Ring of Fire (9 page)

She kept hearing the last words he said.

Before killing him, Mahler had called him the Guardian.

The guardian of what?

Beatrice is stunned, scared and rather disgusted by what happened. Joe Vinile never told her she’d be an accomplice to murder. And he didn’t tell her anything about Guardians. Or razor-sharp violin bows.

He told her there was an important job to do and that she’d be paid handsomely, more than she’d ever earned before. He told her that in the world of crime, Jacob Mahler was considered a legend. And that working with a legend, even once, meant joining the big league. It meant smooth sailing for the rest of her life. He told her that Jacob Mahler was looking for a man. And that they’d find the man, follow him and set him up to be captured. But he hadn’t told her that once Mahler had captured him, he’d kill the man by slitting his throat with a violin bow.

She’s still lost in her thoughts when she reaches Piazza Sant’Eustachio and the café by the same name.

Joe Vinile and Little Linch are already sitting at a table. Beatrice sits down beside them without so much as a hello. Joe’s sporting a pair of wraparound sunglasses and a black leather jacket. Beneath this is his Vasco Rossi T-shirt, from which he is inseparable. Joe’s convinced he looks so much like the famous Italian rock star that they could pass as twins. Joe Vinile’s real name is Giovanni. He’s fifty years old, and he is what he is today thanks to a flourishing pirated music racket.

Beside him, Little Linch looks like a walrus squeezed in between the arms of the chair. He has an enormous face, a pudgy, misshapen body and buck teeth. Beatrice doesn’t know what his
real name is. In Rome’s underground crime rings they all call him Little Linch, jokingly distorting
lince
, the Italian word for “lynx,” because when he was young he worked doing bit parts at the Cinecittà movie studios, reaching the height of his career by playing a half-blind character called La Lince.

He’s the first one to speak to her. “We were expecting you to show up with your friend Jacob …,” he begins, trying to rest a sweaty hand on her arm.

“The meeting’s for eleven past eleven,” she replies, checking her watch. “And there are still two minutes left.”

“You sure he’ll show?”

Joe Vinile pulls a little square box out of his pocket. He rests it against his throat so he can speak. A hoarse, buzzing voice comes out of the box. “Well, this is …
rrr
… the right place …
rrr. …
Want some coffee …
rrr
…?”

Beatrice nods and Joe orders with a simple wave of his hand. The waiters prepare the espressos shielded by little screens so their clients won’t discover the secret behind their famous blend. That’s why many consider Sant’Eustachio to be the finest café in Rome.

The espressos arrive boiling hot in tiny cups that are even hotter. The moment they’re placed on the little table, the air fills with the persistent aroma of violets.

“Hello,” says Jacob Mahler just then as he sits down in the only free chair left.

Little Linch gives a start.

It’s eleven past eleven.

And none of the three even saw him walk up.

* * *

“I’m very angry,” he begins, not looking at anyone in particular.

Joe Vinile rests the little box against his throat and croaks out, “Mind telling us …
rrr
… about what, exactly …
rrr
…?”

“About how things went last night. Very badly, I’d say.”

“The boys …
rrr
… told me just the opposite …
rrr
…,” Joe retorts. “Isn’t that right …
rrr
… Linch?”

Little Linch stirs his spoon needlessly in his espresso cup. “I did what I was asked to do. I found our guy in Via del Babuino and started to follow him, pushing him toward the Tiber.”

“And you never lost sight of him?”

“No,” Little Linch lies, resting his spoon on the saucer, his hand trembling slightly. “Except for a couple minutes, maybe … when we reached the river,” he admits a moment later. “But that was because of the blackout.”

Joe Vinile nods. “Something very …
rrr
… unusual,” he admits. “But that didn’t stop us …
rrr
… from leading him …
rrr
… into the trap …
rrr
… if I’m not mistaken …
rrr
. …”

Jacob Mahler leans down on the table with all his weight. “The Guardian had a briefcase with him.”

Little Linch nods his head. “He did, yeah.”

“But he wasn’t carrying a briefcase,” Beatrice breaks in. “Not when we saw him.”

Joe Vinile raises his hands in a sign of helplessness. “He must’ve given it to somebody …
rrr
… or thrown it into the river. Who …
rrr
… can say?”

A sharp sneer darkens the killer’s face. “Either we find that briefcase or it’s all over.”

“But that would be impossible!” protests Little Linch.

“You’re the one who lost track of him,” the killer hisses. “And believe me, finding that briefcase at the bottom of the river will be a lot easier than explaining to my boss that we lost it.”

Beatrice looks worriedly at Joe Vinile and then at Little Linch.

Jacob Mahler adds viciously, “And most importantly, it’ll be far less painful.”

Joe Vinile shifts uncomfortably in his chair and asks, “So what was in …
rrr
… that …
rrr
… briefcase?”

T
HE FIRST THING
E
LETTRA PULLS OUT OF THE BRIEFCASE IS A LITTLE
black-and-white checkered umbrella. She rests it on the ground and announces, a little disappointed, “Your typical umbrella, I’d say.”

A metal tag stitched into the edge of its cloth reads:

“Fortunately there’s more,” murmurs Elettra. This time she takes out something about the size of an apple, wrapped in dark cloth. The strong smell of camphor fills the air.

“What is it?” asks Harvey.

“Just a sec …” Slowly, Elettra unwraps it. Inside the cloth is an old toy. A round object made of black wooden rings of different sizes and a metal tip at one end.

“Hao!”
whispers Sheng. “Is it my imagination or is that a top?”

“It’s covered with writing,” Elettra points out, turning it around in her fingers.

She hands it to Harvey, who studies it carefully. “These aren’t words. They’re drawings.”

“Really?” Sheng breaks in, looking over his shoulder. “Drawings of what?”

“I’d say this is … some sort of wolf, maybe?”

Sheng takes the top from him, frowning. “Wolf,” he confirms.

“Or a dog,” Harvey continues.

“Dog,” Sheng confirms once again. The Chinese boy rests the top on the basement floor and makes it spin around.

“There are more of them,” Elettra announces. She pulls three identical bundles out of the briefcase, each one containing a top. The kids’ expressions show how baffled they are.

“This one’s covered with spiral designs,” says Harvey, looking at the first one. “And this other one … hmm … It could be some sort of tower, a truncated pyramid, a temple. …”

Depicted on the last top are stylized eyes. Mistral examines it closely.

Harvey huffs. “Yeah, but … sorry. Why would somebody chase a guy down for an umbrella and a couple of toy tops?”

“How should I know?” says Sheng, making all four toys spin around on the floor.

“And then there’s this,” Elettra says in a low voice, pulling one last thing out of the briefcase, this also wrapped in cloth.

It’s about the same size as a shirt box. As Elettra slowly unwinds the cloth, it reveals a very dark, very worn wooden box. Its entire outer surface is engraved with writing and overlapping drawings, like signatures left behind on the desks at school by generations of students.

“What the heck is that?” asks Sheng.

“I haven’t got the foggiest idea.” The strange object looks like a cross between a jewelry box and a hinged wooden frame, fastened shut by gold clasps. Elettra rests it on the cloth and flicks open the clasps. The inner surface is a rectangle covered with a thick network of grooves, which look a bit like the lines in the palms of people’s hands.

“So what are these?”

“It all looks scratched … or engraved, maybe. …”

“Spiderwebs,” says Mistral. “Ripples in water.”

“It makes me think of a maze,” Harvey remarks.

The grooves inside the object intersect each other intricately, all joined together in a single highly stylized design.

“It’s a woman with stars all around her,” says Harvey, running his fingers over them.

“He’s right,” says Elettra. “It’s a woman surrounded by stars.”

“One, two …,” counts Sheng. “Seven stars.
Hao!”
he shouts. “And …?”

“And … I don’t know. But this thing looks really old.”

“And really used.”

“This is what the guy wanted to protect, if you ask me.”

“Do you think it’s valuable?”

“I’d imagine so,” says Mistral, studying it with a critical eye. “It looks really old.”

Sheng notices something written along its outer frame and asks the others if they can make out what it says. Harvey shakes his head. “They aren’t letters from our alphabet. It looks like it’s written in Chinese.”

“But it isn’t Chinese,” Sheng snaps. “It’s definitely another language.”

“Greek,” concludes Mistral. “But I can’t read Greek.” Then she asks, “Is there anything else in the briefcase?”

Elettra checks carefully. “I don’t think so. Wait … hang on!”

There’s a sheet of graph notebook paper and one last, tiny object wrapped in black tissue paper. Elettra looks inside it.

It’s a human tooth.

“Bleah!” Mistral cries out. “That’s not a real tooth, is it?”

Harvey picks it up between his thumb and his index finger, holding it up in the light. “I think so. A cuspid, to be precise. And … whoa! There’s something engraved on it, too.”

“Let me see! Let me see!” says Sheng, smiling excitedly.

“A circle,” Harvey announces, holding it firmly in his fingers.

“A circle … a zero, a ring, an ‘O’ …”

He shrugs. “I give up. I don’t get any of this.”

“So what’s on the piece of paper?”

“A paragraph,” says Elettra. “But if you think it’s going to explain all this stuff, you’re wrong.”

“Read it.”

Elettra takes a breath and reads aloud, “ ‘Every hundred years it is time to contemplate the stars. Every hundred years it is time to understand the world. What difference does it make which road you follow as you seek the truth? Such a great secret is not to be reached by a single path. If you find it, you must guard it with care and keep others from discovering it as well.’”

A baffled silence echoes through the basement.

* * *

Elettra searches the briefcase inch by inch to make sure it’s completely empty. The kids summarize everything they’ve found: a strange folded wooden box, four toy tops, a tooth with a circle engraved on it, a piece of paper with an enigmatic note, and a black-and-white checkered umbrella.

“So what do we do now?” asks Mistral, a bit worried. Her long, curved eyelashes look like a series of question marks.

“I say we put all this weird stuff back in the briefcase,” Harvey suggests, running his fingers through his hair, “and throw it into the Tiber.”

“The person who gave it to us—”

“Was a nut.”

“But he was trying to escape,” remarks Elettra. “He was afraid he’d be caught by … someone.”

“Exactly. A paranoid nut.”

“You think he was crazy, huh? Remember: somebody killed him.”

“And they didn’t just shoot him … I mean … you know.” Sheng slides a hand across his throat.

“A secret … that you can’t let others discover.”

“Do you think he knew the secret?”

“Sorry, but what secret are we talking about, anyway?”

“ ‘Every hundred years’ …,” Elettra quotes, rereading the note.

“It’s time to contemplate the stars …,” adds Mistral, passing her finger over the ones engraved in the wood.

“It says that whoever discovers the secret needs to keep others from doing the same.”

“Them!” cries out Sheng. “I get it!”

“Give me a break!” Harvey moans. “What could you possibly
get? We barely know anything. We don’t even know the crazy guy’s name or who … who the ‘others,’ or whatever you want to call them, are.”

“All we know is that they’re really dangerous.”

“And that the man on the bridge wanted to protect these things,” adds Elettra. “As though they were really important.”

“A mystery,” pronounces Mistral, standing up to stretch her legs. “A big, giant mystery.”

“Well, I think it’s cool,” says Sheng. “I mean, this is all really strange stuff.”

“‘Such a great secret is not to be reached by a single path,’ ” Elettra says, rereading the note. “Maybe there really is a great secret to discover. And maybe the man was scared because he’d discovered it.”

“And let’s not forget the ‘twenty-nine,’ ” Mistral reminds them.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean it isn’t exactly normal for a guy who’s running for his life to keep on repeating ‘twenty-nine, twenty-nine’ unless he thinks it’s important.”