The Fifth Gospel(56)

            Michael hesitates. “Probably the same way they knew where to find you. By threatening someone until he told them where to look.”

            “What do you mean?”

            In a dryer voice, he says, “I think you know what I mean.”

            A shadow passes over me. “You told them where I live? ”

            “Alex, look—”

            “My son could’ve been killed!”

            “I could’ve been killed!” he roars.

            “So you let them hunt down Simon? You even told them where to find him?”

            “Like hell. They already knew about your brother. His little weekend trips were how they got on Nogara’s scent in the first place.”

            I feel sick. The logic of this conversation is clearer now. There’s a reason Michael called back after hanging up on me the first time. He feels guilty. He was the one who reported Simon for missing work. Who created a paper trail that anyone could follow.

            “Keep Simon out of this,” I say, forcing my voice to stay level. My father always said Michael was prone to fits of emotion. “He was just helping Ugo.”

            It doesn’t seem to occur to him that he probably brought this on himself. By ratting on Simon, he made himself a reference point for anyone trying to hunt down Ugo.

            But Michael howls, “Helping Nogara? That’s what Simon told you he was doing?” He gives a scornful laugh. “What a pro, that guy. He’s got a real future. Alex, your brother’s been lying to you. Lying to everyone. He’s been doing some work on the side, inviting a few of his Eastern friends to Italy for the Shroud exhibit.”

            I’m taken aback. “That’s not true. Why on earth would you think that?”

            “Look,” Michael grunts, clearing his throat, “I said more than I wanted to. Go talk to your brother. Get him to answer some questions.”

            I’m too unnerved to respond.

            “And,” he adds, “keep your son safe. My impression is, these people won’t quit until they have what they want.”

            “Okay,” I tell him. “Thanks. For calling me back.”

            “Yeah. Well. You have my number?”

            “I do.”

            “If Simon tells you anything, drop a line. I’m owed some answers, too.”

            I say nothing.

            “And hey. Call if you need anything.”

            He must truly believe Simon can’t be counted on.

            “Michael, we’re going to be fine.”

            “Yeah,” he says. “I hope so, too.”





CHAPTER 11





THE FIRST THING Leo says when I get back to the Casa is, “Your uncle wasn’t kidding around.” He points toward the door. “They sent a replacement cop as soon as Martelli tailed you out.”

            In the hall, the two gendarmes are conferring with a nun from downstairs.

            I step out. “Is something wrong?”

            “Nothing,” Martelli answers. “This is Agent Fontana. He’ll be the night shift.”

            But the nun looks me up and down. “Father, we can’t have every visitor bringing a pair of bodyguards. You’re safe here without them.”

            “My situation isn’t the same as the other guests’,” I tell her.