Elise said, “I read the most recent archeology papers on the topic.”
“And?”
“They became extinct somewhere in the vicinity of a hundred thousand years ago.”
“That’s quite a coincidence.”
“That’s what I was thinking.” Elise said, “There’s something else, too.”
Sam felt his heart race. He was closing in on the truth. “What have you got?”
“A name and address of someone set to inherit from Andrew Goddard in the event he’s declared Death in Absentia.”
Sam closed his eyes, opened them again, glancing up at the stars above. “What difference does that make? Goddard needs to be dead for more than twelve months before Death in Absentia comes into effect.”
“This guy wasn’t a relative set to inherit his wealth.”
“Who was he?”
“The name is Lorenzo De Luca. A permanent resident in Venice. By the looks of things, it would appear that the two men were part of some sort of secret society.”
“For what?”
“It doesn’t say. But, there’s a covenant that’s already come into effect that states in the event Goddard becomes incapacitated or unreachable, Lorenzo De Luca is to be guarded twenty-four hours a day at a secure location — a bodyguard detail paid for by a special trust.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s the only other person on Earth who knows where the Neanderthal Mask was being housed — and if something were to happen to him, they would risk the mask disappearing into oblivion for another millennia.”
“Any idea where the man’s hunkering down?”
“I’ll text you the address.”
“Thanks, Elise. Given what we know so far, I think it’s safe to say that man’s life is in danger.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The ancient city of Venice spanned 117 small islands in the Venetian Lagoon, which connected to mainland Italy through the Ponte della Libertia.
Sam motored the old, wooden speed boat, into the Canal Grande — the largest canal which snaked through the medieval island, splitting it in two. He eased the throttle back, and the big V8 engine made a guttural roar, as though complaining about the restraint being enforced.
Next to him, Tom stared at the digital map.
Sam followed the inside channel as he meandered his way in from the south. His eyes met Tom’s. “You know where we’re going?”
“Not a clue. Everywhere looks the same to me.”
Sam’s cheeks dimpled with his big, toothy grin. “Thank the Gods for modern GPS, hey?”
“I’ll say.”
On their left they passed Saint Mark’s Basilica, the island’s largest patriarchal cathedral, with its massive domes dominating the ancient city’s skyline in all their classic Italian-byzantine architecture. The motor made its constant thumping sound as its large V8 exhaust pipes begged to be released, and the propeller churned the water, creating a deep and turbid wake.
Up ahead, they reached the Doge’s Palace.
Tom said, “Take the canal on the left.”
Sam swung the wheel round to the left, and the motorboat obediently threaded its way into the small Rio di Palazzo, passing under the Bridge of Sighs. Sam glanced up at its distinctive white limestone, which formed the enclosed bridge that once connected the New Prison to the interrogation rooms in the Doge’s Palace. Legend told that the bridge was named as such because it was the last view of Venice that a convict would see before their imprisonment.
They motored past the northern end of Saint Mark’s Basilica, where hundreds of seagulls filled the Piazza and Tom said, “Take the right at the next church.”
Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Which church? We’re in Italy — home of Catholicism. There’s a church at the end of every street — or in this case, canal.”
Tom smiled. “Just take the next right.”
Sam pulled the motorboat to the far left, to make way for a small procession of oncoming gondolas. His eyes took in the rich landscape of Venetian architecture, before landing on a couple who seemed intent on getting the perfect kiss as their gondola made its way underneath one of the thousands of bridges that riddled the Venetian Lagoon.
After the gondolas passed, Sam brought the throttles forward to just a little more than an idle, turning the wheel to the right and taking the next canal. After half a mile, the canal split into two, and at Tom’s direction, Sam took the left.
“That’s it!” Tom said pointing to a big green door that came right up to the river front. “The Apartments of Saint Maria Formosa.”
Sam pulled the boat alongside the jetty at the front and tied up. A doorman told them they couldn’t leave the motorboat there unattended.
Tom shrugged. “I’ll wait by the car. Give me a yell if you get into trouble.”
“All right. But since when have I gotten into trouble?”
“Since when have you not?”
Sam ignored that, clambered out of the boat, and up to the door. The doorman opened the green door and Sam followed a set of internal stairs to level three. At the end of the hallway several police officers lingered.
Sam felt his stomach churn with fear.
A police officer met his eye.
Sam asked, “Is Signore Lorenzo De Luca all right?”
The officer’s eyes locked onto him. “I’m sorry, sir, you are?”
“Sam Reilly.” He handed the officer his passport.
The officer took it, his eyes darting between the photograph and Sam’s face. Seemingly satisfied that the two were matched, the officer said, “How do you know Signore Lorenzo De Luca?”
“I’m afraid I don’t. I’m following up on a lead and was hoping he might be able to point me in the right direction.”
The policeman raised his eyebrows. “With what?”
“I’m a leading expert on the search and recovery of sunken ships and aircraft. I was brought in to help work on this case with the Phoenix Flight 318.” Sam reached into his pocket and retrieved Gerry Emple’s card and handed it to the officer. “You can contact this man from the NTSB field office in Catania, he will vouch for me, and can fill you in with what I’m after. Is there any chance I can please talk with Signore Du Luca?”
The officer studied his face, trying to decide whether or not he could be bothered going through the trouble of contacting the NTSB to see if they would corroborate his story. In the end either laziness or Sam’s honest face won out, and the officer replied, “I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”
“Why not?” Sam asked, although he was already pretty certain he knew the answer.
The policeman folded his arms across his chest. “I’m afraid Signore Lorenzo Du Luca has been murdered.”
Sam felt the wind disappear from his chest. “Murdered… When?”
“The medical examiner hasn’t given us her final report, but she’s estimated within the last hour. You don’t think the two cases might be connected?”
Sam shook his head. “Unlikely. He was friends with one of the passengers on the flight and I was hoping he could tell me why the man had suddenly booked a flight to Venice.”
The officer said, “I suppose now it doesn’t matter. You can just ask the passenger himself.”
“What do you mean?” Sam asked. “Phoenix Flight 318 hasn’t been seen for more than three months!”
“I’m sorry, you didn’t hear?”