'Uh-huh.'
'So what were you waiting for to tell me? We need a torch badly.'
'If I give it to you I can't see my father any more. I'm out of candles and I don't have money for batteries. I stole the ones I'm using.'
Fabrizio touched his cheek. 'I'll buy you all the batteries you want. But please, let us use the one you have now . . .'
Francesca's voice interrupted him: 'Found it!'
'Found what?'
'The way out. Look. Here in the cellar, in the south-west corner.'
'We've already looked,' objected Fabrizio. 'There's nothing there.'
'Because the west wall shifts eastward in relation to the north wall and creates a kind of illusion so that it looks like a closed corner. In reality, there should be a passageway that leads to a tunnel that emerges above ground . . . in the Etruscan cistern on the Salvetti farm! Come on. Let's go and look.'
'If Angelo lets us use his torch,' said Fabrizio.
The boy took a few steps, rummaged in the dark under some stones and came back with a torch in his hand.
Francesca switched off the computer, got up and followed Fabrizio, who was carrying the bronze slab and heading towards the south-west corner of the cellar. She'd been right: there was a gap between the two walls hiding the entrance to a narrow passageway.
'So we walk out,' commented Fabrizio, drawing a long breath. 'If the tunnel is usable that is. If the walls haven't collapsed and-'
'We'll never know if we don't try,' said Francesca. 'Ready for an adventure, Angelo?'
The boy nodded and wordlessly handed Francesca the torch as she squeezed herself into the passage. They forged ahead without meeting any obstacles. The tunnel was cut into the tufa and after a narrow start opened up enough to allow all three of them to walk along comfortably. They would stop now and then so that Fabrizio could set down the slab a moment and rest his arms, before continuing again.
After a level stretch, the tunnel started to slope downwards, confirming what Francesca had seen on her computer map.
'Do you suppose Malavolti explored the entire length of this tunnel, then?' asked Fabrizio during one of their rest stops.
'That's what his notes say. He was a very serious researcher. I'd say we can trust him.'
Fabrizio shook his head. 'And to think how incredulous I was when Signora Pina told me there was a secret passage from this building to Lord knows which monastery.'
There's always a kernel of truth in any old wives' tale. You should know that. I'm curious as to how the Etruscans could have created an underground connection between two places proceeding blindly and without instruments.'
'I imagine they did go on blindly, one stretch at a time at least, and then, when they emerged above ground, marked the spot with some sort of construction that wouldn't draw attention to the passageway below: a small sanctuary, perhaps, or a farmhouse.'
'You really think so? Look at the way this tunnel proceeds. Does it seem casual? Like it's proceeding blindly, any which way? I think the Etruscans had refined such a strong sense of orientation that they could perceive magnetic fields.'
'Like migrating birds?' asked Fabrizio.
'Well, yes, more or less.'
'And you accuse me of letting my imagination run away with me!'
The width of the tunnel a and the sensation that they were distancing themselves from the bowels of that creepy, labyrinthine building a helped to slowly alleviate the hysteria that had gripped them when they realized they were trapped inside. The tunnel widened enough for them to walk abreast of each other and Angelo took Fabrizio's hand. They continued until they found themselves at a fork. A couple of steps in the stone raised the floor by about thirty centimetres.
'Which way now?' asked Fabrizio. 'I don't remember seeing this in your map.'
'No, me neither,' replied Francesca, 'and I don't think there's enough power left to consult it again. So let's say we go straight. It should lead us out somewhere. If it doesn't we'll come back to this point and try the other direction. Anyway, I don't know whether you've noticed, but it seems to me there's a breeze, which must mean this leads out to the open air. I just hope the exit is big enough for us to get out of . . .'
'By this time Massaro will have noticed I'm not in the house and have informed Reggiani,' Fabrizio mused.
'And Reggiani will have unleashed his forces to discover where you are and what you're up to . . . He hates not being in control. He'll have tried me first, but my mobile's not picking up and my answering machine's on at home.'
'First he'll get angry as hell, then he'll start thinking it through. That's the part that worries me,' said Fabrizio. 'So let's put ourselves in his shoes and figure out what he'll do next.'
'We have no idea where we're going or what we're doing,' shot back Francesca. 'How could he?'
'OK, I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm worried Reggiani will call an early start to the operation, hoping to catch us in his net before something else gets us-'
Francesca stopped suddenly. 'Shh! Did you hear that?' she said in alarm.
Fabrizio stopped as well and strained to hear. Angelo squeezed his hand more tightly: he'd heard as well.
It was a clear, distinct sound, distorted and amplified by the tunnel walls: the beast's snarl, its gnashing teeth, its hoarse, hissing breath. The entire length of the underground chamber was saturated with its presence and the stench was unbearable. The beam of the torch in Francesca's trembling hands pierced the darkness and shone straight into the monster's eyes.
'Oh, my God! My God! My God!' screamed Francesca in the throes of panic. 'Run! Get away!'
Fabrizio dropped the slab and all three took off in the opposite direction, racing back to the palace, well aware they had no chance. They could hear the panting of the animal, feel the hot huffing, knew he could spring from one moment to the next. As they reached the widening in the first part of the tunnel, Francesca tripped on the steps and sprawled to the ground. Fabrizio grabbed her arm and yanked her up. He flattened himself against the wall, instinctively covering the girl and the child.
The torch had fallen to the ground and lit the animal from below, making it look even more terrifying, if that was possible. It was approaching more slowly now, seeming to test the ground with its paws. Its enormous blood-drenched fangs were bared, its snout was wrinkled into deep furrows and the black hairs on its back were as bristly as the quills of a porcupine. It had evidently killed for the fifth time and was still on the prowl. Fabrizio gripped Francesca's hand, as if trying to communicate a last message before they died, but as the monster was about to lunge, the boy wriggled forward and placed himself squarely between his friends and the animal, shouting, 'No!'
Fabrizio and Francesca were incapable of moving a muscle. Paralysed by their terror, they could only watch as the little boy confronted the beast. Slender and defenceless, he was shaking, his hair was plastered to his forehead, his eyes were filled with tears, but he stood his ground. His courage seemed absolutely superhuman. And the miracle accordingly took place: the monster slowed its charge, cut short its leap and took a few steps towards the child, whimpering as if in pain. Then it backed off, raised its head again, stretched its jowls and let out a piercing howl, a cry of impotent ferocity and infinite suffering. It finally bounded into the side tunnel and disappeared from sight.
Fabrizio had reached the child and was hugging him. Francesca embraced the two of them at once as she burst into strangled weeping.
'It's over,' said Fabrizio. 'It's over now. Come on. Let's get going again. Someone else has lost their life and Reggiani will be doing everything he can to get his operation under way.'
A few minutes later, they stumbled on the bronze slab that Fabrizio had dropped and he picked it up again. They walked for nearly an hour until they could see the pale light of the moon filtering through a crack at the end of the tunnel. They'd reached the old cistern at the Salvetti farm.
Fabrizio squeezed out first, then helped Angelo and Francesca through. He held them close with tears in his eyes and led them around the ruined cistern, holding on to wild grape vines for support until they were above ground. The Tuscan hills loomed all around, veiled by an opaline mist pierced here and there by the sharp tips of the cypress trees. They breathed a long sigh of relief and set off in the direction of the regional road.
Fabrizio turned to Francesca and said, 'You know, when I found myself face to face with that thing, I was about to tell you something.'
'What?'
'That I love you, Dr Dionisi.'
'That's a strange way of telling me. But I'm glad.' She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.
Fabrizio switched on his mobile phone and dialled Reggiani's number.
'Is that you?' answered the officer. 'Where the hell did you disappear to, damn you? As if I didn't already have enough trouble and as if I weren't pissed off enough on my own without you adding to it!'
'I know. It killed again.'
'Two this time. A young guy, a drug addict, and his father, who was trying to defend him. But how did you know that?'
Fabrizio ignored his question and went on, 'I have the missing fragment of the slab of Volterra. Come and get me, please. We're on the regional road near the Salvetti farm.'
'Who else is with you?'
'Francesca and a little . . . angel.'
'Don't move,' warned the officer. 'I'll be there in ten minutes with a couple of my men.'
ANGELO WAS curled up on the couch, under a flannel blanket, sunk in the deepest sleep. Every now and then he'd let out a little moan or a suffocated yelp, or he would shudder under his blanket as if in the grip of a nightmare. Francesca was making coffee for the four men sitting at the table.
'Who were the victims this time?' asked Fabrizio.
'Guy named Marozzi,' replied Reggiani. 'A farmhand, as big as they come and tough as nails. Hell itself wouldn't scare him. That's what got him. When he saw his son attacked by that monster, he ran after it with a pitchfork, of all things. Christ, what a massacre . . .'
A long, leaden silence followed, then Francesca spoke up.
'Have you checked whether these victims had anything in common with the others?'
Reggiani took a little notebook from his pocket. 'They didn't actually,' he said. 'The first ones were all tomb robbers or had actually broken into the Rovaio tomb, but these last ones-'
'I'll tell you what they have in common,' piped up one of the carabinieri, a youth of about twenty. 'I was born here and I can tell you that all of the guys who were killed are from families that have been in Volterra for generations and generations. They've always lived here, as far as I know.'
'As if it smelt the scent of their blood,' observed Fabrizio. 'Native blood . . . from Volterra . . . It hates this city with a fierce, implacable loathing.'
'And its den is under one of the oldest buildings in the city,' said Reggiani, shaking his head. 'Christ, what is all this?'
'We saw it with our own eyes,' said Francesca calmly, placing the tray with the coffee cups on the table. The look she gave them allowed no doubt.
'Well, then, we can set up a trap,' said Reggiani. 'This time it won't get away. I'll put enough firepower out there to exterminate a regiment.'
'You really think you can put it down, like a mangy stray dog?' asked Fabrizio.
'I've said it before: if it kills, it can be killed.'
Fabrizio looked straight into his eyes with a bleak expression. 'Death kills. But it can't be killed, right? You have no idea what this is. We had it right in front of us, just a metre or two away from us, for a few endless seconds. I have never seen anything like it my whole life. I am very certain that no animal of a like species exists. It's a monster, I tell you. A . . . chimera.'
Francesca's expression confirmed Fabrizio's words in full.
'I don't know about that,' replied Reggiani. 'Maybe it's the product of some experiment, you know? You hear about strange genetic experiments. Some mad scientist . . .'
Fabrizio thought of what he'd seen in the upstairs rooms of the Caretti-Riccardi palace and shivered. He drank his coffee in little sips, then looked up at the lieutenant. 'Marcello, don't make your move yet,' he said. 'You'd be making a terrible mistake. It's too soon and you'll have terrible losses. You won't be able to turn back. Wait.'
'I've waited long enough. As soon as I have word that we're ready to go, I'll unleash hell.'
'Wait, for the love of God,' insisted Fabrizio in a monotone.
'Wait for what? For this thing to exterminate every last person in Volterra?' He pulled a pile of newspapers from his black leather bag. 'Look at this! The news is all over the national papers. In an hour's time, people will be seeing this on the news-stands and they're going to panic. And that panic will spread. We have a catastrophe waiting to happen.'
'Wait,' Fabrizio insisted. He lifted the cloth covering the last fragment of the slab of Volterra. 'Until I've read this. Maybe . . . I think . . . it's the key to everything.'
'At this point,' said Reggiani, 'it's sixteen hours to green light. Not a minute more.'
'That'll have to be enough,' replied Fabrizio.
16.
LIEUTENANT REGGIANI looked at the little boy, then at Fabrizio and Francesca. 'What do you know about him?' he asked.
'Not much. Nothing, really,' replied Fabrizio. 'He has more or less told us that his father is, or was, Jacopo Ghirardini, and that Ambra Reiter is his stepmother and that she beats him. He showed up at my house saying he didn't want to live at Le Macine any more and that he wants to be an archaeologist when he grows up. I've told you the rest.'
'Let me take a picture and see if we can find out anything more about him. You can never tell. Do you know how many kids disappear each year without leaving a trace?'
He went out to the car to get his digital camera and took a couple of close shots of the sleeping child. 'Keep him with you for now,' he said. 'No one has reported him missing yet. As soon as we're out of this mess, well worry about getting him settled.'
He swallowed his coffee down in a single gulp and left, racing off in his Alfa. Even before he was on the regional road he was on the radio to headquarters.
'Lieutenant Reggiani here. Who's that? Over.'
'It's Tornese. What do you need, sir?'
'Three vehicles and ten men set to move out right away. A search party. Have the warrant ready. Ambra Reiter at Le Macine. Look in the blue folder, top drawer of my desk. Is Bonetti from the archaeological protection team in yet?'
'He won't be here for a couple of hours.'
'Get him out of bed now and tell him to bring his gear.'
'You got it, sir,' replied the sergeant.
As soon as Reggiani arrived, he took the folder, picked up his men and vehicles and headed to Le Macine at top speed. They stopped about 300 metres from the building and he had the men scatter in a semicircle, hidden by the vegetation, so they would be able to converge on the objective and secure it.
He walked into the tavern alone and shouted, 'Reiter, Ambra Reiter, this is Lieutenant Reggiani. I have a search warrant!'
No answer. The place seemed deserted. He waved in the archaeological expert, who had just arrived. Bonetti set to work combing the floor of the room with a metal detector. He had no success until he moved behind the bar counter, when the needle surged past the maximum mark and the buzzer began to sound loudly.
'Under here,' said Bonetti.
Two of the men joined him and they knelt on the floor and started to scrape between the bricks with trowels until they found the edges of a well-disguised hatch. They used a crowbar to prise the lid up and an entire section of the floor opened up, revealing steps that led underground. Reggiani went down first, with a torch in one hand and his pistol in the other.
There was no one down there, but the place was a treasure trove. Bucchero pottery, a large red-figured Attic crater which was practically intact, an alabaster vase, a cinerary urn of alabaster as well, decorated with images of the deceased reclining on a triclinium, and even a fragment of a fresco with a dancing figure. It had been brutally hacked from its wall using a power saw. It was already partially packaged in Styrofoam and plywood, no doubt to be smuggled off in a truck headed for Switzerland. There were ancient weapons as well. Arrow- and spear-heads, a bronze shield and a couple of helmets, one of the Corinthian type, the other a rare Negau, dragon-shaped buckles with amber beads and others made of yellow granulated gold, a double-cone-shaped cinerary urn of the Villanovan era and metal fragments of a war chariot.