And so five minutes later Alfie is beyond the barriers, heading past the ranks of shelves that house papal accounts, charity contributions, diplomatic exchanges with foreign governments and a myriad other mysteries.
He has no intention of meeting his new archivist friend, Father Carlo. Instead he finds the place where they should meet and slides behind a pillar. Within minutes a thin young priest appears and anxiously paces around. He's very diligent, and stays a long time before finally giving up and heading off through a heavy side door leading back to his work station. Alfie tags along, just a few paces behind.
It soon becomes apparent that Carlo's section is as long as a city street: a seemingly endless corridor lined with black metal ceiling-to-floor shelves on either side.
The good news is that Alfie's found the right section, gained entry to it, has very little chance of being spotted and a good cover story if he is challenged.
The bad news is that he doesn't even know where to begin searching.
CAPITOLO L
1778
Isola di San Giorgio Maggiore, Venezia The stained-glass window of the abbot's study has been completely shattered. Blue, green, gold and white diamonds of glass are strewn everywhere. All his desk drawers have been pulled out and emptied. Locked cabinets and cupboards have been smashed open. The floor is littered with writing paper and legal documents, all of them have been deliberately stained with spilled ink.
The abbot sends his two helpers away and secures the door. He stands alone with Tommaso and gestures to the wreckage. 'It seems the fire in the boathouse was purely a distraction, Brother.'
Tommaso fears the worst. 'My mother's gifts have been stolen?'
The abbot is still unsure whether the monk had anything to do with the break-in. 'Yes. They are gone.' He studies his face for a reaction, then points to the shattered remains of an oak wall panel. 'They were locked in a cupboard behind there.' He lifts a chain from around his waist. 'Only I had the key. Now tell me everything you managed to find out about the tablet.'
Tommaso holds his silence.
'Brother, I know you have been asking questions in Venice.'
Now the young priest can't help but avert his eyes from the abbot's piercing stare. All the anger he'd expected to vent has been smothered by the shame of having his enquiries discovered. 'The tablet is one of three. It is thought to be part of an Etruscan artefact known as the Tablets of Atmanta.' Tommaso deliberately doesn't mention the other names given to the artefacts.
The abbot stares silently at him. Inwardly, he is annoyed that his predecessor had not taken more care and simply opened the box when the boy was dumped on their doorstep. Had that happened, none of this would now be his problem. He wonders too whether Tommaso had anything to do with the theft. The silver tablet could be sold for a small fortune, riches that could transform the life of a poor monk. 'Who did you speak to? Tell me exactly who you mentioned the artefact to.'
Tommaso gives a brief account, mentioning only Ermanno and Efran. He feels it best not to speak of the woman; she had such a look of innocence, he feels it inappropriate to sully her name along with the two mercenary traders. 'The man Efran seemed very knowledgeable. Well read and helpful. I feel so foolish now.'
'Professional deceivers. You will do well to remember this experience as you complete penance for your naivety.'
Tommaso bows his head contritely. 'Yes, Reverend Father.' Nervously, he fingers the rosary beads and crucifix around his neck, then looks up. 'Father, may I be bold enough to ask some questions of my own?'
The abbot reluctantly nods his approval.
'When I showed you the tablet, did you know what it was?'
The abbot can tell where this is leading. 'I had a suspicion. However, I thought there was a good chance I might be mistaken, which is why I did not mention my thoughts to you.'
'Why were you not sure of what the tablet was?'
The abbot tilts his head in reflective thought. 'It seemed hardly likely that such a significant object would turn up here, among the paltry possessions of an abandoned child. The only resonance was the fact many believe the tablets started life not many miles from this monastery.'
'And was it my mother's letter that convinced you?'
'It went some way. In truth, I had my doubts right up until the theft. The fact that someone would go to so much trouble to break in and take the tablet is indicative that we're dealing with the genuine article. An expert is on his way from the Vatican. He has been ill, otherwise he'd have been here sooner.'
Tommaso looks hurt. 'Reverend Father, I would gladly have shown you the letter. There was no need to have it surreptitiously removed from my cell.'
'That act was regrettable.' His face softens. 'But – Tommaso, you must understand that I have been uncertain about many things – including yourself.'
The monk can't keep the shame from his face. It's hardly surprising the abbot would harbour such misgivings. 'And the letter?' He looks down at the floor. 'Is it here somewhere? ' He kneels and begins to sift the debris, then glances up at the broken cupboard. 'Or has it also been stolen?'
The abbot steps closer to him, gently takes his arm and lifts him back to his feet. 'Brother, I am saddened to tell you it is gone. Whoever took the tablet has also taken the box and the note your mother left with it.'
Thoughts tumble in Tommaso's head. His mother's gift to him is lost. Even her writing – the one fragment of personality that she had left him is gone. Worse still, whoever has the letter will now know his sister has the other tablet.
She will be in grave danger.
Tommaso jerks his arm free of the abbot's hand. 'Forgive me, but my days here are at an end. I wish to leave immediately. ' His face is full of determination.
The abbot sees it. Recognises the challenge. 'You will do no such thing, Brother. If you set foot outside this monastery I will have the inquisitors on you within the hour.'
CHAPTER 52
Present Day San Quentin, California San Quentin State Prison houses more than five thousand inmates, including America's biggest Death Row population. Every day brings some kind of incident. Today is no different.
Landing guards slip the shutter on Lars Bale's Death Row cell and are horrified to find him flat out on the floor.
His face is corpse-white.
Blood has seeped from his eyes, nose and ears. A gush of vomit lies across his lips, chin and neck.
The alarm is triggered. Medics alerted. The cell door hurriedly unlocked.
Officer Jim Tiffany is first in. He bends to take a pulse.
The dead man groans softly.
'He's alive!' Tiffany falls to his knees and rolls the inmate on to his back.
He's about to perform first aid, when suddenly the convict convulses – with laughter.
'Jesus H. Christ! What the fuck?' Tiffany shuffles off him. His wingman, Officer Pete Hatcher, almost drops his radio.
Bale struggles to his feet, laughing like a five-year-old who's been told a rude joke.
Then they get it.
The crazy fuck had painted his face to look like he was dead.
Bale grins. 'Just a joke, fellas. Thought I'd give you a sneak preview of the big day. Coming soon, the end of mortal me. But don't cry – I'll be back. Oh boy, will I be back.'
Tiffany gets into Bale's face. 'You fucking crazy son-of-a-bitch! The world will be a better place when you're dead and buried, you piece of shit.'
Bale makes his eyes bulge. Spreads his arms wide. Flares his lips and hisses like a snake.
'Motherfucker!' Tiffany slams him against the wall and Hatcher jumps in to fix manacles to his hands and feet. They're as rough as hell with him, but he keeps laughing and hissing throughout.
'Shut the fuck up,' says Tiffany, getting in his face again. 'The governor wants you to take a call. If we weren't under instruction to get you there and make you take it, then you'd be spending the rest of the frigging morning spitting teeth into a bowl in the hospital wing.'