Italian Caprice

FAREWELL

"Isn't this wonderful?" Tin-Tin smiled, looking around at the garden-party scene outside the Villa Antioni, where noisy crowds in a holiday spirit and their Sunday-best clothes clustered round trestle tables loaded with food and wine. "I know everyone here has always seemed cheerful, despite everything, but it's so good to see them looking really happy."
On a clear patch of lawn some revelers had begun an impromptu dance, and from somewhere nearby a small band started up a jaunty tune. Alan picked up a strawberry, warm from the sun, from a great dish on one of the tables and popped it into his mouth. "Mmm, that's good. And I guess there are going to be plenty more of these around now that the village's got its very own Roman irrigation system."
  "Right." Virgil nodded. "Antioni tells me there's a small army of engineers waiting to clear away that rubble and get the system back in working order just as soon as the museum guys have finished moving the statues out. Seems the government doesn't mind helping now the costs have dropped a little, and with a few pipes they'll be able to bring the water right down to the fields. There's always plenty of rain in the northern hills, so it should pretty well guarantee a year-round supply."
  "I'm glad the statues weren't too badly damaged," Tin-Tin said. "What with Braman's pillars then Alan's missile I suppose it's a miracle they survived at all. But it was a good idea of yours, Virgil, to use your emergency Thermite charge to show Alan where to aim after your location signal failed."
  "Well, I didn't exactly..." Virgil began.
  "No, it was a great idea," Alan insisted. "With the light and heat that came up from that crack I could've zeroed a whole flight of missiles in. Except that I only needed one." He looked mildly disappointed.
  "One was enough," Virgil said decidedly. "But you did really well too, Alan: that was great shooting. If it hadn't been for you, and Tin-Tin sending Braman in, I guess the end of the story could've been a whole lot different."
  "It isn't the end of the story yet, though, is it?" Tin-Tin asked. "We still don't know where the statues came from, who those gunmen were, or whether they really shot Pietro Vincini. But that could be why signore Antioni wants to see us in the villa. Perhaps he's got some more information."
  "Maybe." Alan glanced at his watch. "But if we're going to see him we'd better hurry, we're supposed to be leaving in an hour. Although I still don't see why we've got to hightail it back to Base, when the party's only just beginning here. Maybe I'm wrong, but I thought we just saved this town from dying of thirst, and solved the Lake Reno murder mystery into the bargain. Dad knows the police turned up in time to grab those creeps as they climbed off the ladder, and I didn't even have to land, so there was no security breach. You'd figure he'd want to give us a medal, not a rocket. Besides, there's still a week of our vacation left."
  "Guess it's what might've happened that worries him," Virgil said. "Okay, no-one realises we're connected with International Rescue, and no-one but that killer was seriously hurt, but like I said, it could've been pretty different. And there's the damage to Penelope's villa, to say nothing of the work Brains is going to have to put in on Braman." He turned towards the house. "But you're right, we'd better move. Because after we've seen Giuseppe we've got to find somewhere that'll deliver a new deep freeze and a micro cooker in half an hour. Then there's that little matter of the rewiring in the kitchen."

As they entered the Villa Antioni's dining room, an unexpected expanse of bright sunlight and cold marble in contrast to the candlelit intimacy of two nights before, Antioni was ushering out a man with a battered briefcase, who stopped to pump their hands enthusiastically then set off down the corridor with a skip in his step.
"He goes the wrong way." Antioni shook his head resignedly. "No matter, they will redirect him from the kitchens. He is the Director of Museums at Firenze, I give him some tea to calm him down. When he first leave twenty minutes ago he forget his keys; he come back for them, then he forget his car. He starts to walk, back to Firenze."
  "And on cloud nine all the way, it looks like," Virgil said. "You wanted to see us?"
  "Yes." Antioni waved his hand towards two men, one in the elaborate uniform of the Italian police and one in a conservative suit, who sat at the far end of the long table. "I introduce to you Commissario Veretti, of Firenze, and Sir Anthony Aston, from the English branch of the Interpol. After you speak to their police interviewers yesterday they wish to have the talk with you themselves."
Both men got to their feet, and Sir Anthony held out his hand. "Don't worry, we haven't decided to take you in. Now that we've put our facts together we think we've a fairly clear picture of what's been happening here, from the first discovery of the Monte Thesauri treasure right up to when International Rescue pulled you out of that cistern. If you've time we'd like to run the story by you: I think you've a right to hear it, and perhaps you'll be able to fill in some of the details as we go."
They sat down, and he settled back comfortably. "The reason I'm here is that our mutual friends now in custody happen to be a little gang that my London office has been very anxious to catch up with for some time: specifically three dealers in stolen art and antiques, who go by the names of Maxwell Brodie, Jimmy Regan and 'Doc' McCoy. If you think the last sounds familiar, you're right. McCoy was nicknamed after a kindly character in an old space opera, but the name's about all they have in common. We haven't a more dangerous thief on our books. But let's start at the beginning." He turned towards Veretti. "The story really begins fifteen years ago with poor dead Pietro Vincini, and the Commissario here has been up at Lake Reno doing a little research into that young man's archaeological work."
Veretti nodded. "It seems from my talks with those who knew him that Pietro was the timid man, of the delicate health and the romantic temperament, but in his work he was the genius. His specialty was the translation of the Latin dialects, and at the Institute of Lake Reno are kept some obscure records, inscribed on the wax tablets, found at the excavation of the Villa Juliana many years ago. Always these have been said to be indecipherable, and the experts have dismissed them as the humdrum accounts of the household, but Pietro, we believe, applied his skills, perhaps at first just for the interest, and found out otherwise. When fifteen years ago the new excavation in the gardens of signore Antioni here was planned Pietro begged permission to take charge, and this was granted. How he found the tunnels we cannot know, but from the memories of those who helped on the excavation it is clear he took great interest in the mausoleum; also he hired the mini-digger from the local farm, yet the helpers say this machine was never used for their assistance. We can only guess that his search was guided by some clue in the wax writings, and from the marks inside the mausoleum we suspect he used the mini-digger to push open the hidden door. Then he mapped the tunnels, again with the help of the writings, and found the fabulous statues. What was his intention then? We do not know, but from our picture of his character it seems likely he meant only to await the fitting moment, then announce his great discovery to the academic world."
Veretti sat back, and Sir Anthony took up the tale.
"But I'm afraid that's where bad brother Carlo comes in. It's local knowledge that Carlo had been watching the excavation for some time, and somehow he managed, perhaps by the liberal application of alcohol, to get his brother to tell him what he'd found. He also succeeded, not to Pietro's credit, in convincing him that profit would be preferable to impoverished fame, and that his beautiful statues would be better off in the rarefied air of some foreign collector's strong room than they would be being coughed over by tourists in a museum. So an agreement was reached, and through a crooked friend Carlo contacted Brodie, Regan and McCoy."
  "And that's how you know that Pietro told Carlo about the statues?" Tin-Tin asked. "From questioning those three?"
"That's right, my dear." Sir Anthony smiled. "I'm glad to say that they've been singing quite sweetly since we got them caged; most of the rest of our story derives from their statements. Anyway, our gang, scenting riches beyond their wildest dreams, flew over, meeting Carlo and Pietro in a restaurant in Pisa. Buyers, shipping arrangements and cuts were discussed, but on one point they couldn't agree. Pietro had never told Carlo exactly where the treasure was, and he now refused point-blank to tell his new partners, until the cash Carlo had described in such enticing terms was actually on the table. The dealers objected violently: after all, they had to make the initial arrangements, and Pietro's health was delicate. Did he expect them to take all the risks, when a simple bout of influenza might rob them of their reward? Well, finally Pietro suggested a compromise. He left the restaurant, and was gone for so long that his companions began to suspect a trick. He returned at last, however, with two identical cheap silver lockets that he'd bought from a nearby jeweler. Inside each locket, he explained, was engraved exactly half the information required to locate the treasure. On its own either set of directions would be useless, but put together they'd form a key which would guide its possessor straight to the hoard. He held the lockets out, closed, and told Carlo, as the dealers' representative, to pick whichever one he liked; he, Pietro, would keep the other. Should anything happen to him his locket would pass to Carlo in the natural course of events. There were more objections, of course, but Pietro, who seems to have had that deep streak of stubbornness sometimes found at the core of a timid personality, was obdurate, and his partners had to be satisfied. The dealers left to contact their middle-men in Switzerland, and Pietro returned to his work at Lake Reno to wait for their call."
As Sir Anthony paused for a sip of water Tin-Tin turned to Alan in amazement. "But we had dinner in Pisa, before we took the locket into the jeweler's next door. Alan! It might have been the very same restaurant, and the very same jeweler."
  "I think we can safely assume it was," Sir Anthony replied, "but that comes in a little later. We're now at the least pleasant part of our story, and with apologies to the lady I'll try to keep it brief. It seems Carlo was already scheming to get Pietro's share of the profits, or perhaps he wasn't unwilling to see his brother put beyond the reach of any dangerous twinges of conscience forever, but in any case he told the dealers what we have no reason to think was anything other than a downright lie: that Pietro was about to betray them to the police. Needing no further prompting Brodie, Regan and McCoy drove straight to Lake Reno, but Pietro wasn't in his apartment. They searched for his locket, didn't find it, then they went on to the Institute, where they discovered Pietro working late alone. There's no need to go into the unpleasant scenes that followed. Sufficient to say that Pietro stubbornly refused to answer any of their questions, and that McCoy's short fuse burned out before they'd learned the location of either the statues or the locket. The Institute was having gardens laid out, and as they disposed of the body under a newly-planted bush they discovered the locket in the most natural place it could be, and where they'd never thought to look for it: around Pietro's neck. The locket's inscription they copied down by the light of a pocket-torch; the locket itself, being incriminating evidence, they trod into some soil that had been raked for the laying of turfs, then they made their escape."
Sir Anthony paused again. "And that's the last part poor Pietro played in the story. Until a few weeks ago, when there was a little earthquake up in the north here. But I think the Commissario is better qualified to tell you about that than I."
"Ah, the earthquake." Veretti stretched his legs. "Perhaps you read about it in the newspapers? The International Rescue came to Lake Reno, it was all very exciting. But what was not in the newspapers was that the International Rescue heroes found not only the living earthquake victims, but also the dead bones of Pietro Vincini. His identity was not realized at the time, as his case was closed five years ago and the computer records lost. Some professors of the Institute remembered his disappearance, but I think no-one paid them much attention until I made the visit yesterday."
  "And that earthquake must've turned up Pietro's locket as well," Sir Anthony added. "Which is presumably how your friends came across it while they were holidaying up there."
  "Yes," Veretti went on, "it is strange; after the discovery of the remains the Institute was closed to the public until the thorough search for clues had been made. I should like to talk to these friends of yours. To know exactly where they found the locket would be interesting."
  "I'm afraid that'd be difficult," Alan answered quickly. "You see, we couldn't really say where they are now. They're the kind of guys who just drop in out of the blue and then take off again without leaving a forwarding address. Guess you know the type."
  "But what happened next?" Tin-Tin interrupted, changing the subject. "Surely, if the dealers had the inscription from Pietro's locket, and Carlo still had his original locket, they could put the two sets of clues together and find the treasure."
Veretti nodded. "That, we think, was Carlo Vincini's fear. It is likely he had realized too late that if the Englishmen did murder Pietro and take his locket they had no need to stop there. With Carlo's locket as well and no Carlo they would have all of the statues, and no fourth man to complicate the division of their profits. But if he was afraid, then still the lure of the treasure was very strong. In the lockets Pietro had used the compass directions: the archaeologist must be the surveyor, and he was familiar with such things. He knew that Carlo with his army training would also understand when both were brought together, but Carlo had the extra clue. In his locket was the lion-head, and we know that as a boy he trespassed in the Antioni mausoleum, and he would have seen the carvings there. It seems certain that he broke in again, and found the door left open by his brother. That year there was much rain in the north and the tunnels would have been flooded, but obtaining from the village the torches, food and the small boat he planned to find the treasure by himself, carry out what small pieces he could before the Englishmen returned, then escape to sell his goods in the south, where fewer questions are asked. Later, when the men he feared had given up and gone away, he could return to recruit some of the less formidable helpers and work his goldmine at his leisure."
  "Of course a lot of this has to be conjecture," Sir Anthony explained, "although we do know about the dinghy. Signore Antioni remembers it being stolen from a local farmer who was keen on his sea-fishing trips, and presumably the other equipment was obtained in much the same way. But now Carlo Vincini had another problem."
  "A large problem," the Commissario agreed. "What was he to do with his locket? It was essential to his plan that the Englishmen did not find it, but he dared not destroy it: there might be the clue in some detail he had missed, and his draftsmanship was too poor to copy it. It might be lost from a pocket, especially on his exploration of the tunnels, and being what my friend Sir Anthony describes as the man's man it is likely that Pietro's method of carrying it never even entered his head. So he looked around for the hiding-place and came up with the brilliant idea, perhaps the first and last of his life. One more silver coin among the hundreds in the fountain would not be noticed; he knew the money was not gathered until the season's end, and having been the regular visitor to the basin to supplement his income since his youth he could be reasonably certain that no-one else was active in that area, and that his cache would be safe. So by night he slipped the locket into the fountain, pulled his boat on its trailer up the hill to the Villa Antioni, and was never seen alive again."
"And in all probability we'll never know exactly why he died," Sir Anthony said. "That entrance could have closed any time a strong flow of water changed the air pressure, and as the shaft you fell down seems to be a fairly recent collapse he may have found himself without an exit. Or perhaps he underestimated the complexity of the tunnels, and without the map on Pietro's locket to help he became hopelessly lost. Anyway, when our dealers returned he was gone, and so was their chance of the loot. They looked everywhere, but neither Carlo nor his locket could be found. Driving into Pisa they identified the jeweler who'd sold Pietro the lockets, and demanded to know what he'd engraved on them. They were disappointed: the man told them that Pietro had asked to stand for a while and study the engraving-machine at work on some other bauble, then had paid him a handsome sum to hand over the lockets, shut up shop, and drink a slow beer in a nearby cafe. No threats or physical persuasion could make the jeweler change his story, so leaving him with some cash as an advance and the promise of more if he could discover the locket's whereabouts, they drove back to Monte Thesauri."
Sir Anthony shook his head. "One almost feels sorry for them. Perhaps they even ate at that restaurant by the fountain, discussing their problems with the key to the treasure only an arm's reach away. But Carlo had done his job too well, and after a few weeks they flew home to attend to more pressing business. The jeweler from Pisa, following instructions, made regular calls to his new employers, but with nothing to report interest soon waned and the whole affair was almost forgotten. Forgotten, that is, until a young couple walked into a shop in Pisa fifteen years later, and showed the proprietor something that brought on a nasty attack of his asthma."
Sir Anthony sat back, regarding Alan, Tin-Tin and Virgil speculatively. "Well, there's not much more I have to tell that you don't know already. When the jeweler recovered he dug out an old notebook and made a triumphant telecall; he did omit to inform our gang which locket had turned up, but they probably wouldn't have cared anyway. A lead was a lead, and for the goods Pietro had described it was worth following even fifteen years on. They took the next plane over, and the jeweler, who'd run for his Fiat and tracked the couple to their home, albeit with some puzzling diversions on the way, led the dealers to the Villa Creighton-Ward, where they took up watch. They'd hired a fast Alfa Romeo for their own use, and even, with remarkable optimism, a lorry to receive the treasure immediately it was found. That you should have the locket they now knew to have come from Lake Reno and that you should be in Monte Thesauri seemed to them too great a coincidence: either you already knew the location of the statues or were on the verge of discovering it, and that car and lorry stuck as close as glue, determined to be in at the kill."
  "Which is just what it might've been, if Tin-Tin hadn't thought of Braman," Virgil said. "Gee, that's some story. I guess if Tin-Tin and Alan had chosen a different shop things might've been more peaceful, but Pietro's murderers would never have been brought to justice. Though it seems Carlo was partly responsible for his brother's death, too."
  "Well he certainly paid for it," Alan said. "You remember the old legend of the Furies? How they lived in the underworld, and chased round and tormented anyone who'd been guilty of some unnatural crime? It must've been pretty much like that for him: paddling round and round in the cold and the dark and never finding a way out, starving with all that food in front of him, clawing..."
  "Okay, Alan," Virgil said, seeing Tin-Tin's face turn pale. "But what I still don't understand is how those statues got into a water-storage tank in the first place, and how anyone could hope to get them out without being spotted. You've seen the size of some of them."
"The Director of Museums have the theory," Antioni replied. "When the emperor Jovian suppress the pagan religions in the fourth century there was much destruction; temples they vanish in the flames and many works of art perish with them forever. But the Julians they stand by the old beliefs, and they were the rich men. To move the images of their gods to the secret place of safety would not for them be the difficult task. Perhaps they hope their store is only temporary, that the winds of belief they may change again, but it does not happen. They fade away, and their villa it falls to ruins like the temples, but in the safe hiding-place their gods remain. They wait for the more enlightened times."
  "And it's a great thing for posterity that they did," Sir Anthony said. "I'm no expert, but apart from the sheer beauty of those things I'd say their archaeological significance must be incalculable. The entrance tunnel seems to have been found in the medieval period and used as a sort of bolthole from the villa, but it looks as though superstition prevented any further exploration, which is probably all to the good. As to how McCoy's gang meant to get the statues out - well, the larger ones are constructed in sections, which explains how they were got in originally, but I doubt if much time would have been wasted on those anyway. The smaller images would be easier to sell, particularly those decorated with gold, and I dare say that lorry would have been stuffed with as much of that precious metal as possible. Anything that didn't find a buyer could always be melted down, and of course with the marble figures a broken-off head here and an arm there would have been much easier to transport, but still interesting to any collector."
  "That's terrible," Tin-Tin said, shocked. "I'm certainly glad we found Carlo's locket before those criminals did. What will happen to the statues now?"
  "Some go to Roma, some to Firenze," Antioni answered, "they are too valuable to stay here." He smiled. "But we will not miss them. Our whole village have the invitation to visit them any time we wish, and soon they make the plaster casts for our own museum here in Monte Thesauri, to bring the tourists and the televideo crews from all over the world. Luigi he dream already of two ristorante, perhaps even the hotel. But for us the true treasure it is the water: it will put bread on our tables not just for the tourist season, but for all months of the year."
  "So it looks like your lucky fountain turned up trumps after all," Alan said. "Seems it's a happy ending for everyone, except Pietro Vincini's murderers. What will happen to them?"
Sir Anthony closed his briefcase and rose. "The Commissario and I are off to discuss that now, but I think I can confidently say that the only art likely to pass through their hands in the next decade will be in a prison rehabilitation class." He scanned their faces again. "There is one thing we couldn't work out, and I wondered whether you might know the answer. Carlo left his locket in that fountain fifteen years ago, and we were told that each year the coins are dredged out for the village restoration fund. Yet you apparently found it still there, and bright as the day it was pressed. Now that's food for thought, eh?"
  "Oh, we know the answer to that." Tin-Tin smiled disarmingly. "Signore Antioni explained: when the coins are taken out anything that isn't legal tender gets cleaned and put back for the next season. If people see silver there already they're more likely to throw in some themselves. It's the old proverb that money draws money, I suppose."
  "Guess we'd better be getting along, too," Alan said when the two policemen had gone. "Tin-Tin and I want to go and find Luigi before we go, to say our goodbyes." He got up and shook Antioni's hand. "So long, and thanks for your hospitality. Sorry we caused so much trouble round here. Maybe once we've gone things can get back to normal."
  "Trouble?" Antioni shook his head gravely. "You and International Rescue, you are the heroes of Monte Thesauri. If not for you we have no museum, no tourists, no water, no future. I hope that you will return soon: our village will always be open to you, and we will be waiting."
As the click of Tin-Tin's heels faded down the corridor Antioni closed the door and turned to Virgil. "They go. And now I have something of the great importance to discuss with you; it must be, as you say, for our ears only. It concerns the International Rescue."
  "International Rescue?" Virgil repeated, a small knot of uneasiness tightening in his stomach. "What about them?"
Antioni smiled. "You are not the good actor: I think you know already what is in my mind. When we are in danger how does the International Rescue reach us so quickly? Before the police, who come only from San Giuliano? Without the map reference, in the hills of this tiny Tuscan village how do they find us? And that they are first on the scene when Pietro Vincini is found, it is the strange coincidence. We are both the intelligent men, I think that perhaps we both know the answer."
Virgil shifted uncomfortably. "What's that?"
"But is it not obvious?" Antioni spread his hands. "The International Rescue, it is the Italian organization. There are many woods in Italy still, many wild places; why could not some corner of our land shelter the heroes' base? So, their operatives speak with the American accents, but pffft! Many nationalities must play their humble part in such a team. It is a very proud thought."
  "It sure is," Virgil said, disguising his relief, "and you could be on to something there. But maybe we shouldn't spread it around. Not too much, anyhow." He got up. "Now I'd better get moving. We've got some things to do, then we have to get home for a meeting of our own organization. Guess you could call it a kind of debriefing."
  "But you cannot go," Antioni objected. "My Francesca returns today, I expect her any moment." He searched in his pocket. "Two tickets for La Scala for the day after tomorrow; she adore the opera. It is a long way, I mean to accompany her, but now with this..." He gestured towards the hubbub outside. "I had the hope you would do me the honor."
Virgil shook his head. "Sorry, I'm late already. We have to shop before we leave, replace one or two things that Braman had problems with at Penelope's villa."
He stepped towards the door, but it opened as he did so and a young woman walked in, tall and unexpectedly fair, with an intriguing combination of golden hair and dark doe-eyes, and a faultless figure that needed only her simple dress, and no expensive jewellery or Rome couture, to display it to perfection. She smiled at Antioni. "Father! I look everywhere for you."
  "Francesca." Antioni rose and took her arm. "This is my friend I tell you of. But he cannot stay, not even for the opera of Milano. The business meeting it is more important."
  "Father tells me all about you," Francesca said, still smiling. "I am very sorry you cannot stay."
  "So am I," Virgil said, aware that he was staring and trying not to. "Well, I er, suppose I'd better be on my way. Thanks for everything. Maybe we'll take you up on that invitation to come back some day." There was a short silence and he searched for something to fill it. "I uh, guess that's it. Arrivederci, then."
  "Addio, my friend," Antioni said.

"Looks like it's time to go." Alan pointed to the yellow car pulling round from the villa's garage block. "Glad we managed to track down Luigi, I wouldn't have liked to leave without saying goodbye."
  "And I wouldn't have liked to leave without saying goodbye to these." Tin-Tin patted the greyhounds' mossy noses. "I almost felt I'd got to know them while I was sitting here that night. But come on, we'd better not keep Virgil waiting."
With a last look at the mausoleum they descended the steps, passed the box maze and crossed the lawn towards the gates and the car, where Virgil waited scowling in the driving seat.
"I wonder what's wrong with him?" Tin-Tin asked in a low voice as they approached. "He was alright about Braman's accidents, and our quarrel and the fountain, even about having a gun pointed at him by those criminals and being half-drowned, but now he seems in a terrible mood all of a sudden. Still, who could ever understand men?"
She took Alan's arm happily. "I suppose they do have their good points. After all, it was your idea to bring Braman, and if you hadn't been so convinced that the treasure was in San Giuliano we'd never have ended up in Monte Thesauri, where it really was." She wrinkled her brow. "By the way, do you know what Monte Thesauri means? Monte means mount or hill, I suppose, but what about the other bit? The auto-translator doesn't seem to recognize it."
Alan shrugged. "Could mean nowheresville for all I know. Why does it matter, anyway? Especially now we're leaving."
"I'm not sure," Tin-Tin answered uncertainly. "After all, they say 'what's in a name?', but I can't shake off the feeling that if we'd known the meaning of the village's name from the start we'd have found your treasure much more quickly. It's very odd."
  "I'd say it's mighty odd." Alan frowned. "If you had to come up with a weird idea like that why wait till now to do it? We could've done with any sort of clue a few days ago."
  "Well," Tin-Tin answered, "I thought it was just my imagination at the time, and to be fair we have had one or two things going on over the last few days. There wasn't much time to think about it. Perhaps I'll ask Brains when we get home whether he knows what it means; he's fairly good on languages."
They reached the car and she got in, settling back comfortably into the seat with a smile. "Our vacation certainly turned out to be quite an adventure, but I must admit I'm looking forward to getting back to the Island, and a little bit of normality again. Come on, let's go!"