Sofia had heard the rising anxiety in Ana's voice in the voice-mail messages she'd left. At the hotel they'd told her that Ana had also called there five times. She felt a twinge of remorse for not having returned the calls, but this was no time to be distracting herself with the reporter's wild theories. She'd call when they closed the case; until then she was going to concentrate all her energies on following Marco's orders. She and Minerva were about to leave for carabinieri headquarters when a bellman came running toward them.
"Dottoressa Galloni, dottoressa!"
"Yes, what's wrong?"
"You have a telephone call; they say it's urgent."
"I can't take it now; tell the front desk to take a message and-"
"Front desk told me that Signor D'Alaqua says it's very important."
"D'Alaqua?"
"Yes. That's who's calling."
Sofia waved Minerva on, turned, and headed directly to one of the house phones.
"This is Dottoressa Galloni; I think I have a, call."
"Oh, dottoressa, thank goodness! Signor D'Alaqua was very insistent that we find you. One moment, please."
Umberto D'Alaqua's distinctive voice had a different quality, tense, controlled. "Sofia…"
"Yes, how are you?"
"I need to see you."
"I'd love to, but-"
"No buts. My car will be there in ten minutes."
"I'm sorry-I'm on my way to work. I can't today. Is something wrong?"
"I have a proposal for you. You know that my great passion is archaeology-well, I'm off to Syria. I have permission for a dig there, and my people have found some pieces that I'd like you to look at. I have to leave immediately, but on the way I'd like to talk to you. I'd like to make you a job offer."
"I appreciate that, really, but right now I can't possibly go. I'm sorry," she replied, astonished by the entire exchange.
"Sofia, sometimes there are once-in-a-lifetime opportunities."
"That's true. But there are also responsibilities that one can't abandon. And right now I just can't leave what I'm doing. If you can wait two or three days, then maybe-"
"No, it can't wait three days."
"Is it so important that you leave for Syria today?"
"Yes."
"Well, I'm sorry. I really am. I might be able to go in a few days…"
"No, I don't think so. I beg you to come with me now."
Sofia hesitated. Umberto D'Alaqua's proposal was as disconcerting as his peremptory tone.
"What's happening? Tell me."
"I'm telling you."
"I'm sorry, truly. Listen, I've got to go, they're waiting for me."
"Good luck, then, dottoressa," he said, the life evaporating from his voice. "Take care of yourself."
"Yes, of course, thank you." She heard the line click and placed the phone back in its cradle.
Why was he wishing her good luck? He'd sounded utterly defeated. Good luck with what? Could he possibly know about the operation they were in the midst of?
When she finished the case she'd call him. She was sure that there was something else behind his extraordinary offer and that it was not a love affair he had in mind.
"What did D'Alaqua want?" Minerva had waited for her, and they walked out of the hotel together.
"For me to go with him to Syria."
"Syria! What for?"
"He's got a permit to do an archaeological excavation there. He wanted me to help him."
"Some romantic getaway."
"He was asking me to go away, but it wasn't romantic. He sounded worried."
By the time they reached carabinieri headquarters, Marco had called twice. He was in a foul mood. The transmitter they'd planted on the mute wasn't working. It was sending out beeps, but the beeps didn't match the direction in which he was walking. They soon realized that their man had changed shoes. The ones he was wearing now were older, more worn-looking. He'd also put on a pair of filthy jeans and an equally filthy jacket. Somebody had made a great deal on the trade.
At the moment they were watching their target walk aimlessly around the Parco Carrara. The two tails from the day before were nowhere to be seen, at least so far.
The mute was carrying a hunk of bread, and as he walked he pinched pieces off it and scattered crumbs for the birds. He crossed paths with a man walking hand-in-hand with two little girls, and Marco thought the man stared into the mute's eyes for a few seconds before he moved on.
The killer came to the same conclusion. That must be the guy's contact. He still couldn't make his move- there was no way; the guy was surrounded by cops. Shooting him would be tantamount to committing suicide. He'd follow him for two more days, and if things didn't change, he'd forget about the contract-he wasn't going to risk his own neck just to kill some miserable tongueless Turk.
Neither Marco nor his men, nor the Turkish tail, nor even, this time, the killer, noticed that they themselves were being watched. After he took his girls home, Arslan, the long-time community contact, called his cousin. Yes, he had seen Mendib; they'd crossed paths in the Parco Carrara. He looked fine. But he hadn't made any sign-nothing. Apparently he didn't feel secure yet-and with good reason.
Ana Jimenez asked the taxi driver to take her to the Turin Cathedral. She entered through the door to the cathedral offices and asked to see Padre Yves.
"He is not in, I'm afraid," said the secretary. "He is with the cardinal, on a pastoral visit. You do not have an appointment, I think; is that correct?"
"No, you're right, but I know that Padre Yves would be delighted to see me," Ana said curtly, knowing she was being rude, annoyed by the secretary's smugness.
She'd been doubly unlucky. She'd called Sofia again and missed her. She decided to linger in the neighborhood around the cathedral and wait until Yves de Charny returned.
Listening to the report, Bakkalbasi was in a quandary. Mendib was still wandering around the city-it looked as though it would be very, very difficult, if not impossible, to kill him. There were carabinieri everywhere. If Bakkalbasi's men continued the pursuit, they were going to wind up being spotted themselves.
He didn't know what to tell his team. If the operation failed, Mendib might bring on the fall of the community. Sooner or later he would head to the cemetery, or home. Mendib's great-uncle was waiting. Several days ago he had prepared himself, as so many in the community had done through the centuries. He had had all his teeth pulled, his tongue cut out, and his fingerprints burned ofF. A doctor had anesthetized him so he would not suffer unduly. Now it was past time to send him in…
Mendib thought he had seen a familiar face, the face of a man from Urfa-was he there to help him or kill him? He knew Addaio, and he knew that he would never allow the community to be discovered. Mendib was aware that if he was careless he could lead unbelievers to the community-and that Addaio would prevent that at all costs. As soon as it got dark, he would go back to the shelter and if possible sneak from there to the cemetery. He would jump the wall and find the tomb. He remembered it perfectly well-and remembered where the key was hidden. He would go through the tunnel to the house of Turgut and ask Turgut to save him. If he could get to Turgut's house without being discovered, Addaio could organize an escape. He did not mind waiting two or three months underground, until the carabinieri tired of looking for him. He had waited for years in a cell.