I, Saul (21 page)

How do I keep him from asking for Roger's ID?

“Me?” Augie said, laughing as he dug through his bag for it. “Do I look like that?”

The cop chuckled and shook his head. To Augie's surprise, Roger pulled out his own wallet. The officer leafed through Augie's passport. “World traveler,” he said. Augie nodded. “And you've just arrived. Business or pleasure?”

“Visiting my friend, François.”

“Welcome to Napoli, eh, Naples, Dr. Knox. And you, sir?”

Roger removed from his wallet a worn driver's license bearing his current likeness.

“Ah, you live in Roma, Mr. Tracanelli?”

“Oui. Si.Yes!”

Roger's moving from French to Italian to English clearly amused the carabiniere. “Thank you, gentlemen. If you should see this man, would you kindly inform one of us?”

“Is he dangerous?” Roger said.

“I do not believe so. We are simply looking for him on behalf of another agency.”

At the top of the escalator Augie said, “I thought that was the end of you, Roger. How'd you do that? License and all?”

“Have you ever known me to be unprepared?”

“No, but I've never known you to fear for your life either.”

“They go hand in hand. And don't think it was easy to find a forger. Never used one before and don't ever want to again. Scared to death the whole time.”

“The whole time what?”

“When he was shaving me, photographing me, working his magic. I mean, these guys stay under the radar because their clients are hiding too.” “You didn't use your own address, did you?”

“You kidding?” Roger pulled his license out and showed it to Augie.

“I know that street. Businesses district, isn't it?”

“Mostly. Lots of second-floor apartments. If they pinpointed this address it would be above a pharmacy. A one-story pharmacy. But who's going to go to the trouble of checking it out?”

“Roger, now that the carabinieri are on this, how long before the press gets hold of it?”

“Don't think I haven't dreaded that. This find may be the best kept secret in the world, but the other agency that officer mentioned is the
Comando Carabinieri per la Tutela del Patrimonio Culturale,
the TPC.”

“In English?”

“Division for the Protection of Cultural Heritage. It's the Art Squad under the National Military Police.”

“Why would anyone there have Klaudios killed?”

“Same reason Klaudios risked his whole career. Guy has to be a rogue agent. I've never heard of a scandal there, but the prospect of the big score does things to people. That's on me too, Augie. Rumor had it that the original worker who found the parchments told the Art Squad guys the next day that it looked like ancient writing. I told Klaudios again that he should just tell ‘em he recognized it was valuable and was holding it for them. He said no, he was off to hide everything and would be back in a day or two.”

When they reached the exit leading to the parking lot, Augie stopped. “So where did he hide the parchments?”

“The Art Squad guy, would you believe the second-in-command, named Aldo Sardinia, told him they knew from airport records that he had flown to Greece and that he would do himself a favor if he just told them everything. Said he shouldn't need to remind an expert like Klaudios that taking an artifact out of Italy was a major crime.”

“And …?

“I think the crafty old gimp sent Sardinia on, what do you Americans call it …?”

“A wild-goose chase?”

“He had them looking all over Greece. Next thing I know, I get a call from the Art Squad.” “Klaudios gave you up?”

“He swore he didn't. Sardinia must have gotten numbers from Giordano's phone and hacked into any he might have called around the time of the disappearance.”

“So when was this?”

“Three days after he met with Klaudios. But the thing was, the guy calling claimed to be Colonel Georgio Emmanuel, head of the Art Squad. Now I know they believe the find is real. He tells me their investigation of the disappearance of a valuable antiquity had led to me and that I could help myself by coming clean. He says his right-hand man, Sardinia, will be coming to see me and that not only would he appreciate it but that I would be wise and protect myself if I would be as forthright and forthcoming with him as I can be. I assured him I would. He warned me to tell no one we were meeting and added, ‘We'll know if you do.'”

“What did you make of that?”

“That I was being watched and that my phone had been compromised. But when Sardinia showed up, I recognized his voice as the man I had talked to on the phone who had said he was head of the Squad, so something didn't smell right. But he made it clear the Squad knew Giordano had confided in me and said he hoped he didn't have to bring me in. I said I hoped not either. He said if Klaudios had stashed the documents with me, or if I knew where they were, I'd tell him what I knew or wind up in a cell next to Klaudios's.

“Fact is, I believed him. Somehow I mustered the courage to tell him I'd be honest with him if he'd be honest with me. He looked surprised when I told him I knew he was the one who had called me saying
he was Georgio Emmanuel. He dismissed that as standard operating procedure, something they often do to gauge how cooperative a person is going to be. He even said that sometimes Emmanuel himself does call, but that he was busy. He told me I was pretty astute to figure out it was him but that it didn't change anything and I needed to tell him what I knew. You know me, Augie. I don't lie. I figure the truth can never hurt you.”

“That's biblical,” Augie said. “Jesus said—.”

“‘You shall know the truth and the truth shall set you free.' Forgive me if I'm finding that hard to believe right now.” “He was talking about Himself,” Augie said.

“Whatever. I told the truth, and I'm about as far from free as I've ever been. I told him Klaudios Giordano had told me what he'd found, that I'd seen it and urged him to turn it in. Guess I should have told him the whole truth.”

“Which is?”

“That Klaudios left me with the first original page, photocopies of the rest, and a sealed envelope I wasn't supposed to open unless something happened to him.”

“So something happened to him. What was in the envelope?”

Roger looked around and whispered, “I don't know yet. Before I could call the Art Squad to see if lying to someone on the phone was really one of their tactics, I saw on the news that Klaudios had been murdered. I stashed everything he gave me and haven't been able to get back to it since. It's obvious Sardinia is convinced he can get the original manuscript through me, and that's why he didn't need Klaudios anymore.”

“You think he wants this for himself, not for the Art Squad.”

“I do. I believe he's in cahoots with the Tombaroli, had one of their guys shoot Giordano, and they're going to make millions with this thing
on the black market. Sardinia will implicate the Tombaroli or somebody else for Klaudios's murder, and nobody else at the Art Squad will be the wiser that he's in on it.”

“Don't lie to me, Roger. We've got too much history and I've put my life on hold for you. Do you know where the parchments are?”

“No.”

“Where'd you put what Klaudios gave you?”

“In a locker at Stazione Termini along with the gun I promised you.”

Augie closed his eyes. “Tell me you're kidding.”

Roger fished in his pocket and produced a key. “I'm not.”

“You left a page from a priceless artifact at the Rome train station.”

“I don't have a safe-deposit box, Augie.”

“You don't think it might have been worth the investment? We've got to get it out of there, and fast.”

As they pushed through the doors to the parking lot, Roger froze and gripped Augie's elbow. “Follow me,” he whispered. “The carabinieri are digging through my car.”

“Can they do that?”

“You want me to tell ‘em they're breaking the rules? We've got to figure out how to get back to Rome.”

“Train?”

“I don't want to risk bluffing my way past the authorities again. Other carabinieri down there may not be so easy to fool. We need to rent a car. In your name.”

“Sure,” Augie said. “But where will we go? Where've you been staying?”

“On the streets. I was hoping we could upgrade your room to a suite.”

“I'm in this deep,” Augie said. “Might as well harbor a fugitive.”

Wending his way out of Napoli at Roger's direction, Augie said, “You didn't leave any evidence or anything of value in your apartment, did you?”

“Only everything I own. Clothes, computer, all of it. I've been on the run since the first time I called you.”

“But you left nothing that would hint at what you've done with what Giordano gave you.”

“No. I put your gun, the original page, the photocopies, and Klaudios's instructions in that locker. He said he had put the rest of the memoir where only he could find it.”

“But this Sardinia is convinced Klaudios told you where, right? That's why you're in trouble.”

“That's why he had Klaudios killed. Giordano was in the way of Sardinia's lifetime score.”

“And now so are you.”

“Now you're getting the picture. But what he doesn't know is that I don't know any more than he does. What he wants is in the envelope I promised not to open unless something happened to Klaudios. Once he was murdered, I couldn't risk going back to the locker. I changed my look, got new documents, and tried to disappear. It's the only way I know to stay alive. This guy's got the resources of the biggest antiquities protection agency in the world.”

“But if you're right, Rog, Sardinia is your life insurance policy. Without you, he has nothing.”

“And without the envelope, I wouldn't know what to tell him if I was being waterboarded. And I'll never give it up.”

“Why not just send the envelope to the head of the Art Squad? Let
them find the parchments, keep Sardinia from marketing them to the Tombaroli, and give scholars all over the world a chance to translate and parse every word? It'd be a gift to the whole planet.”

Roger fell silent and turned to face the passenger-side window.

“What did I say?” Augie said. “You haven't stolen anything. You'd be in the clear. You'd be following the law. The memoir would be protected and eventually get to where it belongs. What am I missing?”

“You're just underestimating Sardinia. You think my new look is for the Tombaroli?”

“You're sure this guy is really who he said he was this time?”

“Yep. Looked him up online.”

“Risking his career for this, not to mention his life.”

“Paul's memoir is the once-in-a-lifetime prize that could turn the best carabiniere anywhere. You realize what he and the Tombaroli could do with this, Augie? A few square inches of each page would be worth a fortune.”

“Cut it up? They wouldn't.”

“Because it's sacred? Don't kid yourself. It's gold.”

Luke was fascinated to read of events Paul had never mentioned but which had clearly shaped the man he knew today. And he was eager to learn what went into the decision of where to train to become a rabbi. Luke knew where Paul had studied, but how did young Saul and his father choose?