Was Efran innocent? Or did they kill him because he'd served his purpose?
Lydia touches her friend's cheek. 'Dearest Tanina, do not look so perplexed. Your worthless shop-girl life is finally about to have some meaning.' She turns to Gatusso.
He places his hand on Tommaso's shoulder. 'Brother, meet your sister, Tanina. Children of a truly traitorous bitch – but also the flesh and blood of one of our most revered high priests.'
CHAPTER 63
Present Day 3rd June San Quentin, California Three days to go.
Seventy-two hours.
Four thousand three hundred and twenty minutes.
Just over a quarter of a million seconds – you count every one of them when your Execution Notice has been issued.
Lars Bale gets moved from the cell he's known as home for more than a quarter of his life. He's pushed unceremoniously into the execution unit lock-up, just a wince away from the stab of lethal needles.
Bale won't miss the tiny cell. He doesn't even mind the fact that he's no longer allowed to paint.
His work here is over.
It is time for greater things.
His paintings have been removed, donated at his request to a Death Row charity that will sell them to raise funds to appeal for pardons. He's even sent a log of his works to the press and the governor, to ensure guards don't steal the canvases and sell them to collectors. He's about to become the most famous artist the world has ever known.
Bale takes stock of his new – and very temporary – home.
A single bunk. Fixed to the floor.
Mattress. Stained.
Pillow. New.
Blanket. Rough.
Radio. Old.
TV. Small.
Pants. Grey.
Underwear. Old and grey.
Socks. Faded black.
Shirts. White.
Slippers. Cosy.
And one other thing.
A guard. Sour-faced and permanent. There outside the bars, like a never-blinking owl, staring in, twenty-four seven. Always watching but never seeing.
If he so much as had a clue what was going on inside Bale's head, he'd already be pressing the Panic Button.
Three days to go.
Bale sits on the hard bunk and smiles contentedly.
CAPITOLO LVII
1778
Lazzaretto Vecchio, Venezia Tanina and Tommaso can't make sense of what Gatusso has just told them.
'Let me explain,' he says, ignoring the dead body of Efran in the middle of the room. 'Your father – and his father before him – were leading members of our Satanic brotherhood. He was a trusted guardian of one of the Tablets of Atmanta.' He grows reflective. 'Fate had it that, because of a death in the brotherhood, your father took possession of a second tablet – a most unusual and undesirable practice.' He walks to Tanina and cradles her chin in the cup of his left hand. 'Now your sweet mother comes along, and during her cleaning finds both tablets concealed in their bedroom. Women being the inquisitive creatures that they are, she wants to know more about the hidden silver, so she begins listening in to his conversations and piecing things together.' He lets Tanina's head drop and walks back to Tommaso. 'So, the dear deluded woman sees this as a chance to escape the marriage in which she has apparently been unhappy, and promptly disappears with you worthless pair and our sacred tablets.'
Tommaso can't take his eyes off Tanina. He can see only the vaguest of resemblances between them. Perhaps the eyes. Maybe they both have their mother's eyes.
Gatusso slaps the monk's head. 'Tell your sister what became of you.'
Tommaso winces. 'My mother – our mother – left me with the brothers at San Giorgio. She also left the tablet, which you've seen, and a letter.' His words dry up. The thought of his mother's message floods his eyes. She'd begged him not to seek out his sister, and he'd ignored her.
Gatusso strikes him again. 'Get on with it!'
'She told me I had a sister – an older sister – who'd also been left a tablet.' He bows his head in shame. 'And that I should not try to find her – that the tablets should always be kept apart.'
Tanina looks frightened. Her anxiety amuses Gatusso. 'Poor child. You've never seen any tablet or letter left for you. But I have. Two decades ago one of the holy sisters came to me and sold me the silver. How Judas-like. Apparently, a masked courtesan had given the tablet to her, along with a young girl and a certain amount of lire.' He bends and tenderly touches her cheek. 'That child was you, my little dove. Unfortunately, your mamma turned to the wrong sister of mercy. The nun she left you with was pregnant herself, and knew the artefact could buy her a new beginning elsewhere. ' He walks away from Tanina, pacing as he enjoys the completion of the story. 'She was right. I paid her handsomely – very handsomely – and I also agreed to take the child. Now why – why, oh why, would I take you in?' He looks to Lydia with amusement.
'Because – clever Gatusso – you had read the letter.' Lydia waves it in her friend's face. 'And you knew her mamma had left another baby and another tablet. It was inevitable that one day the missing brother would seek out the missing sister.' Lydia looks to Tommaso. 'I did so enjoy our little chat at my house – so sweet of you to confide in me.'
The young priest feels an alien surge of anger within him. To think he'd been taken in by all Lydia's talk about sending out servants to search the convents.
Gatusso claps. 'Bravissimo!' He turns back to Tommaso. 'So, here we all are. It took a little longer than I expected. But here we are, nonetheless. You'd be surprised how many monasteries there are in this part of the world, and how difficult it is to get monks to talk.' He laughs. 'Of course, vows of silence don't make them natural storytellers! No matter – we are all united, and the three tablets are back in our possession. ' He moves close to Tommaso. Bends so their eyes are on the same level. 'Yes, Brother, I said three. For in addition to the one I took from your sister and the one we stole from the abbey, my own family has guarded the other for centuries. ' He reaches into a pocket inside his cloak and produces the first tablet – polished silver, inscribed with the horned demon. Gatusso holds it lovingly, the dull grey glow reflecting in his pupils. 'Now, our lord – the one true lord – can be properly honoured. Bringing these tablets together – consecrating them in a ceremony of blood and sacrifice – gives us enormous powers. Powers for our deeds to go unchecked. And you – you and your sister over there – you will be our blood and our sacrifice.'
CHAPTER 64
Present Day Carabinieri HQ Alfredo Giordano looks nothing like Vito expected. He'd imagined a small monk-like man, perhaps with a balding head and a learned face interrupted by wire-framed glasses. Alfredo is a good six-footer, as broad as a rugby player, with a full head of sandy-coloured hair.
It takes Alfie more than an hour to explain his repeated searches in the secret archives on behalf of Tom. 'I didn't have time to tell you on the phone, but the stories of the Tablets of Atmanta span centuries. The Catholic Church has linked them with some of the worst losses of life the world has ever known.' He sips on an espresso Valentina has brought him. 'They were said to have first been used to cause an underground mine explosion in Atmanta that wiped out noblemen from all over Italy – the world's first recorded case of mass murder. Then they were linked to many events: the eruption of Vesuvius in AD 79, China's deadliest ever earthquake in the mid 1500s, the sinking of the Titanic, floods in Holland that killed more than a hundred thousand people, cyclones in Pakistan, the Chernobyl meltdown in Russia, the 9/11 attack, and even the latest tsunami in Asia.'
'In fact, almost everything that is monumentally bad,' concludes Vito.
Alfie nods. 'It is convenient to blame the tablets. Evil is everywhere, the tablets have just come to symbolise it.'
'You call them the tablets,' notes Valentina, 'not the Gates of Hell, or whatever. Why's that?'