Outside the building that housed Mantega’s office, Tom noticed the stunning woman he had spoken to briefly at a cafe a couple of days ago and never heard from since. She was leaning up against some sort of maintenance truck, wearing a much more sluttish outfit than the last time, although she brought it off really well, and chatting animatedly to some handsome fuck in company overalls. Tom almost walked on, but then decided that if he was to make it in this town, he mustn’t duck the first challenge that came along.
‘ Salve! ’ he shouted in the loud but unaggressive manner of the local people his age.
The woman looked at him blankly, then seemed to fake a smile.
‘ Buon giorno.’
She seemed preoccupied and made no move to approach him. An interesting person, thought Tom, and possibly some interest on her part too, but a lot else besides. A complex situation, in short, and not without a certain promise. He strolled over to where she was standing beside the electrician or whoever he was. God, she had fabulous eyes! Huge olive-green ovals filled with an intense but indefinable expression, like the women portrayed on Greek vases.
‘You didn’t call me,’ he said.
‘No.’
That didn’t seem to leave Tom much to say, so after a long and meaningful look he turned and walked into the office building.
Given Mantega’s reputation, he had expected his business premises to have an air of discreet luxury, with lots of potted plants and a brittle, babe-aceous receptionist displaying her cleavage and her boss’s status. In the event it looked more like the back room of a failing used-car dealership, but Mantega’s welcome couldn’t have been more effusive.
‘Tom, my friend! What terrible news about your father! I am devastated, destroyed, deranged! To think that this unspeakable crime should have happened here, and that I — ’
Tom gestured negatively with his hand.
‘I’d prefer not to speak of that just now.’
Mantega effortlessly flexed his features from a tragic mask to the devotional image of a saint’s sorrowful but benign regard.
‘Of course, of course! Tactless of me. I cannot apologise enough. Please sit down.’
He waved at a lime-green plastic bucket chair with stainless steel legs that had somehow survived, tawdrily intact, from the 1970s.
‘You said you wanted to discuss something before we go to lunch,’ Tom began. ‘There’s also something I want to ask you, but that can wait.’
‘Yes, as it happens, there is something on my mind, something which would perhaps be better discussed in a secure environment. It’s a rather delicate matter, if you take my meaning, but I see no reason why the two of us, working together, shouldn’t be able to reach a mutually advantageous agreement.’
‘About what?’
‘Well, it concerns this American who arrived a few days ago.’
‘Martin Nguyen?’
‘I understand that you are working for him.’
Mantega laughed roguishly.
‘Strictly illegal, you know! Non-EU citizens are not permitted to work here without signing their lives away after months of pleading with half a dozen different heads of the bureaucratic hydra for the right to do so. After all, you’re taking bread out of the mouths of all our own poor Italian translators. I really ought to report you to the authorities!’
‘What about my father? He was working here, before…’
Mantega instantly became solemn again.
‘I managed to facilitate that on the basis that the work involved was of limited duration and scope and so straordinario that it could not be undertaken by anyone else. Your case is different. However, we’ll overlook that.’
‘I imagine that happens quite a bit here,’ observed Tom.
‘Of course, of course,’ Mantega returned complacently. ‘Otherwise we’d all be strangled by red tape and nothing would ever get done. Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. I won’t breathe a word.’
Tom gave a guarded nod.
‘So you want to reach an agreement with me concerning Signor Nguyen?’
‘It’s more to do with the people he is representing. You told me that under pretence of preparing to make a film here, they were in fact searching for the tomb of Alaric. As I told you yesterday, many others have tried in vain to locate that fabled hoard of treasure, and it may very well be that the latest arrivals will have no more luck. On the other hand, they no doubt have vastly superior technology at their disposal, so we can’t rule out such a possibility. My point is this: if they do find the tomb, I need to know.’
‘Why?’
Mantega raised his chin and looked at Tom with the air of someone doing his best to express an emotion he has read about but never experienced.
‘Because I am a patriot,’ he declared quietly. ‘Not an Italian patriot, although I consider myself to be both an Italian and a European, in that order. But first and foremost I am a Calabrian!’
He bent forward and grasped Tom’s arm so tightly it hurt.
‘And so are you, my friend, despite your American passport. In our hearts, we are both Calabrians.’
Tom was by now feeling uncomfortable in all sorts of ways.
‘What has all this to do with Rapture Works?’ he replied.
‘It’s very simple. La tomba d’Alarico is a Calabrian heritage site of inestimable archaeological value which must contain a collection of priceless artefacts beside which even the Riace bronzes would pale in comparison. Now then, supposing your employers do find it, what are their intentions?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘Precisely. Of course, they may simply wish to have the glory of having made the discovery, and having done so will turn over future exploitation of the site to the appropriate authorities. In that case, I would have no quarrel with them. With a fat grant from Rome and the EU, we could build a superb extension to the Museo Civico in which to accommodate these treasures. People will fly in from all over the world to view them, bringing fame and prosperity to the city and the region. We might even consent to send some of them off to London, Paris and New York as one of those travelling museum shows you have to book tickets to get into. “The Treasures of the Tomb!” All well and good.’
His face darkened.
‘But let us suppose that their intentions are different. Whoever is behind this search has clearly spent a lot of money, and may well be motivated by the prospect of financial gain. The treasure obviously couldn’t be traded on the open market, but it wouldn’t be impossible to locate some Russian billionaire who would pay almost anything to be in possession of such items. Then again, it might end up being scrapped for the intrinsic value of the gold and the precious stones, as has tragically happened so often in the past, thereby destroying this unique and irreplaceable archive of our mutual heritage. The fact is that we simply don’t know what may happen in the event of this illegal search proving successful. I am therefore appealing to you, my friend, to inform me if that happens. Just phone me, at any hour of the day or night, and say, “The package has arrived.” We’ll then arrange a meeting at which you can give me the details. So tell me, Tommaso, are you prepared to perform your duty to the madrepatria?’
‘Well… yes. I mean, I suppose so.’
‘Wonderful! Now let’s go to lunch, and then you can tell me what you want in return. There’s a place just round the corner where I’m a regular.’
Tom had half-hoped that the brunette would still be outside the building, but there was no sign of her. They turned left into a side-street and entered a restaurant which kept such a low profile that Tom supposed that all the clientele must be regulars. This theory appeared to be supported by the number of people who greeted or were greeted by Nicola Mantega as he led the way to their table.