The coat over her head is doing a good job of stopping her seeing, but all her other senses are working overtime.
They’ve walked her downstairs, into the crypt, then walked her some more. Made her stand still. Turned her sideways on and then pushed her through a doorway.
Valentina’s memorised it all.
She can retrace her steps, follow her senses, if she has to. If she gets the chance to.
Now the air is colder.
It smells different too. Not of candle wax and church polish; of something earthier, something much baser.
Damp.
It has the metallic smell of damp and animal droppings, probably from mice or rats.
Someone grabs her shoulders, turns her round and holds her as she walks forward.
She’s guided down three or four wide steps.
They turn her left for a few steps and then right again before straightening her up.
They let go of her shoulders and allow her to walk along the flat again.
The twisting and turning has made her a little unsteady. She puts her hand out to avoid falling over.
It touches stone.
She’s sure it’s stone.
It’s rough, hard and lumpy. Totally unlike the plaster or marble of a church.
She rubs her thumb across her two fingers.
Wet and slimy.
The walls are damp.
She guesses she’s in some kind of underground passageway. Perhaps an ancient bolt-hole for priests or nuns at the nearby convent, a place they would hide from persecutors.
Or perhaps it’s something else.
Tom’s comments spring to mind. Pre-Christian cults, castrated followers of Cybele and Attis, ceremonies and rituals involving human sacrifices.
Is she in the midst of all that?
She remembers too the writing on the walls of the Sacro Cuore del Suffragio — DOMINA. DOMINUS. TEMPLUM. LIBERA NOS A MALO. Mistress. Master. Temple. Deliver us from evil.
Is that where she’s being taken? To the temple?
Valentina realises that she’s not gagged.
She wishes she was.
It’s not a good sign that they’re not afraid of her screaming or shouting for help.
Maybe it’s because the gun is still on her. Occasionally jabbing into her flesh and often accompanied by a command for her to hurry up. Or is it because they’re now so far underground that she could scream herself hoarse and no one would hear her?
She thinks it’s the latter.
She knows they’re already a very long way below and beyond Santa Cecilia, where her fellow soldiers are now no doubt swarming all over the church.
But that’s where her knowledge stops.
And that’s what frightens her most.
106
Lorenzo Silvestri lights Federico’s cigarette for him.
He has to.
The lieutenant’s hand is shaking too much for him to be able to do it himself.
Federico hasn’t been scared by the gunfire, the stabbing, the sudden influx of Carabinieri troops or even the fact that he now has to explain what he and Valentina were doing at the church.
He’s frightened that Valentina is dead.
He’s scared stiff that he misunderstood what she’d asked him to do and as a result she’s been killed.
‘So tell me,’ says Lorenzo, fresh from learning over his earpiece that Federico and his captain are suspended and shouldn’t be doing anything except staying at home and getting fat on cupboard snacks, ‘what were you and Morassi doing at Santa Cecilia?’
Federico tries to explain. ‘We’d both been working a case involving a psychiatric patient called Anna Fratelli. She’d been arrested in connection with a violent incident in Cosmedin. Subsequent enquiries based on what she said to us also resulted in a mutilated male body being found on the banks of the Tiber.’
Lorenzo senses this is going to get complicated. ‘Hang on!’ He pulls a small notebook and pen from a button-down pocket on the leg of his combat pants. ‘Right, continue.’
‘Anna Fratelli died in hospital last night. The doctor in charge of her, Louisa Verdetti, phoned Captain Morassi. It was a strange call. Valentina worked out that Verdetti was being held hostage by someone who wanted to break Anna out of the psych unit.’
The major’s mind is reeling. ‘I’m full of questions here. Who, what and why being at the front of that queue. But first, tell me, are we talking about someone who wanted to take Anna Fratelli’s dead body, or someone who wanted to kidnap her because they thought she was still alive?’
‘The latter.’
‘Okay. But why did this doctor …’ he glances down at his notes, ‘Verdetti, call your captain? Were they friends?’
Federico shakes his head. ‘No. Far from it. Verdetti was the one who got us suspended. She complained to our top brass that we’d pushed Anna too far during interviews and had made her sickness worse.’
‘And did you push her too far?’
Federico hesitates. ‘No, sir. I really don’t think we did.’
‘Explain something to me, Lieutenant. When my men checked with our control room, there was no record that you and Morassi were attempting this recovery operation. Had neither of you called it in?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Why not?’
‘Sir, even before we were suspended there was bad blood between Captain Morassi and our commanding officer, Major Caesario.’
Lorenzo begins to see the picture. ‘Bad blood or not, you still should have called it in. I know what Caesario is like but you should have gone by the book.’
Federico looks penitent. ‘Yes, sir.’
Lorenzo stops him with the palm of his hand. It’s clear he’s taking a radio message in his earpiece. ‘Grazie,’ he says to whoever is on the other end. He looks back to Federico. ‘One of my units has just found Doctor Verdetti. She’s fine. Panicky as hell, but she’s unhurt.’
107
Guilio puts his hand on Tom’s arm. ‘Keep a hold of me. We have a little way to go before I can put a light on.’
Tom grabs a clump of jacket and allows himself to be dragged into the darkness.
‘We’re going down two steps. Watch that leg of yours.’
‘Thanks.’ Tom can’t see his own hands, let alone watch his leg, but he appreciates the concern.
Within a dozen steps, Guilio brings them to a halt. ‘Just stay still while I find something.’
From out of the pitch blackness comes the rough scraping sound of a match being struck. It takes several attempts before there’s a burst of orange flame.
In the tiny halo of light, Tom sees a paraffin lamp and Guilio concentrating on winding up a wick.
As the flickering flame gradually grows in the dusty glass chamber, the room becomes visible.
It’s fashioned out of ancient stone.
There’s no furniture.
Nothing hangs on the bare walls.
The floor is no more than an endless slab of compressed dirt and grit.
Tom can’t see the ceiling, but he’s sure it’s unsafe and given his luck will collapse any minute.
Guilio seems to read his mind. ‘Don’t worry, it’s not going to fall down. This place has existed for more than two thousand years, so it’ll be safe for another twenty minutes.’
‘Where are we?’
Guilio squats beside the lamp and holds his hand near the glass to catch a little heat. ‘It’s an old house. There are two rooms, one to cook and eat in, another for sleeping and breeding.’
‘So it should be part of the excavation out there?’
‘It will be soon enough. The archaeologists are so focused on identifying artefacts that they’ve already recovered they have no current desire to open the dig further.’
Tom gets the feeling that he’s only brushing the surface of Guilio’s knowledge. ‘Do you know lots of places like this — secret hideaways beneath the city?’