Jon Tracy - The Rome Prophecy

‘I am. You must be too.’

She nods and takes another hit of the syrupy coffee. ‘Nothing that caffeine – or you – can’t cure.’

Her cell phone rings again. ‘God give me strength!’ She snatches it off the counter top. ‘ Pronto! ’

Tom watches as the sternness washes from her face and is replaced by something more worrying.

Disbelief.

‘ Grazie.’ Valentina ends the call and lets the phone dangle from her hand.

‘What’s wrong?’

She looks at him like he’s standing on ice and might fall through at any moment. ‘It was Federico’s friend in the fire department.’

‘And?’

She moves closer. ‘You didn’t start the fire, Tom. Someone else did.’

He frowns. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Petrol was poured through the letter box and then set on fire. The investigators could tell from the intensity of the burns on the ceiling and floor where it was started. And it wasn’t the kitchen. It wasn’t your fault. The seat of the fire was the doorway.’

Valentina sees the shock on his face and hugs him tight.

They stand silently together. Minds racing, both thinking the same thing.

Who did it? Why? And who exactly were they trying to kill?

Not even the safe house seems particularly safe any more.

Nowhere does.

Tom and Valentina travel to the police station together.

There’s no way he’s going to let her go out alone. And there’s no way she’s going to leave him in on his own.

It’s just before midnight and the night has turned chilly. A frosty reminder that winter is a long way from over.

Only by the time they’re parking the Fiat at the police station has the little car’s heater managed to kick out some warmth.

Through a glazed partition Valentina sees Louisa Verdetti and Sylvio Valducci sitting in the drab Carabinieri reception area looking cold and drawn. They’re like those old married couples who stopped talking to each other about half a century ago but still go out and spend speechless meals together. Valentina takes them through to her office and en route introduces Tom – or in Louisa’s case, reintroduces him. It’s only partway through these civilities that Tom once more becomes aware that he’s still dressed in the pink parachute of a shirt and tank-sized grey pants recovered from dead men at the hospital. Fortunately, the grave and urgent task of trying to find their missing prisoner seems to divert attention away from his crimes against fashion.

Tom sits back in the corner of the office and tries not to fall asleep.

He occupies himself with an out-of-date newspaper left on a low table, but for the most part he just listens and watches Valentina interview the two medics.

The body language between Verdetti and Valducci is more than just interesting.

It’s quite hostile.

At one point he tries to comfort her and she squirms away so violently it’s almost like they’re in an abusive relationship.

Half an hour later, Valentina beckons Tom over to her desk. ‘Look at this.’ Her tone is sombre.

She smoothes out a creased piece of paper, a child’s crayon drawing. ‘Our prisoner did this – just hours before she escaped.’

At first it appears to be no more than scribbles of oranges and reds; then he sees what Valentina saw.

A sleeping man under the cross of God consumed by fire.

Every nerve in his body prickles.

Did the patient really foresee what would happen?

He looks at Louisa and Valducci, then back at Valentina. She shakes her head. She doesn’t want him to mention anything in front of the medics, especially Valducci, whom she knows even Louisa doesn’t trust.

Tom carries his heavy thoughts back to his corner.

Maybe he’s reading too much into the picture.

It could be anything.

More likely it’s meant to be a Roman battle scene, a picture of soldiers burning a village to the ground and crucifying locals or slaves.

As soon as Valducci and Verdetti leave, Federico arrives.

He gives Tom a courteous nod and then falls into a long, intense and hushed conversation with Valentina.

Tom has another go at the now well-thumbed paper, and then struggles to fight back a tsunami of sleep.

Bleary-eyed, he watches them both note-taking, tapping computer keys and making calls.

Suddenly it’s all over.

They both grab coats, turn off desk lights and fire ciaos across the room – Federico even manages a wave and a forced smile to Tom.

‘Home!’ says Valentina, clapping her beautifully slim hands in a symbol of triumph. ‘Or at least, what for now passes as home.’

Tom gets to his feet and finds he’s bone weary, the kind of tired that seeps through to your marrow and makes you groan whenever you sit or rise.

‘What do you make of the drawing?’ asks Valentina as they take the stairs.

‘Maybe nothing. We’re both tired, and that makes you see spooks everywhere. Let’s talk about it tomorrow, when we’ve got fresh brains.’

Valentina thinks he’s dismissing it too easily, but she can see that right now it’s not something he wants to dwell on.

They only need to take one step outside to notice that the temperature’s dropped further and their breath quickly frosts in the early-morning air. Thankfully there’s still a little heat hanging around in the Fiat. Valentina starts her up, pulls out of the car park and moves the conversation smoothly on. ‘Seems our lady has quite a new personality.’

‘Let me guess, another legendary Roman.’

‘No, not this time.’ Valentina corrects herself. ‘Well, actually it probably is Roman, just not historic.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Anna Fratelli, that’s the name of the latest alter. Apparently a real foul-mouthed she-cat. She was in the control of this personality when she escaped from Louisa and her boss.’

Both Tom and Valentina think the same thing at exactly the same time, but he’s the first to say it. ‘Maybe that’s not an alter. Maybe that’s her real personality. She sounds tough enough to survive.’

‘You think so?’

‘Why not? There has to be a default, an original person still existing deep down in there somewhere.’

‘Right. Louisa called it a host.’

Tom wipes condensation from the small passenger window and looks out into the cold darkness of the night. ‘I had a friend in the LAPD helped me out at the community centre in Compton. A big black guy called Danny Moses.’

‘Moses?’

‘Yeah. His name always raised a laugh from the gang-bangers down there. They’d call out, “Here comes Moses and the Jesus guy!” They’d slap their sides and hoot like it had never been said before. Anyway, Danny was a dab hand at finding runaways. Creatures of habit, he’d say. They run for home, they run to friends or they run to somewhere they go regularly. We even found several kids who’d stolen stuff from the church actually hiding out in the church community hall.’

Valentina catches his drift. ‘So you think what? Anna’s gone back to the hospital? Or back to Cosmedin?’

Tom’s not sure.

He’s almost sorry he came out with the anecdote now. ‘I don’t know. Tonight is cold enough to freeze hell over, and she was on foot, so she must be holed up somewhere local. Maybe she’s not far from wherever she left Louisa and that pervert-looking boss of hers.’

‘Valducci? You think he looks like a pervert?’

‘God forgive me, I shouldn’t be so judgemental. But yes, he looks very pervy – and believe me, I’ve been around enough Catholic priests to know.’

Valentina laughs and swings the Punto west towards Cosmedin. ‘You mind if we quickly visit the place Louisa last saw her? We’re only a couple of kilometres away and I’ll sleep better if we take a look.’