Tom recognises the black triangular stone dangling from it.
It’s identical to the one Anna had.
The same as the shape drawn on the confessional wall at the Sacro Cuore del Suffragio.
Guilio digs into his pocket and produces a spool of what seems to be fishing line. He ties it to the clasp on the necklace and then moves to the right-hand corner of the field.
Tom follows him, bemused and fascinated.
‘You can help,’ Guilio announces as he squats. ‘Hold this for a moment.’
Tom takes the spool.
Guilio places the longest edge of the scalene pendant on the ground, with the shortest edge to his left.
‘Give me the spool for a second.’
‘Sure.’ Tom hands it down.
Guilio makes sure the rope and the line attached run as precisely as possible along the upward slope of the triangle.
He stretches out a third of a metre of line and then stands up and presses it into the ground.
He checks the angle again, adjusts it a fraction and then turns to Tom. ‘Take this end and walk in a straight line until I shout stop.’
Tom wants to ask a dozen questions, starting with why, but he doesn’t.
As he walks, Guilio shouts for him to move a little to the left or a little to the right.
‘Okay! Stop!’ Guilio slowly moves towards him, checking the lie of the line as he goes.
‘This isn’t the middle of the field,’ says Tom. ‘I’m no expert but I can tell it’s not the centre.’
‘That’s fine. I don’t want it perfectly in the centre. That’s the whole point.’
As Tom takes up his position, Guilio retrieves his pendant and fishing line and swings the new rucksack over his shoulder again.
Next, he traipses to the left-hand corner of the field and repeats the entire process, with the shortest side of the triangle now on his right.
He ties it down and walks slowly. Makes sure the line is meticulously straight until he reaches a point just past where Tom is standing.
‘Here!’ he says triumphantly as the lines cross.
‘Really,’ says Tom with more than a touch of sarcasm. ‘And what exactly is here?’
‘Be patient.’
Guilio drops to the ground. He puts his ear to the turf and systematically slaps all around the spot.
He pauses, undoes the pull-cord on the neck of the rucksack, searches inside and pulls out a gleaming garden trowel.
Tom watches as he digs, but still can’t see evidence of anything except scuffed-up grass and soil.
Guilio’s working up a sweat.
He digs and scrapes one way, turns and digs the other.
Soil stacks up around him like he’s a human mole.
He stands and scrapes the trowel in a circle, stopping every now and again to shift stubborn stones and thick lumps of clay.
He gets down on his knees again and dips his hand into the thin circular trench, which is less than a metre in diameter.
He starts pulling up huge chunks of turf.
Tom’s not sure what he expected to see, but it certainly wasn’t this.
In the cleared circle something flat, cream-coloured and round becomes visible.
It’s a giant marble disc.
A kind of manhole or storm-drain cover like the Bocca della Verità.
On it is the face of a woman.
The goddess Cybele.
Guilio brushes away the soil.
Tom now sees that her face is covered by lines — the lines of a pentagram.
119
The cell stinks.
Valentina tracks the stench to an unemptied slop bucket by the far wall.
She almost heaves.
Was this used by Louisa?
The thought gives her some strange comfort. They were careless with Louisa. They let her have a phone; they let her trick them into taking her out of here.
There’s still hope.
Still hope.
She picks up a rough blanket from the back of the cell. It smells of a woman’s perfume. Louisa’s, she’s sure of it.
Through the bars she sees the other cells. Three of them, she thinks.
A child is moving in one of them.
She only catches a glimpse of the girl, but she looks very young. Pre-teen? Most likely.
What kind of monsters would keep children underground?
Valentina knows the answer.
‘Hello!’ she calls tentatively.
Her voice echoes thinly in the stagnant air.
‘Hello! Is there anyone there?’ She waits several seconds. ‘I’m a police officer, who’s out there?’
Nothing.
Valentina is sure the kid’s still there. She’s certain she’d have noticed them bringing her down here.
‘Listen, I know you’re there. I want to help you.’
Nothing.
And then a mumble.
An answer. Too meek to be understood, but still an answer.
‘My name’s Valentina. What’s yours? What are you called?’
Wall torches suddenly flicker.
A door’s been opened. A draught has blown them.
She hears footsteps off to her right. No matter how hard she presses her face against the iron, she can’t see anything.
‘Move back!’
The voice is loud and surprisingly close.
Valentina’s as frightened as she’s ever been.
But she doesn’t move.
Shooter grins through the bars as he puts a key in the lock. ‘I told you to move back. Looks like I’m going to have to teach you a lesson in obedience.’
120
All five corners of the pentagram are marked by what look like small slits filled with earth.
But they’re more than that.
They’re locks.
Only by working anticlockwise and putting alternate angles of the triangular pendant into the slits is Guilio able to flip off the fastenings that are holding the cover down.
He stands up, breathless. ‘This is one of the secret entrances, an emergency way into the womb. Once inside, you will need to follow me and do exactly as I tell you.’ He looks at the American to check he has no problems with what he’s just said.
Tom uncaps the bottle of oxycodone. ‘I understand. I’m on your coat tails.’ He takes several swigs of the medicine. He knows he’s going to need all the painkiller he can get for what’s about to happen.
‘Good. I’m not going to lie to you. It’s going to be dangerous in there. There are several tunnels that will take us through to where the sisterhood lives. Not all of them are safe.’
Tom screws the cap back on the bottle and slips off his coat. ‘Subsidence, you mean?’
‘That’s a risk, but it’s not what I meant. Some are deliberately unsafe. They have been designed to protect those in the womb and kill intruders.’
‘But you know your way, right?’
‘I think so.’
‘You think so?’
Guilio manages a grim smile. ‘Just as there was a sequence to follow to unlock that hatch, there are sequences when we get inside. If I get one of those wrong, then we’re in trouble.’
Tom unbuttons his shirt and struggles with the sling.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I have to get out of this. I’m no good to you or myself with only one hand free.’
Guilio knows he has a point. Better to hurt a cracked shoulder bone than to die trying to protect it.
He helps with the bandage. ‘How does it feel?’
Tom stretches his fingers. ‘Pins and needles from having it elevated, but I’ll be fine.’