s line of sight just as he looked up.

“Hope springs eternal?” he said, when he neared her. “Dare I believe that you have changed your monogamous ways? Perhaps my enchanting little room changed your mind?”

“Or maybe that the wine has gone to my head and I’ve lost my way from the ladies’ room?”

“I should have forgone the phone call, and brought you a bottle myself.”

“I see you’re the incorrigible type.”

He grinned. “I try my best. More wine? I have a very special bottle of Vino Nobile di Montepulciano, Carpineto, 1991.”

“As much as I’d love to, I’m waiting for my boyfriend, who just left to get me a drink of something cold and nonalcoholic.”

“Then I’ll wait with you.”

“You should attend to your guests.”

“As you can see, they’re attending quite well to themselves,” he said, looking up, waving his hand across the room. “Ah, my cousin,” he said. “No doubt taken by your beauty.”

Apparently his cousin and Mr. BMW were one and the same, and he was bearing down on them, a frown darkening his expression. In case he might recognize her, she turned away, keeping her back to him, hoping that he didn’t see her. “I think I need a bit of fresh air. I’ve had entirely too much to drink.”

“Carlo!” Mr. BMW called out, and she took off just as Carlo turned to find out what it was his cousin wanted.

She wove her way through several people, glanced over her shoulder, and saw the man running toward Carlo, a definite look of recognition on his face as he called out again. “I’ve been made,” she said, hurrying toward the door.

“Tex?” Griffin’s voice sounded scratchy. “Where the hell are you?”

“Almost done, just making the connection.”

“Fuck the connection. Get out and get Sydney out. Now.”

“Done. Hitting the window as we speak.”

Sydney ran out the doors, grabbed two fistfuls of dress, yanking it up as she bounded down the steps. Heavy drops of rain hit her in the face. She glanced behind her, saw Carlo and Leonardo emerge through the doors. They hadn’t yet seen her, and she ducked behind a sedan. “I could use a little help here, guys. They’re on the steps, looking for me now.”

Griffin said, “Get her the hell out of there.
Now
.”

“I’m working on it.”

She heard Carlo shouting out to one of the valets, just as the sound of an engine revved. A moment later, a black Mercedes pulled up. “Hop in, darlin’,” Tex said, as he threw the door open.

“Stop them!” she heard Carlo shout.

She jumped in, closed the door as he took off. Wheels screeched across the paved stones. She buckled her seat belt. “This isn’t the Lancia we came in with.”

“I was a little pressed for time. And this was parked in front of it. Lucky for us, all the keys are conveniently left in the ignition.”

He sped toward the gates. Sydney glanced behind her, saw Carlo and Leonardo running toward the BMW that the valet was bringing around for them.

“We’re going through,” Tex said.

She turned, saw the gate, their car bearing down on it. Solid, massive. A guard stood front and center, his gun out, pointed at them. Tex stabbed the gas pedal. The guard jumped back, fired.

The driver’s window shattered. The Mercedes hit the heavy wrought-iron gate. Metal crunched. The gate flew off, tumbled over the car, bounced onto the roof, then landed behind them, taking a couple of torches with it.

Tex slowed into the turn, maybe a bit too much. She glanced back, saw the BMW gaining on them. The Mercedes swerved, and Sydney grabbed the dash. “Tex?” She looked over. Saw him slumped in his seat. “Tex?” she yelled.

He didn’t move. The car continued forward. The one working headlight lit up the curve in the road, the cliffs, and the lake below. She shook Tex’s arm. No response. “Tex!”

“
What’s wrong?
” Griff’s voice in her ear.

She grabbed the wheel as the car gained momentum. Rain splattered against the windshield. She steered into the curve. The back end started sliding. Just reach the trees.

Please, not over the cliff. Anywhere but the cliff…