No signal!
Damn!
He's going to have to leave the room. Make a run for it.
Tom wraps the man's belt around his waist and notices for the first time what they've dressed him in.
A sort of gown. Long. Sleeveless. Black.
A robe of some kind.
Now he gets it.
A sacrificial robe.
Today is the day. The day they plan to kill him.
CHAPTER 74
The walls of the incident room next to Vito Carvalho's office are plastered with prints of Bale's final painting. The blow-ups come in every shape and size – from as big as a boy-band poster in a young girl's bedroom to as small as a postage stamp. There's not a minute when someone on the task force isn't staring at them, trying to make an inspired guess as to what messages and threats are hidden in the brushstrokes.
Three whiteboards have also been set up, each one dedicated to a different tablet. Almost everyone can now draw a netsvis, a horned devil or a couple lying together with a baby at their feet. In capital letters the word VENICE has been printed out on a giant sheet and pinned above the boards, with its coded Roman numerals running beneath.
Vito's working on a strategy of best guesses. The cubist drawings – the ones Gloria Cucchi suggested were titans of industry, building a city, have prompted him to raise extra security around banks and finance houses. Bale's impressionistic waterfall of blood and his attempt at Canaletto's view of the Canal Grande have resulted in him deploying extra boat patrols throughout the whole of Venice's canal system. Right now, he's stretched the Carabinieri's resources to their limits.
But of course, all the interpretations could be wrong. And the fear of that haunts every passing second. So much so, that Vito has a team of officers scouring the web, trying desperately to find works of painters – new or old – that might give further clues to anything shown in Bale's work.
He and Valentina sit in the far corner of the room, a stack of papers and bottles of water in front of them, a hundred operational actions and hopes behind them.
'We know it's today, and we know it's going to be some kind of attack on Venice,' says the major.
'We know it will probably involve Teale and Ancelotti,' adds Valentina.
'And Tom.'
She flinches. 'And Tom.'
'If it's local, it will be one of the remote islands, perhaps underground and out of sight.'
'Maybe in an old mansion?'
'That takes us back to Fabianelli's place.' Vito points across the room to a blow-up of the billionaire's mansion. 'And we've now flipped that place more times than a crepe.'
Francesca Totti joins them, looking exhausted.
'And you thought undercover work was tiring,' says Vito with a smile. 'Welcome to the weary world of homicide.'
Francesca tries to smile. She has a printout in her hands. 'A message from the FBI in California for Lieutenant Morassi: San Quentin finally came up with IDs on all Bale's visitors. There are several photo matches with Mera Teale, though she used a different name for the visitor's pass.'
'What was it?' asks Valentina excitedly.
'Lourdes di Natas.' Francesca scrapes a long strand of unwashed hair off her face and fleetingly dreams of a hot shower. 'She used a false driver's licence tied to an address that doesn't exist. Made three visits, starting just five years ago.'
'Di Natas sounds Hispanic,' observes Valentina. 'She probably guessed the system would be filled with Latinos and would go unnoticed.'
'Don't be racist,' says Vito. 'Anyway, it's not Hispanic. Lourdes is an allusion to Lord, and also to both the Virgin Mary, Mother of God, and a place in France noted for its apparitions. As for "Natas" – well, our girl Mera really is having some fun at everyone's expense – Natas is the reverse of the word Satan.'
Valentina gets up and paces out of frustration. 'It's all a game, isn't it? Just one sick game that these animals are playing on us.' She scrubs her hands through her hair out of anger. 'God, this case is driving me crazy.'
'I know how you feel,' says Vito, looking up from his chair. 'If I had any hair, I'd probably do the same.'
She manages a laugh. So too does Francesca.
One of the search-team officers shouts from behind his computer. 'Major! Major, please look at this!'
Vito walks to the terminal, closely followed by his female lieutenants.
A young officer with bloodshot eyes points at his screen. 'It is Salto Angel – Angel Falls in Venezuela.'
'So?' says Vito, not quite on the same wavelength.
Officer Bloodshot points to a blow-up on the wall. 'It is in the painting.'
Vito frowns and squints at Bale's waterfall. 'Similar. Certainly similar.'
Valentina reads from the computer. 'Salto Angel is in Venezuela and is the tallest waterfall in the world.'
'Venezuela?' queries Francesca.
'The villages there, the palafitos,' says Vito, suddenly starting to see the connection, 'are built over water, just like in Venice. They made the Italian explorer Amerigo Vespucci think of Venezia. He took the Italian Venez and added the Spanish suffix zuola – meaning little – and named the place Venezuola.'
'So what does it mean?' asks Valentina, looking up at the painting. 'Something is going to happen there instead of here?'
'Or both? There as well as here,' adds Francesca.
Vito's back in front of the painting. Staring hard into the eddy of symbols and codes. 'Three tablets. We now have two locations, both linked to Venice and a waterfall of blood. There's going to be a third location in here, somewhere. Now, where the hell is it?'
CHAPTER 75
Tom's legs wobble and splay like a deer on ice.
He strips the guard and puts on his clothes. The shoes are too tight to get on, so he goes barefoot.
He locks the door of his cell behind him. Heads down a corridor of old glazed brick and broken floor tiles that instantly cut his feet. Slithers along the wall, partly for support, partly to avoid the glare of overhead strips. His eyes are still stinging. Vision blurred by haloes of intense whiteness.
There's a door to his left. Identical to his.
Another ward.
He slips past and slides along the next wall.
Stops.
The door was closed.
Why?
He can't help it. He goes back. If the door is locked, then maybe someone else is being held inside. Someone due to suffer the same fate as him.
He hopes the sliver of steel in his hands is a master key.
He pushes it into the lock.
It doesn't turn.
He wriggles it deeper and tries again.
Chambers click and hidden metal teeth finally clack into play.
Tom cautiously pushes the door open.
The room is identical to his. Even smells the same. There's a rough metal hospital bed, jacked high. On it is a body.
Unconscious or asleep?
His heart thumps as he edges closer.
Tina.
The plump, moist lips he once kissed are dry and scabbed. Her vibrant eyes are rimmed with black bruising and are crusted shut. He shakes her.
Nothing.
Dead?
He bends close. Hears her breathe.
Thank God.
Tom knows he doesn't have the strength to carry her. There's no choice but to leave. Leave, get help and come back.
He glances down at the cellphone he took from the guard.
Still no signal.
He moves quickly. Locks the door again from the outside. Prays no one is coming as he slips back down the corridor.
Seeing Tina has given him energy. Determination. Hope.
Maybe there's more to her betrayal than he thought. An explanation.
He turns right at the bottom.
Another long corridor opens before him. His spirit sinks.
An iron gate.
Slap bang in the middle of his escape route is an iron, ceiling-to-floor, wall-to-wall gate. There's no chance his key will fit it. He can tell without even trying that the lock is much bigger.
There's a door on the wall on the right-hand side just metres away. He has no option but to go for it.