The Ancient Curse

8

THE THREE-DIMENTIONAL image rotated in the virtual space in front of him and the dark spot that he had noticed in the X-rays became larger in size and took on sharper contours as the resolution increased. It seemed to Fabrizio that there could be no doubt that the shape was that of a blade seemingly embedded in the boy’s side. He printed a paper copy with the intention of showing it to the NAS director the next day and asking permission to micro-drill a specimen for metallographic analysis. He was practically certain that it would confirm that a different alloy was present under the surface of the statue at the point made clear in the X-ray. If Balestra refused, he would ask to explore the statue from the tenons, the pins that anchored the feet to the base – a non-invasive method that would not damage the statue in any way. But it would be costly. And problematic. It would also involve removing the statue from public show for several days for an outcome that might be less than worth the trouble.

The telephone rang. An irritating burst of noise in that silence, at that hour of the night. Could it be Sonia? Reggiani? A thousand thoughts flitted through his head in the brief interval of time before he picked up the receiver and said hello.

‘I told you to leave the boy in peace! I warned you.’ It was the same female voice he had heard on the other two occasions. But harsher this time, commanding, threatening.

‘Listen,’ he hurriedly said, ‘don’t hang up. I—’

But the mysterious caller had already cut the short. He replaced the receiver as well and remained standing for a few moments, deep in thought. A sudden awareness struck him and he ran over to where the switches were, next to the door, and flipped on all the outside lights. He grabbed a big torch from a drawer and raced through the door. The sound of an engine could be heard: a pickup or van passing on the road and disappearing into the distance.

She had to be very close if she’d seen him working on his computer and had seen the image of the boy on the screen. Fabrizio tore around the house, checking every corner, and kicked open the door to the stables, exploring the room thoroughly with his torch. Nothing, except for a clutch of cockroaches frozen at the centre of the floor, surprised by that sudden, noisy intrusion.

He pulled the door shut behind him and ran towards the bushes that skirted the olive grove to see if there were traces of footsteps on the soft ground. Nothing. He strained to listen for suspicious sounds. Only the flurrying wings of some startled bird interrupted the silence of the night. He slashed through the darkness with his ray of light, unwilling to believe there was nothing there. How could she have been watching him from so close without leaving any trace of her presence? Maybe she wasn’t close by at all; could she be observing him from a distance, through binoculars, and using a mobile phone to call him? What kind of woman would be wandering around these deserted fields in the middle of the night without any fear of the thing everything was terrified of?

Fabrizio suddenly realized that he was almost 200 metres from the house, at the edge of the wood, when he heard a low whining at first, then a deep, rumbling snarl coming from the trees. He switched off his torch at once while a stream of adrenalin coursed through his blood and he took off towards the house, his heart hammering in his chest and pounding at his temples. He tripped in the darkness over a dry branch and pitched forward, skinning his hands, arms and chin. He stumbled frantically to his feet, slipped again, then sprinted back in the direction of the house as the low growl became a long, bloodcurdling howl that spread through the gully between the two hills, as if the voice of hell were exploding in the still night air.

He flew past the edge of the wood and started down the path that led to his house, but the howl was filling his ears and he could sense the raging pace of the beast catching up on him. The door was less than thirty metres away. He’d left it half open and he could see the lights on inside the room.

He darted in, closed all the doors and windows as quickly as he could and ran over to the gun rack, but he stopped in his tracks as he suddenly heard the growl echoing inside the house. The sound was coming from the central hall, to his right. Fabrizio felt the blood freeze in his veins. ‘Oh, my God. It’s inside,’ he said out loud, remembering the half-open door.

He took the rifle from the rack, feverishly attached the shining torch to the barrel with some tape he’d left on the table, locked and loaded the gun and headed towards the hall. He pushed open the door and moved fast to flatten himself against it. The hall was deserted and, as the torch beam took in the two doors that led to the second floor, he could see that both were shut. He switched on the light and drew a long sigh. He could plainly see the wrought-iron grating at the end of the hall which gave on to the outdoor courtyard. What he’d heard had been an echo reverberating over the curved vault of the ceiling.

He closed the door behind him and went through the house to check that the other door was bolted shut. As he passed in front of the window he noticed the headlight of a bicycle travelling down the hillside and could even hear the tinkling of its bell. ‘Oh, shit,’ he swore, his teeth clenched tight. He realized that another victim was about to be added to the death toll, his throat ripped out.

He ran back out into the courtyard as he jabbed Reggiani’s number into his mobile phone. As soon as he heard Reggiani pick up, he screamed, ‘This is Fabrizio. Hurry, for the love of God. It’s here!’

‘What’s there?’ shouted Reggiani’s voice on the other end, but Fabrizio had already thrust the phone away and was advancing with his rifle levelled. He shone the beam of torch light in the direction of the bicycle and shouted as loudly as he could, ‘Watch out! Get out of here!’ But the man was still too far away to hear and continued at the same steady pace.

Fabrizio shouted again, but at that same moment he heard the snarl of the beast lying in wait and then the ferocious howl that had curdled his blood just a few minutes before. A huge dark mass sprang out of the woods towards the road as Fabrizio tried unsuccessfully to take aim. He heard a terrified scream, a confused clattering and then only the muffled growl of the animal as he sank his snout into blood.

Fabrizio jumped from the embankment to the middle of the road and for an instant he saw it plainly: the bristly fur, the bared fangs covered with blood, the yellow eyes. He aimed his gun and fired, but the animal was gone. It had bounded back into the woods with a spectacular leap, as light as if it were made of air.

A hail of shots exploded behind him in the same direction and Fabrizio threw himself to the ground, terrified, as the scene of the massacre was illuminated all at once by powerful beams of light. A loud screeching of tyres and Reggiani’s Alfa Romeo pulled up sharply, a few centimetres from his feet. The officer burst out, pistol in hand, rapidly emptying the entire magazine of his Beretta into the woods.

Thirty or more men wearing combat gear and carrying assault rifles arrived ten minutes later and charged into the woods with a pack of Alsatian dogs. Before long a helicopter was hovering overhead, scanning the forest with its headlight.

Lieutenant Reggiani approached the body and couldn’t hold back a shudder of disgust. It was practically decapitated. The neck vertebrae were crushed and the head was attached to the torso by only a few shreds of flesh. Fabrizio got to his feet, still holding the smoking rifle in his hands, and approached as well.

‘I botched it,’ he said, his voice cracking with emotion. ‘It was so fast. I had it in front of me, in my sights . . . I fired . . . I was sure I’d hit it.’

‘You saw it, then?’ asked Reggiani. ‘I mean, up close?’

Fabrizio nodded. ‘The torch on the rifle barrel was on and I saw it for an instant in full light. This thing is monstrous . . . It’s a beast out of hell . . . It’s . . .’

Reggiani looked at him. Fabrizio was shaking convulsively, his face was drained of colour, his eyes were bloodshot and his breath was coming in short gasps.

The officer put a hand on his shoulder. ‘You’re in shock,’ he said. ‘An ambulance is on the way. It’s best they take you to hospital.’

Fabrizio straightened up. ‘I’m fine. There’s nothing wrong with me,’ he replied. ‘I’ll be fine.’

The ambulance arrived and waited as the police finished examining the scene of the crime.

‘Are you sure you don’t want them to give you a quick check-over?’

‘No, trust me, I’m OK. But I think I’ll go home. I just need to sit down. My legs are shaking.’

‘I can believe it,’ said Reggiani. ‘After what you’ve been through, face to face with that monster . . . Too bad you didn’t nail him. We would have been finished with this once and for all.’ He turned to the sergeant standing behind him. ‘Massaro, I’m going with Dr Castellani. If you need me, I’ll be in the house.’

‘Don’t worry, sir. We have everything under control here,’ replied Massaro.

Reggiani shook his head as they walked off. ‘Under control my arse,’ he muttered. ‘As soon as the public prosecutor gets wind of this, there’ll be hell to pay.’

Massaro’s suddenly agitated voice called them back. ‘Sir! Over this way, quick! The helicopter has found it!’

‘What the fuck . . .’ shouted the lieutenant as he wheeled around and ran towards his car. He grabbed the radio. ‘Reggiani here. What’s happening? Over.’

‘We’ve spotted it, sir!’ shouted the co-pilot, his voice unable to contain his excitement. ‘Twice, we’ve seen it twice. With the heli’s night vision. I can’t believe how fast it’s running, sir!’

‘Shoot the fucker! Use the machine gun. What the hell are you waiting for? Over.’

‘We’re trying to do that, sir. We’re trying . . .’ The crackle of machine-gun fire came through over the radio. Then the voice of the co-pilot, shouting, ‘Watch out! Watch out! Turn! Turn!’

‘What in God’s name is happening?’ Reggiani was shouting into the microphone. ‘Answer me, damn it!’

There was the co-pilot again, still shouting. ‘We’re yawing! Give it gas!’

Reggiani’s ear was glued to the receiver and his heart was in his throat as he waited for the sound of the explosion. Instead, a few moments later, the pilot’s voice came through.

‘It’s Warrant Officer Rizzo here, sir. We risked crashing into the mountainside. We’re OK now, but we’ve lost it. We’ll continue the search. Over.’

‘Damn! Damn! Damn!’ cursed Reggiani, slamming the receiver on the driver’s seat. He turned to the sergeant. ‘The thing got away and they nearly ran the heli into the mountain. That’s all we need. You stay here at the radio, Massaro. I’m going.’

Massaro shook his head, discouraged. ‘They were close, sir. They were really close . . . You go ahead. I’ll call you if anything happens.’

‘What happened?’ asked Fabrizio.

‘They nearly bagged it.’

‘No!’

‘Nearly. They spotted it twice with the night-vision beam and fired at it with the Browning. Then they lost it.’

‘What the hell . . .’

‘Is this thing made of flesh and blood? Why has no one been able to nail it?’

They walked into the house and Fabrizio put the rifle back on the rack, then went to a cupboard and opened a bottle of whisky. ‘I need this,’ he said. ‘Want a drop yourself?’

‘Nice gun,’ observed Reggiani, looking over at the Bernar-delli. ‘Yeah, thanks. I don’t mind if I do,’ he added, dropping into a chair.

Fabrizio took two gulps, then drew a long breath. ‘Flesh and blood? I don’t know. Yeah, of course. But if you’d seen what I saw . . .’

Reggiani took a sip himself, then looked straight into Fabrizio’s eyes.

‘Tell me what you saw. From the beginning to the end,’ he said.

Fabrizio took another swallow. Some colour was coming back to his face and his hands weren’t trembling nearly as much.

‘First of all, what is it?’

Fabrizio took another sip.

‘Hey, take it easy with that stuff. It’s not Coca-Cola.’

Fabrizio set the empty glass on the table and suddenly thought of the virtual reconstruction that Sonia had done of the skull taken from the skeleton buried with the Phersu.

What is it?’ he repeated. ‘I . . . I don’t know. All I can say is that my colleague showed me a computer-generated image of the animal in the Rovaio tomb and . . . Listen, you won’t believe this, but it looked exactly like this thing.’

‘But what is it?’ insisted Reggiani. ‘A dog? A wolf? A panther? It has to be something recognizable, damn it.’

‘Yeah, well, it does look like a dog or a wolf. Only its proportions are humongous and it’s capable of making huge leaps and . . . oh, shit, I don’t know. It just doesn’t make sense!’

‘OK, let it go,’ said the officer. ‘The important thing is, it’s not a ghost. Those boys up in the heli were close to pumping it full of lead . . . I could hear that Browning sing over the radio.’

The transmitter he had attached to his epaulette suddenly crackled with Massaro’s voice. ‘Sir?’

‘What is it?’

‘The public prosecutor is here.’

‘I’m coming.’

Reggiani put on his cap and gloves and went to the door. ‘I’ll be right back,’ he said. ‘I just need long enough to tell him to fuck off if he starts breaking my balls.’

He stopped outside the door, lit a cigarette, took a long drag and then walked to the site where a couple of agents were still taking measurements and collecting evidence.

‘Listen, Reggiani,’ began the public prosecutor in a shrill voice.

Reggiani tossed his cigarette stub to one side, raised his hand to his visor and said, ‘Yes, sir.’

‘This is the third body—’

Oh, so he can count to three, thought Reggiani.

‘And we’re no further along than when we started. It’s just an animal, for God’s sake.’

‘It’s not just an animal, sir,’ replied Reggiani, swallowing hard. ‘It’s a bloody monster we’re dealing with here. It’s some kind of dog or wolf as big as a lion, with fangs seven centimetres long, that probably weighs over a hundred kilos and runs so fast that my helicopter nearly crashed into that mountain down there trying to keep up with it. A monster. And let me tell you, my guys were this close from taking it out. The search is still under way, with men and dogs. We’re giving it all we have. No one’s standing around scratching his balls.’

‘Lieutenant!’

‘If you’ll excuse my saying so, sir.’

Massaro approached with the victim’s wallet.

‘Who is he?’ asked Reggiani.

‘No ID.’

‘Have you taken his prints?’

‘Of course. I’ve already sent in the photos to headquarters to see if anyone has a file on him. Haven’t got an answer yet.’ He pointed to the mobile phone sitting on the bonnet of his car, connected to a laptop. They stopped a moment to watch the steady flow of forensic data filling the screen.

The public prosecutor turned to Reggiani again. ‘Just what do you intend to do now?’

‘We have to find out where the thing’s den is. The heli is in contact with the men on the ground. They’ll succeed in tracing this animal, I’m sure of it. They’ve seen it, for God’s sake, and they’ve shot at it. They’ll have to fix the exact point . . .’

Massaro approached them. ‘We have a match, sir.’

Reggiani walked over to the computer and saw the front and side mugshots of the victim. At the bottom of the screen was a white band with the man’s name and record: Cosimo Santocchi, son of Amedeo. Unemployed, no permanent residence, born in Volterra on 15/4/1940. Previous arrests: petty larceny, dealing small quantities of drugs.

‘At least this one doesn’t look like another tomb robber,’ commented Reggiani.

‘Maybe not,’ replied Massaro, ‘but you never know.’

‘Right . . . So the fingerprints match up as well?’

‘Yes,’ replied the sergeant. ‘Look.’ He inserted a gelatin slide into a separate unit connected to the computer and the prints were instantly read and compared to those on the record. ‘Perfect match.’

‘I can see that,’ Reggiani nodded. ‘Analyse the soil on the soles of his shoes and see if there’s any trace of that yellow clay from the Rovaio area. I wouldn’t be surprised if he took part in that little picnic as well.’

‘Right away, sir.’

‘I’ll be leaving, then,’ said Reggiani, addressing the public prosecutor. ‘I have to finish my conversation with Dr Castellani. He was a witness to the killing. I’ll catch up with you later.’

‘Yes, yes, go on. We still have quite a lot to do here.’

Reggiani started walking back to the house. He raised his eyes to the sky before he went in and could see clouds gathering.

Fabrizio was still sitting at the table and was scribbling on a notepad. Alongside was the printout of Sonia’s virtual reconstruction.

‘Is that it?’ asked Reggiani.

‘Yes, and look. It’s very similar to the animal I saw. Identical, really. A little unnerving, wouldn’t you say? This virtual reconstruction is at least 90 per cent true to an animal that died either of suffocation or a heart attack about twenty-four centuries ago. It is so singular that we’ve found no match for it, at least for the time being. No match, except for the beast that struck again here, which is practically a photocopy of this ancient creature and which materialized the night that the tomb was opened.’

Reggiani shrugged. ‘Coincidence. What else? Ghosts – even animal ghosts – don’t go around mauling people. And in my mind, an animal that kills can be killed. We have to find the den, that’s all, and fill it with lead. You’ll see that that will solve our problems.’

‘There’s something else,’ said Fabrizio. ‘She called again.’

‘That voice on the phone?’

‘Right. Ten minutes before this whole disaster happened. I tried to keep her on the line so the call could be traced, but she hung up immediately.’

‘What did she say?’

‘She was yelling. “I told you to leave the boy in peace! I warned you.” Her tone was very threatening, very aggressive. That’s all she said. I realized that she had to be somehow looking at my computer screen, and that meant she had to be somewhere close by, or maybe was using binoculars. So I ran out to search the place. That’s when I heard the growling and then the howl of that beast. Christ, I swear it made my blood run cold. I ran back to the house, but then from my window I saw those bicycle lights travelling down the state road and I knew I had to warn the guy. That’s when I called you on my mobile. But it was too late . . . You know better than I do what happened then.’

‘You know, they may have managed to trace the call. The equipment they’re using is very sophisticated. Ill let you know tomorrow if there’s a lead. Now try to get some sleep. I’ll put two guardian angels outside your door. I should already have thought of that. These two are quick off the mark, you—’

‘No, really, it doesn’t matter. I can take care of myself, you’ve seen that.’

‘Right, but you have to sleep sometime, and when you’re sleeping, you’re sleeping.’

‘OK, thank you, then.’

Reggiani was getting up to leave when Massaro called him again over the radio. ‘The special ops guys have come back, sir, and they’re ready to make their report.’

‘I’ll be there right away,’ said the officer. Then, turning to Fabrizio: ‘I was forgetting to say, you were good out there. It’s hard to find people with balls these days. Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight,’ repeated Fabrizio, and closed the door behind Reggiani.

Reggiani went back to the site of the massacre and saw that a couple of stretcher bearers were moving the corpse off the road after having closed him up in a bag. The public prosecutor was standing to the side, taking notes.

The head of the ROS special operations group that had been patrolling the forest came over to Reggiani. He was a young sergeant named Tornese who had distinguished himself in a number of brilliant operations.

‘Well, Sergeant?’ asked Reggiani, bracing himself to hear about their failure.

The warrant officer put his hand to his cap. ‘Sir, something very strange happened. The heli signalled the spot where the objective had been located and I had all my men and dogs converge at that point. It’s a woody ridge that extends towards the Mottola wasteland. The surface is solid enough, but not hard. When we were fairly close we held back the dogs and went forward ourselves to look for tracks.’

‘Excellent choice, Sergeant,’ said Reggiani approvingly. ‘And?’

‘We found them, measured them, but . . . I’m not sure how to say this. At a certain point they just disappeared.’

‘What do you mean by disappeared?’

‘The footprint trail just ended. There were no more tracks in any direction. In the area we’re talking about, there’s a steep wall of sandstone that was about to create problems for our helicopter. That’s where the forest ends. On the left there’s wasteland, and on the right there’s a dense thicket of brambles which is practically impenetrable. In between is a path, more of a trail really, that herders use. They take their swine through there to graze under the oak trees. The ground is stony, so if the animal went that way he certainly wouldn’t have left tracks, but right beyond there’s a bed of clay, the same soil as near the furrows.’

‘And you saw nothing there?’

‘Nothing. Just tyre tracks. But that’s a place where couples go to park, driving up from the other direction, from the Santa Severa slope. Not lately, obviously.’

‘Were the tyre tracks fresh?’

‘Looked like it.’

‘They were left by someone who’s not afraid of driving around at this time of night, in this area, with that beast running around loose. That’s a person I’d like to talk to. Did you take casts of the prints?’

‘No, sir. We didn’t know we’d need that gear. We came kitted out for a search party.’

‘I understand, but I want you to put someone on that right away, Sergeant. I’ll expect a full report from you tomorrow. I want to know every last detail. Sorry, but I’m afraid you won’t be getting much sleep tonight.’

‘That’s all right, sir. We’re used to it. Trust me, we’ll do everything we can.’ He saluted the officer and went back to his men.

The public prosecutor approached. ‘I’d say we can leave at this point. Have you arranged for surveillance for Dr Castellani?’

‘I have. I’m putting two of my best men on it. But my gut feeling is that nothing further will happen. I think we’ve seen all the action we’re going to see for tonight. Goodnight, sir.’

‘Goodnight to you, Lieutenant. You know, I noticed you lighting up earlier. I didn’t know you were a smoker.’

‘I smoke one a day.’

‘Interesting. When?’

‘Depends.’

‘On what, if I may ask?’

‘On how pissed off I am.’