Julia Navarro - The Brotherhood Of The Holy Shroud

"Fine, Giuseppe, but tell me something we don't know," Marco insisted.

"Hold on, Marco, I think Giuseppe and Pietro are saying a lot," Antonino argued. "Now we know for sure that our guy is a link to something-somebody wants him dead because they know he can lead us to them. That means there's a leak-they're on to our plans; otherwise they'd have gotten rid of him a long time ago. But no, they want to kill him now, all of a sudden, just as he's about to go free." <

"Who exactly knows about this part the operation?" Sofia asked.

"Too many people," Marco replied. 'And Antonino is right on target. They know where we're going before we get there. Minerva, Antonino, see what else you can get on the Bajerai family-they're one link. They have to be connected to someone who wants our man dead. Go over everything again, look into even the smallest details. I'm going back to the prison."

"Why don't we talk to the parents and cousin?" Pietro asked.

"Because we don't want to raise any flags. We can't afford to be more visible than we already are. And we can't pull the mute out of prison, because then it'll be him that gets suspicious. We have to keep him alive, out of range of these brothers," Marco answered.

"How?" asked Sofia.

"A capo in the drug mafia, a guy named Frasquello. I made a deal with him. All right, everybody, let's go," he said abruptly, brushing aside their questions.

They ran into Ana Jimenez in the lobby. She was leaving the reception desk, carry-on in tow.

"You guys look like you're on to something big," she joked.

"You're leaving?" Sofia asked.

"I'm on my way to London, and then to France."

"Work?" Sofia pressed.

"Work. I may call you, dottoressa. I may need your advice."

The doorman told Ana her taxi was waiting, and she blew them a kiss as she headed out the door.

"That girl makes me nervous," Marco confessed.

Sofia nodded. "Yeah, you never much liked her."

"No, you're wrong, I like her, but I don't like her sticking her nose into our case. What's she going to London for? And France? She either sees something we don't, or she's going to stir things up, chasing after one of her batty theories."

"I've been impressed by her," Sofia answered, "and her theories may not be so batty. Everyone thought Schliemann was a crackpot, and he found Troy."

"All she needs is you for a defense lawyer! I'd still like to know what she's up to. I'll call Santiago. You and I both know it has something to do with the shroud."

The prison was silent. The inmates had been locked down for the night two hours earlier. The corridors and passageways were illuminated only by the wan, yellowish light of ten-watt bulbs, and the guards on the night shift were dozing.

The Bajerais pushed at the door to their cell, checking to make sure it was open. Yes, the guard had kept his part of the deal… Keeping close to the wall and crouching until they were almost crawling, the two brothers began to make their way to the other end of the corridor, where the mute's cell was. If everything went as they planned, in less than five minutes they'd be back in their own cell as though they had never left. They had traveled halfway down the corridor when the smaller one, in back, felt someone's hand grip his neck half a second before a hard blow to the head knocked him unconscious. The older brother turned around just in time to catch a massive fist full in the nose. Blood streaming, he fell to his knees without a sound as a hand of iron fastened on his throat. Struggling for air, finding none, he felt his life slipping away from him.

Light was just beginning to brighten the corridors of the Turin jail when the guard on morning rounds stopped dead in front of the Bajerais' cell. Then he ran to sound the alarm, as the two bloody heaps tangled together on the floor began to stir and moan.

In the infirmary, the doctor ordered the brothers sedated and pumped them full of pain medication. Their faces had been beaten to pulp, their eyes narrow slits within the massive swelling.

When Marco arrived at the warden's office in response to his call, the agitated official relayed what had happened. He had to inform the judicial authorities and the carabinieri.

Marco calmed him down, then asked to see Frasquello.

"I did my part," the capo spat at him the second he walked into the warden's office.

"Yes, and I'll do mine. What happened?"

"Don't ask questions. It went like you wanted. Your mute is alive and the Turks are too-what more could you ask for, eh? Nobody's been hurt. Those two brothers just got a little bruised, is all."

"I want you to continue to keep an eye out. They may try again."

"Who, those two? You're kidding."

"Them or somebody else, I don't know. Just keep watching."

"When do you talk to the parole board?"

"When this is over."

"Which is when?"

"No more than four or five days, I hope."

"Okay. But you want to do what you said you would, cop, or you'll wish you had."

'And what you want is not to threaten me."

"Just do it."

Frasquello slammed the door behind him as he left the office.

ADDAIO WAS WORKING IN HIS OFFICE WHEN his cell phone rang. The conversation was brief, but by the time he hung up, he was red with rage. He shouted for Guner, who came running.

"What is it, pastor?"

"Find Bakkalbasi at once. I don't care where he is, I have to see him. And I want all the elders here within half an hour."

"What has happened?"

"A catastrophe. Now get them."

When he was alone, he put his hands to his temples and pressed hard. His head hurt all the time. For days he had been experiencing terrible, almost unbearable headaches. He was sleeping badly, and he had no appetite. More and more, he felt it would be a blessing just to die now. He was tired of the lifelong trap he was in-the trap of being Addaio.

The news could not have been worse. The Bajerai brothers had been found out. Someone within the prison had learned of their plans and blocked them. Perhaps the two had talked too much, or someone may simply have been protecting Mendib. It could even be them, them again, or that cop, sticking his nose in everywhere. Apparently in the last few days he had been in and out of the warden's office constantly. He was planning something, but what? It had been reported that he met a couple of times with a drug capo, a man named Frasquello. Yes, yes, the pieces fit-no doubt this Valoni had put the mafioso in charge of protecting Mendib. He was their only lead-a lead that could bring them here, to Urfa-and they had to protect him. That was it, yes, that was it.

Pain was eating up his brain. He searched a moment for a key and opened a drawer, took out a botde of pills, gulped down two, and then sat with his eyes closed to wait for it to pass. With a litde luck, by the time the elders arrived it would be better.

Guner knocked softly at the office door. The elders were waiting for Addaio in the large meeting room. When there was no response, Guner entered and found Addaio with his head on the desk, his eyes closed, motionless. Guner approached with trepidation and shook his master gendy until he awoke. The servant breathed a soft sigh of relief.

"You were asleep."

"Yes… my head hurt."

"You should go back to the doctor; this pain is killing you. You need to have a brain scan."

"I'm fine." Addaio brushed aside further discussion.

A few minutes later he strode into the meeting room. The eight members of the council made an imposing picture, arrayed around the heavy mahogany table in their black chasubles.

Concern filled their faces as Addaio informed them of the events in the Turin prison.

"Mendib will be released in four or five days and will attempt to contact us," Addaio went on. "We must prevent that; our people cannot fail again. That is why it is imperative that you be there, Bakkalbasi, coordinating | the operation, in constant contact with me. We are on the verge of disaster."