Even in death, her father made her suffer.
‘What did you do to change?’ she asked.
He glanced at her. ‘Well, I was tired of being an outcast in my hometown, so I joined the one team in the world where they treat everybody the same.’
‘Which team is that?’
‘The military,’ he said with a smile. ‘Of course, everybody is treated like shit in the military, but that’s a lot better than being the only one who’s treated like shit.’
‘Misery loves company.’
He nodded. ‘Before long, I was getting more respect at the academy than I had in high school — probably because I’d toughened up over the years. Other cadets in my class struggled with the abuse. They weren’t used to the insults or the cruelty. For me, it felt like home. I figured there was only so much they could do to me. They could scream and rant and get in my face, but they weren’t allowed to kick my ass like Billy Bob. If they did, their ass was grass, not mine. That fact alone gave me inner peace. So did my performance at SERE. That’s when I knew I had found my calling.’
‘What’s SERE?’ she asked.
‘It used to be a training programme at the academy. It stands for Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape. I’m not allowed to talk about the specifics, but let’s just say it was so difficult that the academy was forced to shut it down because it was too damn hard. During my first year, I heard all kinds of horror stories about it from the upperclassmen. They made it sound like a concentration camp, as if only the lucky ones survived. I figured a skinny sucker like myself would be broken within hours, but somehow I thrived. By the end of the programme, I was so damn confident I felt like I could take on the world. Ironically, the thing that was supposed to break me made me stronger. Ever since then, I haven’t looked back.’
She took a deep breath. ‘I’m having trouble with that.’
‘With what?’
‘The past,’ she said quietly. ‘I don’t know how to let go of it. That’s something I never learned how to do. Sometimes I let it consume me.’
He nodded. ‘I know.’
‘You know?’
‘Of course I know. I’ve known since I met you in Milan. But guess what? That’s not necessarily a bad thing for an archaeologist. You should be worried about the past.’
She smiled. ‘That’s a very good point.’
‘Besides, the past made you into the person you are today, so it can’t be all bad. Now all you have to do is figure out how to use it to your advantage. You need to find a new direction to channel your passion. If you like, I’d be happy to make a suggestion.’
‘Is that so?’ she said, laughing. ‘What did you have in mind?’
He grinned. ‘Let’s go back to the hotel and research the Maya.’
46
The Italian Consulate was less than five miles from the Fiesta Americana hotel. Payne, who had driven the lead vehicle on their journey back to Cancún, circled the block twice before giving Jones permission to pull down the street behind him. Unlike the Italian Embassy in Mexico City, which was housed in a stone building that resembled a fortress, the local consulate was contained in a small suite that looked like a condo.
No sentries. Or guard dogs. Or snipers on the roof.
Just a plaque by the door and a flag inside.
In a past life, it could have been a dentist’s office.
A small man, wearing a sports coat and dress pants, sat on the front stoop. His hair was grey and his smile was wide. Designer sunglasses covered his eyes. He had been on his way to a cocktail party at a local hotel when he had received an urgent call from his boss. An Italian VIP had lost her passport and needed a replacement. He was ordered to report to the consulate at once. Normally, he would have argued with his boss. He would have said that he was too busy and had other plans. But all of that changed when the boss mentioned the VIP’s name.
It was Maria Pelati.
Daughter of Benito Pelati.
Suddenly, he was more than happy to help.
Giuseppe leapt to his feet when the two vehicles stopped in front of the consulate. He spotted Maria in the passenger seat of the SUV and rushed to open her door. But Payne was a little too fast. He hustled from the H2 and intercepted Giuseppe before he reached the sidewalk.
Payne ordered him to stop. ‘Whoa! Slow down! What’s the hurry?’
Giuseppe took off his sunglasses and stared at the mountain of a man. ‘I am sorry. My name is Giuseppe Amato. I am here to assist Miss Pelati.’
Payne corrected him. ‘Actually, I’m here to assist her.’
‘Yes, of course. My apologies.’
Payne tried not to smile. He could tell the guy wasn’t a threat. He simply wanted to make a point. ‘Let me see your identification.’
Giuseppe slowly reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his ID. It identified him as an employee of the consulate. ‘I was phoned by my boss, who was phoned by his boss, who was phoned by Petr Ulster. I am to help her with her passport.’
Payne stared at him. ‘I think you’re missing one or two bosses in there.’
Giuseppe shrugged. ‘That is entirely possible.’
‘And why were you waiting outside?’
‘I am anxious to meet Miss Pelati. There is so much I would like to ask her.’
‘Really? About what?’
‘Her father!’ Giuseppe exclaimed. ‘Where I come from, Benito Pelati is considered a hero. He did so much to preserve the history of my homeland, so much to preserve our culture. I remember hearing him speak at a function in Venice. He had such passion, such fire. It was like watching an emperor at the Colosseum. We gave him a standing ovation!’
Payne was quite familiar with Benito Pelati and his stellar reputation. As Italy’s Minister of Antiquities, Benito had accomplished many wonderful feats during his decades of service. He had spent years preaching to the masses about the importance of history, fighting to protect the treasures of Ancient Rome. After a while, his name became synonymous with the effort, and was known by young and old alike. To many, he was viewed as a saviour. But like many politicians, the private man was quite different to his public persona. Having dealt with him first hand, Payne knew Benito to be a cruel, power-hungry bastard. Nearly everything he had done had been for his own personal gain rather than for the welfare of his Church or country.
Naturally, none of this came out at the time of his death. The Vatican — familiar with the effects of a scandal — felt some things were best kept secret. The Parliament quickly agreed and sealed his records. It made for an interesting dichotomy. While the media praised Benito’s achievements, cardinals and senators secretly celebrated his demise. Millions held vigils and wept in the streets while his peers rejoiced in private. Meanwhile, Maria had done everything she could to avoid the spotlight. Her surviving brother, Dante, had handled the press while she slipped out of the country unnoticed. She spent the days following Benito’s death in seclusion at the Ulster Archives before heading back to England to finish her education.
In many ways, she had been running ever since.
‘Listen,’ Payne said to Giuseppe in a decisive tone, ‘I can understand your curiosity. I really can. I know how much Benito meant to Italy, and I can tell that you’re genuinely excited to talk about his exploits. Unfortunately, I’m going to have to insist that you don’t mention his name. The topic is far too painful for her to discuss.’
Giuseppe lowered his head in shame. ‘Yes, of course, how selfish of me. I mourned the loss of a patriot. She mourned the loss of her father. Her grief must be unbearable.’
Payne nodded but said nothing.